The Trap

by Carol Ericson

  Kyra nudged the door with her hip, and the scent of nag champa engulfed her as she stepped inside the waiting room. A small candle burned in the corner, its flame flickering with the breeze from the open door.

  The door to Shai’s inner sanctum stood halfway open, and a low voice floated from that room. “Come on in.”

  Kyra bypassed the button on the wall outside and pushed open the door.

  A small-statured man rose from a cushion on the floor and glided forward, a smile wreathing his face. “Welcome. I’m Shai.”

  Kyra felt his presence like a big, warm hug, and a smile tugged at her own lips as she extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Shai. I’m Kyra.”

  He squeezed her hand between his two soft, chubby ones. “I’m glad you’re here. Don’t worry. You don’t have to sit on the floor—unless you want to. My previous client left an hour ago, and I was meditating.”

  “I’m sorry I kept you late.”

  “No apologies, please.” He flicked his ponytail, laced with gray, over one shoulder. “This is a blame-free, apology-free zone.”

  Kyra suppressed a smile. Jake was right about one thing. He would’ve hated this. Tipping her head toward the door, she asked, “Do you always keep the door to your inner office wide open like that?”

  “Only for my last appointment of the day—and you’re it.” Spreading his hands, Shai said, “Have a seat. Something to drink?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She allowed her own clients to sit where they wanted, although not one of them ever sat in her chair. She would’ve allowed it and incorporated it into their therapy session. She spotted Shai’s place in a second, which had his name written all over it: a comfortable chair, not too deep, with a round table next to it containing a cup of tea and a notebook with a jeweled pen beside it.

  She settled in the oversized chair across from his, and immediately felt its comforting embrace.

  He sank into his own chair. “Tell me what you know about the memory before we start, Kyra.”

  “Apparently, I witnessed my mother’s murder when I was eight years old. I saw the killer. The detective on the scene wanted to protect me, so he never revealed this to anyone. H-he must’ve told me when I was a child that I didn’t see what I thought I saw. I have no recollection of the event, and I have no recollection of ever thinking I saw the killer. I always believed I’d slept through my mother’s murder, and the detective affirmed this over and over throughout my childhood so that it became my truth. It’s what I believed until recently when I saw the original police report from that night with the information that I’d seen the killer—and he’d seen me.”

  Shai steepled his fingers beneath his chin, the expression on his face never flickering. “Did you give a description of the killer in that report?”

  “No.” She rubbed her hands on her slacks. “Does that sound like an impossible task?”

  “The memory exists, whether you can access it or not. It exists. It’s never impossible to reach that memory if your mind is open and you truly want it.”

  “Oh, I want it.” She swallowed her last word. Did she? It could mean the identification of The Player, or it might mean nothing at all. Was she hanging all her expectations on this one memory? What if it didn’t have the desired results? She’d have nothing. The prospect of recovering the memory gave her hope. The reality might dash all that hope.

  When she met Shai’s sparkling eyes, slightly turned up at the corners, she knew he’d read every thought that had crossed her mind.

  “Do you want it, Kyra?”

  She grabbed the overstuffed arms of the chair and straightened her shoulders. “I do.”

  “I assume you’ve been hypnotized before, as you’re a therapist yourself.” Shai reached over the side of his chair, took a sip of tea and picked up the ornate pen.

  “Yes, I’ve been to a few workshops and underwent hypnosis as part of the sessions.” She held up a hand. “Before you ask, yes, I’m susceptible.”

  “Good.” The pen winked in the low light as he waved it at her. “Make yourself comfortable. Release your grip on the chair. I’m going to record our session. Is that all right with you?”

  “Fine.” Kyra flexed her fingers and then unzipped one of her boots. “Okay to remove my shoes?”

  “Whatever works for you.” He aimed the pen at a couch. “You can lie down if you like.”

  “I prefer this chair. I could get lost in this chair. I need one of these in my office.”

