On her way to work Wednesday morning, Megan was feeling refreshed by a good night’s sleep. It was a beautiful late spring day, with temperatures in the low 80s and mild breezes. Megan hummed along with the golden oldie on the radio as she drove to the Station. When the national news came on, she was thinking about the work that awaited her and almost missed the lead story. The announcer said, “Shortly after drawn this morning, in a campground outside Tucumcari, New Mexico, the bodies of two adults were found brutally murdered and dismembered. In a tent fifteen feet away their three children were left unharmed. Names are being withheld at this time. Police are speculating that this might be linked with the murder of a young couple in a motel the night before in Kingman, Arizona. More details as they become available.” As Megan listened to the news bulletin, she brought the Taurus to a halt on the shoulder of the road. My God, more death. It couldn’t be Brendan, it isn’t possible. He’s wandering around in California somewhere and will be picked up any time. Maybe he has already been found. I can’t let my imagination run wild. She found the scrap of paper in her purse, and reaching for her cell phone, called Jim Holmes at the psychiatric hospital. Although it was only six in the morning in California, Holmes answered on the second ring. “Mr. Holmes, this is Megan Galloway. Is there any news of Brendan?” Surprised to hear from Megan, he responded there was nothing yet. “Have you heard the national news?” Megan asked. “people in Arizona and New Mexico are being hacked to bits. It sounds so much like what happened to mom and dad, Could it possibly be Brendan? Is he working his way back to the Chicago area?” “We can’t rule anything out, but it’s pretty far fetched, don’t you think?” “I don’t know! What if he’s coming back for me – coming back to finish what he started? I wasn’t home when it happened! I’ve always thought he would have killed me too if I’d been there. The analyst told me it was survivor’s guilt, but the question has always been in the back of my mind.” He tried to reassure her by describing some of the efforts that were being made to find Brendan, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to notice those efforts were centered around Los Angeles, and not beyond the borders of California. After securing Holmes’ promise to keep Donald Worthington, her lawyer, informed of any developments, Megan continued her trip to the Station, trying to convince herself that the twin horrors in the West had no connection with Brendan. She did not succeed. A growing sense of dread had taken root and was rapidly building to real terror. By the time she parked her vehicle at the house, she was shaking. Thor, her wolf/dog hybrid, moved closer to her trying to comfort her. After sitting quietly for a few minutes breathing deeply, Megan was able to pull herself together enough to present a calm exterior as she walked into the house. Grace happened to be in the foyer when Megan arrived. “Mrs. H, can we sit down and talk for awhile?” “Of course, my dear,” responded the stately older woman. “Why don’t we go into the den and get comfortable?” With Thor glued to her side, Megan followed her employer into a nearby side room. When Megan was comfortably curled up on a sofa, and Mrs. H in a Queen Anne chair opposite, Megan began speaking. “I deliberately let you think that my brother is institutionalized because he is developmentally disabled. That isn’t the truth. When I was 15 and Brendan 16, we were living in Evanston with our parents. We had a wonderfully close, loving family. Dad was an army colonel, stationed at Fort Sheridan, and mom worked as a design consultant for an area decorator. Until then, we had moved several times, as most career officer’s families do. I had attended schools in Japan and Germany, but now I was so excited to finally be able to attend a regular American school for the first time. “On the last day we had together, I went riding with several friends at a stable close to home. This saved my life.” Mrs. Harcourt's eye narrowed slightly. She was uneasy at what might follow. When I got home, I found mom and dad in the living room, dead. They had been literally hacked to pieces.” With eyes tearing and her stomach heaving, she continued, “Daddy’s right arm was lying near the fireplace and his head was severed from his body. We found out later his West Point ring was missing too. Mom’s head was nearly severed also and her entire torso was a mass of stab and slash wounds. I ran out the back door and found my brother, Brendan, crouching near the garage with a bloody machete in his hand. It was the one dad got in Panama. Brendan was catatonic, wouldn’t move or talk to me. They tell me my screams brought the neighbors, who called the police. I was in shock and heavily sedated for almost two weeks. By the time I was aware of what was going on, Brendan was already in an institution.” Megan’s nervous fingers played with the thick fur on the ruff on Thor’s neck and gently stroked his head as the tears rolled down her cheeks. He leaned close to her, offering silent support. “I underwent a year and a half of therapy and it slowly helped me recover. Even though I don’t like to think about what happened, I have accepted the fact my brother killed and mutilated our parents and will have to be locked away for the rest of his life. This brings me to what is bothering me.” Seeing the questioning look in Mrs. H’s eyes, Megan said, “I'm sorry I had to give you the grisly background, but it's important for you to understand what's happening now.” Taking a deep breath, she continued. “Brendan was never tried for our parents’ murders due to his mental condition Several years ago, he was moved to an experimental program in L.A. that was treating these types of cases. There's never been any change, until now.”
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