by E A Owen
“They found your old therapist, Dr. Marshall, dead in his office four days ago.”
“What?”
“The police are going through all his patient files and asked his secretary if anyone would have been upset with him or have any reason to want to hurt him. Rachel said the secretary mentioned your name. Is there anything we should know?”
“Why would my name come up?”
“The secretary said, at your last session, you stormed from the office and never came back. Out of all the patient files, yours is the only one missing.”
“At our last session, Dr. Marshall hypnotized me to get inside my head. He said hypnotherapy might reveal things I have subconsciously hidden. After the session, he told me he wouldn’t be able to see me anymore and told me not to come back.”
“Any explanation?”
“No. That was the strangest part. He refused to tell me what I had said. But whatever it was, he was so upset that he didn’t want to see me anymore.”
“That’s weird. Just going to give you a heads up, Isabella. The police will be stopping by to ask you questions.”
“Okay. Thanks, Dad.”
“Be safe, Bella. I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
Click.
***
Oh, my God! My fingerprints. I gasped. But I had a legitimate excuse. I needed my file. They might think that was the motive. What do I say? What do I do?
Knock, knock knock.
Just be honest. They must believe me. I didn’t do anything wrong here—except commit a felony. I had broken into a building and had stolen something. Granted, it was information on me, but, if I had been meant to have it, it would’ve already been in my possession, not locked in someone else’s filing cabinet. This wasn’t good. This was not good.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
“Hold on! I’m coming,” I hollered from the other room. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and opened the door, smiling.
“Ms. William?” A husky man stood in front of me.
I quickly surveyed his police uniform, neatly trimmed mustache, dark combed-back hair, and brown deep-set eyes. I focused on his wide mouth adorned with big, white straight teeth—picture perfect, like a dental advertisement. I cocked my head, wondering if I was the only person who obsessed about teeth.
“Ms. Williams?” the officer repeated.
I noticed the gentleman standing next to him—tall and slender with a serious expression, his arms crossed and his eyebrows tight—glaring at me.
“Yes?”
“Could you please come with us to the station?”
“What for?”
“We just have a few questions to ask you about your psychiatrist, Dr. Joseph Marshall.”
“Why can’t you just ask me right here? Did something happen to him?”
“It’s best if we do this at the police station.”
“Am I being arrested?”
“No. Just have a few questions to ask you.”
“What about?”
“Just follow us. It’ll be much easier if you cooperate.”
“Fine. Let me grab my purse.”
***
After two long hours of interviewing, the police told me to go home. But they highly suggested for me not to leave town or travel anytime soon. They remained tight-lipped about the murder details.
Another murder—that was five now. No wonder moving trucks appeared in droves in the area.
I couldn’t believe I didn’t feel a tad bit sorry about Dr. Marshall’s murder. I’d think I’d be a little upset. But what was important to me was finding the tape of our session. I wondered if the police had it. If they did, they hadn’t mentioned it to me, and I wasn’t about to ask.
Ring … Ring … Ring …
“Hey, Dad. I just got out of a two-hour meeting with the police. Are you home?”
“No, honey. I’m at the jobsite, but I should be off work by five, if you want to come over and have dinner with me and Rachel. We’d love your company.”
“Sounds good. Can I bring anything?”
“Just yourself.”
“Okay, Dad. See you later. Bye.”
Click.
***
“Wow, it smells amazing! What’s on tonight’s menu?” I asked, deeply inhaling the aromas.
“I tried a new recipe. It’s a parmesan-crusted chicken with bacon cream sauce, twice-baked potato, and oven-roasted broccoli,” Rachel replied, licking her fingers. “Your father stepped into the other room. He had to grab something for me. He should be back shortly.” Rachel smiled. “So, I heard the police paid you a visit.”
“Yeah. They brought me to the station to ask me some questions. Just routine.” I shifted my weight.
“Why you?” Rachel opened the oven door, inspecting the food.
