by Isabel Wroth
Like a moth to a flame, I was drawn forward, my arm lifting as I reached out and curled my aching fingers around the knob, almost afraid to open the door.
It was there, just like Dr. Anderson said, I could feel it, but opening the door meant I would know the terrible secret locked away in the darkest recesses of my mind.
“Jo, I'm right here. I'm with you, baby.” Callum's promise was soft, ringing with love. It was the strength I needed to throw that door open wide and let the darkness in.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“The lights are slowly coming up, and the red velvet curtain has fallen slowly across the screen. Stand up, walk out of the theater, throw your ticket in the trash, and exit the building.
“It will take you ten steps to cross the street—ten, nine, eight—the door to your forgotten memories is open now, and you can access everything you need, anytime you want—seven, six, five—
“You'll remember everything that happened today and can take all the time you need to process.
“When you open your eyes, you'll feel grounded, relaxed, and calm—four ... three ... two ... one. Open your eyes, Jo.”
It felt like I'd closed my eyes only a half an hour ago, but when Dr. Anderson guided me up out of hypnosis, the light in the office had changed.
A glance at my watch said it was five after one, and I'd sat down on the lounge at ten-fifteen.
Three hours? I'd been hypnotized for three hours?
“Jo?” Callum leaned forward to take my hand in his, searching my face with his brows pinched together, obviously worried. “You with me?”
“Yeah. I'm okay.” It was a flat out lie because I was definitely not okay.
Thankfully, Dr. Anderson's directions to stay calm and relaxed were holding.
Rage, hurt, confusion ... I could feel it right there behind the door I'd shut in my head on the way out. I knew right where it was now.
I knew what was behind it—the truth I'd needed to know—and after I had time to process what I'd learned, I would open it again.
“Laura, could you bring in a tray, please?” I glanced at Dr. Anderson.
She was across the room, she’d taken her blazer off, and her shoes, which is why I hadn't heard her clip across the floor.
When she came back, there was a look in Dr. Anderson's cool blue eyes that mildly concerned me, but with that door in my head shut, the feelings of concern stayed back there with the rest of my emotions.
“Jo, how do you feel?”
“Like I just had a long nap.” Which was true. I hadn't felt this rested in a while, which was strange, considering everything I'd just experienced.
A brisk knock on the office door came seconds before the doctor's assistant came in, wheeling a trolley ahead of her with three cups, two teapots, and a tray of snacks.
She wheeled it right over to where I sat, and with a quick smile aimed at Callum, Laura retreated.
Callum moved from his chair to sit next to me on the lounge and put his arm around me to curl me into his side.
“Do you like hot chocolate, Jo?” Dr. Anderson asked, pouring a stream of creamy brown liquid into one of the mugs.
“Hot chocolate?” I repeated dumbly.
The doctor smiled, handing the cup to Callum first, who helped me hold it steady when I noticed my fingers wouldn't quite work right.
“Yes. JK Rowling got it right. Chocolate is always best after strenuous work. Coffee for you, Detective?”
Callum snorted softly and gave a rueful smile. “I'm plenty hopped up, doctor. Hit me with the cocoa. Would you classify today as a normal session?”
I looked from Callum to Dr. Anderson, taking my first sip of the perfectly tempered cocoa and finding it silky to the taste.
Dr. Anderson made a casual sound as she passed Callum his mug, then poured herself a fragrant cup of coffee before leaning back in her chair to cross her legs, her barefoot swinging lightly as she tipped her head from side to side.
“I wouldn't call it abnormal, but it was certainly different. Do you feel up to answering some questions, Jo? Most patients find time to process is necessary, but I am curious about a few things.”
“Sure,” I murmured, feeling the warmth of the chocolate starting to spread through me pleasantly.
Truth be told, I was starting to feel a little drunk, but the sort of drunk that comes on the tail end of a bender. The last little buzz that lingers before the hangover starts.
“When we began the session, you saw yourself as almost nine years old, but then your perspective seemed to change. Where were you throughout the memories? Viewing them, I mean.”
I gave a bemused shake of my head, staring into the dark brown cocoa in the white mug.
“When I first went into it and you told me to look down at myself, I was in the body of my nine-year-old self. It was so weird, I heard your voice the whole time, but it was coming out of the intercom system.”
“Is that why you lifted your hand like you were pushing a button?” Callum asked.
I tipped my head back far enough to frown up at him. “I lifted my hand?”
“A few times—”
“That's quite normal,” Dr. Anderson told us, drawing our attention back to her.
“Patients who undergo any form of hypnosis will often—unconsciously—physically act out when given instructions.
“I instruct them to look down at themselves, and you'll see their conscious mind intrude as their head drops forward.
“Or, in Jo's case, she heard my voice come through the intercom, and in her conscious mind, she knew to answer, she had to push the button.”
Weird. I wonder what else I did.
“So, you heard my voice, and what happened, Jo?”
“I don't know. I went from being in my kid-sized body back in my normal body, standing behind Little Me and watching her skip to answer when my mother told me to come down and meet Katya. I was ... a ghost, sort of.”
