About Face

by Fern Michaels

Blake embraced her in a compassionate hug and smoothed sweaty tendrils of hair behind her ears.

  “Shhh. It’s all right. Try and relax.” He rubbed the lower part of her back in soothing, circular motions. Casey felt herself relax at his touch and leaned into him.

  Hesitant to leave Blake’s embrace, Casey knew he must think her an idiot. He patted her as if she were a child. She pulled away, brushing her tear-stained face with the palm of her hand.

  “I’m sorry. I rarely cry.” She laughed. “At least I never did at Sanctuary. The past twenty-four hours is a different story.” She sniffed, and Blake offered her a tissue.

  Leaning against the examination table, Blake crossed his arms in front of him and waited.

  “Want to explain this?” He nodded at her disheveled appearance.

  “I’m sure it was an accident. I went to Haygood’s. I decided not to apologize to Brenda. Or at least not yet. Instead I went shopping.” Casey blotted her eyes.

  “That’s a very normal thing for a woman to do. But I don’t think the prices at Haygood’s are so terrible they’d make you cry.” Blake grinned.

  She laughed. “I wouldn’t have anything to compare them with. It all happened so fast, I’m not sure if I imagined it or not.”

  “If these injuries are supposedly imagined, you’ve done an excellent job. Maybe I can hire you to ‘unimagine’ some of my patient’s ailments. Now, do you want to tell me how you came to have all these scrapes and bruises? I know Laura can be an old hag when she wants to be, but I don’t think she did this to you.” Casey heard the humor in his comment. Suddenly, her ordeal didn’t seem so terrifying.

  “You’re right, she didn’t. And I’m not sure who did.” Casey explained to Blake how she’d stepped off the sidewalk onto the pavement right into the path of an oncoming car.

  “Did the car actually hit you?” Blake asked.

  “I’m not sure. The next thing I knew I was lying on the sidewalk. I remember looking around to see if anyone would come to help me, but no one did.” Casey shook her head in disbelief. “What kind of people live here, Blake?”

  “You mean no one bothered to see if you were all right?”

  “No. Oh, they might’ve watched me crawling around on all fours and figured it out then, but right after I hit the pavement, I saw Laura. She simply watched. And Brenda, she must’ve just finished with her luncheon engagement. She saw me, too. And the girl. There was a young girl on a bike—she looked at me and kept on going.”

  “Right now I’d like to look at your wounds.” Blake was the professional again, all talk of her accident put on hold for the moment.

  “Why should I mind, you’re a doctor, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I just wasn’t sure how you felt about doctors at the moment.”

  “You’re not like the doctors at Sanctuary.”

  Blake removed Betadine, a package of sterile gauze, tape, and scissors from a drawer.

  “How do you know?”

  Casey thought for a minute.

  “Women’s intuition, I guess. I don’t seem to recall you saying you practiced psychiatry, so that pretty well tells me something.”

  Blake gently pulled her blouse away from her scraped flesh.

  “Ouch!”

  “Sorry, just a little more.” Blake tugged at the material.

  Blake ran his fingers through his dark hair. For a moment Casey thought of the handsome doctor from ER. George Clooney. That’s who he reminded her of. She told him so.

  “Well, unlike the hospital hunk you watch on television, this doc doesn’t have any magical potions to get this blood-crusted blouse off without hurting you. Would you mind going into the patient’s dressing room and taking it off? It probably won’t hurt as badly if you do it yourself, you know, kind of like yanking a Band-Aid off.”

  “Sure. Lead the way.” Casey slid off the table, and Blake pointed to a room at the end of the hall, no bigger than a closet. A bench held a stack of disposable gowns and a box of Kleenex. She peeled the peach creation away from her skin in seconds. Wrapping the paper gown around the lacy scrap her mother called a bra and suddenly anxious to leave the small confined room, Casey hurried back to Blake’s examination room, bloody shirt in hand.

  Blake patted the table, indicating she should climb up.