“I was his former patient. His secretary told the police that I had left on bad terms, and my file was the only one missing from his office.”
“Left on bad terms?”
“Yeah. We had a hypnotherapy session. He said it might help with the suppressed memories. After the session, he was very upset. He said he didn’t want to see me anymore and wouldn’t explain why.”
“That’s odd,” Rachel replied with a puzzled expression.
“That’s what I thought. I haven’t slept well. I’ve been obsessing about what I said in the session that had upset him so much.” I pulled out a chair and sat. “So, I decided a few nights ago to break into his office and steal my file, hoping it would give me some answers.” I looked at my hands. “But when I broke in, he was sleeping on the couch in his office.” I sighed. “He woke up and tried taking the file from me, but I desperately needed to know. So, I decked him in the nose. I’m pretty sure I broke it. I felt his bones crunch, and it bled pretty badly. I took off running.” I looked up, uncomfortably waiting for a response. “I swear, I didn’t kill him. But I was probably the last person to see him alive, and my fingerprints are all over his office.”
“Did you tell this to the police?”
“No. They’d think I was guilty, that-that I had killed him.”
“Lying will make you look guilty, Isabella. Your story seems legit. Why lie about it?”
“Because he’s … dead!”
“Ahem.”
I turned to see Dad approach us. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to hear the whole story.” He raised his eyebrows and sat in the chair next to me. “How have you been, sweetheart?” He placed his hand upon mine.
I gave him a half-smile. “Okay, I guess.”
“Sorry to hear about your therapist.”
“It’s okay. I hadn’t seen him in a long time.”
“Did you find what you were looking for in your file?”
I sighed. “No.”
“What exactly were you looking for?”
“A tape of our hypnotherapy session.”
“It wasn’t in there?”
“No.”
“Hm …”
“I have to go back. I have to find it.”
“I’m sure the police scoured his office with a fine-tooth comb. For all you know, they have it.”
“That’s possible. But I wasn’t about to ask them. That would make me look suspicious.”
“Why are you so concerned about this tape? Can’t you just let it go?”
“No. It’s been bothering me. I can’t sleep. I can’t concentrate. It’s driving me crazy.”
“I can go by his office,” Rachel interrupted. “I have a good eye. If the police don’t have it and they overlooked it, I could find it.” Rachel smiled, grabbing plates from the cabinet.
“She’s right, Isabella. She has a gift. She should’ve been a private investigator.”
“I work for the newspaper. They won’t suspect anything.” Rachel set the plates in front of us. “They’ll just think I’m just digging up dirt for the office.” She smiled.
“When do you think you’ll st
op by there?” I asked.
“Tonight.”
***
Pacing neurotically, I checked the time. Rachel had been gone for over an hour now. I had told her that I would drive, but she insisted I stayed home—said she didn’t want me to be an accessory if she got caught.
SLAM!
I ran to the window and pulled back the curtain. The porch light illuminated the driveway and cast eerie shadows in the night. A full moon hung low in the sky, bright and full of mystery. I’d always been fascinated by the night and outer space—the moon, stars, and planets, even aliens.
I approached the front door as it opened. “I started to worry. You were gone for over an hour. Did you find it?”
Rachel rummaged through her pockets. “I was about to give up and leave when something caught my attention.” Rachel put out her hand, palm up.
“What is that?” I asked, squinting.
“It’s a micro SD card.” Rachel held it between her fingers, examining it. “Maybe it fell out of Isabella’s file when she left that night.”
“Where did you find it?”
“In the corner of a stair.”
“How in the world did you see it? That thing is so tiny.”
She smirked. “I have a good eye.”
“Apparently …” I nodded. “Do you think it could be the video of her session?”
“Only way to find out is to watch it.”
“Not without Isabella.”
“Why not?”
“Haven’t you heard of doctor-patient confidentiality?”
“I don’t care. This is an open murder investigation.”
