“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I only found out a week ago. Besides, you’re paranoid about people finding out what you can do. I didn’t want to freak you out. I talked to a few of the doctors in the Psych Department before I had you meet Paula. They said Krista was making substantial progress with some of her patients. She was Paula’s therapist, and Paula liked her. At the time it seemed a natural fit. Now I wish to God I’d never—”
“It’s not your fault, Rich. Okay, so you introduced us, but I didn’t have to call her. I wanted to get laid. I was gonna show Maggie. Well, I sure showed her, didn’t I?”
“Then you haven’t got a clue what Krista was doing?” Richard asked.
Jeff shook his head.
The silence hung heavy until Jeff broke it. “Maybe you should hypnotize me.”
“I considered that, but now I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“It’ll get us answers faster.”
“Jeff, you tried to kill yourself yesterday. You may feel better today, but it’s not uncommon for suicide survivors to experience a kind of euphoria—that they’re stronger than death, That they beat it. Until the next time they try.”
“There isn’t going to be a next time.”
“Without a trained professional guiding you, it could be detrimental for you to rehash the events that led up to your attempt. We need to find someone you can learn to trust, someone who—”
“I trust you.”
Richard shook his head. “We’ve been through this before. It’s not only unwise for me to treat you, it’s unethical. Besides, my psychology training was well over twenty years ago.”
“I trust you,” Jeff repeated. He let out a sigh, his features hardening. “You were right about Grace and me being in tune emotionally. For the last week or so I’ve been eavesdropping on her thoughts. Either that or she was eavesdropping on mine.
“She put herself through so much torment. Telling herself that she was shit. That I was shit. Day after day of the Chinese water torture finally got to me. When I spoke to her on the phone Friday she knew she was going to kill herself, and she knew she’d take me with her when she did it. It was her final revenge against men, I guess. I only know she hated herself and she hated me, because I knew exactly what she was going through. Her feelings were all she had, and thanks to Krista, I took even that from her.”
Richard felt his resolve crumbling. He glanced over at Brenda. “What do you think?”
She set her needlework aside. “I think it’s dangerous. But we both know Jeffy isn’t likely to open up to anyone else. And I don’t want whatever poison that woman planted inside his head to fester until we have a repeat of yesterday.”
“That isn’t going to happen,” Jeff said.
“Not if we can prevent it,” she agreed.
Both pairs of brown eyes turned to look at Richard. That kind of trust weighed heavy on his soul.
Last night Brenda had accused him of playing God with Jeff’s life. Krista accused him of having a savior complex. If he did what Jeff wanted, would he be playing both roles at once? What if hypnotizing Jeff just made everything worse? What if?
“Yesterday you asked me what you could do to help me,” Jeff said. “This is it, Bro.”
“Do you realize you’re risking your sanity?”
“Hey, life’s a crap shoot, Rich. And I’m willing to bet mine on you.”
Richard again looked at Brenda. Her eyes were bright. She nodded.
“Okay.”
Brenda closed the heavy tapestry drapes, shutting out the early-evening sunlight. Richard turned on the desk lamp, the room’s only illumination. I sat back in Richard’s plush leather chair, folding my hands and pretending to be calm, wondering what I feared more—my knowing just what Krista had done to Grace and me, or Richard finding out just how weak-willed his brother truly was.
You have never disappointed me, he’d told me only hours earlier.
Would he still feel that way after we finished?
“I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” I said.
Richard perched on the edge of the desk, while Brenda took his former seat in front of the desk. “Are you okay with me being here?” she asked me.
“A man doesn’t have many secrets from a woman who’s helped him change out of puke-stained sweats.”
She gave me an encouraging smile.
I looked up at Richard.
“We’ve been here before. You know what happens,” Richard said. “Relax. Close your eyes and breathe deeply. In. Out. In. Out.”
His resonant voice dropped into a soothing, mesmerizing croon. We had been to that amorphous, quasi-conscious place before, on more than one occasion. Many times he’d helped me ease the pain of one of my skullpounders when medication wouldn’t.
I listened to his voice, concentrated on my breathing. Soon, that light-headed, weightless feeling flowed through me.
“You’re totally relaxed,” Richard instructed. “Nothing can hurt you. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” My voice sounded breathy, slowed.
“Open your eyes.”
I did. Nothing but his face and the sound of his voice seemed to register.
“I want you to go back to Krista Marsh’s office,” Richard said. “Do you remember what it looked like?”
My head bobbed as I pictured the newly refinished floors, remembered the faint odor of polyurethane that still clung to the refurbished woodwork. My body fit the contours of Krista’s big leather chair. In it, I’d felt oddly empty.
“Tell me about your sessions with Dr. Marsh,” Richard said.
“I’d lie back on a recliner. The first time she did the same as you—talked softly to get me to relax. After that she’d just say—” I stopped.
“Say what?” Richard prodded.
“A word.”
“What word?”
I couldn’t answer.
“It’s okay, Jeff, you can repeat the word.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t. That single word held too much power over me. More power than I’d ever given to anyone.
