Two: Katie

"My therapist says I have some sort of identity crises."

Chapter Two

Katie

Katie sat by the side of the road, starring across traffic to a field on the other side.

With her legs crossed and eyes fixed, she rocked back and forth. Nobody seemed to notice.

On the other side of town, Tom walked through the door of the Dairy Queen, it was 8:30 pm.

“Sorry I'm late Kat, paperwork got me down.”

“Please Tom, call me Sarah. I was beginning to think you weren't coming.

I hope you don't mind, but I ordered for you already.”

Tom looked puzzled.

“Sarah? But I thought you said your name was Kat.”

“I did,” replied Sarah, “but I changed it. I decided I didn't like Kat. I like Sarah better.”

“But...a person can't just go around changing their name whenever they please, can they?”

“I do,” replied Sarah.

“You can't,” Tom informed her, “not legally anyhow.”

“My therapist says I can.” Sarah said, “as long as I keep my legal identity for legal purposes, like drivers license, social security, and blah, blah, blah.”

“Therapist?” Tom quizzed.

“Yep. Guess I sorta forgot to mention that part.

He, my therapist, says I have some kind of identity crisis or something.

Personally, I think he has some sort of identity crisis.”

Tom leaned back in his seat and pondered the situation.

“Identity crisis,” he said. “Doesn't that make it tough being a journalist?”

“Not really,” she replied.

“I always go by Lucy. People know me as Lucy Lane, reporter lady from the Times News.

Sounds pretty cool, doesn't it?”

“Sounds insane if you ask me.” replied Tom.

“I'm not insane,” she argued, “my therapist told me so.”

Tom looked down at one of the tables where Sarah had laid out all the reports and information she had gathered up to this point.

“Well,” Tom said, “I can't say you didn't come prepared.”

“Look,” she said, pointing to a sheet of paper she had scribbled on, “every death seems to have occurred at about the same time of day.”

Then, pointing to a chart, she continued.

“And look over here, the placement of the bodies."

With her index finger she pointed to Lincoln Park, Turner Trail, Martin's Farm, the old Jame's Place, and finally to Miller's Lake.”

“Yeah,” replied Tom, “we already know that. Show me something I don't know.”

“Don't you see it Tom.” she said slowly. “Look carefully.”

She got out a marker and labeled each spot with a letter in accordance to their occurrence. Lincoln Park-A, Turner Trail-B, Martin's Farm-C, Old Jame's Place-D, and Miller's Lake-E.

With a ruler she carefully drew a line from A to B, from B to C, and from C to A.

Look Tom, a perfect triangle. The distance between each event is almost exactly the same.”

She looked up at the sheriff.

“That can't possibly be a coincidence."

He studied the map carefully. Rubbing his forehead he said,

“OK, but how do you explain D-Old Jame's Place and E-Miller's Lake?”

She looked up at him grimly and replied,

“I'm not sure you want to know.”

She placed her ruler on the graph and prepared to draw a line between D and E When Tom's phone rang.

“Tom,” said a voice on the other end of the line, “you've got to get down here right now. I think we've got something.”

“What, I'm on my way,” he growled.

He turned and pointed a finger at Sarah,

“Look, uh Sarah, or whatever your name is, something's come up, I've gotta' go.”

She grabbed his arm and exclaimed,

“But your hamburger, it's double meat, double cheese, with onion rings and a big a*s Coke!”

Tom broke her grip and looked back,

“Wrap them all up and bring them to the station. Bring your charts and reports too, I want to get a better look at them. And while you're at it, clean up that foul mouth of yours.”

He rushed out the door, down the street, and through

the Sheriff's Office station door.

He was greeted by Deputy Flores, who turned and pointed to a small figure of a girl squatting down in the far corner of the sheriff's office.

Deputy Flores is a short, muscular man who had migrated from Mexico ten years earlier. Like most migrants, he was looking for a better life for he and his family. For the first few years he worked the fertile valleys of Southern California.  Sheriff Tom discovered him in an avocado field defending a woman who had been assaulted by another migrant worker.

That was Flores, always the defender of the weak and innocent.

Sheriff Tom recognized a certain sense of justice to the man. He offered him the job of deputy, right there on the spot.

Flores spoke with a mild Latin accent that was sometimes difficult for Sheriff Tom to understand.

“It's Katie,” said Flores. “Miss Wilburn brought her in.

She says she walked right out in front of her, never looked or anything.

Miss Wilburn said it's a miracle she didn't hit her."

Pointing to the girl he continued,

"She's been sitting like that ever since she got here. She don't say a word, just rocks back and forth.

Docs. been here already, says she's in some sorta' catatonic state.”

Sarah came stumbling through the door totting a sack of burgers, drinks, and numerous charts, and reports.

“Hey,” she shouted, “can a girl get some help around here?”

Ignoring Sarah altogether, Tom and deputy Flores walked to Katie's side.

"Well," Sarah remarked, "guess not.”

Setting her stuff down, she looked at Tom and deputy Flores huddled around the little girl.

“Who's this?” she asked.

Tom answered,

“Katie Anderson."

He pointed to the northern part of town and continued,

"She lives just down the street. She was found trying to cross the highway at Parson's Park.

Came just inches from being another statistic.”

“Parson's Park?" remarked Sarah.

She turned and retrieved her main chart with the triangle drawn on it.

“Where exactly is that on this chart, Tom?” she asked.

He turned and studied the chart and then pointed,

“About here.” he said.

Sarah got out her marker and marked the spot Tom had shown her and labeled it F.

She took her ruler and connected point D to E, and then E to F, and finally, F to D.

She stared at the piece of paper in front of her.

It was a perfect inverted triangle overlaying the other forming the Star of David.

She tapped Tom on the shoulder,

“I think she was supposed to be next, Tom.”

“No, no," Tom replied, "she's a girl.

They've all been boys, so far they've all been boys."

Sarah pointed to the girl with a boyish like hair style,

“Look at her!" With that short hair she could easily be mistaken for a boy.

What about her age? She could pass for eight, don't you think?”

“Yeah, that's about right I think,” said deputy Flores. "She's about eight.”

“That does seem to fit the pattern,” said Tom.

Deputy Flores scratched his head and asked, “What does this mean Ma'am?

“We may have a problem,” mumbled Tom, stepping up to answer for Sarah.

Sarah supported Tom's observation,

"Yep, that's what it means."