Again, Dr. Anderson told me that was normal. “Do you recall how you went from watching your nine-year-old self, to being back in your seven-year-old body?”
“No.”
“You became extremely frightened and didn't respond to me until I had Callum speak to you. What did you see?”
The door in my mind, keeping all the emotion separated from the forefront of my mind, bulged with an ominous creak. I took another mouthful of cocoa.
“I didn't see anything, except a dark hallway and the light that spilled out from the open door of my father's office.
“He was unbelievably angry, shouting at another man on the phone. Something about his inheritance and someone finding out about the results of his fertility test.”
Neither Callum nor the doctor commented on the things I'd left out, so I must not have spoken aloud during the heat of the moment.
“He um ... my father ... threw a book at the wall and it hit right above my head. I ran back up to my bedroom, and when I slammed the door shut behind me, I was back in my body—my grown-up body—and you were telling me I was just a spectator in my own movie.”
“That's the last thing you remember?” Dr. Anderson questioned, curiously, not suspiciously.
“Yes,” I lied.
She accepted with a nod and a sip of her coffee, her gaze neutral, but steady on my face.
“Before I started to bring you out, I asked if you'd found the truth you needed, and you indicated you had.
“Considering how emotional this session was for you, I'm not surprised some of the details are a little fuzzy.
“With that door opened, Jo, expect some nightmares. The memories repressed via the ECT and drug therapies may not be as sharp as you want them to be, but they're there.
“They may come out in your art. You may even be doing something as mundane as taking a shower or making coffee when something will trigger a memory.
“I encourage you to try and write it down when they come, and I would very much like to see you for a follow-up session in a few weeks. Sooner if y
ou experience nightmares.
“Take time to process and just let the memories settle back where they belong. When you're ready, Callum likely has some questions of his own for you, but both of you do yourselves a favor and take it easy for the rest of today.
“Have your favorite meal, indulge in a bubble bath ... Do the things that make you feel good.”
We all finished our drinks, and when it was time to leave, Callum put his arm around me and helped me stand up.
Like I'd lost my motor function or had been in a wheelchair and was too weak to stand on my own.
It was sweet, and I knew his concern stemmed from not understanding everything that had just happened to me.
I let him, glancing up at his handsome face, hoping my internal monologue had gone back to normal.
You are the most ridiculously sweet, bossy, over-protective, arrogant, sexy-as-hell man I have ever met, and I love you.
“Thanks for working us in today, Doc. Helluva show.” Callum grunted, completely oblivious to my thoughts as he reached out to shake Dr. Anderson's hand.
Good. Back to normal, then.
Someone upstairs must have heard that and decided to fuck with me, because when I shook Kate's hand to thank her, what happened was most definitely not in the 'back to normal' range.
It was a split second, just a glimpse, but it came with a shocking amount of information.
Callum's arm around me gently propelled me toward the door, and I had to dig my heels in to make him stop.
“Uh, Dr. Anderson?” I called out hesitantly.
The posh woman looked over to me with a smile, slipping her blazer back on, then freeing her hair with a practiced flip.
“Yes?”
“The cardiologist you saw last week was high on morphine and missed something life-threatening on the EKG. Your condition is serious, and you should get a second opinion.”
The words just tumbled out, and the smile on the psychiatrist's face faltered around the edges, her eyes gone wide with surprise.
I waited for her to ask me how I knew about her appointment because she hadn't told anyone.
“I'll do that. Thank you,” she said instead, and Callum practically carried me out of the office.
Once the elevator doors shut, he looked down at me and demanded to know what the hell just happened.
So bossy.
Curiosity overcame me, and I looked up into his eyes, suddenly desperate to know if what I'd seen when I shook Kate's hand was a fluke, or if the hypnosis had done more than open the doors to my memories.
“I'm not sure. Maybe a kiss will help me figure it out.”
My lover gave me a narrow look, but as the elevator whooshed down, his arm around my waist tightened, drawing me up on my toes to meet his lips in a hot, extremely thorough kiss.
At first, there was nothing but the taste of chocolate and Callum, my senses wholly focused on the way his kisses made me feel.
Then, the picture popped into my head, and I saw him as an old man in his bed, the clock on the table beside him blaring out an alarm at seven-fifteen, but he didn’t get up to turn it off.
Callum set me back on my feet, and I opened my eyes, on the verge of crying tears of unimaginable relief.
“Jo?”
I laid my head on his chest and closed my eyes, listening to the sound of his powerful heart beating.
“Just an unexpected psychic moment.”
With my subconscious and conscious mind still sharing information, I came to the realization that I'd been struggling ever since the morning Callum had first kissed me months ago.
Every time I took a coffee cup from him or reached over to touch the pillow where he'd slept beside me, in the back of my mind, I'd been terrified I would blink and find myself standing in front of my easel, staring at his Portrait of Death.
Whether my psychic powers were getting stronger, like Mia told me they had to, or if it was due to some door in my head being opened, my fears were laid to rest.
Callum would die an old man in his bed, not murdered or killed in the line of duty or because of anything I painted.
