Bound by Suggestion

by L.L. Bartlett

The shredder finished chewing through a handful of pages, plunging the room into silence.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, closing the file folder she’d been emptying.

  Richard leaned against her desk, hoping he appeared more relaxed than he felt. A shower, shave, and a fresh change of clothes made him look more presentable, but he knew his bloodshot eyes were a dead give away on his fatigue.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Jeff.”

  “I don’t know what he told you about Saturday night,” she started, defensively, “but—”

  “To tell you the truth, Jeff hasn’t told me much of anything for the past couple of weeks. I was hoping you could fill me in on what you two have been up to.”

  Krista’s brown eyes were sharp and assessing. “That would be a breach of patient-doctor confidentiality.”

  “Then you have been treating Jeff?”

  “Well, no. But he’s been helping me assess the emotional distress of one of my patients.”

  Richard crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m concerned about the ethics of his assisting you.”

  Krista straightened, indignant, her clingy, sleeveless v-necked dress hinting at the abundance of cleavage beneath it. “My patient gave her written consent.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a copy of that handy, would you?”

  Krista hesitated. “Not here. Her files are back at my home office.”

  “Did Jeff sign anything? A consent form—any kind of legal document?”

  “What are you insinuating?”

  “I’m concerned about my brother. Helping your patient could negatively impact his emotional welfare.”

  Krista turned, settling on her client couch, her short skirt rising as she crossed her shapely legs. Richard hadn’t before noticed how provocatively she dressed for the office. “As a matter of fact,” Krista began, “I tried to call him yesterday to discuss that very subject. He hasn’t gotten back to me.”

  Richard straightened. “I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from contacting him. At least for the time being.”

  Her bland expression darkened. “You have a savior complex, Richard. Always trying to rescue Jeff from imaginary dangers. He’s a competent adult. He can take care of himself.”

  “Yes,” Richard said, lying through his teeth, “he can.”

  “That was a waste of time,” Richard muttered under his breath, heading for the exit. There was nothing left to do but try to wring the truth out of Jeff and go on from there. A call to his attorney to find out Jeff’s legal options wouldn’t be out of order, either. First—sleep. After that, he’d be able to think clearly.

  The lobby doors were in sight when Richard saw Wes Timberly coming toward him. He didn’t have the patience to deal with that jerk, and did an abrupt about face.

  “Hey, Dr. Dick. Got a minute?”

  Richard stopped dead, jaw clenching in barely suppressed irritation. He turned. Timberly hurried to catch up with him.

  “Actually, no,” Richard said, about to take off again, when Timberly’s voice stopped him once more.

  “I was going to ask my receptionist to set up a meeting so I could turn the Foundation records over to you. You’ll save her the trouble if you take them now.”

  Warning bells went off in Richard’s mind. Wes, being affable?

  “I guess I could do that.”

  “Fine.” Timberly slapped him—hard—on the back. “My office is up on the third floor. Come on.”

  Wary, Richard followed a step behind.

  “That was some party Saturday night,” Timberly said. “You were the belle of the ball.”

  Richard didn’t comment.

  Timberly paused at the bank of elevators, pressed the up button. They waited in silence until the car arrived, then got on.

  On edge, Richard stared at the elevator’s burnished metal doors, grateful Timberly hadn’t decided to engage in more idle chit-chat.

  Jeff should be awake and functioning by now. Maybe today Richard would get a rational explanation of what went on in those counseling sessions with Krista and her patient.

  The doors opened onto a well-lit corridor. Preoccupied, Richard followed Timberly to his office.

  And what if Jeff still couldn’t remember? Would he let Richard hypnotize him to get the answers? Should Richard even try? After Jeff’s experience with Krista, Richard knew his brother would resist speaking with another member of the psychiatric community. And who could Richard trust for a recommendation? He’d trusted those who’d vouched for Krista.