“Did Krista tell you you weren’t to say it?”
I nodded.
“Can you write it down?”
I shook my head.
“Can you point it out in the dictionary?”
I hadn’t been instructed not to do that. I nodded.
I was aware of Brenda scooting to the bookshelves, plucking off a book and handing it to Richard.
He placed the book in my hand. “Show me the word.”
The brown, leather-bound dictionary was older than me. The letters of the alphabet were die-cut and indexed half-moons gouged from the brittle, gold-edged paper. I opened the book at W, flipped through the pages. I traced my finger down the list and stopped.
“Wildebeest?” Richard said.
I collapsed as though boneless in the chair, the book falling from my grasp as I plunged into fathomless, empty blackness.
“Jeff? Jeff?” Richard said, panicked, from somewhere far away. He snapped his fingers under my nose. Grabbed my wrist. Tilted my head back, pried open an eye. “Jesus, his eyes are completely dilated. Jeff, can you hear me?”
It took all my strength to nod.
“Can you speak?”
I shook my head.
“Did Krista tell you you weren’t to speak after you heard that word?”
I nodded.
“Well, I’m telling you differently. You will speak to me. You will answer my questions. Do you understand?”
I dredged through my memories. Richard would not hurt me. I could trust him. I did trust him.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“What happens to you when you hear that word?”
I swallowed, my mouth horribly dry. “The world goes . . . black. A terrible, lonely place. I can’t see—I can’t talk—can’t do anything. I’m to wait for Krista to tell me what to do.”
“As of right now, that word will no longer ho
ld any special meaning for you. Do you understand?”
He sounded like a scolding parent.
I nodded.
Krista wouldn’t like—allow—that.
“Okay,” Richard said, sounding calmer. “Let’s get back to your sessions. Tell me what happened after you were completely relaxed.”
I left the cold darkness behind, sweet, sensual memories chasing the morbid fear away. Warm, smooth skin against mine. Soft, supple lips. An inviting mouth . . . .
“I thought about making love to Maggie.” A smile curled my lips. “I touch her soul when we make love. Then I made love to Maggie.”
“You thought about making love to Maggie,” Richard clarified.
“No. I made love to Maggie. Lots of foreplay. Lots of touching. Desensitizing, Krista called it.”
“Krista told you that?”
I nodded.
“Did she tell you to think of Maggie?”
A finger of fear curled through my chest. “Yes.”
“Could you have been making love to Grace?”
The finger became a fist. “I made love to Maggie,” I said, conviction coloring my voice.
“But was Grace in the room?”
I wasn’t sure.
“Think back,” Richard instructed. “Can you see the room? The walls—the color of the drapes? The faces of the women?”
I nodded, growing wary.
“Focus on the face of the woman in front of you.”
Green eyes, thin, mousy hair, mottled scarred skin . . . . Not my beautiful Maggie, but that pitiable, deformed, emaciated woman-child.
My breathing picked up as revulsion filled me.
“Stay relaxed,” Richard coached. “You’re completely relaxed.”
But my heart kept pounding as the memory grew more vivid. Sallow skin stretched over a small, heaving rib cage. Her breaths coming in painful gasps.
“How many times did you have sex with Grace?”
“Two . . . I think . . . .”
“What do you remember about the first time?”
Flat on her back, wrists tied to keep her from fighting, Grace whimpered as my body pounded hers. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her cries like a wounded animal. I’d been so out of it I hadn’t soaked up her terror as she relived being raped. Only now did I realize what I’d done—what I’d been made to do.
“Breathe easy.” Richard rested a hand on my shoulder. “These memories can’t hurt you. You are only an observer.”
Finally sated, I’d collapsed against Grace. Her breasts were so small I didn’t even feel them beneath me. I rested my sweating face against her thin neck, felt her tremble.
“Tell me what you’re remembering?” Richard said, his voice gentle.
I told him everything.
The locked room with the pocket doors.
The video camera on the tripod.
The metal cart with the syringes and vials of clear liquid.
And always the scent of jasmine.
“What about the second time?” Richard said.
“That time, I was tied. Grace was angry—at Krista, at me, at life in general. Krista’s voice was so hard. She told Grace to do what she wanted with me. Grace started to cry, terrible, wrenching sobs and Krista got pissed.” I closed my eyes, heard the crack of flesh on flesh echoing through my mind. “I think she hit Grace. I didn’t want to see . . . didn’t want to know . . . .”
“Was that all?” Richard asked.
My hand went to my chest. I could feel the healing scabs beneath my sweatshirt. Manicured acrylic nails had raked across my skin, dark, greedy eyes shining as blood welled along the parallel furrows.
“After Krista was done, she scratched me . . . .”
“After she was done with what?”
“Oral sex. I didn’t want to. Krista gave me another shot; I got hard. I didn’t want to be with her. I couldn’t stand her touching me—but she got me to come. After, she sat back and said, ‘That’s how it’s done, Grace.’ Then she made Grace do it. She told Grace about her father. Told her all the things she’d done with Grace’s father.”
