About Face

by Fern Michaels

  God! If she only knew. He’d banged Marianne in the courthouse hundreds of times. If anyone knew he’d once done it to her in her office with the American flag spread out beneath them, he would’ve been arrested for defacing the flag. Kind of like his secret hero, Larry Flynt.

  He gave a curt laugh. “This,” he said, patting his crotch, “is yours and only yours. We’ve talked about this before. I promised you, there are no others.” He seriously thought he might choke on his own words. As long as she continued to believe him, he’d keep feeding her his lies.

  She flashed him a look that told him she didn’t believe him. As long as the words didn’t actually come out of her mouth, he’d assume she was as gullible as he thought.

  “What’s next, Robert? We have to hurry. This ferry ride is almost over. I don’t know when we’ll be alone again.”

  “Adam recommended she see Dr. Dewitt. I’m going to call him today. You can say what you want about Adam, but right now he’s doing us a big favor.”

  The ferry was about to dock. “I think the good Dr. Dewitt will follow my instructions to the letter if he wants to continue practicing medicine in the state of Georgia.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He laced an arm around her as they prepared to go ashore. “He specializes in regression therapy. Several years ago, I think the practice started sometime in the mid-fifties, doctors used what they call LSD-25. Evidently this hastened patients on their so-called journey into their past lives.” He secretly thought all this nothing more than bullshit, but if Adam endorsed it, there might be something to it. For once his drug connections were about to prove useful.

  “How’s this supposed to help us?” Eve asked as they walked down the wooden plank.

  “Dr. Dewitt believes RT can actually jolt patients who’ve suffered different forms of amnesia into regaining their memories. And if they don’t experience a full recovery, he feels his patients are able to at least benefit in the sense that they’ve supposedly got a better chance for remembering, I guess it opens the subconscious. At least that’s what I got out of it.”

  “I still don’t get it,” Eve said, as they walked to their cars.

  “Do I have to draw a picture for you? A dose of LSD, a large dose, just might send Ms. Edwards back where she should be, maybe never to return.” He gave her a look he knew would prevent further questioning.

  Eve’s eyes sparkled as she centered her gaze on his own. “Make sure this time, Robert. We don’t have room for another mistake.”

  If anyone were to observe them, they would have thought they were discussing the weather or the latest movie.

  Not in a million years would a bystander believe they were plotting to drive someone insane.

  Anticipating the day’s journey, Casey checked her bag one last time, making sure she’d packed everything she needed.

  Yep, she said to herself as she went through the stacks of clothing. Two pairs of slacks, a sweater, and just in case, a black silk pantsuit, a navy T-shirt and slinky nightgown, and three pairs of lace undies. She stifled a grin. Was she packing for a day at the shrink’s office or for a seduction?

  Flora was busy in the kitchen with Mabel, and Julie had a much-deserved day off. Casey had just learned the poor girl worked fourteen-hour days to make ends meet. Casey knew there was more to her new friend than met the eye. She guessed if Julie wanted to tell her about her life, she would. Until then, Casey would remain quiet and be her friend.

  Her mother hadn’t returned to Swan House. Flora said she told her she wouldn’t leave the hospital until John’s condition improved. She said she intended to spend the night at Worthington headquarters, where John had a small apartment. It makes sense, Casey thought.

  A glance at the clock told her Blake would be there any minute. While a part of her dreaded her appointment with Dr. Dewitt, another part couldn’t wait to get started. The sooner she had answers, the sooner she could get on with her life.

  Just the thought of Blake made her heart start to race. He’d been gentle with her yesterday on the ride home. Not asking questions, just allowing her to relax and, for a short while, enjoy their shared silence. And today, he’d rearranged his calendar for her.

  Hope, it seemed was all she had at the moment. Nothing concrete, or at least not until she became a patient of the great Dr. Dewitt.

  Dewitt, the name rang a bell. She wondered if he’d ever been to Sanctuary. Maybe that’s where she’d heard his name. Maybe he was one of Dr. Macklin’s colleagues.