  “Norma,” Timberly addressed his matronly receptionist. “See that Dr. Alpert and I aren’t disturbed.”

  The grim-faced woman gave a curt nod.

  Timberly ushered Richard inside the well-appointed office and shut the door.

  Trapped.

  “What have you got, lists of donor names?” Richard asked, taking in the rich paneling and sumptuous carpeting, definitely not regular hospital issue.

  “Something better.” Timberly nodded toward a stand in the corner of the room, housing a television. “I’ve got this great porno flick I think you’ll be interested in.”

  “You asked me here to look at porn? What’s the matter with you?” Richard turned, disgusted. “I don’t have time for this.”

  Timberly clasped his shoulder, pushing him into one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Make time.”

  The television screen flashed from static to a soft-focused image of naked stick figures writhing on a mattress.

  “Wes—” Richard tried again.

  “Do you recognize the industry’s latest male star?”

  Moans of ecstasy mingled with piteous cries of fear. Richard forced his gaze to the screen. He felt his face go lax, his eyes widening in horrified recognition.

  Jeff.

  Richard sprang up, grabbed the remote, hit the stop button, and then extracted the disk from the side of the set, his stomach knotting in sick revulsion. He turned on his colleague. “Where did you get this?”

  “That’s not important. What’s important is keeping it out of certain hands. I assume you’ll want to help me do that.”

  The knot in Richard’s gut tightened.

  “How would it look for the Foundation’s new capital campaign chair to be tainted with scandal so early in his tenure?”

  It was all Richard could do to keep from wiping that maddening smirk from Timberly’s face.

  “Keep that disk. As you’ve probably already guessed, it’s a copy. The original is in a safe place.”

  “What do you want?” Richard asked, trying to keep his voice level.

  “My chairmanship back. The one you took from me. And I wouldn’t mind a cash bonus. Sort of a finder’s fee.”

  “Blackmail, Wes? I never thought you’d go that far.”

  Timberly’s mouth twisted in a malevolent smile. “You’ve got twenty-four hours to announce you’re stepping down.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I don’t think you realize just who the other participant in that video is. Grace Vanderstein, handicapped daughter of the late Senator Vanderstein. The press would love that.”

  Richard felt the blood drain from his face.

  Smug, Timberly shook his head. “Is there anything lower than a rapist who drives his victim to suicide.”

  Richard’s head jerked up. “Suicide?”

  “Yesterday afternoon. Poor sad woman. She couldn’t live with what that scumbag did to her.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Check the ER records. Better yet, visit the morgue.”

  “Where did you get that DVD?” Richard demanded.

  Wes didn’t answer, but Richard already knew: Krista Marsh.

  That explained an awful lot: the needle marks, the holes in Jeff’s memory.

  Richard threw open the office door, stalking away.

  “Twenty-four hours,” Timberly called after him.

  Chapter 19

  “More hot chocolate
?” Brenda asked.

  I glanced across the kitchen table, littered with plates gummy with congealing syrup. Not the fake stuff—real Vermont dark amber. Only the best for Brenda.

  I pushed my empty cup toward her. “What the hell.”

  She got up, poured whole milk into a clean saucepan to warm. No instant, water-based cocoa for Brenda, either.

  I heard the car before I saw it. The engine quit right outside the kitchen window.

  My heart pounded. Cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck before the back door handle even rattled. Richard hadn’t instilled such fear in me since that chilly March afternoon twenty-three years earlier when I saw him waiting for me outside my high school and knew our mother was dead.

  The door opened and closed. Richard came through the pantry to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway.

  It took every ounce of courage I possessed to meet his gaze. We stared at one another for a long wrenching moment. Richard looked rumpled, a state I’d never seen him in. I didn’t have a clue what he was feeling.

  Brenda broke the ice. “Jeffy ate a whole waffle and two sausages for breakfast.”

  “If I eat all my dinner, will you let me watch TV tonight?”

