The Sixth Kind Chapter 06

The Sixth Kind Chapter 06

I splashed water on my face. Rinsed my mouth. Got myself together.

Vincent handed me a glass of warm water. His voice was full of guilt:

“Grace–I’m sorry. I’m just not good enough. I couldn’t keep your father’s illness under

control.”

I was about to take a sip–just to settle my stomach–

“You little bitch! I’ll kill you!”

My father, Thomas Clark, burst into the room.

He was faster than I’d ever seen him. The hate in his eyes–like ten years of rage finally had

an outlet. His fingernails were cut short, but the force when they hit my throat–he wanted

to crush my windpipe.

This time–I didn’t just take it.

The second he lunged, I sidestepped. Grabbed his wrist. Used his own momentum against

him. Put him on the ground.

His face hit the cold tile. He was still yelling. Spit flying everywhere.

All those years–working alone, hunting for answers, putting myself through school–you

think I’d still be alive if I didn’t know how to fight?

“Murderer! It’s all your fault! Die! Just die!”

He was sobbing with rage. His eyes were bloodshot. Veins popping in his forehead like

worms.

I held his wrist. Felt his pulse hammering. This wasn’t some crazy person’s random rage. This was targeted. Focused. Personal.

Something wasn’t right.

A truly crazy person doesn’t hate one person with that much precision for ten years straight.

Vincent called the nurses. They restrained Thomas with a leather harness. Put gauze in his

mouth. Started to wheel him out.

“Please–don’t take him yet. I need to talk to him.” I flexed my wrist. Pointed to the couch.

Vincent blinked. Then smiled. “Dr. Clark–you’re not going to try to reason with a crazy

person, are you?”

His smile was easy. Natural. Even a little rueful. That “there you go again” tone. The same

gently patient way he’d always treated me all these years.

But right then–I realized something. That gentleness? It never wavered. Not once.

“What if he’s not crazy at all?” I said, staring straight at Vincent.

Vincent’s smile didn’t disappear. It just froze–for a fraction of a second.

So fast, if I hadn’t spent years training myself to read micro-expressions, I would’ve missed it.

“You think he’s faking?” Vincent looked genuinely shocked. Even furrowed his brow in

confusion.

“A person with a severe, deteriorating mental illness–how could he have such precise logic

and follow-through? Right, Dad?”

Thomas thrashed. Screamed through the gauze. His eyes were about to pop out of his head.

The restraints bit into his clothes. He was like a fish on a dock, flopping and gasping.

“Mentally ill people can still be expert chess players, Grace.” Vincent’s voice was calm. Like

he was answering a question in class.

“Your father’s illness is well-documented. Multiple behavioral assessments. And it’s not just

my opinion.”

I crouched down. Looked Thomas in the eye. “See, Dad? Those clinical psych books you

read? They paid off. You fooled everyone.”

“A minute ago–I saw your eyes. They gave you away.”

“I didn’t figure it out till I was on my way here. Lily–that stray cat. I know why you killed her.”

“She died the same way as my sister, didn’t she?”

I couldn’t stop the tears. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“Tell me why, Dad.”

Thomas closed his eyes. Tears slipped down his cheeks. He stopped fighting. Just lay there

–empty. Those tears were quiet. But they were heavier than any scream I’d ever heard.

Vincent looked startled. Took a beat. Then, carefully:

“Grace–I think your PTSD is acting up again.”

“I know you’ve spent your whole life believing you killed your sister. I know you want answers.

But just because your father killed a stray cat–and that cat happened to die the same way

–doesn’t mean he’s a murderer……”

That sentence hit me like a slap.

How did Vincent know–that the cat’s death was “the same way” as my sister’s?

A terrible possibility started to form in my head.

And everything–everything–started to make sense.

“But this–this is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?” I said to Vincent. “Right, Vincent?”

Vincent’s face changed. “What are you talking about, Grace?”