Chapter 16

It‘s harder to get into prison than you‘d think. I had to take three separate busses to get there, which unfortunately, gave me plenty of time to think about what I was walking into. I’d never been to prison before—that was a sentence I never thought I’d say—and the trip there felt a lot like I was heading to my own execution.

Which ironically made Kyle my executioner.

The night Agent Walker had come to the station, I’d assured him I wouldn’t go there, that I wouldn’t see Kyle face-to-face. And I’d honestly planned to follow through with my promise. But Kyle’s last phone call had made it practically impossible for me to do so.

You will come and visit me. Or else.

It was a threat I had no desire to challenge him on. So, I’d called the prison and made my plans to visit, despite the warnings I’d been given otherwise. Because I didn’t feel like I had another choice.

If I was being honest, there was a part of me that thought I could reason with him. He was an academic, after all. Maybe if I gave him all the facts, he’d come to the most logical conclusion: that I wasn’t worth focusing on.

Then again, he was also psychotic, so any plans I had could be a crapshoot.

When I finally arrived at San Quentin, the officer assigned to checking in visitors, told me I had to lock up all of my personal belongings—cell phone, wallet, Chapstick, keys—in one of their lockers. I was given a paper with a number on it, the kind you’d get after leaving your jacket at a coat check. Beside the metal grate that separated the officer and me, was a single printout, stating that the prison wasn’t at fault if belongings were stolen.

Somehow that didn’t seem right. We were required to leave our things with them, but we couldn’t expect them not to be stolen? While they were in their custody? If they couldn’t keep people from stealing my wallet while it was locked up, how was I supposed to trust them to keep me safe from the inmates inside?

My nerves began to bubble.

I was escorted through a metal detector, like the ones you saw at the airport. When the alarm didn’t go off, I was ushered inside the gated area and then issued a visitors pass, which displayed my full name, the photo from my driver’s license, the date of my visit and the words VISITOR in big block letters.

Looking down at the pass, I felt like the words should’ve been bright red or covered in neon, just so everyone inside was clear that I didn’t belong there. Unfortunately, I had the feeling that the man to my right, whose hand appeared to be permanently attached to his gun, wouldn’t appreciate my request for a highlighter.

So, I remained silent and tried to stay out of the way as the armed guards checked in another six or seven visitors before bringing us to the first set of metal bars. We’d go through no less than four gates on our way to the visitor’s area, and each time the door clanged behind us, I felt more and more like I might not make it out. A few of those around me looked as shell-shocked as I felt, while some seemed to be old pros. I wondered how long their loved ones had been locked up and why.

The air was stale as we walked down the linoleum-paved hallways, passing the occasional guard along the way. Surprisingly, the interior looked eerily similar to a school when class was in session. Ironic considering so many people described high school as a prison. Except here, there were no lockers and bars covered every window.

When we finally got to the visitors’ room, we all shuffled inside and were asked to sit in a group of chairs located at the back of the room. This was the designated waiting area, a place where we could sit while others finished up their visits.

I’d been nervous about this part. I hadn’t known whether I’d be face-to-face with Kyle in an open room, with only a pair of handcuffs keeping him from attacking me, or separated from him completely. Turns out, in maximum security, inmates were kept behind glass windows and communication was done through black phones placed on the walls. This only gave me a modicum of comfort though, considering I would still be sitting in front of the man who’d stalked me for nearly a year and killed over a dozen girls.

It was at that moment that I began to question whether this had been a good idea after all.

My heart raced as I sat stiffly in the hard plastic chair. I attempted to slow it down by focusing on the one thing that brought me comfort: Ballet. I’d danced already that morning, choosing the afternoon for my visit with Kyle, so I wouldn’t miss class. Only a few weeks were left until our teachers would cast Giselle, and I knew I had to show up, even if doing what Kyle said was vitally important, too.

With my eyes closed, I ran through the scene I’d be auditioning for. It was known as the “mad scene” in the ballet, where Giselle experiences grief over the loss of her true love and dances her way to death. It’s less dance-heavy and relied almost entirely on a ballerina’s acting skills. It wasn’t hard to get into the mindset of feeling helpless while sitting inside these walls, I noted grimly.

“Bryant!” a gruff voice called out across the room

Already? I wasn’t ready for this.