  Richard didn’t react to my poor excuse of a joke. Instead, he dropped his briefcase on the floor, took off his suit jacket, tossed it on the chair next to me, and loosened his tie. Then he grabbed the chair in front of him, scraped it across the tile floor, and practically fell into it.

  “I’m so fucking tired I can hardly think,” he said, wiping a hand across his red-rimmed eyes. He had to be, to use the “f” word in front of Brenda.

  “Jeffy and I are having cocoa. Do you want some?” Brenda offered.

  He nodded.

  Brenda grabbed the milk from the fridge, pouring more into the pan.

  Richard took a weary breath and our eyes locked. “How do you feel?” His voice was much gentler than I deserved.

  “Rocky.”

  “I’d be surprised if you didn’t.” He leaned his elbow on the table, settling his weight on it for support. “I know you don’t like spilling your guts, but this is one time you’re going to have to.”

  “I guess I owe you that.” I wished time could speed forward and we’d be three months beyond all this.

  “What, exactly, were you doing with Krista’s patient?”

  My insides squirmed. Not the question I’d expected.

  “Helping her explore her emotions.”

  “All negative?”

  “I assume so.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, you assume?”

  “Krista gave me post-hypnotic suggestion to forget—”

  I didn’t need to say more. His knowing nod told me he understood. He, too, was a trained hypnotist.

  “She got rid of my headaches,” I said. “Maybe . . . I just didn’t care what she was doing as long as it worked.”

  “Don’t bullshit me.” Richard’s voice hardened. “We can’t get through this, figure out what’s going on, if you don’t tell me the truth.”

  I let out a shaky breath, staring down at the cold, half-eaten sausage on my plate. “Okay, I did care . . . but I couldn’t get out of it. She wouldn’t let me. Every time I” A tightness crept through my chest, making it hard to breathe. “If I even try to think about it—I get . . . all . . . weird.” My throat felt like a collapsed straw. In a second, I’d be hyperventilating.

  Brenda came up behind me, started rubbing my back. My breathing eased, but I willed her to stop. Her being near me would only piss Richard off, and I couldn’t afford to have him angry at me. I didn’t want him to be angry with me. But for once he didn’t seem to notice.

  “You won’t want to hear what I have to tell you,” he said.

  Every muscle in my body tensed. He was right, I didn’t want to hear.

  “Three years ago Krista left her job at Georgetown University Medical Center after pleading no contest to sexual misconduct with one of her patients.”

  “Georgetown? But you said she was from Indiana.”

  “She last practiced in Indiana. She’s originally from Virginia.”

  Georgetown . . . Indiana . . . Virginia . . . ?

  “What’s all this got to do with Grace and me?”

  “Grace Vanderstein killed herself yesterday afternoon—just about one o’clock. Like you, she emptied her medicine cabinet. Unlike you, she also swallowed a caustic drain cleaner she found under the bathroom sink.”

  Brenda stopped rubbing my back.

  A cold fist clamped around my soul. The dream . . . the empty wheelchair. Although unconsciously I must’ve known Grace was dead—she wasn’t whispering in my head any more—the news still shook me.

  The way she’d done it.

  The way I’d tried to do it . . . .

  “I went to talk to Krista this morning and found her shredding files,” Richard said. “I was already suspicious of her . . . . You wouldn’t believe how many favors I’ve called in during the last twenty-four hours . . . .” He let the sentence trail off.

  The milk on the stove started to froth angrily. Brenda turned off the gas and made the cocoa.

  I thought about all he’d said. “You’re not making sense.”

  “I agree,” Brenda echoed. She brought over three fresh mugs, doling out one to each of us.

  “I read the morgue record, then spoke with the manager at Grace’s residence. I’ve got a half-baked theory I want to try out on you,” Richard said. “Are you game?”

  No, I was scared. Whatever he had to say would change everything—would make it all too real.

  I wasn’t sure I could face it.

  Still, I nodded.

