by Sophie Davis
And it certainly was.
Of the three potential suspects Darrell had identified, only one was wearing a baseball cap, just as Deidre had claimed, though he’d also had the hood of a sweatshirt pulled up over it on the video. Not that either one, or even the combination of both, could obscure someone so familiar to me.
She’d been correct about the time, too.
At 6:24 p.m., when he was supposed to be sitting in class, Asher had buzzed himself into the building through the backdoor.
What the f—
“I’M READY, I want to do it,” I said, voice trembling more than I’d have liked.
“Good afternoon, Miss Kingsley,” Rebecca said, looking somewhat taken aback. “Come on in.”
“Thanks,” I replied, already on my feet and moving through the door she held open. “But really, I’m ready to try it today.”
Entering Rebecca’s office, I went straight to the blue tweed couch in the corner and plopped down on the thick cushions. When I glanced up, I saw her grey eyes cutting over to me as she passed and took her seat in the matching chair across from me. Was that intrigue or fear that I saw? Hope or fear? By the time she finished adjusting her pencil skirt and looked straight at me, it, whatever ‘it’ was, was gone. Her face settled into that practiced face of interest free of judgment.
“Hypnosis, I mean,” I hurried on. “You’ve been saying for a while that you think I would benefit from it, that it might help me remember things that I don’t have a cognizant grasp of. I’m ready to try it.”
When she ran her fingers through her shoulder-length amber waves, the cushion-cut diamond ring Rebecca wore on her right hand twinkled in the light from the lamp on the table beside her. Dread overtook me in that moment, but I pushed it down. There was too much I needed to know.
“I don’t know, Lark, you seem a little antsy. Maybe not today, hmm? Maybe we can try—“
“No,” I interrupted. My decisive tone caught her attention. “I’m fine, really. Just excited. Or, well I don’t know, something like that.”
“Lark, you have been seeing me for over three years now, and I have never heard you use ‘excited’ when discussing your feelings about coming here. I suggested hypnotherapy months ago. Why is it that you would like to try it today? What is it that’s different about today?” Rebecca asked in her standard measured tone.
It took effort not to roll my eyes at her blatant head shrinking language. If I had a dollar for every time my therapist asked me ‘Why is it?’ or ‘What is it’ or—my personal favorite—‘How does that make you feel?’ I’d be richer than my father. And that was saying something.
After my “episode” and the resulting fallout, I’d thought I put anything of this nature behind me. But when my family moved to Manhattan several weeks later, my mother quickly got in on the longstanding Upper East Side parenting trend and sent me off to Dr. Rebecca Fullbrook.
After three years of therapy sessions, and listening to my friends discuss their own, I knew how to manipulate the shrink. As I fed Rebecca the right answers, the replies that I knew would satisfy her, I looked around her office high atop one of the most coveted office buildings in Manhattan. The antique desk on the far side of the room, the Tiffany lamp atop the carved mahogany table next to her, and every other inch of the understated but clearly expensive room spoke volumes about the worth of Dr. Fullbrook’s services to the progeny of the most powerful people in this city. My mother had chosen an excellent parent proxy.
“Talking to Adam just gave me that push I needed,” I concluded. “I have a lot of unresolved questions when it comes to him and that period in my life. A lot of my issues with my parents stem from their reaction…from what they did to me.”
“For you,” Rebecca replied automatically. “They did what they thought was best for you. Put yourself in their shoes—they were worried about you, Lark. They did what was best.”
“Right,” I said carefully. “I just think I might be able to better grasp their reasoning and their actions if I had a clear picture of what happened.”
Just like I knew it would, my ‘mature and well-reasoned’ reply caused Rebecca to nod her head in agreement. Finally.
“Just one thing,” I added, knowing how delicately I needed to handle this to avoid causing suspicion. “Now that I’m eighteen—”
“Oh, of course, I am so sorry, Lark. I forgot—happy birthday!” Rebecca reached across the space dividing us—what was considered a do-not-cross zone, usually—and squeezed my hand with her cold fingers. “How was your party?”
“It was great,” I said quickly, hurrying to shut down the possibility of a subject change. “But now that I’m eighteen, you ca…I mean, you won’t be discussing anything with my parents, correct?”
“Lark, I have explained this to you. The discussions I’ve held with your parents were only to give them an overview of how you’re doing, nothing more. And I never share anything specifically that we’ve talked about. The only reason I would ever have told them anything more is if I thought you were a danger to yourself or others. Or if a serious condition was evident. Now, however, no, I will not go to them for even those reasons. You are considered an adult now for many intents and purposes, including this one. Now, everything we discuss is only between you and me, always.”
“No biggie,” I said breezily, as if I hadn’t just made a point to ask. “I was just wondering. Now, how do we do this?”
“Just lay back,” Rebecca said, smiling at my eagerness. She was mistaking the reason behind it, but there was no way I was going to correct her.
Sliding off my baby pink ballet flats, I shifted so my feet were on the opposite end of the couch, my head resting against one of the downy soft throw pillows. Rebecca stood and crossed over to the gleaming cherry hutch beside her desk, the pair obviously a matching set. When she opened one of the cabinets and produced a video camera, an alarm went off inside my head, a voice furiously whispering that this was a bad idea.
