Between Worlds (Pendant Series Book 3)

by Austin, Cynthia

  I snorted at her weak attempt to make us allies.

  She was like Russia and this was the new Cold War. We could never work together.

  “Yeah, like I confided in my best friend Chrissy? That’s what got me here in the first place.”

  Now, in addition to being angry at the doctor I was also angry at myself for becoming emotional and discussing the betrayal of my best friend. I quickly placed my hands over my face so she couldn’t watch me unravel.

  “I understand that you don’t trust me, Sidney, but please believe that I am here to help you, not judge you.”

  I removed my hands from my face and stared at her until she was the one who became uncomfortable. I snarled, “Because that’s God’s job, right?”

  I questioned her with a tone of sarcasm. “Isn’t that what you told me yesterday when you came in here and attempted to throw your beliefs onto me?”

  She didn’t waver at my cruelty. “My religious beliefs are irrelevant.”

  I let out a dry laugh and almost shocked myself at how much I now sounded like Adrian. But I was on a roll and I refused to stop. “So you want me to trust you but you don’t want to share any of your personal beliefs?”

  She took the bait. “Okay, Sidney, I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”

  I sat back in the metal chair and waited for her to fire away.

  She shot straight for the heart. “Tell me about your dreams.”

  I kept the mask on my face as I gave the most minimalistic answer possible. “They’re a story of a man and woman who are in love.”

  “But it’s not you and Ray?”

  “The characters were strangers to me. My turn now; do you believe in God?”

  The doctor shifted in her seat and she nervously scanned her notebook in front of her. It almost seemed as if she were looking for an employee handbook which could guide her through my personal questions. “I believe in a higher power, yes.”

  She smiled tightly, proud of herself that she was able to get through my first question. Then she continued her interrogation. “You said the characters were strangers to you. Has that changed?”

  Well, she did say she was here to psychologically evaluate me. If ever there was a time to not hide my crazy, I guess that time would be now.

  I looked up into her eyes and answered truthfully, “Yes, I’ve met them. It turns out that the woman was me in a past life.”

  I rewarded my answer with a question of my own. “Do you believe in past lives?”

  Dr. Scott began to write her notes again, as her hand moved feverishly across the pad of paper she simply answered, “No.”

  I wasn’t satisfied with her response so I stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate.

  She caught on fairly quickly. “I believe that when we die we meet our Maker and that’s it. We don’t get another chance at life.”

  I raised my eyebrows at what I perceived to be her pessimistic belief and shrugged my shoulders. “That’s a shame.”

  She ignored my comment and continued her inquisition. “If the woman in your dreams was you, then who was the man?”

  I stared at her, waiting for her to say his name. Yesterday she couldn’t stop talking about him and today she just sat there pretending he didn’t exist. “Adrian.” I said it as if it should be common knowledge.

  “Your boyfriend?”

  “Ray was my boyfriend,” I clarified for the hundredth time.

  “So then why were you dreaming about Adrian?”

  I shook my head, no longer wanting to talk, but then I remembered it was my turn to ask the question. “Do you believe in soul mates?”

  She seemed genuinely interested in that question as she tilted her head back and pondered the thought. “I believe that two people can share similarities paralleled so close together that it may produce a very strong mutual attraction, yes.”

  I learned forward and whispered in a hushed tone, “I believe I dreamt about Adrian because he was my soul mate. I loved him before I even knew him. Is that crazy?”

  I now had Dr. Scott’s full attention because she gripped the pen so tightly in her hand that her fingertips whitened, and still the pen remained suspended, no longer pouring ink onto the pad. “You mean you loved the man that you saw in your dreams?”

  I nodded. My eyes still burned into hers as I waited for some words of advice.

  Her answer surprised me. “Assuming that you dreamt about a man and then met someone in real life who shared similar qualities to your dream and then fell in love with him, as you put it, could be understood. It’s the same phenomena as when a television viewer develops an attraction for an actor they watch on TV, yet have never met in real life. You fall for the fictional character that the actor has portrayed.”

  I nodded at her example as her words took my mind back into my own fictional world. “Like Mr. Gatsby.”

  The scribbling picked back up. “That’s an interesting selection. Why do you believe you were attracted to a character like Jay Gatsby?”

  “Because he would do anything for Daisy.”

  “He ended up dying for Daisy,” she said flatly.

  I could see where she was trying to take this. Gatsby was played by Leonardo DiCaprio in the latest film adaptation. He was a handsome man with blond hair and blue eyes. A fact not lost on Dr. Scott. “He held a resemblance to Ray.”

  Automatically I shut down. My body couldn’t handle any more of this torture. “I don’t want to talk about Gatsby.”

  Thinking about the movie and realizing how easily I imagined Adrian was my Gatsby upset me a great deal, because just like Daisy, I was too stupid to make the right choice. And because of my decisions, Ray was dead.

  Somehow for the second day in a row, Dr. Scott managed to break the dam and release my avalanche of tears. And there was a mountain of sadness that came along with it.

