by Mia Taylor
She did remember Bea, of course. The girl had been one of her only friends in their high school days.
Go Stingrays indeed, Fallon thought with some bitterness.
It seemed an unseemly match; Bea, stately, rich and fire-haired with a brilliant white smile and outgoing personality while Fallon was shy, reserved and barely five feet tall, her mother a drug addict.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” There was hurt in her voice but Fallon quickly shook her head in denial.
“Yes, yes, I remember you,” she replied quickly, her voice gravelly for it seemed it had been days since she’d last used it. Fallon worried that the woman would leave her there, offended by her poor manners, and for reasons she could not understand, she wanted Bea to remain, if only to share another few words.
Beatrice seemed relieved as she chuckled, those ivory fangs gleaming against the gloomy sky, almost as if she was wearing a set of false dentures, but of course that was ridiculous; they were the same age. The only difference was Beatrice Wexley oozed of money and charm while Fallon had been subjected to years of hard living under terrible conditions.
“It’s great to see you, Fallon. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told Daniel that I missed you,” Beatrice offered softly. An unexpected pang of emotion flooded through Fallon although whether it was due to being missed or the mention of Bea’s older brother, she couldn’t be sure. It had been seven years since she’d last seen either of the Wexley siblings. Surely they had forsaken her just as everyone else had managed to do. It had never occurred to Fallon that anyone had given her a second thought.
Yet Beatrice’s face emanated kindness and sincerity and Fallon found herself lowering her guard as she stared into the woman’s piercing green eyes.
“D-do you see Daniel often?” Fallon asked, her words sounding garbled to her own ears.
Beatrice laughed merrily. “Well, we are brother and sister,” she replied nonchalantly. “Unfortunately, we don’t have much of a choice, especially not when there’s a business to be run.”
Another jolt of confused emotion slithered through Fallon and the ginger-headed woman peered at her, concern coloring her face.
“Come inside,” Bea urged. “You’re soaked to the core and I could use a coffee.”
She didn’t wait for Fallon’s response, turning her short bob away and hurrying toward the door, her matte Louboutins clicking and splashing against the sidewalk. It was only at that moment that Fallon realized Bea had been shielding her with an umbrella. As Beatrice moved, the rain found its way back against her skin, causing another round of chills to surface on Fallon’s body.
Nervousness flickered in her gut as she remained rooted outside the hipster coffee house, unsure of what to do. If she followed Bea inside and the mean blonde was behind the counter, a scene was sure to ensue, but Fallon didn’t want to offend her old friend.
If I see the blonde, I can always make a run for it…
“Fallon! Come on!”
Bea’s white teeth blinded her once more as she waved a manicured hand in gesture.
It was all the motivation Fallon needed and before she could change her mind, she walked after her long-lost friend into the bustling store, blinking at the change of atmosphere.
The lights were surprisingly bright considering the darkness rolling in from outside and they hurt Fallon’s eyes somewhat but she dared not complain. It was a relief to escape the weather, if even for a minute or two.
Everywhere she looked, students and businesspeople lounged in chairs, glued to electronics, whether a computer or cell phone. No one seemed to notice the presence of a woman who clearly had no business being among them. For that matter, no one bothered to check out the exquisite redhead either. They were just far too absorbed in their own worlds to notice anything but the screens before them.
Bea didn’t seem to care that she did not command the attention of everyone in the room even though Fallon thought she should.
“I’m feeling soup today. And a ham and Swiss. Have you ever had the ham and Swiss here, Fallon? It’s to die for.”
Beatrice’s voice refocused her attention and Fallon gaped at her slightly, unsure of how to respond. The mere thought of eating meat, even processed, made her mouth water. It had been two days since she had managed to find a scrap of food to eat and she had forgotten how to be hungry, her tiny stomach having shrunk so dramatically.
She shifted her dark eyes away from Beatrice, who stared at her expectantly, but Fallon could not bring herself to explain that she couldn’t afford a cup of water in the joint, never mind a two-course meal.
“Fine, I’ll order for you,” she announced, spinning on a heel to look at the cashier, who watched Fallon with cold eyes. “Two chicken vegetable soups and two ham and Swiss on a Kaiser.”
“She can’t be in here.”
Fallon lifted her head, her eyes resting on the barista for the first time. It was the dreaded blonde.
It was unsurprising; finding food was never as easy as that. There had to be some obstacle blocking her from obtaining nourishment.
“What?” Bea asked, smiling slightly as if she didn’t understand the punchline of the joke.
“She’s not allowed in here,” the girl insisted, her already annoying voice raising. “Jake! This one’s back!”
Fallon’s face flushed with humiliation and she turned to leave before another employee appeared to escort her from the store. She didn’t bother to explain her abrupt departure to Beatrice; it should have been self-explanatory anyway.
“How many times have we told you to stop harassing the customers?” The nasal pitch followed her as Fallon bolted toward the door. “And don’t come back!”
“FALLON!”
Beatrice’s voice stopped her as if it was a gunshot ricocheting through the walls. The entire establishment seemed to quiet, all eyes turning toward them, realizing for the first time that the real show was at the counter.