  Another mystery, Dr. Macklin. He’d been the staff psychiatrist since Casey could remember. On the day of her release, he’d simply disappeared. Blake tried calling his home several times and hadn’t gotten an answer. He’d mentioned a possible stop at Mercy Hospital, where Dr. Macklin worked before coming to Sanctuary. Casey wondered what he’d think of her if he saw her now. After the three short days she had been at Swan House, she wasn’t the same woman who’d left Sanctuary afraid of her own shadow. It seemed so long ago, almost a lifetime.

  A different lifetime, she reminded herself.

  She heard voices below and hurried downstairs, not wanting to keep Blake waiting.

  At the bottom step, she stopped before he noticed her just so she could drink him in unobserved. His dark hair was still wet from his shower, and Casey imagined she could smell his musky aftershave across the room. He wore tan slacks with a red polo shirt. She thought he looked good enough to eat. She must have made a noise because he saw her standing at the foot of the stairs. He walked over to her, his hand outstretched, ready to retrieve her overnight bag.

  “You look great, Casey,” Blake said as he led her to the front door.

  “Thanks.” She was glad now that she’d taken those extra minutes to blow-dry her hair and apply makeup.

  “Here,” Flora said as she hurried out from the kitchen. “Mabel says this’ll keep you from stoppin’ at those ‘horrid fast-food joints’ as she calls ’em. I think she’s got enough here to feed an army.” Flora handed Blake a white wicker basket. Red-and-white-checkered napkins were packed in a side compartment, and a plaid Thermos bottle rested in a special place all its own.

  “Tell her thank you for us, Flora; she certainly didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” Casey said as she waited for Blake to adjust his load.

  “’Twas no trouble. That woman cooks enough to feed the entire island. You two get on now. Call me, Casey, if you need me.”

  “I will. Not to worry,” Casey assured her as she gave her a light hug. She knew Flora was anxious about her, especially after she discovered how much Blake had told her.

  She’d questioned Flora about the police report after Blake brought her home. She had no idea where it could’ve gotten to. She promised to ask Evie as soon as John’s health improved.

  They suffered through another round of hugs, and Casey smiled.

  Blake’s car, what she now knew as a BMW, sat with the trunk open in the driveway. Apparently the VW couldn’t withstand the trip. He packed their baggage along with Mabel’s goodies basket in the trunk and walked around the front to open her door.

  “You all set?” Blake asked, as they buckled in.

  “Yes, just a bit nervous, though.”

  “I would be, too, Casey. If this doctor is as good as Adam says, we could have this all wrapped up in a matter of hours.”

  “I know. I’m just afraid, Blake. Afraid of me, the person I was. Somehow I don’t feel like an evil person. I don’t feel like those women I read about in the news. Do you think I’m right, or is this just more wishful thinking?”

  “I think you’re right. I knew you a bit when you were little, you sure as heck didn’t seem like . . .” He ran a hand through his hair.

  “A murderer? It’s all right, you can say it. I’m sure at seven or eight most killers don’t look like the murderers they’ll later become. I don’t feel like one. How long to Savannah?” she asked, hoping to change the subject. They’d be there soon enough, then
they could explore the dark emptiness of her mind. Until then, she wanted to enjoy the beautiful day, have fun, and be . . . a woman? Maybe what she needed to do was . . . flirt the afternoon away with Blake. Just the two of them, without interruption.

  “Not far. Relax, Casey, while you have the chance.” He reached for her hand and squeezed. He was right. This might be the last peaceful day of her life.

  Dr. Jason Dewitt, graduate of Harvard School of Medicine, admired the framed certificates on his freshly painted walls. Solid oak frames, nothing but the best. An antique desk, a Chinese silk rug and a Tiffany lamp completed the picture of the well-bred young and upcoming professional. Two Queen Anne chairs and a love seat for those patients who felt an upright position prevented them from the total feel of a psychiatrist’soffice were arranged in a comfortable setting, all in hopes of relaxing whoever might be experiencing distress. It sounded pathetic, even to his own professional ears. Experiencing distress. A term learned in medical school. The Easterners liked that term better than nuts or crazy.

