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you who weren’t very close to Rhea. Don’t expect the grief, shock, and horror to go away anytime soon. Let them run their course. They’re part of the healing process. And don’t be afraid to reach out to the school’s counselors for help. Or to each other. Or to me and Dr. Zimmerman.”
As the students got up from their desks to leave, Zimmerman called out …
“On your way out, give Riley and Trudy a hug. They could use it.”
For the first time during the class, Riley felt annoyed.
What makes him think I need a hug?
The truth was, hugs were the last things she wanted right now.
Suddenly she remembered—this was the thing that had turned her off about Dr. Zimmerman when she had taken a class with him. He was way too cuddly for her taste, and he was all touchy-feely about lots of things, and he liked to tell students to hug each other.
That seemed kind of weird for a psychologist who specialized in criminal pathology.
It also seemed odd for a man so big on empathy.
After all, how did he know whether she and Trudy wanted to be hugged or not? He hadn’t even bothered to ask.
How empathetic is that?
Riley couldn’t help think that the guy was a phony deep down.
Nevertheless, she stood there stoically while one student after another gave her a sympathetic hug. Some of them were crying. And she could see that Trudy didn’t mind this attention at all. Trudy kept smiling through her own tears with every hug.
Maybe it’s just me, Riley thought.
Was something wrong with her?
Maybe she didn’t have the same feelings as other people.
Soon all the hugging was over, and most of the students had left the room, including Trudy. So had Dr. Zimmerman.
Riley was glad to have a moment alone with Dr. Hayman. She walked up to him and said, “Thanks for the talk about guilt and responsibility. I really needed to hear that.”
He smiled at her and said, “Glad to be of help. I know this must be very hard for you.”
Riley lowered her head for a moment, gathering up her nerve to say something she really wanted to say.
Finally she said, “Dr. Hayman, you probably don’t remember, but I was in your Intro to Psych course back in my freshman year.”
“I remember,” he said.
Riley swallowed down her nervousness and said, “Well, I’ve always meant to tell you … you really inspired me to major in psychology.”
Hayman looked a bit startled now.
“Wow,” he said. “That’s really nice to hear. Thank you.”
They stood looking at each other for an awkward moment. Riley hoped she wasn’t making a fool of herself.
Finally Hayman said, “Look, I’ve been paying attention to you in class—the papers you write, the questions you ask, the ideas you share with everybody. You’ve got a good mind. And I’ve got a feeling … you’ve got questions about what happened to your friend that most of the other kids don’t think about—maybe don’t even want to think about.”
Riley gulped again. He was right, of course—almost uncannily right.
Now this is empathy, she thought.
She flashed back to the night of the murder, when she’d stood outside Rhea’s room wishing she could go inside, feeling as if she’d learn something important if she could only walk through that door at that very moment.
But that moment was gone. When Riley had finally been able to go inside, the room was all cleaned up, looking as if nothing had ever happened there.
She said slowly …
“I really want to understand … why. I really want to know …”
Her voice faded. Did she dare say tell Hayman—or anybody else—the truth?
That she wanted to understand the mind of the man who had murdered her friend?
That she almost wanted to empathize with him?
She was relieved when Hayman nodded, seeming to understand.
“I know just how you feel,” he said. “I used to feel the same way.”
He opened a desk drawer and took out a book and handed it to her.
“You can borrow this,” he said. “It’s a great place to start.”
The title of the book was Dark Minds: The Homicidal Personality Revealed.
Riley was startled to see that the author was Dr. Dexter Zimmerman himself.
Hayman said, “The man is a genius. You can’t begin to imagine the insights he reveals in this book. You’ve simply got to read it. It might change your life. It sure changed mine.”
Riley felt overwhelmed by Hayman’s gesture.
“Thank you,” she said meekly.
“Don’t mention it,” Hayman said with a smile.
Riley left the classroom and broke into a trot as she headed out of the building toward the library, eager to sit down with the book.
At the same time, she felt a twinge of apprehension.
“It might change your life,” Hayman had told her.
Would that be for the better, or for the worse?
CHAPTER SEVEN
In the university library, Riley sat down at a desk that was in a little enclosure. She put the book on the desk and sat staring at the title—Dark Minds: The Homicidal Personality Revealed, by Dr. Dexter Zimmerman.
She wasn’t sure why, but she was glad she had chosen to start reading the book here rather than in her dorm room. Perhaps she simply didn’t want to be interrupted or be asked what she was reading and why.
Or maybe it was something else.
She touched the cover and felt a strange tingling …
Fear?
No, that couldn’t be it.
Why would she be frightened of a book?
Nevertheless, she felt apprehensive, as if she was about to do something forbidden.
She opened the book and her eyes fell on the first sentence …
Long before committing a murder, the killer has the potential to commit that murder.
As she read the author’s explanations for that statement, she felt herself slipping into a dark and terrible world—an unfamiliar world, but one that she felt mysteriously fated to explore and try to understand.
Turning the pages, she was introduced to one murderous monster after another.
She met Ted Kaczynski, nicknamed the “Unabomber,” who used explosives to kill three people and injure twenty-three others.
And then there was John Wayne Gacy, who loved to dress as a clown and entertain children at parties and charitable events. He was liked and respected in his community, even while he secretly went about sexually assaulting and murdering thirty-three boys and young men, many of whose bodies he hid in the crawl space of his house.
Riley was especially fascinated with Ted Bundy, who eventually confessed to thirty murders—although there might have been many more. Handsome and charismatic, he had approached his female victims in public places and easily won their trust. He described himself as “the most cold-hearted son of a bitch you’ll ever meet.” But the women he killed had never recognized his cruelty until it was too late.
The book was full of information about such killers. Bundy and Gacy had been remarkably intelligent, and Kaczynski