I rolled my eyes. “Do you have no boundaries?”
“Not when it comes to murder.”
“It’s Isabella. Come on, seriously? She has nothing to do with the murder.”
“The police questioned her. She might be a suspect.”
“We’re talking about Isabella. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“You heard her yourself. She broke his nose.”
“He startled her. She didn’t know he was sleeping in his office. Most people sleep at home.”
“Are you making excuses for her?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Definitely sounds like it to me.” Rachel raised her eyebrows and gave me a look. “What’s so important about this session anyway?”
“The therapist refused to see her again after the visit, with no explanation.”
“Isn’t that a reg flag? She broke into his office to steal it, remember? That’s a felony.”
“She’s desperate to know what she had said under hypnosis. Wouldn’t you be?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you blame her?”
“Not really.”
“Okay, then.”
“Let’s give it to Isabella, and if she wants us to see it, then we can.”
“Aren’t you a little curious?” Rachel sighed, folding her arms. “What if she never tells us?”
“That’s her business. She’s not a child. We’ll call her in the morning and give it to her then.”
“Fine, but I think you’re making a big mistake.”
“I won’t go behind my daughter’s back and watch a video of her therapy session without her permission. It feels wrong.”
“She was the last person to see him alive. You don’t find that a little disturbing?”
“It’s just a coincidence.”
“Maybe it is. But maybe it isn’t.”
The Nightmares Continue
I glanced behind me, breathing heavy, my legs burning from sprinting, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I tripped and fell, twisting my knee as I screamed. The pain radiating through my leg was excruciating.
I tried to stand, but my legs collapsed. My heart pounded so hard that I heard it echoing in my skull. I dragged myself behind a huge oak tree to hide. I peeked around the trunk; my eyes widened with fear.
The darkness played tricks on me as a shadow darted from behind a nearby tree. I startled, quickly clasping my mouth. My heart pounded fiercely as fear tortured my thoughts, my stomach twisting into a violent cramp. A loud crash paralyzed me. I closed my eyes tight, hoping whatever was hunting me disappears. I couldn’t bare the urge to look anymore.
I slowly peeked around the trunk again, and the shadow charged at me with a machete. I let out a curdling scream. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t hide. I just closed my eyes and prayed that I’d awaken from this terrible nightmare. But, when I opened my eyes, I was still in the forest paralyzed by fear.
The sound of dry leaves and crunching sticks got closer and closer. I summoned the courage to look again, my body trembling. It was Isabella sporting a crazed look in her eyes, staring at me and holding a machete dripping with blood. A drop hit my hair-raised arm as it dissolved my skin and shredded the meat and bones, but I felt nothing. The ground underneath me caved, and I freefell into a hole of darkness.
My eyes flung open. I lay in bed, safe with Rachel sound asleep next to me.
I lay in bed for a while but couldn’t fall back to sleep. My thoughts ran rampant. All these years, I’d had the same recurring nightmare, but it changed just a tad each time. The last few had changed drastically. And now, Isabella had appeared in my nightmare, holding a machete. Bizarre. I’d heard that thoughts and pre-bedtime discussions could insert themselves into dreams, and that was probably what had happened. We had debated about Isabella, and now Isabella had a role in my recurring nightmare.
I quietly slid from the bed, trying not to wake my sleeping beauty. I slipped on my white robe hanging on the closet door. My feet felt cold against the marble floors as I traversed the hallway to the kitchen.
I poured a tall glass of orange juice as I gazed at my reflection in the window, staring blankly. The cold liquid dripped down my hand and snapped me back into reality. I grabbed a paper towel and cleaned the spill on the counter and washed my hands. I stood still, lost in thought. Parched, I raised the glass to my dry lips and gulped every refreshing drop in just seconds then wiped my lips with the back of my hand.