  She sat still, allowing me these moments of emotion. And when it seemed I was out of tears, she began to cut into me some more, from a different angle this time.

  “I understand that Detective Albright has been visiting you.”

  Wiping my tears, I answered, “I don’t want to talk about him, either.”

  “Did he say something to upset you?”

  I didn’t take her bait. She knew exactly what Albright did to me.

  She waited a while longer before trying a different approach. “Did you disagree with the evidence?”

  I laughed at her choice of words. “You call that evidence?”

  Dr. Scott remained impartial. “I don’t find that a laughing matter, Sidney. Your boyfriend was just murdered and the district attorney is anxiously awaiting my diagnosis in hopes of charging you with his murder.”

  She looked at me long and hard. “This is California and capital punishment is very much an option here since there is a move to bring it back.”

  I suppressed my bitter humor and returned the doctor’s cold gaze. At this point I just didn’t care anymore. Dr. Scott and Detective Albright both pretended to care for me but it was all just a sham. Nobody cared for me. I was alone.

  The doctor was relentless today. She was a far cry from the candid but gentler woman she had portrayed yesterday. “The detective has quite a bit of evidence piled up against you, Sidney. The D.A. is very persistent and I think we may be running out of time here.”

  Now her fake look of concern reappeared on her aging face.

  At least one of us was concerned. I wasn’t buying in. “That’s funny, because I didn’t kill Ray. So what kind of evidence can he possibly have?”

  The doctor sat back in her metal chair and opened her folder, scanning through stacks of paper that were thick enough to be an encyclopedia. “The police haven’t found the murder weapon as of yet but there was a gun with your handprints on it.”

  Then she asked an odd question, “What hand do you write with?”

  I glanced at her sideways, “My right hand, why?”

  “And what about your friend, Adrian?”r />
  Remembering the night in his library while he was searching for the red book, I remembered watching him scribble a note on his desk. “He’s left handed.”

  Then the doctor delivered her blow.

  It seemed that everyone was full of fatality moves today.

  “Ray’s injury was inflicted by a blade that cut him from right to left. That’s consistent with a person who is right-handed.”

  Now my head began to spin and my whole body began to shake convulsively. The doctor continued her torture. “In addition, there were only two sets of footprints in that mausoleum. One set belonged to Ray, the other belonged to you.”

  “No,” I moaned.

  She persisted to thrust me into a truth that I never would accept. “No one else was in there except for you and Ray.”

  After shuffling through her stack of papers, she let out a long, exasperated sigh. “The good news for you, Sidney, is that we do have a history of domestic violence here. I would feel comfortable diagnosing you with post-traumatic stress disorder. It’s a condition typical for battered women.”

  The room was spinning and I felt as if I was going to vomit. “I don’t understand. Why would you need to say that?”

  A look of disbelief washed across her face. “So that you wouldn’t be injected with a lethal dose of potassium chloride.”

  She shut her manila folder and began to collect her belongings. Before departing, she gave it one last shot. “I do believe that you killed your boyfriend, but not with malicious intent. I believe something traumatic happened inside that mausoleum and you acted in self-defense. There were tabloid reports that said you declined Ray’s proposal of marriage the night before. Your best friend also reported a fight in which Ray punched a hole in your bedroom wall. You also suffered yet another injury to your head. Perhaps he became physical with you again and this time you defended yourself.”

  I shook my head in disagreement to her theory, “No. I saw what happened. That’s not it.”

  She scooted her chair back and proceeded to stand up, attempting to reason with me again. “The human brain has a profound way of blocking traumatic experiences from our memories.”

  “I didn’t kill Ray out of self-defense. I told you already that Adrian killed him! Why won’t anyone believe me?” I shouted out as the doctor turned and headed toward the exit.

  Exasperated, I draped my head across the cool metal table and concentrated on relaxing my breathing. Then I heard the metal chair scoot back, I looked up and saw that Detective Albright had come back for Round Three.

  The day just continued to get better and better.

  Chapter 18

  Nightmare

  It appeared Detective Albright had brought goodies with him this time. The first surprise almost made up for his earlier mistreatment to me as he handed me a delectably smelling double cheeseburger from In-N-Out.

  I inhaled it.

  The next two surprises were well-defined. I had no idea they were coming.

  He placed my black laptop computer onto the table and then rested my mother’s journal on top of it.

  “That’s my mother’s journal! How did you get it from Chrissy?” I asked.

  If I was gracious for the cheeseburger I was doubly grateful for the detective’s consideration of bringing my mother’s personal journal to me. I had been desperate to read it and now it seemed I had finally been given a chance to do just that.

  I just didn’t see the connection between that and my laptop. I wasn’t even sure the guards would allow me to keep it. Wouldn’t that fall under the category of contraband?

  Then the detective clued me in. “Samael is a rather uncommon name, wouldn’t you agree?”

  I slowly, very cautiously wiped my mouth with the napkin as my mind was reeling, trying to figure out how the detective knew that name.

  I guess that’s how the laptop came into the picture. He must have read my dream entries.

  “So?” I answered.

