Read Online Blind Rage by Terri Persons - Free Book Online

eyes, and the brother in the doorway laughed dryly. “Sometimes it’s nice, Miss—”
    She held out her hand and he took it. “Klein,” she said.
    He released her hand and opened the door wider so she could go through. “Have a good day, Miss Klein.”
    “Kyra,” she said, smiling up at him as she stepped over the threshold. “Call me Kyra. I’ve been trying to get your brother to remember that.”
    He put his hand over his heart. “Kyra. I shall not forget.”
    Charles brushed past Klein and the brother.
    “I’m sorry, Chaz,” said the brother. “Didn’t hear you coming.”
    Charles handed the doctor a file. “If you’re finished with Miss Klein, we’ve got two other patients waiting.”
    Klein leaned back into the room and addressed the man behind the desk. “Almost forgot. What time exactly?”
    He checked his wristwatch. “Is six o’clock too late?”
    “Six o’clock is perfect.” Charles gave her a curious look as he stood at the doctor’s elbow with a file. She didn’t want the golf pro to get the wrong idea about this after-hours session. She added: “Not too much later, though. I have a date tonight.”
    “Six sharp.”
    “See you at six.” She gave a smile to the brother and the golf pro, turned back around, and went down the hall.
     
     
     
    THE YOUNGER BROTHER turned to watch her go, a crooked smile lifting the right side of his mouth. “Kyra Klein,” he repeated under his breath.
    As he exited the doctor’s office, Charles navigated around the grinning man and arched his eyebrows.
    “What?” snapped the brother.
    “I didn’t say a word,” Charles said.
    “You were thinking it.”
    “How long have we known each other?” the receptionist asked over his shoulder, and headed back to the waiting room.
    “I can look,” the brother said defensively.
    “Listen to Charles,” the doctor yelled from the other side of the doorway, his head down while he flipped through another patient chart. “Leave her alone.”
    The brother shoved his hands into his pants pockets and groused, “I’m always being misjudged.”

 
     
    Chapter 8

     
    MENTAL ILLNESS. EATING DISORDERS. ALCOHOL AND DRUG addictions. Childhood rapes. Physically abusive boyfriends. Emotionally abusive parents.
    Armed with a pen and a legal pad, Bernadette spent Wednesday in the cellar continuing the chore she’d started the night before at her kitchen table: immersing herself in the tumultuous lives of seven troubled women. As she plowed through the files taking more notes, the victims’ stories started blending together, becoming indistinguishable from one another. It was as if she’d spent too long in a massive art gallery: her head hurt, her eyes felt dry, and everything looked the same.
    “I gotta get organized,” she muttered to herself, and pulled a pad of Post-its out of her desk drawer.
    Going back over her notes, she transferred key points to the Post-its. Each victim got her own set of yellow squares listing name, age, date and place of death, college and field of study, emotional and health problems, and family issues.
    When Bernadette was through with her transcription, she went over to the bare white wall on one side of her office door and started slapping yellow squares up on the Sheetrock. Each victim got a totem pole of notes, starting with her name and working down to the personal stuff at the base of the column. It wasn’t an organizational method sanctioned by the bureau, but it had always worked well for her.
    Like a student fretting over a blackboard math problem, she stepped back and studied the squares, first taking in each victim’s story as she read from top to bottom, and then working across to compare each girl. Did they all share the same major? No, some hadn’t even declared one. Did they go to the same clinic? No, some had never been treated.
    “This is depressing,” she said as she stood in front of the wall.
    Creed peeked at her from behind his computer screen. “What are