Slowly, Fallon turned, her face crimson with shame.
“I-I shouldn’t be here,” she explained to Bea, whose face had twisted into a vastly unfamiliar expression. She seemed… enraged.
“Come back here, please.” Despite the politeness of the sentence, it was delivered through clenched teeth, Bea’s bright green eyes fixated on the barista.
“Ma’am, I don’t know what sob story she gave you but this woman is a menace—”
“What is your name?”
The man who was presumably Jake appeared before Fallon, his obese body seeming giant next to her tiny frame. Fallon felt her insides clench as she tried to make herself scarce. She hoped Jake wouldn’t touch her; last time he had left bruises on her that didn’t heal for weeks.
“Britta.”
“Britta, did you hear my order?” Bea asked, her tone conversational but there was a layer of ice which prickled Fallon’s flesh.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry but—”
“No, I’m sorry but,” Bea mimicked. “Do you know who I am?”
“Please, Bea,” Fallon mumbled, but the ginger only held up her hand.
“Ma’am, don’t force me to call the police,” Britta chirped, her pale face as red as Fallon’s. “Don’t cause a scene.”
“What did they do?” a teenager called out and Fallon realized that half the café had their cameras rolling as the drama unfolded. She dropped her head behind tangled chestnut strands, wishing to disappear. The last thing she wanted was to be subject of a YouTube viral clip, even if she’d done nothing wrong.
At least this time I didn’t do anything wrong.
“I implore you to call the police,” Bea replied haughtily. “I’ll wait right here.”
The girl and the woman had a staring contest for what felt like an eternity to Fallon but it was clear to see the blonde was losing her nerve against the super-composed Beatrice.
“You can tell them that Beatrice Wexley is standing in a store she owns, being threatened by a clueless millennial,” Beatrice continued. Fallo
n’s chin jerked upward to read the look on the barista’s face and realized that Beatrice was speaking the truth.
“Oh my God!” Britta squeaked. “I—I am so sorry, Ms. Wexley! I had no idea—”
“Obviously,” Beatrice sighed. “Now, will you stop being a brat and ring up our order?”
“Yes, ma’am! I’m sorry!” she blubbered. “If I had known—it’s just that woman—”
“That woman,” Bea spat, “happens to be a very dear friend of mine. Apologize to her at once!”
Britta’s face turned waxen, her jaw gaping slightly as she realized that disobeying the CEO would result in her dismissal.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed, her tone barely audible.
“I didn’t hear you. Fallon, did you hear her?”
“Yes,” Fallon said quickly, averting her eyes. It wasn’t her way to stick it to the blonde, no matter how much she might deserve it.
Beatrice eyed her high school friend worriedly.
“Fine. Ring it up.”
Britta swallowed visibly, miserably adhering to Bea’s instructions as Fallon reluctantly shuffled forward to rejoin her.
“I didn’t realize you owned this chain,” Fallon murmured as they took their number and wandered toward a table near the back of the shop. She idly wondered if that was the reason that she always returned to the café, as if some sixth sense was guiding her toward a lost sense of community with one of the only people who had ever shown her kindness.
Bea chuckled dryly. “How would you? I haven’t seen you in years.”
They sat, facing one another for a silent moment, Fallon searching for something to say to her benefactor.
“I’m sorry,” they blurted out in unison. Fallon looked at Bea in surprise.
“Why are you sorry?” Bea asked in disbelief. “You just stuck up for me against Britta!”
Bea grimaced at the mention of the girl’s name but she shook her short hair.
“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner, Fallon. It wasn’t for lack of trying, I assure you.”
A mirthless smile touched Fallon’s lips. “What good would that have done?”
“Well, I suppose I would have been able to offer you a job that much sooner then.”
Fallon gaped in shock. “What?” she mumbled. “Why? I’m not qualified to do anything at all.”
Bea’s smile widened and for the first time ever, Fallon noticed a gleaming set of eyeteeth which seemed more fang than tooth.
“You sell yourself short. I remember how smart you were in high school. You can put your mind to anything to do it.”
Fallon wasn’t sure she shared Bea’s confidence but she didn’t want to seem petulant, lest the offer was genuine.
“Why would you do that for me?” she murmured, uncomprehendingly.
“Because that’s what friends are for,” Bea replied, and for some reason, Fallon was filled with a great sense of unease.
How could I have been so stupid? How could I have not seen there was no reason for them to want me?
Fallon forced her self-pity aside and reminded herself that the charade had gone on for years.
They sought you out. You were vulnerable, alone. You had no way of knowing what was coming.
It didn’t matter how many times she went over the situation in her head, the result was always the same—the guilt was insurmountable and the pain of losing her children wouldn’t lessen.
“We never took your name for the appointment.”
Dr. Philips startled her and Fallon gasped slightly when he entered the waiting area.
“Joan,” Fallon lied. “Joan Jones.”
She cringed at the alias and the doctor sighed.
“Why don’t you step into my office and tell me what the problem is.”
He turned and Fallon followed, her heart hammering. She wondered if she was making a mistake. Beatrice’s people had to be watching her. What would they do if they realized what her intentions were with Dr. Philips?