I shot out of my seat, trying to identify where the sound had come from, and finally saw a guard standing over near the wall of cubicles set up for visits. He wrote something on a sheet of paper attached to a clipboard, and then hung it back up on the wall.

I hurried over to him, afraid of pissing him off by keeping him waiting. I was pretty sure he couldn’t punish me the way he could the prisoners, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

“I’m Emmy Bryant,” I said to him meekly.

“Go to slot seven,” he barked. “Your inmate will be along shortly.”

“Okay,” I said, wanting to tell him that Kyle wasn’t my inmate. That we weren’t friends or family, but I couldn’t seem to find my voice.

When the officer saw that I wasn’t moving, he looked back down at me annoyed.

“Do you need something?” he asked.

I flinched before turning away from him. It was becoming clear that it wasn’t just the criminals I needed to watch out for in here.

My body began to shake as I approached slot seven, and I clumsily pulled out the chair and sat down, no longer trusting my legs to hold me up. This was it. I was finally going to confront him.

Demand that I be given my life back.

I looked around the tiny cubicle, noticing all the things past visitors had carved into its walls.

Cee-Cee + Lewis = 4-ever

I was here 2/14/2003

Fuck the police!

He didn’t do it.

The messages went on and on, proof that others had been there before me, that their memories would be etched within these walls forever. It was a pretty heady feeling to know that countless people had waited in this exact spot, probably just as nervous as I was to see the person they’d come for.

I wondered what message I’d leave if I had something to carve into the wood with.

I spotted Kyle as soon as he walked into the room on the other side of the glass. At first I barely recognized him. This version had at least a week’s worth of stubble, his hair was all over the place and he was dressed in clothes that were a couple sizes too big for him. His black-rimmed glasses were gone, giving off a completely different vibe than I was used to.

But then he smiled, and his dimples appeared, and it was him again.

My heart raced and I thought about running. But even if I did, I wouldn’t get very far. The guards had explained that we’d all be escorted back through the gates together. As a group. We were not free to leave at our convenience. That much had been made abundantly clear.

All I’d succeed in doing by running away would be to allow Kyle to continue to stalk me from inside the prison. Placing my hands on the edges of the chair, I gripped the bottom of my seat to ensure that I wouldn’t get up.

Kyle was walking toward me now, shuffling one foot in front of the other. I assumed this was because he was shackled at the ankles, so he wouldn’t be able to flee if given the chance. When he finally stood in front of me, I could see that his hands were also cuffed, a foot-long chain connecting both his wrists and then cascading down to a belt at his waist. He sort of looked like one of those magicians who locked themselves up before being dropped into a water tank. Only, those guys knew how to get out of their chains.

I hoped that Kyle didn’t know the same tricks.

He took his time sitting down across from me, flashing another smile and then attempting to smooth down his hair. It didn’t help. He still looked like the criminal he was. He was no longer the good-looking older man who drove a Prius and taught at the nearby university.

Now he was just a killer.

Kyle didn’t reach for the phone right away, and I didn’t either. It was like we were playing a messed up game of chicken to see who would make the first move. I got the feeling that whoever did would be giving up their control over the situation. So I waited.

And so did he.

For a full ninety seconds, I sat across from Kyle as he stared at me. Smiling. Reveling. Enjoying himself. I could tell he wasn’t surprised to see me. Happy, yes. Surprised, no.

He’d known I would come.

Finally, Kyle picked up the black phone hanging on the wall and placed it against his ear, nodding for me to do the same.

I did, and for the first time in months, I heard Kyle’s voice.

“Emmy,” he said. “It’s really great to see you.”

*          *          *          *

I felt like all the blood had drained from my body. Here was Kyle, in front of me, and talking like we were long-lost friends. It was totally bizarre and infuriating and surreal all at the same time.

When I finally found my voice, I straightened up in my chair, attempting to show a strength I wasn’t feeling.

“I wish I could say the same,” I said, making it clear this was not a friendly visit.

“Awww, don’t be like that, Em,” he answered, cocking his head to the side like he was hurt. I hated that he was calling me by a nickname and cringed as he said it. “Look, I know you’re probably upset by all of this,” he said, gesturing at his surroundings, like it was our current location that had me bothered.

“Um, I think the murder stuff is sorta getting to me more,” I hissed, the hysteria in my voice betraying me. I fought to regulate my breathing, stay in control. I wanted him to know that he didn’t have power over me.

He paused and searched my face.