  “If you’ll just lie on your stomach, I’m going to clean your wounds. You’re still bleeding, so I’m going to clean around the wounds, not inside them. The blood removes the dirt as it flows, so chances for infection are slim. Tell me if it stings, and I’ll stop.”

  Casey tensed as Blake doused her back with disinfectant. What she thought were surface cuts apparently went much deeper.

  “Almost finished,” Blake said.

  She relaxed. Closing her eyes, Casey let Blake bandage her wounds. A slight sting here and there, but certainly nothing she couldn’t stand.

  Blake’s hands were no longer on her back. She felt his slight touch as he examined her cuts from yesterday.

  “Casey, what happened here?” he asked, pointing to her arms, then taking a tweezer as she had done yesterday. She felt a slight pinch as he removed a shard of glass. She wasn’t sure if she should tell Blake about the previous day or not. She’d put it behind her.

  Pushing up on her elbows, she looked at Blake, who stood at the head of the table, hands folded across his chest. She knew her feeling of trust wasn’t misplaced. She could tell this man her secrets.

  “I found a bottle of lotion; it was gardenia, my favorite scent. I rubbed it on the back of my arms and legs. It . . . the jar had glass inside.” Casey hoped he believed her.

  “Who did it belong to?” Blake’s gaze darkened at her words.

  Casey laughed. “I’m not sure. Flora suggested I take a hot bath. I’d had a . . . I don’t know, I guess you doctors would call it a ‘spell.’ It shook me up. Flora ran a hot bath for me. I’d noticed a basket of gardenia soaps. Because it’s my favorite scent, I asked Flora about it. She said Mother bought the soap.”

  Blake inspected the previous day’s damage. Retrieving a box of round Band-Aids, he stuck several on her arms.

  “Looks like you’ll live.”

  “I’m glad for the prognosis. However, I have another dilemma.” She slid off the table.

  Blake, deep in thought, looked right through her.

  “And that is?” He’d heard her after all.

  “My blouse. Here.” She handed Blake the bloody material.

  Casey felt the floor swim beneath her. Grabbing the edge for support, she was too late as she fell to the floor.

  Dim lights whirled before her eyes. She thought of Dorothy. Was this how she felt when she received that knock on the head? The room was spinning out of control. She’d just entered the Land of Oz. . . .

  Hands ripped the wet gown from her body. She was nude and trembling. A woman led her down a dark hall. A metal door to their right opened. Water spewed from the wall. A shower? The woman pushed her forward under the scalding spray. Another woman adjusted the temperature and shoved her beneath the stream of water. A rancid stench filled her nostrils. She held her breath, hoping the smell would go away. A stiff brush was placed in her hand along with a bar of soap. She began to scour her arms and legs. When she reached the V of her body, she took the brush and ran the soap up and down the stiff bristles.

  “Casey, it’s all right. I’m here.”

  Blake removed the ammonium carbonate capsule as Casey came to.

  She was in Blake’s office. He’d been examining her, then her world had gone black. Lifting herself into a sitting position, she saw the worried look on Blake’s face.

  “What happened? What’s that smell?” Her throat felt like sawdust.

  “You fainted. And it’s an ammonium capsule. Smelling salts.”

  “Seems to be a habit these days.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Blake asked, his brow deepening with concern.

  “Yesterday. At Swan House. It happened then.”

&nb
sp; “Here, let me help you,” Blake said as he pulled her into his arms. “We need to talk.”

  He gently lifted her off the floor. Casey was amazed at his strength. He carried her up the stairs as if she were light as a feather.

  She relaxed when he placed her on a beige sofa. Big, soft cushions hugged her. She viewed the room, done in browns and greens. Casey thought the room a reflection of Blake. Masculine, yet gentle. Clay pots of all sizes filled with blooming African violets rested along the windowsill. A forest green recliner sat opposite the sofa. Next to that a brass table lamp held the latest medical journals. The late-afternoon sun streamed in through the sheer curtains at the windows, bathing the room in a cozy afternoon glow.