THE LUNCH RUSH ENSURED traffic moved about as fast as cold molasses. I sat in the passenger seat of Callum's squad car, looking out the window, still riding the relief of what my brief vision had shown me.
Still silently starting to process everything I'd seen and felt while under hypnosis, I remembered the last three hours with startling clarity.
The door holding the worst of my emotions at bay, bulged as they raged behind the tightly locked panel.
I would let it out soon, but for now, holding Callum's hand while he slowly drove me home and feeling the roughness of his skin against mine, was what I chose to focus on.
“Baby, I hate to do it, but I have to get back to work after I take you home.”
Our eyes met when I turned away from the view of people streaming by on the streets of Manhattan, and I saw a mix of anger and guilt warring with love-filled concern his eyes.
I squeezed his hand reassuringly and made an attempt to smile. “It's okay. I'm good. I need to process, like Dr. Anderson said, and you need to not get fired.”
Callum opened his mouth to answer, but the person behind us shoved his road rage up Callum's tailpipe via a prolonged blast of his horn.
The traffic was bumper to bumper, there was nowhere for any of us to go, and with a string of muttered expletives, Callum pulled his badge off his belt and shoved it out the window for the angry jerk behind us to see, giving it a threatening wave.
“If I were a traffic cop, I'd shove my entire ticket pad up that guy’s ass. Where does he think I'm gonna go?” He wasn't speaking to me, so I opted to laugh a little instead of answer. “I don't like the idea of leaving you at home alone right now, Jo.”
“I won't be alone. Nigel's there.” Trying to get the damn contractor to actually do some work. “I'll be fine, and I promise I'll call if anything bad happens.”
Callum visually struggled with himself, but after we managed to go a whole block without stopping, he let out a gusty sigh and agreed getting fired was not ideal.
“What do you think happened to Sleeping Beauty?”
Confusion made me frown for a minute, wondering if Callum hadn't ever seen the movie, but then I blinked and understood he wasn't talking about a fairytale princess.
He was talking about the Portrait of Death I'd painted for Katya.
The portrait I'd done while sitting in the sunshine, carrying on a conversation with her while in complete control of my faculties.
I remembered that day now with so much clarity; the memory was almost too sharp. Too bright to look at.
“I finished it and put it on the rack to dry. It's probably still there in my bedroom.” I sat back in my seat now with a heavy huff, looking out the windshield without seeing what was in front of me.
“I don't get how that memory could be so mixed up in my head. How I put my mother in Mrs. Decker's place, or how I could forget that I'd painted Katya, dead in the damn garden.
“When Katya asked me what I was working on, there wasn't enough detail yet for me to say it was a POD.
“I hadn't gone into a trance to paint it either, so it never even occurred to me as a kid that I’d just painted someone else dead.
“We'd just been sitting there, talking about stupid stuff. She was wearing this...”
I trailed off as I envisioned that painting, and the last time I'd seen Katya alive.
She'd had on a faded yellow sundress under a brown cardigan that was a size too big, cinched with a brown belt at her waist.
“Wearing what, baby?” Callum's question made me flinch and shake myself free of the memories.
I described the outfit for him, feeling that door in my mind rattle, releasing a spurt of rage so hot I felt it in my blood.
“She was wearing it the day my parents took me to the asylum. She died that same night.”
“JOSEPHINE, IT'S THREE in the morning. You okay?”
I lowered my brush and looked away from the canvas in time to watch him shut the front door behind him.
Happiness filled me to see him, like a rush of warm champagne bubbles fizzing from my toes all the way up into my cheeks.
By the time I'd put my paintbrush and palate down, wiped my hands, and shed my baggy linen overalls, Callum was at my side.
I went into his arms with a sigh, hitching my thighs around his waist when he scooped his big hands under my butt and hoisted me up.
His kiss was just shy of desperate, like he'd been dying of thirst for days and our coming together was the cool drink to soothe his parched lips.
I could practically feel his weariness, but he still held onto me and took the time to kiss me into a stupor.
With his forehead resting on mine, he set me on my feet and worked his hands deep into my hair.
“I'm alright,” I told him quietly. “My brain is still working on processing what happened today—yesterday ... Whatever. I couldn't sleep, so I decided to work a little.”
I leaned against Callum's side, my arms wrapped around his waist so he could look at my work in progress.
He pulled me closer by rubbing his hand up and down my arm, then dropped a kiss on my hair.
“I can tell those blobs are supposed to be people, but that's about it.” Callum's honesty was refreshing enough to make me laugh.
“You're not wrong.” Right now, it was just a blur of colors and blobs that did vaguely look like people, but when I was finished, it would be amazing. A portrait just for me.
“Are you hungry? I can throw a sandwich together for you while you shower.”
“Thanks, baby. I'm good. Come rinse off with me.”
Callum knew I didn't like to go to bed with wet hair so that he asked me to shower with him meant something had gone wrong after he'd dropped me off at home.
“Okay.”
He stopped only long enough to put his gun and badge in the bedside table, a bemused smile lifting his lips when I took him by the hand and lead him into the bathroom.