  Richard sipped his cocoa, whipped cream lacing the ends of his mustache. Brenda handed him a napkin.

  “How much of what you’ve been feeling for the past few weeks has been your own?”

  I must’ve given him a blank stare.

  “Feelings,” he tried again. “Like anxiety, depression, unhappiness?”

  “All of it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I didn’t know how to answer.

  “Could you and Grace have been emotionally linked?”

  I thought back to my second session at Krista’s office. How Grace’s sobs had torn me apart and how I’d gone to her, comforted her when Krista wouldn’t. Grace looked at me with such piteous gratitude and said, “We’re connected, now.”

  She’d intuitively known.

  I hadn’t.

  I nodded.

  “Krista used that, although I’m not sure how,” Richard said. “And I’m pretty sure the whole thing blew up before she got what she wanted out of both of you.”

  “What did she want?”

  “The only thing I can think of is money.”

  “But I don’t have any.”

  “Maybe Grace did,” Richard said.

  I considered that. “Krista did mention Grace was about to gain control of her trust fund.”

  “Bingo,” Brenda said.

  Richard swirled the cocoa in his cup. “That’s just the tip of the iceberg. It gets a lot more complicated, and I don’t know if I’m up to explaining everything right now. I sure as hell don’t have a clue what to do about it.”

  Brenda sat back in her chair and sighed. “My Gramma Bessie would’ve said we should sleep on it. God knows I’m tired. The two of you look half dead.”

  But I didn’t want to sleep.

  “Brenda’s right,” Richard said, and drained his cup. “Though I suspect you won’t be able to rest.” He reached for his briefcase, flipped the catches and withdrew a fat file folder from under an unlabeled jewel case. “My friend Michael sent this to me. You can read it while I catch some zees, then we’ll talk.”

  “Do you trust me out of your sight for a few hours?”

  “Now that Grace is dead, yes.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Then I won’t disappoint you.”

  Richard pushe
d back his chair and stood, towering over me once again—ever my big brother. He took two steps, rested a hand on my shoulder and bent down to kiss the top of my head. “You have never disappointed me,” he whispered, ruffled my hair, then shuffled out of the kitchen.

  Tears threatened. I swallowed and braved a look at Brenda.

  “He’s gonna make one hell of a daddy,” she said and winked.

  The afternoon was waning when Richard found Jeff and Brenda in his study. Jeff was—at the computer while Brenda was stretched out with her feet up on the couch, working on her needlepoint. Ah, the epitome of domestic harmony. And for the first time in a long time, it didn’t bother him.

  “You’re alive!” Brenda said, looking up from her work, her voice tinged with pleasure.

  “Just barely,” Richard said, although a four-hour nap and a shower and change had literally made a new man of him. He crossed his arms and leaned on the back of one of the leather wing chairs before his desk. “What did I miss?”

  Jeff turned, rising from Richard’s chair, but he motioned him to stay put.

  Jeff indicated the by now well-thumbed stack of pages. “I read every word of that report your friend sent.”

  “I take it you found it interesting?”

  “Oh yeah. I got curious and took it a step farther, or rather backward and pulled up a map online. Clintwood, Virginia, Krista’s home town, is at the end of the universe in the heart of Appalachia. I ran up your long distance bill calling around and found someone at the local high school who remembered their past valedictorian. The whole town pitched in to send Krista to medical school. She promised she’d come back and work as the local G.P. When she found out how lucrative it could be to shrink heads, she never went back.”

  “That must have annoyed them,” Richard said.

  “Just a tad. I could go on looking, but I figured I really didn’t want to know any more. How did she ever worm her way into your affections?”

  Richard took the chair, stretching out his legs before him, crossing them at the ankles. “Cocktail party. She reminded me of someone I used to know. Someone I trusted. Somebody at UB—probably Wes Timberly—told her I had a brother who was psychic. She told Paula Devlin I knew a psychic who could help her find her boy. It was a set-up to test you.”