  Behind the desk a door led to a large bathroom. A shower, sink, and a full bar assured Dr. Dewitt that even while working, he would have all the comforts of home.

  Almost, he thought as he reached to straighten a perfectly aligned frame. Almost. Grandfather had made sure of it. The Judge as he referred to him. The Honorable William Dewitt. Respected by Savannah’s legal purveyors for over fifty years.

  He walked to the window and examined the view. His office, located on East Bay Street, faced the Old Cotton Exchange building. The riverfront had been turned into a tourist trap. What once constituted Savannah’s downtown now attracted tourists from all over the world. Shops sold the famous pecan pralines and homemade taffy. Local artists displayed their latest creations in stores designed to entice, provoke, and, Jason thought, basically rip off the consumer. Ever since the release of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil Savannah had become the South’s version of Disneyland, where one could, for a price, glimpse inside the private lives of Savannah’s finer and not-so-fine folk.

  He pulled the shade down halfway.

  Seated at his desk, he reviewed his appointment book. Nothing today.

  While the Judge thought setting up his practice in Savannah a smart business move, Jason knew none of the great citizens of the city would want to bare their souls. He’d relented and, against his better judgment, allowed his grandfather to make his decisions as usual. His parents had died in a small plane crash when he was three, and the Judge was the only parent he’d ever known. He’d spent his entire life deferring to him. No more. With the Judge six feet under, he controlled his own destiny. A move to Atlanta should do the trick. Oh, he had a great reputation, patients from all over the country came to see him. He’d helped many people recover from phobias and irrational fears and come to grips with their lives. Past and present. He’d published many papers on that very subject. Yet he wasn’t satisfied. It took more than work to satisfy him. He’d shared that desire with no one, other than the Judge.

  A soft tap on his partially open door brought him out of his reverie.

  He pretended to be absorbed in a medical journal as he gave a quick, “Yes” to the interruption.

  Jo Ella, his receptionist, stood in the hall just outside his office, waiting for him to invite her inside.

  “What is it, Jo Ella?” Jason removed his wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed his temples. The glasses were nothing but a prop. At thirty-three he looked twenty-three. Medium brown hair cut close to his scalp, average blue eyes and not much of a beard gave Jason his look of youth. He hated the fact that nothing about his appearance said “doctor.” He was average in every way. Average height, average build, average everything.

  “You’ve got a call on your private line from a Robert Bentley. He says it’s urgent.”

  “Doctor?” Jo Ella prodded.

  “Uh, yes, take a message.” He looked down at the journal he pretended to read.

  “I did. He said it’s a matter of life and death.” Jo Ella smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth.

  “Isn’t it always?” Jason joined in the receptionist’s unspoken humor.

  “What do you want me to tell him, Doctor?”

  “Put him through.” Jason watched as Jo Ella returned to her desk. When the employment agency sent her over the previous year, Jason had already told Tara Hodges she had the job. Tara was perky, blond, and robust, all the traits he despised in a woman. Until Jo Ella walked in his office, Tara had been perfect because she didn’t appeal to him in the slightest. Jo Ella was his idea of perfection. He’d forgotten all about his promise to Tara and hired the young woman on the spot. When the employment agency called days later to complain, he’d told them to mind their own business and reminded them just whom they were dealing with.

  He looked at the phone on his desk as Jo Ella transferred the call to him. He wondered how this Bentley fellow had found his private number.

  He punched the button and picked up the receiver. He’d worry about it later. “Dr. Dewitt,” he said in his most professional voice.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” the voice said.

  “Who is this?” Dewitt asked, irritated at the interruption.

  “Robert Bentley.” The voice repeated in the same cool tone.

  “And that’s supposed to mean something?” Jason snarled into the phone. He hated game playing. He removed the phone from his ear, ready to slam it back in its cradle, when the voice rose to a shout.

  “Does the name Amy Woods mean anything to you?”

  Jason felt like he’d been sucker punched in the stomach. He swallowed deeply and drew in a breath before asking, “Who are you, and what do you want?”