  “Your friend Chrissy explained to me that you haven’t yet had a chance to go through your mother’s journal.”

  I nodded in agreement. “That’s correct. I was hoping you could leave that with me tonight so that would be possible.”

  Finally reading it would be a pyrrhic victory at this point. It didn’t really matter now. It probably could have helped me back while I was still in the mausoleum, maybe even before. But now, it was going to take much more than my dead mother’s thoughts scribbled down in a book to get me out of this mess.

  The detective gripped the journal in his hand, making no sign of releasing it into my care. “I’ve gotten a chance to browse through it.”

  Now he set down the journal and pointed to my laptop. “I’ve also had the chance to read some of your documents that had been saved to your computer. It’s a pretty big coincidence that both you and your mother wrote about a man named Samael. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  I placed my hands on top of my forehead and tore my fingers through my hair in frustration; another one of Adrian’s traits I must have picked up along the way to losing my mind.

  Didn’t Lilly mention my mother back in the mausoleum? Something about my mother wearing the same emerald pendant? Well, if Adrian’s story was true then I guess it would make sense. My mom was cursed with the similar absurdity that surrounded me now. All because of that damn necklace.

  Then a very unsettling thought hit me; did Adrian know my mother? Did he have a relationship with her?

  No way.

  Adrian loved me. I’m Eve, not my mother. He loves me and only me.

  My mother must have just dreamt about Samael and Eve. The same as I did in the beginning. I doubt she ever met him in real life.

  As I was processing all of this conflict in my mind, Albright laid another bomb on me. He tossed the familiar manila envelope onto the metal table. It was the same envelope that Dr. Scott had brought with her during our visits.

  It was my personal file. She must have given it to him on her way out. That only proved my theory that the two were obviously working together.

  Against me.

  “Dr. Scott was able to do me a favor and dig up some old medical records on your mother.”

  He gripped a sheet of paper and laid it in front of me. “She did not suffer from post-partum depression as you were originally told.”

  After hearing that sentence a great weight was lifted off my shoulders.

  My mother didn’t suffer from post-partum depression?

  All this time, I secretly harbored the guilt of killing my mother. Post-partum comes to mothers after child bearing. I believed that my birth was what caused her mental stability to spiral out of control which ultimately caused her to take her own life.

  Now Detective Albright was sitting across from me telling me that everything I had ever known about my mother was a lie.

  I asked him, “Well, if she didn’t suffer from depression, then why did she kill herself?”

  “Your mother’s condition was much more serious than depression after childbirth.” He took a deep breath. “Isabel Sinclair suffered from schizophrenia.”

  What? My mother was a lunatic. No freaking way.

  The detective folded his hands and placed them in his lap as he spoke in a softer tone, “It’s a hereditary disease, Sidney, and the symptoms typically do not begin to show until you reach young adulthood.”

  What was he implying here?

  The detective continued his babbling but now the ringing in my ears began to go off as his voice faded into the background. Detective Albright was laying out too much information for me to process. This couldn’t be true.

  First my mom was writing about Samael, which meant she had the same dreams as I, then she turned out to be a schizo and now Dr. Scott and Detective Albright believe that I have fallen into her genetic steps?

  This was too much.

  Maybe Adrian’s version of things would be easier to handle after all.

  If my mother had experienced the same
dreams as me, then they really must have been real. That gave me a comforting thought.

  I can’t be crazy.

  But now Albright was suggesting that Dr. Scott prescribe some anti-psychotic medication. “Your visions of Adrian will be suppressed and you will finally begin to see clearly again. You can start to accept the truth of what you’ve done and we can begin to round up the legal team that you will need to assist you in your trial.”

  I jumped out of my chair and shouted at the unkempt detective, “I’m not crazy. My mother wasn’t crazy either! Just because we could see things that your simple mind can’t understand doesn’t make us crazy. Samael is real. Our dreams were real and Ray’s not dead. You’re just too stupid to see that there are other worlds than the one we live in.”

  Now I felt a set of rough hands sink into my rib cage as Gonzalez appeared out of nowhere and snatched me into his grasp. “Let go of me,” I shrieked.

  But as I began to fight him I only succeeded in getting swallowed up in his blubber. It was as if I was being attacked by Humphrey the Whale.

  Detective Albright sat there assimilating all his “evidence,” and then stood up.

  “I’m not crazy. You know I’m not!” I argued.

  Now Gonzalez was dragging me back toward my cell. I watched wild-eyed and helpless as the detective shrank smaller and smaller, watching the big ape drag me out of his sight.

  “Girl, you are the definition of crazy. You sliced your boyfriend up and you can’t even remember doing it,” the intrusive guard said to me as he opened the gates to my cell and threw me in.

  I landed on my stomach, feeling the rough floor beneath me, but I didn’t bother to get up. Instead I just laid my flushed face onto the cold cement, strangely feeling like Samael must have felt after his father told him his plan to separate him from Eve.

  Desperate.

  I closed my eyes and begged sleep to come and take me away.

  Chapter 19

  All Along the Watchtower

  The night was halfway through when he gently shook me awake.