  “Nice, isn’t it?” Shai’s eyes twinkled. “One of my secret weapons.”

  Kyra removed her boots and tucked one foot beneath her thigh, relaxing against the cushions. “I’m ready.”

  Shai held up the gleaming pen. “Another one of my secret weapons. I’d like you to watch it and listen to my voice. Sink into that chair, relax. Unclench every muscle. Clear your mind. Start breathing deeply.”

  Focusing on the pen that gleamed in the semidarkness, Kyra pulled in a long breath through her nose and blew it out through her mouth. Something Quinn’s wife, Charlotte, used to tell her when she’d run to their house away from another foster home flickered across her brain. In with the butterflies, out with the bees. A smile touched her lips. Were Quinn and Charlotte together now?

  Shai’s voice soothed her nerve endings. “You’re so at ease now, so relaxed. You’re warm and comfortable. Your mind is open. Your eyes are starting to get heavy. It’s all right. You can close them.”

  The glow of the jeweled pen got blurry, as Kyra’s eyelids fluttered. She’d entered a dark, safe space where Shai’s voice guided her.

  “You’re eight years old, Kyra. You’re Marilyn now. Your mother calls you Mimi. You’re living with your mother. It’s the end of the summer. Hot. Do you remember?”

  Her chin dropped to her chest. “Hot. Santa Ana winds. I’m going to start third grade in a week. I like school.”

  “Good. You live alone with your mother, but there’s someone else there that night.”

  Kyra’s eyelids flicked. “That night?”

  “The night your mother was murdered.”

  The darkness became a tunnel, and she was rushing toward a pinhole of light that grew larger and larger as she tumbled through the space. The light blinded her and she squeezed her eyes tight. “Someone killed my mom.”

  “That’s right, Mimi. You were there. You saw him. Do you remember?”

  A sharp crack had her scrambling from her bed. Sometimes Mom had friends over—sleepy-eyed men who smiled at her over their morning coffee before they left and she never saw them again. Could Mom be seeing one of those friends tonight?

  She crept toward her bedroom door and eased it open. It creaked. Through the crack, she saw Mom on the floor, along with a broken vase—a pretty blue vase that Mom bought cheap at the Salvation Army because the color matched their eyes. Mom always said her eyes would make her a famous actress.

  Those eyes now bulged from their sockets as Mom clawed at the gloved hands around her throat. The man on top of Mom had something on his head. A white cap? A stocking?

  Turn around. Turn around. “Turn around.”

  The room spun, and Mimi tried to keep her eyes on the man’s head. Her vision narrowed, and the tunnel sucked her back into the darkness. “Turn around.”

  “Kyra?”

  Her eyelashes fluttered, and she focused on Shai’s face. “I was there. I saw him, but he wouldn’t turn around.”

  “Do you think that’s what happened that night? He never did turn around. You never got a look at his face.”

  She shook her head...hard. “He turned around. I know he did. I expected him to, but I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t prepared to see him. I noticed he had his head covered with something white or flesh-colored—a cap or maybe a stocking.”

  “Maybe he pulled a stocking over his face. Maybe that’s
why your description to the detective was confusing.” Shai hunched forward, his forearms on his knees. “How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She glanced at Shai’s magic pen. “Sh-should we try again?”

  He smiled. “Next session.”

  Kyra stretched her legs in front of her and then pulled on her boots. “Thanks, Shai. I’m confident I can get there.”

  “So am I. You’re a good subject. Most therapists are.” He pushed to his feet and tossed his pen onto his desk. “Anything for the road? Water? Coffee?”

  “My road’s not that long. I’m over in Santa Monica, but thanks.” She hitched her purse over her shoulder. “You’re staying? I thought I was your last client tonight.”

  “Just some work to finish up, and I prefer doing it here rather than at home.”

  Kyra paid for her session, and they scheduled another in two days. She waved at Shai on her way out of the office as he stood by the doorway of his therapy room.

