Watching. Блейк Пирс
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do I even begin?
She was relieved when Trudy spoke up.
“Guilty. I could have stopped it from happening. I was with her at the Centaur’s Den before it happened. I didn’t even notice when she left. If only I’d just walked her home …”
Trudy’s voice trailed off. Riley gathered up the nerve to speak.
“I feel the same way,” she said. “I went off to sit by myself when we all got to the Den, and I didn’t pay any attention to Rhea. Maybe if I had …”
Riley paused, then added, “So I feel guilty too. And something else. Selfish, I think. Because I wanted to be alone.”
Dr. Hayman nodded. With a sympathetic smile he said, “So neither of you walked Rhea home.”
After a pause, he added, “A sin of omission.”
The phrase startled Riley a little.
It seemed oddly ill-suited to what Riley and Trudy had failed to do. It sounded too benign, not nearly dire enough, hardly a matter of life and death.
But of course, it was true—as far as it went.
Hayman looked around at the rest of the class.
“What about the rest of you? Have you ever done—or failed to do—the same sort of thing in a similar situation? Have you ever, shall we say, let a female friend walk somewhere alone at night when you really ought to have walked her home? Or maybe just neglected to do something that might have been important to someone else’s safety? Not taken away somebody’s car keys when they’d had a drink too many? Ignored a situation that might have resulted in injury or even death?”
A confused murmur passed among the students.
Riley realized—it was really a tough question.
After all, if Rhea hadn’t been killed, neither Riley nor Trudy would have given their “sin of omission” a moment’s thought.
They’d have forgotten all about it.
It was hardly any surprise that at least some of the students found it hard to remember one way or the other. And the truth was, Riley herself couldn’t remember for sure about herself. Had there been other times when she’d neglected to look out for someone’s safety?
Might she have been responsible for the deaths of others—if it weren’t for sheer dumb luck?
After a few moments, several reluctant hands went up.
Then Hayman said, “What about the rest of you? How many of you just can’t remember for sure?”
Almost all the rest of the students raised their hands.
Hayman nodded and said, “OK, then. Most of you may well have made the same mistake at one time or another. So how many people here feel guilty for the way you acted or the thing you probably should have done but didn’t do?”
There was more confused muttering and even a few gasps.
“What?” Hayman asked. “None of you? Why not?”
One girl raised her hand and stammered, “Well … it was different because … I suppose because … nobody got killed, I guess.”
There was a general murmur of agreement.
Riley noticed that another man had stepped into the classroom. It was Dr. Dexter Zimmerman, the chairman of the Psychology Department. Zimmerman seemed to have been standing just outside the door listening to the discussion.
She’d had one class with him the semester before last—Social Psychology. He was an older, rumpled, kindly-looking man. Riley knew that Dr. Hayman looked up to him as a mentor—almost idolized him, actually. A lot of students did too.
Riley’s own feelings about Professor Zimmerman were more mixed. He’d been an inspiring teacher, but somehow she didn’t relate to him the way most others did. She wasn’t sure exactly why.
Hayman explained to the class, “I asked Dr. Zimmerman to stop by and take part in today’s discussion. He should really be able to help us out. He’s just about the most insightful guy I’ve ever known in my life.”
Zimmerman blushed and chuckled a little.
Hayman asked him, “So what do you make of what you just heard from my students?”
Zimmerman tilted his head and thought for a moment.
Then he said, “Well, at least some of your students seem to think there’s some kind of moral difference at work here. If you neglect to help someone and they get hurt or killed, it’s wrong—but it’s all right if there don’t happen to be any bad consequences. But I don’t see the distinction. The behaviors are identical. Different consequences don’t really change whether they’re right or wrong.”
A hush fell over the classroom as Zimmerman’s point started to sink in.
Hayman asked Zimmerman, “Does that mean that everybody here should be wracked with guilt right along with Riley and Trudy?”
Zimmerman shrugged.
“Maybe just the opposite. Does feeling guilty do anybody any good? Is it going to bring the young woman back? Maybe there are more appropriate things for all of us to be feeling right now.”
Zimmerman stepped in front of the desk and made eye contact with the students.
“Tell me, those of you who weren’t very close to Rhea. How are you feeling toward these two friends of hers right now—Riley and Trudy?”
The classroom was silent for a moment.
Then Riley was astonished to hear a few sobs break out in the classroom.
One girl said in a choked voice, “Oh, I just feel so awful for them.”
Another said, “Riley and Trudy, I wish you didn’t feel guilty. You shouldn’t. What happened to Rhea was terrible enough. I just can’t imagine the pain you’re feeling right now.”
Other students echoed their agreement.
Zimmerman gave the class an understanding smile.
He said, “I guess most of you know that my specialty is criminal pathology. My life’s work is about trying to understand a criminal’s mind. And for the last three days, I’ve been struggling to make sense of this crime. So far, I’m only really sure of one thing. This was personal. The killer knew Rhea and wanted her dead.”
Again, Riley struggled to comprehend the incomprehensible …
Someone hated Rhea enough to kill her?
Then Zimmerman added, “As awful as that sounds, I can assure you of one thing. He won’t kill again. Rhea was his target, no one else. And I’m confident the police will find him soon.”
He leaned against the edge of the desk and said, “I can tell you one other thing—wherever the killer is right now, whatever he’s doing, he’s not feeling what all of you seem to be feeling. He is incapable of sympathy for another person’s suffering—much less the actual empathy I sense in this room.”
He wrote down the words “sympathy” and “empathy” on the big whiteboard.
He asked, “Would anybody care to remind me of the difference between these two words?”
Riley was a bit surprised that Trudy raised her hand.
Trudy said, “Sympathy is when you care about what somebody else is feeling. Empathy is when you actually share somebody else’s feelings.”
Zimmerman nodded and jotted down Trudy’s definitions.
“Exactly,” he said. “So I suggest that all of us put aside our feelings of guilt. Focus instead on our capacity for empathy. It separates us from the world’s most terrible monsters. It’s precious—most of all at a time like now.”
Hayman seemed to be pleased with Zimmerman’s observations.
He said, “If it’s OK with everybody, I think