Chapter 348: Possession as a Mental Disorder

"So... why would she do this?" T.C. Riordan asked, his face filled with confusion as he tried to recall his few encounters with the medium, Karen.

"Don't get the wrong idea. She wasn't pretending to be your wife because she was interested in you," Jack explained, pulling up a Wikipedia entry on his phone and showing it to everyone.

"Have you ever heard of hysterical possession disorder?"

Everyone looked puzzled.

"It's a type of hysterical mental disorder often tied to superstition, religion, or regional beliefs. People with this disorder usually have a belief in spirits and gods and are highly suggestible."

"When the disorder manifests, patients claim to be gods, spirits, or even deceased souls. They speak in the persona of these beings, often changing their tone of voice to match. The trigger for these episodes is usually intense mental stress or repeated psychological suggestions."

"Mediums, who constantly perform these 'possession' rituals and who immerse themselves in this kind of self-suggestion, are particularly prone to this disorder. Some even develop the disorder and start working as mediums afterward, often calling themselves 'sensitive' individuals."

Jack recalled the conversation he'd had with Karen when she had momentarily believed herself to be Natalie during their discussion.

"So you're saying that her 'possession' by Natalie during the séance was actually a manifestation of her mental disorder?" T.C. Riordan asked, finding it hard to believe.

"You already knew her performance was fake, didn't you?" Jack smiled at him, watching as a sheepish expression crossed Riordan's face, drawing the attention of the others in the room.

"When Karen, speaking in Natalie's voice, accused you of betraying her, you knew the séance was fake because you never betrayed your wife."

"The Natalie that Karen imagined or tried to emulate was pieced together from media reports out of San Francisco. I had a friend look into the old news, and after Natalie's death, it was all over the headlines. Reporters dug up all kinds of rumors, interviewing everyone from Natalie's close friends to her elementary school classmates."

T.C. Riordan's face showed a mix of disappointment and relief as he slumped back in his chair.

"Yes, at first, she did fool me. She talked about many things that Natalie had once said or done, but during the last two séances, I started to notice things weren't right. Last night... I was furious and told her to leave."

Russell, having followed the conversation, nodded in understanding.

"So, Karen believed she had become this imagined version of Natalie. The problem is, she thought that you were having an affair with the housekeeper, Shelby Bryce, not knowing about the surrogacy."

"Naturally, she hated the woman she believed had stolen you away, so she killed her and took the child."

"And taking the ring was part of it, too. She didn't care about the ransom. Her real target all along was Natalie's wedding ring. To her, it probably held special significance."

"Hubble is in serious danger, isn't he?" T.C. Riordan suddenly stood up, looking at everyone with a desperate plea in his eyes.

"Please, find him quickly. Don't let that madwoman hurt him. I beg you."

Detective James Bryce called over a police officer. "Escort Mr. Riordan home. I'll arrange for a team to watch over the house and keep him safe."

As they watched T.C. Riordan leave, the group moved to another meeting room. Russell pulled out a paper map and laid it out on the table.

"The metal fragments found on Karen's bed have helped us narrow the location to the northeastern suburbs of Las Vegas, but the area is large and full of abandoned buildings. With the power still out, Detective Bryce's men are stretched thin, busy maintaining public order. We need to further narrow down the search area."

Before he could finish, Sara Sidle entered the room. "I might be able to help."

"Nick and I examined the man in the red hat. His name was Trevor Raymond, and one of his fingerprints had the same tented arch pattern as those found on Karen's headboard and the bloody note. So we've confirmed that he was Karen's accomplice—a former magician."

Jack scrolled through his phone, struggling with the small screen due to the power outage, which made looking up information a hassle.

"Got it. Karen used to work as a magician's assistant, performing in casinos," Jack said, relieved that things were starting to come together. Russell clicked his tongue in frustration.

"It's a shame we can't access the local database with the power out. Karen's registered address is still in San Francisco."

Sara then pulled out an evidence bag. "We found this at Trevor Raymond's home. It's a wire transfer receipt showing an amount of $10,000."

"Take a look at the signature," she pointed out.

Jack shone his flashlight on the signature, reading aloud, "Natalie Riordan? This woman is really deep in her delusion."

At that moment, the lights flickered back on, and the computers in the police station started rebooting.

Everyone cheered, as the return of power was perfectly timed. Russell, already heading out, shouted instructions. "Sara, inform Nick. You and Detective Bryce head to the northeastern suburbs. I'll go to the lab and get the exact address and send it to you."

Jack quickly followed, but not Russell—he followed Sara Sidle instead.

Karen Chawla was a dangerous killer, and the CSI team wasn't exactly known for their combat skills. Jack figured it was safer to tag along.

The ride was mostly silent, with only brief discussions about the case. Midway through the journey, Russell sent them the confirmed address.

Karen no longer owned any property, having sold her house years ago. However, under the name of "Natalie Riordan," she had rented a house in the northeastern suburbs, using it as her medium practice.

---

"LAPD! Oops, I mean FBI!" Jack yelled as he kicked open the old wooden door of the house, Glock in hand. It had been a while since he kicked down a door, and in his excitement, he blurted out the wrong agency.

"Karen Chawla! Show yourself!"

"LVPD!" Detective James Bryce, rolling his eyes, raised his gun as he and his team of officers began sweeping through the house, searching room by room.

"Clear!"

"No one here!"

"No sign of the kid!" The officers' shouts cast a heavy pall over the team.

"There's something in here. You'd better come take a look." The voice of the old detective called from the innermost room.

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