“You don’t really believe I did it, do you?” he asked quietly.

“Kyle, I saw what you wrote about me in your diary,” I said, staring straight at him, daring him to challenge me. “How could I believe anything you say anymore?”

His smile slid into a frown. Without his dimples, he looked every bit as dangerous as he was supposed to be. I started to wonder if the glass was enough to keep him from getting at me. What if he went ballistic and threw himself at it? Would it break under the pressure? I imagined him bursting through the glass and wrapping his hands around my throat, squeezing the life out of me before the guards could get to him…

I knew it was unlikely, but I leaned farther back in my seat anyway.

“You read my diary?” he asked, clearly upset. “Nobody was supposed to read that. It’s private.”

“It was also made up,” I said. “At least the parts about you and me were. I’m not so sure about the murders, though.”

“Those were my private thoughts!” Kyle yelled into the phone.

I flinched from the outburst and saw a guard take a few steps toward Kyle, who quickly apologized and told him everything was cool.

Everything was definitely not cool.

“I just wanted to remember all the good times we had together, Em,” he said, his voice quiet again, pleading. “You have to believe me. I never would’ve shared our intimate moments with just anyone. Our relationship is too special to cheapen it like that. I was just trying to…chronicle our love somehow.”

It was mind-boggling to sit here and listen to him talk like this. Recall his own twisted reality. He really thought something had happened between us.

“Kyle,” I said, clipped. “We never had a relationship. I pumped your gas. You stopped by my apartment a few times without being invited. That stuff you said happened in your diary? It didn’t. You made it up. It was all a bunch of lies.”

I’d been nervous to talk to him before, scared by how he might react. But now I was just pissed. I’d tried to be nice about it, spare his feelings, but I no longer cared. Well, maybe he’d respond to the brutal truth better. After all, what could he really do to me locked up like he was?

“You’re just mad that I left you behind,” Kyle said, shaking his head. “But I told you, I’m sorry for that. I wanted to come and see you for weeks, but then all this happened and I couldn’t.”

“You think this is because you haven’t been by?” I asked. “Kyle, that’s exactly what I want. I don’t want you contacting me. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want your letters or your phone calls. I need you to forget I ever existed. Can you do that?”

His lips spread into a sly grin.

“Now why would I want to do that?” he asked simply.

I opened my mouth to start arguing with him again, but realized it was pointless to argue with a crazy person. Unleashing my anger hadn’t done much good so far and I was starting to lose steam. I had one last tactic to use: reason.

“If you really care about me, you’ll do what I’m asking,” I countered.

This seemed to silence him for a moment as he thought about what I’d said.

“There’ve been no other women who’ve mattered to me except for you, Emmy. You’re different. Special,” he said, winking at me. I resisted the urge to vomit. “That’s why I can’t possibly let you go.”

“You have to, Kyle!” I said loudly. I was sure others in the room could hear me, but I didn’t care. “Please get this through your head: I. Don’t. Love. You. We will never be together. And from here on out, you don’t even exist to me. I will change my mailing address. I’ll get an unlisted number. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re out of my life forever. Do you understand me?”

Kyle’s face suddenly went dark and he pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at me like I was a stranger. I didn’t care if I’d made him upset. I’d never wanted to be the object of his affection in the first place.

“I thought you were different,” he said, after placing the phone back to his mouth.

“I guess you were wrong,” I said, stonily.

But inside, the tears were building up, making my throat and temple hurt like an emotional headache. I hadn’t even been aware it was happening, until it was almost spilling out of me.

I started to hang up the phone in an effort to get away without him seeing me cry, but Kyle placed his hand on the glass between us.

“Emmy?” he asked, before breaking out into another blinding smile. I brought the phone back to my ear carefully.

“You’re really lucky that I’m in here and not out there with you right now.”

*          *          *

I’m not sure how many minutes passed as I sat in one of those plastic chairs in the waiting area, just wishing I could leave. But I’d been instructed to sit down until the guards could round everyone up in my group, and that’s what I’d done. All I could do was choose a seat facing away from the visiting windows so I wouldn’t have to see Kyle anymore. And he wouldn’t have the luxury of seeing me either. This was a bonus, because I was full-on sobbing. And I didn’t want Kyle to get any satisfaction out of knowing that he could affect me.