“Sit down,” he instructed and Fallon could read the disapproval on his face. “What is your real name? I won’t treat you if you’re not honest with me.”
She chewed on her lower lip and considered telling him the truth.
If he can do what I hope he can, there’s no harm… is there?
“Fallon Wexley.”
The doctor’s eyes lit up with recognition.
“Of the Ambrosia Wexleys?” he asked. Panic flooded Fallon’s gut.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Do you know them?”
“No, I know of them, of course. Everyone does. You are… Daniel’s wife?”
Chills raced through her and she nodded, biting down so hard on her lower lip, she worried blood would spurt through the cut. Dr. Philips continued to stare at her and through her peripheral vision, she saw understanding color his face.
“I see. He’s the reason you’re here, is he?”
“I need your help,” she murmured. “You’re the only one in Ashbridge who can help me.”
“There are many psychologists in Ashbridge,” he replied warily. “I can recommend female doctors who are equipped in handling martial affairs—.”
“No. I need you. You’re the only one who can help me.”
“Why do you say that, Mrs. Wexley?”
Fallon wished he would stop calling her that. She never wanted to be associated with the Wexleys or Ambrosia again as long as she had breath but that was not something she was about to lose her cool over for the moment.
“Because you specialize in hypnosis.”
Dr. Philips was clearly perplexed by her response.
“Hypnosis?” he echoed. “I—well, yes, I do use hypnosis for certain cases but in the matter of marital issues, Mrs. Wexley—”
“I need you to hypnotize me.”
“You need to let me finish,” he told her sternly in a patronizing tone. “I don’t simply do it at will. You will need to meet a particular criteria for me to consider it and—”
Fallon didn’t let him finish before she slapped every dollar Beatrice had given her onto the desk before him.
“One hour. One session. Five thousand dollars.”
He eyed the money before looking at her in confusion.
“Mrs. Wexley—”
“Just call me Fallon,” she interjected, her nerves raw. “Please.”
“Fallon, I don’t think you understand how hypnosis works. Even if I agree to this, there’s no guarantee that you will manage to access whatever repressed memory you’re hoping to find in one session. It could take months or years of therapy before you find what you’re looking for. And it’s not a magic trick. You need to participate in therapy, talk about what’s happening in your life...”
Fallon blinked.
“Repressed memory?” she repeated. “I’m not looking to unearth some repressed memory.”
The psychologist was growing annoyed.
“I’m finding this entire conversation a little bit maddening, Mrs.—Fallon. Why don’t you explain what it is you’re trying to achieve and maybe we can chart a proper course of action.”
“I just told you!” Fallon snapped. “I need you to hypnotize me but I don’t need to find anything I’ve forgotten.”
“Then what? Are you trying to quit smoking?”
“What?” Fallon looked at him dubiously. “Is… what?”
He grunted. “Fallon, I think you’re wasting my time or playing a game here.”
He rose from his high-backed leather chair but Fallon sprung to her feet shaking her head vehemently.
“No! I’m not! I’ll tell you what I need you to do.”
“Then please get on with it. I’m missing my lunch to indulge whatever this is.”
She looked at him plaintively until he sank back into his chair and leaned across the desk, his hands folded before him. She also folded herself back into the chair she had been sitting in and began to speak.
“I’ve… I’m in…” She paused to collect her breaths which
seemed to be escaping in shorter gasps than before.
What the hell am I doing here? How could I have been so stupid as to believe this would work?
In an instant, she realized how foolish she’d been to come there, especially knowing that the doctor knew who she was. The exhaustion was permeating her bones and Fallon knew she had not been thinking rationally from the moment she had left her sons in Louisville.
I need to get out of here before I do something stupid. Stupider.
She jumped to her feet again and snatched the money off the surface.
“How much do I owe you for this appointment?”
“No, wait!” Dr. Philips protested. “Fallon, you came here for a reason. At least tell me what it is. Sometimes speaking the words aloud will make them less scary, easier to confront.”
Fallon snorted.
You have no idea what you’re talking about. There is nothing that will make this better.
“Thank you. Just tell me how much I owe you.”
He studied her face pensively.
“No charge. You weren’t even here half an hour,” he told her. “But if you leave, I’ll be forced to call your husband and tell him that I fear you’re a danger to yourself.”
She gaped at him in shock.
“You wouldn’t!” she choked. “You’re bound by confidentiality!”
“Not if I fear for my patient’s safety.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She had come to him for help and he was throwing her to the wolves.
Or the bears.
“Fallon, tell me why you wanted to be hypnotized.”
She couldn’t stop the tears from flooding her eyes and she dropped her head, knowing that if he got on the phone and managed to reach Daniel, she would never have enough time to escape before he found her.
“Fallon?”
“I want you to blot out my memory!” she yelled, the tears slipping down her cheeks.
“Blot—what do you mean?” His confusion was almost tangible.
“I want you to make me forget about my past.”
“Oh.” He nodded as if he understood and sighed. “Hypnosis doesn’t work like that, Fallon. You can’t just eliminate the bad parts of your life and hope for a blank where your memories once were.”
“If a mind can repress memories by itself, there must be a way!” Fallon insisted.