  “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  She smiled at his order. Moving was the last thing she wanted to do just then. Wrapped in a cloak of comfort, Casey relaxed as she heard Blake in the kitchen opening cabinets and running water. Closing her eyes, she thought she could get used to this. It seemed odd. She felt light and peaceful, her familiar knot of anxiety gone.

  Blake returned, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs and a plate filled with cheese and crackers.

  “Drink this.” Blake handed her a mug of herbal tea.

  “Mmmm, it’s good. I like this.” She took a cracker from the plate and waited for Blake to get comfortable. He sat next to her on the edge of the plush sofa.

  Taking his cup from the tray, Blake swallowed, then turned to her. “Now. Tell me about yesterday, the fainting.”

  “It was just like today. One minute I’m standing there, and the next I’m waking up. There’s not much to it.”

  “Sometimes when people faint, they can actually ‘dream,’ or have flashbacks. Does anything like that happen?”

  Casey considered the possibility. “No, I don’t think I dream. I do seem to be afraid after I wake up. At least yesterday. Today, just tired.”

  Blake paused and took a drink before his next question. “Casey, would you consider undergoing regression therapy? This can sometimes give you a full memory return, or it can nudge you in the right direction.”

  She’d undergone every kind of therapy possible, but didn’t recall this particular name.

  “At this point, I’m willing to try anything. I may have already tried this, I’m not sure. At Sanctuary I was a guinea pig.”

  Blake paced the room. “I remember in medical school, Adam telling me about this ‘regression therapy.’ We suggested it to Evie. She told Adam she’d tell your doctor. Maybe they tried.”

  “Can’t you check my medical records?”

  “Of course, with your permission. You do know what this means, Casey?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your records. If I do this, I’ll be acting solely as your physician.”

  “And? I’m sorry, I don’t get it.” Casey felt ignorant, out of her league.

  “Anything more will have to wait. It’s kind of an unwritten rule I have.”

  He felt it, too. She wanted to shout with happiness. She felt the chances were good with Blake’s medical knowledge her memory would return. Maybe then she would have a chance at a normal life.

  “I understand. Now, I have to go back to Swan House. They’re probably wondering where I’ve been.” Casey leaned forward, placing her mug on the table. When she stood up, she felt another wave of dizziness wash over her and quickly sat down.

  “You’re in no condition to leave. I’ll call Flora, tell her not to expect you for a while. When you feel like it, I’ll drive you home. Doctor’s orders.”

  Casey gave a halfhearted salute. “Yes, sir.”

  Blake carried the tray with him into the kitchen. She could hear him talking on the telephone.

  “Flora says to tell you you’re in good hands. She’ll not worry. Said to tell you Evie is spending the night at the hospital, so no need to hurry back.”

  “What a sweetie she is. I wish I could remember her. I imagine she took very good care of me. Which reminds me, Blake, the reason you asked me to your office in the first place.” She let the statement hang.

  Blake sat in the recliner across from her. Running a hand through his dark curls, he looked like a man torn. “Yes. I’m just not so sure now is a good time.”

  “It was before,” Casey replied.

  “I know. However, as your medical doctor, I’m not sure it’s wise at this point to pursue it.”

  “Look, Blake. I’m twenty-eight years old, a grown woman. I’m not some teenager who’s going to freak out on you. You’ve got to understand, just because I lived at Sanctuary my entire adult life doesn’t mean I need constant protection from the world. Don’t you realize, I’ve witnessed more than most could ever imagine. While Sanctuary might be a privately funded home, trust me, its residents were anything but normal.”

  Blake considered what she’d said. “You’re right. While this goes against my better judgment, as your friend, I can’t find a reason not to show you my father’s file. At least not a physical reason.”

  “There you have it. Now, let’s see what you think is so important.” Casey felt her strength returning, the shakiness gone. She walked over to the windowsill, her back to Blake as she stared down at the beautiful African violets.

  “All right. I’ll just be a minute.”

  Casey turned to face Blake. Something in his voice caused her to pause. Was it that horrible? What could possibly be any worse than spending your entire adult life in a mental hospital? Casey smirked to herself. I know what could be worse, you crazy loon. Not knowing why you were in that crazy house in the first place.

