Within Temptation

An hour had passed since we’d recorded that tape. This was Sha

I brushed my lips against her ear. “You all right?”

She nodded and tried to put on a brave face, but I knew better. She’d been acting weird since she’d picked me up this morning.

At first I’d thought she was still upset over what happened in the carriage house. Not that I blamed her. I hadn’t thought of much else, and Bev’s surprise call didn’t help. Even so, I suspected that was only part of what was bothering her, but she wasn’t talking.

I looked up as Doc pushed a steaming mug of tea into her hand. He toddled back to his seat and lowered his bulk into a well-used armchair.

“What’s your take on everything?” I asked him.

Doc gazed over steepled fingers. “Do you remember why you screamed, Sha

She was staring into her tea. “Yes. The spade cut my knee when I went to Mother. I’d forgotten about that.”

“Well, no question your memories were deliberately manipulated,” Doc said. “There’s a term—False Memory Syndrome. The mental health community doesn’t officially acknowledge it, but even cynics acquiesce when presented with well-documented case studies. And it’s an indubitable verity that memories can be distorted. I imagine this Sheriff Gray injected you with sodium amytal or sodium pentothal to facilitate an inalterable state of hypnosis-induced amnesia.”

“English, Doc.”

“Sha

I swore under my breath.

“He was with Special Forces in Vietnam,” Sha

Doc nodded. “Yes, the interrogation background would explain much.”

“Back in high school, Eddie used to brag that the sheriff once belonged to a Black PSYOPS unit,” I said. “I just thought he was talking shit, but now….”

Doc removed a cigar from his jacket, clipped an end, then set a match to it. Smoke curled around his face. “Well, they’ve used those intel techniques for years. The skilled ones can unlock, or in this case, cloak information without their subjects even knowing it. The RAND Corporation has done extensive research on hypnosis and mind control.” He handed me a thick folder. “I’ve made copies of some of their most compelling reports.”

I started thumbing through them.

“This is crazy.” Sha

“It’s all about trust,” Doc answered. “He and your uncle were authority figures to you. Granted, only one quarter of the world’s population can be hypnotized—that is, be placed into a trance-like state and manipulated—but you were very young, impressionable, and emotionally traumatized. Your walls were already breached.”

I set the files aside. “I never much believed in it ‘til now.”

“It’s not as difficult as it seems, son. We use hypnosis on ourselves all the time.”

Sha

“Millions awaken at the same hour every morning—without an alarm. Why? Because they program their minds the night before. Some call it an i

Sha

Doc lifted a finger and smiled warmly. “Ah, but that’s the biggest misconception of all.” He crossed his stubby legs. “There was a case in Paris. In 1889 or ‘90, I think. The woman was sentenced to twenty years for a murder she committed under the influence of hypnosis.”

She gazed at him over the mug’s rim. “Doesn’t that prove my point?”

“No,” he said, his smile widening. “Hypnosis isn’t the free-for-all Hollywood makes it out to be. A hypnotist ca

Her eyes widened. “Are you saying lying is part of my nature?”

“No.” I rattled her shoulder. “Doc’s not saying that at all. You’d already decided to protect your mama before they even got to you. Remember the gazebo? When I gave you the necklace? You wouldn’t even admit it then.”

“You weren’t ready for the truth,” Doc added in agreement. “You needed to believe she was the perfect mother. That’s why the sheriff’s suggestion took. You’d been so traumatized that deep down, you wanted to forget the bad things. You see, the mind won’t accept something it hasn’t already green-lighted. The sheriff and your uncle knew that, and used it to their advantage.”

“At least we know you didn’t witness the murder,” I said.

“But why did they make me forget? Why do they continue to lie about it? What are they hiding?” Sha

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” he said around a cloud of cigar smoke. “I’ll have my assistant schedule a session for sometime next week. And, Sha

TRACE

____________________________

She’d seemed fine when we left Doc’s. Even claimed she was fine to drive. In fact, she’d insisted on it. Said she couldn’t sit still, and getting behind the wheel would help her sort things out.

Five minutes into the trip home, I decided she was fine too. So I settled in for a nap, but was jarred awake when my shoulder slammed into the passenger-side door. The radio was blaring an a

I leveled a groggy look at Sha

“Go back to sleep,” she muttered. “Everything’s fine.”

The tremble in her voice said otherwise. She swerved onto the interstate’s northbound lane—to hell with turn signals and yielding. Horns blared. Epithets flew.

An irate trucker flipped her the bird and yelled what looked like “Bitch.”

“Pull over,” I ordered, snapping the radio off. “Now.”

She veered hard toward the shoulder and lurched to a stop. The chassis was still writhing when I ripped my seatbelt off, hopped out, and cut around the hood.

I banged a knuckle on the window. “Scoot over. I’m drivin’.”

Traffic whizzed by. She shoved the door open and slid to the passenger side like a pissed off toddler who’d just been sent into time out.

We sat in silence. Me with an elbow latched to the window, my head propped on a fist. She forked her fingers through her hair and her bangs hovered over the back of her hand. She’d been wound tighter than a ball of yarn all day, and I feared she was about to unravel.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Her phone jangled. She snatched it from her pocket, then rolled her eyes at the incoming number. She didn’t answer the call, just tossed the gadget into her purse.

“Sha

She let out a slow breath. “I don’t know what’s real.”

“So you’ve been stewing this whole time?”