by Tim Kizer
“Michelle and Norman Keener.”
“When did they adopt Melissa?”
“They say I signed a consent to adoption form one month after Melissa’s birth.”
“What’s the exact date?”
“March thirtieth. I want to remember if I signed that form.”
“Where was Melissa born?”
“The Riverside Community Medical Center.”
“When was she born?”
Alice told him Melissa’s birthdate.
“Do you have a camera?” she said. “I want you to film this session.”
“Yes, I have a camera. Where were you when you learned that Melissa died?”
“I was in the maternity ward.”
“Is Melissa your only child?”
“Yes.”
Looking at his notes, Teague said, “Let me list the things you want to remember. You want to remember who told you that Melissa was dead and who showed you her body. You want to remember if you gave your daughter up for adoption. Am I missing anything?”
“I also want to remember when I first met the Keeners.”
“Okay,” Teague said, writing on his pad. “Anything else?”
“I remember receiving an urn with Melissa’s ashes. I thought it was her ashes. I want to know if I imagined it.”
“Okay.”
Teague got up, took a tripod with a camcorder on it from the closet, and set it down beside his chair. He switched on the camcorder and trained it on Alice.
“Have you ever been hypnotized?” he asked.
“No.”
Teague picked up an office chair, put it next to Alice’s, and sat down in it. “Are you comfortable?”
“Yes.”
“I need you to relax and clear your mind.”
2
“The clock is running backward… It’s running backward faster and faster… We’re going back in time… One year. Two years. Three years. Four. Five. We’re going further back in time… Six years. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten years. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen years. We’re going back to the day you gave birth to your daughter, Melissa... You’ve just given birth to Melissa. Where are you right now, Alice?”
“I’m in the hospital.”
“Where’s Melissa?”
“I’m holding her in my arms.”
“Is she alive?”
“Yes, she is.”
“Now we’re going forward in time... We’re going to the moment you learned Melissa died. You’re talking to the person who told you that Melissa’s dead. Is it a man or a woman?”
“It’s a woman.”
“What’s her name?”
“Megan… Megan Stanwick. She’s a doctor.” Alice grimaced. “My baby’s dead. Oh my God! My baby’s dead. She’s dead. Oh my God!”
“Take a good look at Megan’s face… You’ll remember her face very clearly after you wake up.” Teague paused. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the hospital. My poor baby! She’s dead.”
“What date is it?”
“March second.”
“What time is it?”
“Half past midnight.”
“Can you see Melissa’s body?”
“No.”
“Now we’re going to the moment you saw Melissa’s dead body. You’re talking to the person showing you Melissa’s body. Is it a man or a woman?”
“A woman.”
“What’s her name?”
“She didn’t tell me her name.”
“Look at her name tag. What does it say?”
“Ashley Coates. She’s a nurse.”
“Take a good look at her face… You’ll remember her face very clearly after you wake up.” A pause. “Now we’re going to March twenty-first. Twenty days have passed since Melissa’s birth. Have you received an urn with Melissa’s ashes?”
“Yes.”
“When did you receive it?”
“March twelfth.”
“The clock is running backward again. We’re going to the moment you received the urn with Melissa’s ashes… Can you see the urn?”
“Yes.”
“Please describe it.”
“It’s a black box. It has a label with my daughter’s name and my address on it.”
“Who delivered the urn?”
“A mailman.”
“Did you have to sign for it?”
“Yes.”
“What time was the urn delivered?”
“Around two o’clock.”
“Where’s the box the urn came in?”
“It’s on the floor.”
“Is it possible that you never received an urn with Melissa’s ashes?”
“No, it’s not. I can see the urn. It’s right in front of me.”
“What color is it?”
“Black.”
“What’s it made of?”
“Plastic.”
“Can you really see the urn or is it just your imagination?”
“I can really see it.”
“Where did you put the urn?”
“My desk.”
“Now we’re going to April sixth. Five weeks have passed since Melissa’s birth. I need you to remember something. Did you sign a form consenting to the adoption of your daughter, Melissa?”
There was a long silence, then Alice said, “No, I didn’t.”
“I need you to remember if you signed a form consenting to Melissa’s adoption.”
“I did not sign a form consenting to Melissa’s adoption.”
“Were you asked to sign it?”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Did you give up Melissa for adoption?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“What date is it?”
“April sixth.”
“Where was Melissa on March eleventh?”
“Nowhere. She was dead.”
“Where was Melissa on March thirtieth?”
“Nowhere. She died an hour after she was born.”
“When was the last time you fed Melissa?”
“I never fed her. She died an hour after her birth.”
“I need you to remember when the last time was that you fed Melissa.”
“I never fed Melissa. She died an hour after she was born.”