  Blake returned to the living room carrying a thick manila folder. The edges were frayed with age. He placed the file on the coffee table that only moments before held the delicious tea and crackers. Casey looked at the file. The word forbidding came to mind.

  She sat on the sofa and opened the file. She scanned its contents. Some she understood, some she didn’t. Apparently she’d had the usual childhood illnesses. Nothing out of the ordinary. The date of her last visit stood out. October 1, 1978. She read the spidery scrawl of the former Dr. Hunter. Then read it again. Her hands shook as she held the thick folder. She looked at Blake. Her lips moved, but the words never came.

  She dropped the papers to the floor.

  “Who?” she mouthed.

  Chapter 11

  “Apparently my father had his suspicions back then.” Blake took Casey in his arms, forgetting the doctor-patient vow he’d made.

  Casey shook her head and pushed him away. She inhaled, drawing on the techniques Dr. Macklin had taught her. Relax. Exhale. Again. When she felt calm enough to continue, she said, “I would have been nine. What about Mother, did she know?” Casey couldn’t imagine her mother not knowing. Anger started to build in her.

  Swelling in the vaginal area. Patient, age

  nine, had no explanation when questioned

  about tenderness. Will talk to mother.

  “You’ll have to ask her. Or Flora. She usually brought you in for your checkups.”

  “None of this makes sense, Blake. Why wouldn’t my mother take me to the doctor? If I’m right, it means she was more interested in my stepbrother Ronnie than me.”

  “You know about that?” Blake asked her. His voice was full of surprise.

  “Yes. Lilah told me.”

  “Figures. I guess since he was your mother’s first child technically speaking, she may have felt closer to him. It would be natural for her to want to give him that something extra since he’d lost his own mother.”

  Casey thought about what Blake said. He was right. Her mother had taken a child who, according to Lilah, was slow, possibly mentally challenged, and loved him like her own. Losing his own mother must have been devastating for the boy.

  “You’re right. I guess I’m just shocked.” Casey indicated the pile of papers now scattered on the floor.

  “I know. I wish I knew if Dad talked to Evie. I’m sure he must
have. It wasn’t like him not to follow through with something this serious.”

  “You mean the molestation?”

  He looked uncomfortable and nodded.

  “Yes, Casey. If my father’s suspicions were correct, he thought something along those lines may have occurred.”

  “The question is, who?” Why would anyone want to harm a child? She’d spent ten years of her life locked away from society. Had she lost those years because of a deranged pervert?

  “When can I see this doctor who specializes in regression therapy?” Agitated, she paced the room as Blake had minutes before.

  “I’ll check your records at Sanctuary. If they haven’t tried this particular therapy, I’ll have Adam arrange for an appointment.”

  “I’d like to get started as soon as possible.” She wanted to put an end to her life as it had been. She needed to close that particular door, so she could open a new door to the future. A future she hoped would include Blake.

  “I think I should take you back to Swan House. I’ll call Becky later and get a copy of your records.” Blake stooped and gathered the contents of the file. “I’m going to keep this for now. It might be best if you didn’t mention any of this to anyone until we’re sure.”

  “But, I thought . . .”

  Blake placed the papers back on the desk. He pulled Casey to him. “Shhh.” He smoothed the nape of her neck and continued to hold her. I could stay this way forever, she thought as she buried her face against his shoulder. She inhaled the clean, spicy scent of his aftershave and simply enjoyed the feel of his arms around her. Casey drew in a deep breath, as Blake lightly kissed the top of her head.

  He gently pushed her away from him, his deep brown eyes traveling over her face, searching. For what? Her heart started to pound, not the sudden frantic pulsing beat caused by her panic attacks. The quickened beats she was experiencing, were from . . . anticipation? She could feel her face redden as Blake continued to stare at her.

  “You better take me home.” Casey stepped out of his embrace and, for a moment, felt an overwhelming emptiness. She wrapped her arms around her middle to insulate the leftover warmth from Blake’s arms.