“Wait, why…,” I paused to steady my voice, continuing in what I hoped came across as an off-handed query. “What’s the camera for?”
“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about,” Rebecca answered, her back still to me as she set up a tripod. “Some clients find that they don’t remember what we discuss during the session, and it’s easier for them to be able to watch it later. Sometimes—this won’t be the case with you, since we’re not dealing with anything too serious—but sometimes things that come out during hypnosis are difficult for the client to grasp. They may need to hear it coming from their own lips, rather than take my word for it.”
Staring at a spot on the back of Rebecca’s navy cashmere cardigan, I processed the new development and her words, wondering if this was still a good idea. When she turned to face me again, I kept my gaze on her stomach for a beat too long, carefully arranging my features before I met her eyes.
“Oh, Lark, there’s nothing to worry about here. I tape all of my hypnosis sessions. In this case, you simply may not remember, and may wish to view the tape, that’s all. I know the idea of not being in complete control of yourself may be frightening but…”
Rebecca carried on with her platitudes, but other thoughts consumed my mind. Even with all of the possibilities, all of the potential outcomes, I still knew that this was something I wanted to do. Maybe even needed to.
“It’s fine,” I said, waving off her explanations. “Let’s do this.”
“Close your eyes,” Rebecca said. “Take deep breaths, in through your nose, out through your mouth.”
“Now focus on your toes,” she said. “Continue your breathing and focus on your toes. I have to tell Linda we’re going to run late, but focus on you, on your toes relaxing, losing all tension, and then your feet.”
Though I heard her speaking softly to her receptionist on the intercom, telling Linda she could head home for the day, Rebecca’s voice barely registered as I followed her instructions.
“Your feet will start to feel heavy,” she
continued, coming back to the armchair. “Let that heaviness travel up to your legs, your calves relaxing, slowly losing all tension. Now your thighs, heavy, relaxed, let go…”
For several long minutes I followed her directions until my entire body, even my hair, felt like lead. The sensation caused my mind to feel lighter, free, but at the same time distant somehow. As if my thoughts and body were no longer attached, and my consciousness tied to neither of them.
“How do you feel?” Rebecca’s words were soft and soothing, travelling into my mind almost as if a thought of my own.
“Unsure.”
I heard my voice replying, but there was no cognizant intention to go with it. A part of me bucked at the sensation, fighting against the loss of control. Strangely, it was as if I could see the actual thought, the words hovering in my view: This is a bad idea.
“You’re safe, Lark,” Rebecca soothed. “You’re safe in your surroundings. Relax, deeper, let everything go…this is a safe space, let go….”
The soft voice continued with its gentle instruction and the words fell upon me like a soft, warm blanket. I found myself automatically complying and, as if I’d physically swiped them away with my hand, the words of warning disappeared from my view.
There was no longer a need to focus or to think. I simply was.
“Go back, Lark. Let your mind fall back. To when you lived in Connecticut.”
“Uh huh.” The second syllable was drawn out, almost as if a child was responding to Rebecca.
“How old are you?”
“Six and a half.”
“Where are you, sweetheart?”
“It’s a secret,” my voice replied in an exaggerated whisper.
“Why’s that?” Rebecca whispered back.
“’Cause it’s my special hiding place.”
“It’s okay sweetheart, I can keep a secret.”
“Hmm, I dunno. If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone else, ‘kay?”
“Of course.”
“It’s the couch in Daddy’s office, but don’t tell anyone. I like to sit here with my books.”
“Who are you hiding from?”
“Mommy. And Nanny, too.”
“Why are you hiding?”
“Mommy is yelling at Nanny. I hate when Mommy yells. Especially at Nanny. Nanny is always nice to me, she never says no when I want to play with my dollies.”
“Can you hear what they’re saying?”
A quiet giggle escaped my lips.
“Mommy says Nanny is joking. Nanny tells such funny jokes.”
“Is your mom laughing?”
“No,” I replied sadly. “Mommy never laughs at my jokes, either.”
Suddenly my face scrunched up.
“Why didn’t nanny take my temperature? I didn’t get to stay home from school or have soup and watch cartoons, either.”
“Why would you do those things?”
“I get special days when I don’t feel well.”
“Are you sick?”
“I don’t feel sick. But Nanny is telling Mommy that I have to go to the doctor again. That’s why they’re having a row. That’s what an argument is called where Nanny is from,” my young voice went from sounding exasperated to proud.
“Do you go to the doctor a lot?”
“No, Nanny did take me to the doctor yesterday, though. Mommy came, too, but I didn’t like that. She wouldn’t let me have a lollipop. I always get a lollipop when I go see the doctor. Mommy says they will rot my teeth and make me f…”
My prattling paused while I evidently listened to the conversation in the next room. Without warning, sadness washed over me like a wave.
“Mommy says Nanny can’t stay here anymore. She says…” my voice trembled, wavering on the edge of tears. “She says she has to leave. I love Nanny, I don’t want her to go.”