“I see.” Teague paused. “Now we’re going to the moment you met Michelle Keener. We’re going to the moment you met Michelle Keener… Who is Michelle Keener?”
“She’s Melissa’s adoptive mother.”
“What date is it, Alice?”
“July tenth.”
“How long has it been since Melissa’s birth?”
“Thirteen years and four months.”
“Where are you right now?”
“I’m in the Keeners’ house.”
“Is today the first time you’ve met Michelle Keener?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure you never met her before today?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“When did you first meet Norman Keener, Melissa’s adoptive father?”
“July tenth, the day I met Michelle Keener.”
“I need you to remember if you signed a form consenting to the adoption of your daughter, Melissa.”
“I did not sign a form consenting to Melissa’s adoption.”
“Did you give up Melissa for adoption?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Have you ever given any child up for adoption?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“I need you to search your memory for the moment you signed a form consenting to Melissa’s adoption. This memory can’t hurt you, Alice. No memory can hurt you.”
After a long silence, Alice said, “I don’t remember signing a form consenting to Melissa’s adoption. I didn’t give up Melissa for adoption. They stole her from me.”
“They stole Melissa from you?”
“Yes.”
“Who stole her from you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.” T
eague paused. “When I count to three, you’ll wake up. One, two, three.”
Alice opened her eyes.
Teague clicked the Stop button and turned to Alice. “Is this the information you’re looking for?”
Alice nodded.
“I believe that you didn’t give your daughter up for adoption. And you didn’t imagine receiving an urn with her ashes.”
“Is it possible to block a memory so firmly that it remains blocked even when you’re under hypnosis?”
“I suppose it’s possible.” Teague picked up his legal pad. “What do you think about women who give their children up for adoption? Are they bad people?”
Alice shook her head. “No, they’re not.”
“Is it wrong to give your child up for adoption?”
“I don’t think it’s wrong.”
“Why do you think women give their children up for adoption?”
“I think most of them do it because they can’t afford a child.”
“If you couldn’t afford a child, if you were destitute, would you consider giving her up for adoption?”
Alice thought for a long moment, then said, “Yes.”
“I don’t think you have any blocked memories about your daughter’s adoption. You don’t consider giving your child up for adoption an unbearably painful event, so if you had a memory of doing it, it would have emerged while you were under hypnosis.”
And if I had a memory of meeting the Keeners thirteen years ago, it would have emerged, too.
“Why do you think that I didn’t imagine receiving the urn with Melissa’s ashes?”
“You remembered the shape of the urn, its color, and what was written on the label that was on it. You remembered where you placed the urn and where you put the box it came in. If this memory wasn’t real, it wouldn’t be so detailed.”
“Is it possible that this memory was implanted?”
“I suppose it is, but why would anyone do that? Do you have reason to believe that this memory was implanted?”
“Melissa’s adoptive parents say that I gave her to them. If that’s true, then why did I receive the urn?”
“Did they prove that you gave Melissa to them?”
“The proof they showed me was unconvincing.”
“That means they may be lying and you shouldn’t doubt your memories. As I said, if you had a memory of signing a form consenting to Melissa’s adoption, it would have surfaced.”
Alice tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and said, “You probably think this is weird.”
“Weird? No. I find it curious. You said someone stole Melissa from you. What did you mean by that?”
“She was abducted. They tricked me into thinking she was dead, and then they took her.”
“Who are they?”
“I have no idea, but I know why they took her. They wanted to sell Melissa to a childless couple.”
“Was it one of the nurses?”
“Maybe. Do you think it’s far-fetched?”
“No, I don’t. They say truth is stranger than fiction. So are you trying to get your daughter back?”
“Yes, I am.” Alice glanced at her watch. It was 2:49.
“Can you give me a copy of the video?” she said.
“Sure.” Teague stood up, picked up his laptop, and went behind his desk. “Do you have a computer?”
“Yes, I do.”
Teague opened a drawer, retrieved a flash drive, and plugged it into his laptop. Half a minute later he pulled out the flash drive and handed it to Alice.
“I copied the video file to this flash drive,” he said. “You know how to use flash drives, right?”
Alice nodded. “Yes.”
She left Dr. Teague’s office in a good mood. She knew for sure now that she had really been told that her daughter was dead and that she hadn’t given up Melissa for adoption. She also knew what the woman who had told her about Melissa’s death and the woman who had showed her the dead body had looked like. Both Megan Stanwick and Ashley Coates (Alice doubted these were their real names) were Caucasian. Stanwick had been in her early forties and Coates in her late twenties. Now Stanwick must be around fifty-five and Coates around forty. Although their faces had changed over the years, she would probably be able to recognize them if she met them again.