  “Amy. Ring a bell, Dr. Dewitt?” Bentley prompted.

  Jason saw his entire life flash before him. His plans to relocate to Atlanta down the drain like dirty dishwater. A split-second thought raced through his mind—Thank God the Judge isn’t alive.

  “How much?” he asked. He sounded like the gutter trash that stalked the tourists after dark. Perspiration dotted his upper lip, his Pierre Cardin shirt was suddenly damp with sweat.

  Bentley gave a hearty roar. “I’m not asking for money, Dewitt, at least not yet.”

  Jason took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and blotted his face. “Then what are you asking for?” He hated the way his voice trembled. He sounded like a wimp. Hell, just then he was a wimp.

  “Your services.”

  “Do you need to see a psychiatrist?” He almost felt relieved, but not quite. Bentley had mentioned Amy.

  “Some say I do.” Another peel of laughter.

  “Either you tell me what this is all about or I’m going to hang up.” Right, you chicken shit, right.

  “Robert Bentley. I’m director of Sanctuary in Sweetwater. One of our former patients scheduled an appointment with you.”

  “And?”

  “I need to know when. I’ll hold on. The last name is Edwards.”

  Jason pushed the hold button and saw that his hands were shaking. He couldn’t let Jo Ella see him like this. He buzzed her, something he only did when they were extremely busy.

  “Yes, Doctor?” Jo Ella asked.

  “Uh, yes. I have a new patient. The name is Edwards. When is the appointment scheduled?”

  He heard the shuffle of papers while she searched.

  “Tomorrow morning at ten.”

  “Thanks.”

  He opened his desk drawer and grabbed a bottle of Valium. He swallowed two before he picked up the phone.

  He cleared his throat. “Tomorrow. Ten o’clock.”

  “Wonderful. Now listen and listen good because I’m only going to say this once. Ms. Edwards has suffered trauma-induced amnesia for ten years. She’s never undergone regression therapy of any kind. That’s what she’s coming to you for. While she stayed at Sanctuary we were fortunate enough to have Dr. Philip Macklin on our staff.” The voice paused. “While that name may or may not mean anythi
ng to you, it meant a hell of a lot to the Woods family. He released your friend Amy for a special weekend furlough so she could tell her lover she was pregnant. Seems she never returned. I can’t seem to forget this, nor could the board of directors at Mercy.”

  “I see.”

  “You do? And just how clearly do you see, Dr. Dewitt?”

  “Crystal.” He sighed. “What do you want me to do?” He’d find out just who this bastard was, and he’d be sorry he ever picked up the phone and called him.

  “I think it should be obvious. For reasons that don’t concern you, I want you to assure me Ms. Edwards doesn’t come close to remembering her past. It seems I read somewhere you can treat patients with LSD-25. That would send Ms. Edwards on a trip.”

  “My God! That hasn’t been practiced in years. It’s extremely dangerous to the patient.”

  “We think alike, Dr. Dewitt. I don’t think I need to say more, do you?”

  Jason felt his gut clench and unclench. Damn this man, I’ll kill him if I get the chance.

  “Where am I supposed to get LSD? It’s not like I can write a frigging prescription for it. What guarantee do I have that you’ll keep quiet?” He hated himself for asking the question.

  “Now, now, Doc. Don’t get all huffy on me. I’ve thought of that, too. Tonight when you go home to Grandpappy’s mansion, you’ll get a delivery. Answer the door yourself. The rest should be simple. As far as the guarantee, you can just forget it.” The click on the other end left no room for arguing.

  Son of a bitch!

  Jason hadn’t thought of Amy in years and didn’t want to think about her at all. He’d put that part of his life behind him the day the Judge sent him to Harvard, where he’d worked his ass off to make the Judge proud. And to forget.

  He remembered when his grandfather called him and told him Dr. Macklin had been relieved of his duties and why. The Judge never told him anything more until he died. He’d made Jason promise never to let anything tarnish the Dewitt name, no matter what he had to do. The subtle hint hadn’t gone unnoticed.