Tears streamed down my face. Even though there was a sense of detachment from my physical body, I could feel the wetness on my cheeks.
“Shhh, it’s okay, Lark,” Rebecca lulled. “Go forward now, move on, let the years pass.”
The tears ceased and I felt my head nod as I followed her instructions.
“How old are you now, Lark?”
“Eleven,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. This wasn’t the same exaggerated whisper of a child. The word was exhaled with my breath.
“What do you see?” Rebecca quietly asked.
“It’s dark.”
“What are you doing?”
“Hiding.”
“Who are you hiding from now?”
“Everyone.”
“Can you tell me where you are?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t know, or don’t want to tell me?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s around you?”
“You can’t talk to me now.”
“Why not?”
Rebecca’s question was rewarded with silence.
“Okay Lark, move on now. Move forward through the years. You’re in eighth grade now.”
“Uh huh,” my voice answered, my tone no longer hushed.
“Where are you?”
“In my room.”
There was a touch of melancholy in the words.
“What’s around you?”
“My birthday presents. They’re all sitting on my comforter.”
“What are you doing?”
“Sitting on my bed. I’m supposed to be writing Thank You notes, but I’m thinking about Adam instead.”
“And what are you thinking?”
“I’m wishing he didn’t like boys. I’m wondering if it will change.”
“Why’s that?”
“A part of me still wants him to be my first serious boyfriend.”
“Go forward a few months, Lark. To the last time you saw Adam in Connecticut.”
“It’s the last week of school,” I heard myself say, my voice stronger and full of confidence.
“Are you in class?”
“Yep. Social studies. Mrs. Edelmen is going over the last stuff that will be on the exam. Bo-ring.”
“And what are you doing?”
“Passing back the note Adam just sent me about our end of the year party. It’s going to be so awesome, everyone who’s anyone is coming. I can’t wait until school is over, our moms are taking us to try all the food from the caterers and pick what we want them to serve. We’re going to have waiters passing around the food and soda, and no parents. Chris Larson’s older brother is going to get us a bottle of vodka.”
“What happened next?”
“Chris just passed me a note. He wants to know if I’ll be his girlfriend. We kissed at my birthday party during truth or dare.”
“What are you thinking about Lark?”
“He is really cute. And his older brother drives us places. It could be a really fun summer if I say yes.”
“No, I mean…are you thinking about anything else?”
“A little about Jon. I thought he liked me, but maybe he doesn’t. Chris is funny. I like that, too. And he hasn’t hooked up with a bunch of girls, so I think I’m going to say yes.”
“What else is happening around you, Lark?”
“Mrs. Edelmen is walking up and down the rows between our desks. I have to hide the notes from Adam and Chris under my notebook or she’s going to take them. That would be so humiliating.”
“What is she saying, Lark?”
“That this lecture will be on the exam.”
“Do you hear anything besides your teacher talking?”
“No,” I replied with a huff.
“What is the lecture about? Tell me what Mrs. Edelmen is saying.”
“Global politics. Like I said, so boring. She’s explaining about the people who fight against their governments. How they make people join them using violence…. They…they take over regions and buy weapons, so they can grow and take over more….Insurgents, she calls them…”
My voice trailed off, f
ollowed by a long pause. A lump was forming in my throat, making it hard to breathe.
“What else?” Rebecca gently urged.
“They…the kids…she said…no. She said…how can…ohh, the boy, the boy, the boy…no…not him! The terrible things…he just…no…there’s so much blood…the way they….”
“Lark, it’s time to wake up now,” Rebecca’s voice sounded far away at first. But as she continued, the words were spoken loudly in a clear, firm voice that sounded as if it were drawing near. “Open your eyes.”
At first, my body and mind still weren’t connected. It took several tries to rejoin the two and lift my lids. When I finally did, my vision swam in front of me. My eyelashes felt heavy, weighed down. Swiping my hand over my face, it came away damp.
“Whoa,” I said, sitting up to quickly. Using both hands, I wiped the tears from my eyes, and then ran my fingers through my hair. “That was so weird.”
Looking over at Rebecca, I was startled by the expression on her face. She looked shaken and…was that fear?
“Yes,” she replied, visibly struggling to pull herself together, and put her professional demeanor in place. “It certainly was.”
I DESERVED AN OSCAR—or a Daytime Emmy, at the absolute least—for the performance I gave Darrell. The initial shock was impossible to hide when the hood covering Asher’s face fell back, just enough to expose those big brown eyes that were always so worried about me. I was relatively certain that my jaw came unhinged and my heart stopped beating for a solid fifteen seconds.
I didn’t even try to hide my reaction from Darrell. Instead, I ran with it. Explaining that, yes, I knew the guy on the tape. That he was another cousin of mine. Elaborating on the ruse, I rambled on about our family tree and how hoodie/hat guy, Ms. Quattrocchi, and I all fit together.
All the while, in the back of my mind, I replayed every encounter with Asher since day one in D.C. Anger, betrayal, pain, I felt them all. Somewhere, buried really deep inside of me, I think I knew that there was at least one reasonable explanation for the situation. But, bottom line, Asher lied.