  Those clouds from earlier had made good on their promise, and raindrops splattered against the pavers in the courtyard and pinged against the pool of water in the fountain. The heels of her boots clicked as she walked down the sidewalk of the short, empty street that led to the busier San Vicente, where she’d left her car.

  As she passed the corner of one building, a slick sound, like someone moving in a wet jacket, caught her attention. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she reached into her pocket for her pepper spray. Before she could start to pivot on the toes of her boots, an arm came around her from behind and crooked around her throat.

  A muted whisper touched her ear. “Now I’m gonna do you like I did your mother.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kyra’s muscles coiled and her gaze dropped to the arm in the black jacket that had a stranglehold around her neck. A black glove covered his hand. She tried to twist her head, but the pressure increased. The man’s other arm pinned her right arm against her side, and she couldn’t get to her purse...or her gun.

  But the fingers of her left hand curled around her pepper spray. She wheezed as her attacker squeezed tighter, and she slipped her thumb beneath the release on the canister. In one fluid movement, she pulled her hand from her pocket, aimed the pepper spray over her shoulder and pressed the button.

  Immediately, his grip slackened and he hacked. Again, she tried to turn around to get a look at him, but he pushed her hard to the ground. As she hunched on her hands and knees, sucking in air, her assailant stomped on her back and she collapsed.

  Still coughing, the muffled sound telling her he had a mask or covering over his face, he kicked her in the side. As she tried to roll over, like a turtle trying to gain purchase, a man’s voice rose above the sound of her own harsh breathing.

  “Hey, hey. What’s going on? Stop!”

  Her attacker abandoned his half-hearted efforts to kill her and ran. She felt the whoosh of his jacket as he took off, and she curled into a fetal position.

  She needed help. She needed Jake.

  * * *

  JAKE CAREENED ONTO San Vicente and made a beeline for the emergency lights. Kyra had been calm and coherent on the phone, but her voice sounded like that of a three-pack-a-day, thirty-year smoker.

  He didn’t bother trying to head down the small street off the boulevard, so he parked his car at the corner and jogged toward the two patrol cars and the ambulance. This street contained small office buildings and businesses, not residences, so the crowd of people rubbernecking was smaller than it might have been.

  His pace quickened when he saw Kyra sitting in the back of an ambulance, her legs dangling over the back bumper. A small man with a ponytail held her hand.

  Jake started talking before he reached them. “Are you all right? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

  She reached out to him with her other hand, a white bandage wrapped around it. “I’m okay.”

  “You sound...rough. He tried to choke you? What happened to your hand?” He took it gently in his own and traced a finger around the bandage.

  “He did choke me. Came at me from behind, and I scraped my hand when I went down.” She tried a wink and failed. “But you know me. I never walk alone without a few weapons on me. I got him with my pepper spray.”

  “Good for you. Did you get a look at him? Did anyone?” He held his breath and glanced at the little man, who smelled like incense.

  “I saw his arm as he wrapped it around me—black jacket with a black glove. I could tell from his hold on me that he was about average height, not quite six feet tall. I know he was wearing some kind of mask because his whisper and his cough sounded muted, and I don’t think he could’ve made a renewed attack on me if the pepper spray had hit him full-on in the face.”

  “Renewed attack?” Jake’s pounding heart picked up speed and he turned to the man with the ponytail. “Did you see him?”

  “No, I came out later when I heard the commotion.”

  “Sorry.” Kyra drew back into the ambulance so Jake could get a better look at the man. “Jake, this is Dr. Shai Gellman. Shai, this is Detective Jake McAllister.”

  Jake gripped Shai’s pudgy hand but didn’t squeeze too hard. “Thanks for coming to her assistance.”

  “I’m afraid all I did was offer moral support.” Shai pointed to a couple talking to an LAPD officer. “They’re the ones who stopped the attack.”

  Jake squinted at the pair. “Did they see anything?”