I stared down at my hands because I had nothing else to keep me busy. All of my belongings were in a locker five metal gates away, and this wasn’t like a waiting room at the dentist, so there weren’t any magazines to get lost in. I didn’t want to look around the room. I just wanted to cry in private.

I began to trace the lines on my hands, just to give myself something to do, other than to have a panic attack.

Kyle had just threatened me. A serial killer had just threatened me. How was I supposed to wrap my head around something like that? And even worse was the knowledge that I might’ve made things worse.

As I circled my finger around my palm, a white sheet appeared on top of it, covering my diversionary tactics.

“Thought you could use this,” a voice said from above me.

I sniffed, trying to will the tears and snot back into my face. Without looking at my savior, I took the Kleenex and wiped my eyes and then blew my nose. Finally when I was considerably less drippy, I looked up to see a man smiling at me.

He hadn’t arrived with our group, so he must’ve just gotten there. He was older than me by about twenty years and had short brown hair with specks of gray sprinkled throughout it. When he smiled, his mouth was nearly lost behind a close-cropped but patchy beard. With eyes that crinkled up at the edges, he reminded me of an indie version of my dad.

“Thanks,” I said. “Sorry. I’m sort of a mess.”

He waved his hand. “People usually are their first time visitin’,” he said with a slow drawl. Then he gestured to the chair next to me. “Mind if I sit?”

I looked around the room and saw that almost all of the other chairs were full now.

I nodded. “Sure,” I said. “Is it that obvious? That it’s my first time, I mean.”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve all been there,” he said, easily. Then, after a pause, he added, “I couldn’t help but notice that you just met with Kyle Grafton.”

I froze. Was this guy a reporter? Related to Kyle? Why was he talking to me? My alarms went up and I stiffened in my seat.

“Yeah,” I said carefully. “Why do you want to know?”

“It’s just that, well, I know Kyle, too,” he said, turning to look back in the direction of where I’d just come from. “We were sort of friends a long time ago.”

“Mmmm,” I said, not sure whether this info should worry me or not. I mean, what did it say about someone when they were friends with a serial killer?

“We lost touch after grade school,” he explained as if reading my mind. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard he’d been arrested. At first I thought it was a joke. But then, things started to click and I began to wonder…” he said, staring off into space. “You must think I’m a horrible friend, thinking the worst of him.”

He sounded embarrassed, guilty even, for abandoning a friend in need.

I shook my head. “The evidence is pretty bad,” I offered. “Sometimes we don’t always know people as well as we think we do.”

“True. But, I still think I should’ve known,” he said. “Maybe if I’d paid more attention, stayed in better touch over the years, I could’ve somehow stopped all of this. I mean, it’s all so messed up.”

“I’m not sure it would’ve helped,” I said, sniffling.

“How do you know Kyle, if you don’t mind me asking?” the guy asked after a moment.

I sighed. I didn’t want to make him feel any worse, but I also didn’t want to be rude. I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like if I found out that Zhara had committed some awful crime. How much responsibility I’d harbor over it.

“Kyle used to come to the gas station where I work and he sort of became…interested in me,” I said, choosing my words carefully.

The look on the guy’s face before he buried his head in his hands was one of utter horror. “Jesus. I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” he mumbled, and then sat back up defeated. “He didn’t hurt you did he?”

I shook my head.

“That’s why I’m here,” I said honestly. “To tell him to leave me alone. I just want to forget any of this happened…”

“I want answers,” he confessed to me. “This isn’t the guy I knew. I can’t figure out what happened that would make him do all those awful things.”

“Well, maybe you’ll have better luck with him than I did,” I said.

One of the guards called out the names within our group to let us know that we’d be leaving to go back to the prison entrance soon. It was all I could do not to run to the door and push my way out.

“He didn’t give you any kind of explanation then?” he asked.

“I wasn’t exactly looking for one,” I said. “I just want him to let me go.”

Another call for our group and this time I stood up.

“Well, I gotta go. Good luck,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Thanks,” he said. “And I really am sorry for what Kyle has put you through. If I can ever be of any help, please don’t hesitate to ask. It’s the least I can do.”

He walked me over to the guard and convinced the man with the clipboard to write down his number in case I wanted to get in touch with him at a later date. The guard looked like he had no desire to grant his request, but in the end, scratched down the number anyway, growling that he’d give it to me on my way out.

“My name’s Levi,” the man said, reaching out to shake my hand.

“Emmy,” I responded, before trudging slowly back to freedom.