Richard exhaled. “How did you get home after that first time?” His voice sounded oddly detached.
“Krista drove me.”
“Did she park your car in my spot in the garage?”
“Yes.”
“Did she take you up the stairs and put you on your bed?”
“Yes.”
“Then what happened?”
“She left me alone. Then you were there.”
“And the second time?”
“I woke up in my car, in a parking lot facing Lake Erie. I don’t know how I got there.”
“You’ve done very well, Jeff. Now, listen closely,” Richard said, inches from my ear. “I’m going to say Krista’s trigger word. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
I nodded, dread welling within me.
“When you hear it, it won’t affect you. You won’t fall into darkness. You’re here, at home, and safe. Do you understand?
I nodded.
“Wildebeest.”
I sank back in my chair, head lolling, swallowed by the smothering, ebony nothingness once again.
“Jesus,” Richard breathed, this time settling his hand against the pulse in my neck.
“Jeff, can you hear me?”
It was all I could do to nod.
“You can speak. I want you talk to me. Are you all right?”
“Yes,” I managed, the effort exhausting me.
“You’re home, and safe, and completely relaxed. You feel fine. Now when I count to three you’re going to remember all that we’ve talked about, and you’ll feel well and rested. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Another whisper.
“One, you’re feeling fine. Two, you feel refreshed. Three, you’re completely awake.”
I blinked, suddenly aware of my surroundings once more. Richard’s worried face hung above me. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, feeling more than a little foolish. I didn’t dare look at Brenda.
He settled back on the edge of the desk, his shoulders slumping as though he might deflate. “Can anybody else use a drink?”
“I’ll get some ice,” Brenda volunteered, and took off for the kitchen.
Silence filled Richard’s study. I looked down and realized my left hand was clamped around the chair arm. So much for feeling fine. Every nerve in my body seemed to be on alert.
“It’s my fault Grace killed herself. If only I’d been stronger, resisted Krista’s manipulation—”
“Don’t do this to yourself, Jeff,” Richard said, picking up the dictionary and placing it back on the shelf. “It’s true a hypnotized person won’t do anything that goes against their moral code. But once you add drugs to the mix, anyone can be programmed to do the most heinous crimes, even murder.”
“That still doesn’t change the fact that Grace couldn’t live with what I did to her.”
“No, with what Krista did to her. Don’t let her win.”
The truth was, she already had.
Brenda returned with an ice bucket and a liter of club soda. “We’re out of bourbon. Will Irish do?”
“On the rocks, please.”
“Ditto,” Richard said.
She upended crystal glasses from Richard’s dry bar against the wall. Pouring club soda for herself, she passed around the drinks and then took her chair once more. Richard sat in the one to her left.
I took a good hit of that fine whiskey. I’m sorry, Grace. So damned sorry. But my being sorry wouldn’t bring her back, wouldn’t square things between us. Nothing would ever do that.
Not in this lifetime.
“Are we celebrating, or drowning our sorrows?” I asked.
“That’s a good question,” Richard said.
“How do you feel about what you learned?” Brenda asked.
“In some ways, knowing what went on is a lot less scary than not knowing. But how do we prove it?”
Richard’s expression darkened. “It’s more complicated than that. Remember this morning I mentioned your problems with Krista were just the tip of the iceberg?”
I nodded, my gut tightening.
“It seems she and Wes Timberly have teamed up. She did record your sessions with Grace, and she gave at least one copy of it to Wes to blackmail me.”
I remembered the unlabeled jewel case in his briefcase. “What does he want?”
“The chairmanship of the Foundation’s capital campaign.”
I stared at him. “You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not. I have until ten am tomorrow to announce I’m stepping down. Otherwise, that video goes to the press.”
My hand, wrapped around my glass, felt cold from the ice. But not as cold as the lump in my chest. I took a gulp, but the whiskey couldn’t squelch the shame and anger building within me.
“What are you going to do?” I asked him.
Richard’s face betrayed no emotion. “I don’t know.”
“Did you . . . watch the video?”
“Only about ten seconds before I switched it off.”
No wonder he hadn’t been surprised by my revelations.
“I saw Timberly and Krista on the dance floor Saturday night. She didn’t look happy. That’s probably when he asked her if she had something on me that he could use against you.”
“And I gave her the ticket so she could go,” Richard added, the irony not lost on me.
“You can’t give in to blackmail,” Brenda said. “It’ll only escalate. If you give up your post now, what will he want next time?”
“I agree.”
Richard gave me a quizzical look.
“Call Timberly’s bluff. It can’t hurt you if he goes through with it. It would only affect me. And I’d sure as hell take Krista down with me.”
“I can’t let him ruin you.”
“Ruin me how? I haven’t got a reputation to uphold. Everybody already thinks I’m a loser.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true, Rich, and you know it. But I’ve also got Sam Nielsen at The Buffalo News in my corner.”
“Sam isn’t the editor. If the paper decides to smear you, he won’t be able to help.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“If this were any other time . . .” Richard started.
“Don’t think about what happened yesterday.”
Bound by Suggestion Page 23