  “Just a man attacking me, but they scared him off.” She nudged him. “Go talk to them and the officers. Shai will stay with me, and the EMT is hovering, waiting to prod me with more instruments.”

  Jake nodded to the EMT on his way to the couple and the patrol officer. He flipped open his wallet to flash his badge. “LAPD Homicide Detective Jake McAllister.”

  “Homicide?” The woman’s gaze darted to Kyra, and she clutched her throat in just about the same area where Kyra’s sported angry, mottled flesh. “Isn’t she okay?”

  “She’s fine, but her attack is related to a series of homicides. I know you answered the officer’s questions, but did you see the attacker?”

  The tall, gangly man jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I was picking my wife up from her realty office and walking her to my car that I’d left on San Vicente. There’s never enough parking on this street. We saw that woman on the ground by the corner of the building, and a man was standing over her, kicking her.”

  Hot rage thumped through Jake’s veins. “Did you see his face?”

  “He was wearing a mask, like a ski mask with slits for his eyes and mouth.” The woman covered her face with her hands.

  The man continued. “I yelled at him. He didn’t even look up. He swung around and took off running. I—I would’ve followed him, but I didn’t know if he had a gun or a knife.”

  “No, you did the right thing. Did he run toward San Vicente?”

  “He ran between those two buildings. That’s where I was thinking he was probably hiding. The woman said he surprised her from behind.” The guy draped his arm around his wife, who shivered from the rain, or fear. “Did he mug her or something? My wife said I was crazy for picking her up on the nights when she closed out the office by herself because this is a safe area, but you never know, do you?”

  “You don’t. Keep picking up your wife.” Jake clenched his jaw. If he’d been at the appointment with Kyra, this never would’ve happened.

  Jake questioned the couple for several more minutes, and then turned his attention to the officers who arrived on the scene first. They’d canvassed the area and found no other witnesses. Shai only came out when he heard the man yelling at Kyra’s assailant. He’d seen nothing.

  One of the officers mentioned a camera outside a bank on San Vicente, but as the attacker didn’t leave that way, it wouldn’t do much good. With a glance at Ky
ra, still under the ministrations of the EMT, Jake swept aside the fronds of a large sago palm and crept toward the area between the two buildings.

  The guy could’ve easily hidden here, waiting for Kyra, stepped out and secured her around the neck. He could’ve killed her on the sidewalk, or more likely, could have dragged her back here, out of sight.

  He followed the path between the two buildings, which led to a small parking lot. He looked for cameras but found none. The lot abutted the sidewalk of another street. The attacker could’ve run in several directions.

  When he went back to the street where Shai’s office was located, the couple had left and the sparse crowd that had gathered had dispersed. The cops had waited for him and promised to send him their report when they had it ready to go.

  Jake talked to the EMTs, who were about to release Kyra, and then he and Kyra walked Shai to his car before turning toward San Vicente together.

  When they reached the corner, Kyra grabbed his arm. “You know it was The Player, right? He told me he wanted me dead like my mother. If I hadn’t maced him first and that couple hadn’t been coming down the street, I’d be dead.”

  The same thought had been circling in his brain ever since she’d called him to tell him about the attack. He couldn’t deny it, and the words he whispered to her proved it. “How did he know you were here? Who knew you were going to see Shai?”

  “You, me, Shai and—” her eyes grew big and her body stiffened “—Captain Castillo.”

  “That’s right. You did tell Castillo.”

  “I—I felt he had a right to know.” She pressed a hand against her lower back, where The Player had kicked her, and grimaced. “Captain Castillo is not The Player. If I’d seen my mother’s killer and then the same guy waltzed in for the 911 call, I’d have known him then.”

  “I never thought Castillo was The Player, but how did The Player find out about Shai Gellman?” They’d started walking again, and Jake’s legs felt like wooden posts beneath him. Could The Player really be a cop? Who else would Castillo tell, and why?