Chapter 17
1
Alice copied the video of her hypnosis session with Dr. Teague to her laptop and then called the Riverside Community Medical Center. When the operator asked how she could help her, Alice said, “I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. Megan Stanwick.”
“What department is she with?”
“I don’t know.”
“Please spell her last name.”
“S-T-A-N-W-I-C-K.”
“Just a moment.”
There was a long silence, and then the operator said, “I’m sorry, we don’t have a doctor by this name.”
“Can you give me your HR department’s number?”
The operator told Alice the human resources department’s phone number and she wrote it down.
“Thank you very much.”
Alice hung up and then dialed the HR department’s number.
“Human resources. How can I help you?” a woman’s voice said.
“Hi, my name is Joan. I’m calling from Huntington Hospital. I’m trying to verify employment dates for two of your former employees. Could you help me with this?”
“Yes. Please give me the names.”
“It’s Megan Stanwick, S-T-A-N-W-I-C-K, and Ashley Coates, C-O-A-T-E-S. They worked at your hospital thirteen years ago.”
“Just a minute.”
About a minute later the woman said, “It appears they never worked at our hospital. I can’t find their names in the database.”
“Okay. Thank you very much.”
2
At half past six, Alice checked her email and saw that she had received a new message from Detective Hagan with the subject line “List of phone numbers for 7/13.”
The email read: “This is the list you asked for. These are the numbers that called you on 7/13.”
Alice sent Hagan an email thanking him for the list, then picked up her phone and called the detective.
“Hi, Stephen,” she said. “Thanks a lot for the list. You’re awesome.”
“No problem.”
“Do you have a minute?”
“Yes.”
“Today I went to a hypnotist and asked him to help me remember if I gave up Melissa for adoption.”
“Did it work?”
“I remembered the name of the woman who told me Melissa was dead and the name of the woman who showed me the dead body, but I didn’t remember giving up Melissa for adoption. The hypnotist said that if I’d really given my daughter up for adoption, I would’ve remembered that.”
“Is he a good hypnotist?”
“One of the best in California. His name’s Simon Teague. So do you believe me now?”
“Yes, I believe you.”
“You might think I misinterpreted what the hypnotist told me, so I’ll email you his number in case you want to talk to him.”
“Okay. So what’s the name of the woman who showed you the body?”
“Ashley Coates. I called the Riverside Community Medical Center, and they told me they’d never had an employee by this name.”
“She used a fake name.”
“Yes. The doctor who told me about Melissa’s death used a fake name, too. Would you like to see a video of my session with Dr. Teague?”
“No.”
“By the way, have you heard from your handwriting experts?”
“Yes, I have. They’re unable to give a conclusive opinion.”
“Does that mean they can’t tell if my signature on the consent to adoption form is authentic?”
“Yes.”
A wave of joy surged through Alice, making her heart beat faster and invigorating her. “Now you have proof that Melissa was stolen from me.”
She would have to handle the matter herself. John LaCross didn’t strike her as a man who was able to withstand torture for very long.
“Have you talked to Joanna Styles yet?” Alice asked.
“No.”
“Would you press charges against Cradle Of Life if Joanna told you that LaCross forged my signature?”
“Yes.”
“Please talk to her soon, Stephen.”
“I’ll try to talk to her next week.”
“Thank you. Do you have any suspects in the murder case now?”
“Yes. We have one suspect. He’s thirty-two, he met Melissa on Facebook in late May. We think he killed her because she didn’t want to have sex with him.”
“Melissa dated a thirty-two year-old man?”
“He told her he was seventeen. It appears they never met in person before June twenty-seventh.”
“What’s his name?”
“What do you need it for?”
“Just curious.”
“Do you want to talk to him?”
“No.”
“His name’s Henry Dixon.”
“Have you arrested him?”
“No. We don’t have enough evidence to arrest him.”
“Do you think he’s the killer? Are you sure he’s the killer?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Did you find his DNA on Melissa?”
“No. I’m sorry, Alice. I’ve got to go. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Alice placed her phone on the coffee table, opened Hagan’s last email, and found the number Jeb had called from.
The number had a San Diego area code—619.
Would Jeb be mad if she called him?
What would she say to him?
How are you doing, Jeb? I’m just calling to say hi.
What was the point of calling Jeb?
To let him know she had his phone number.
Maybe he’d called from a payphone.
Alice picked up her cell, opened the phone app, and entered Jeb’s number.
Was it a good idea to let Jeb know she had his number?
What was the worst that could happen? Jeb might get pissed off.
What would she gain by letting Jeb know she had his number? If Jeb was playing a prank, it would stop him from calling her again.
Alice tapped the dial button and put the phone to her ear. Her call went straight to voice mail; the greeting didn’t say whose voice mail she had reached. Alice hung up without leaving a message.