The old grandfather clock chimed the top of the hour, disturbing the silence. What time is it? I rubbed my eyes and yawned. Two o’clock. I had bought the beautiful clock at an antique shop downtown. Standing at approximately seventy-seven inches tall, it was made of dark walnut and carved with stunning accents and a gold-plated face and pendulum. I’d always loved antiques. They brought character and wisdom to our complicated world. My favorite had always been the grandfather clock; the close second was the antique wall-mounted telephone in the study, also made of dark walnut.
My mind wandered easily. I dragged my feet to the living room and collapsed on the leather couch. I grabbed the book I’d been reading—a short-story collection called Different Seasons by Stephen King. I ran my fingers along the pages where I’d placed my bookmark and read “Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption.”
***
My eyes had grown heavy and became hard to keep open. They slowly fluttered, drifting in and out of sleep, slipping deeper into dreamland.
I walked down a dark deserted gravel road in the middle of nowhere, trees arching over and extending their branches into what resembles a never-ending tunnel. All I heard was the wind howling as the moon illuminated my way. The stars sprayed the sky with thousands of glitter specks.
A dark figure stood at the end of the road. I squinted to get a better look. Who is that? I quickened my pace. The tunnel of trees stretched forever. The faster I ran, the farther away I seemed to be, as if I walked backward. Confused, I stopped as everything around me spun. Dizzy, I leaned against the tree to catch my balance.
“Treeevooor,” the voice echoed.
I looked around, but I saw no one.
“Treeevooor.”
“Who’s there?” My gaze darted frantically in the dark.
The trees on either side of me extended their branches toward me like long skeleton fingers, wrapping them gently around my fee
t and ankles and up my legs as another grabbed hold of my arms and around my torso and chest then squeezed tighter and tighter, making it hard to breathe. I tried to scream, but nothing escaped my trembling lips. It squeezed so tight that I felt my bones crush under its massive grip. My windpipe crushed. I panicked as I desperately gasped for air. I felt lightheaded as everything around me faded.
My life flashed before my eyes—images of my mom laying passed out, covered in vomit, and a glass of alcohol tipped over on the table; sitting across the table from my dad at breakfast when I was a kid; the beach; the first day I met Julia; Julia laying unconscious in a coma; the arbor that comes crashing down during our wedding; the first time I laid eyes on my baby girl; the look in Julia’s eyes, dead; a door opening as Mary’s face appears; my parents happy, kissing; the dead bunny; the fire; Isabella slamming a door in my face; Rachel’s contagious laughter; Mary, dead; Isabella holding a machete.
I gasped, and my eyes flung open, heart pounding, as I realized I lay on the couch with a book in my lap. Relieved, I inhaled a deep breath. The dream had felt so real that it terrified me.
The sound of shattering glass from the other room startled me. I rose, stumbling to my feet. Scanning the room, I noticed a picture on the floor. I gently picked it up and flipped it over. Our family picture, shattered.
How did this fall over? Confused, I picked up the pieces.
Secrets
I felt depressed and lonely, and I missed Mary. I hadn’t visited the guesthouse since she had passed. I told Dad I’d stop by this weekend to sort through her belongings, see what I wanted to keep before he and Rachel emptied the place. I think he had a hard time dealing with her death too.
I wondered if her spirit lingered in the house. Spirits sometimes get attached to their belongings if they didn’t pass to the other side, trapped on Earth with unfinished business. But Mary had passed peacefully in her sleep. I could see no reason she would be trapped in-between. Feeling her presence would comfort me. I missed her dearly.
I stood on the front porch with my hand on the door knob, hesitating. What am I waiting for? I turned the knob and pushed through the door.
The house looked clean, like I had remembered, before Mary had turned for the worse—calling me Natalie, wandering off, getting lost and not finding her way back home, not getting up to watch the sunrise, like she always loved to do, and, of course, not keeping her place clean and tidy. The smell of bleach hung in the air. Dad had paid Mary’s home nurse to clean the place from top to bottom one last time after her she had passed. The idea of her dying in the house had disturbed him.