Dangerous Christmas Memories

by Sarah Hamaker

  “Dr. Devins? But I didn’t meet Dr. Devins until we arrived at the second safe house.” She opened her mouth, then closed it. The feeling of having met Dr. Devins before and the uneasiness she’d felt during their initial session along with the shadowy figure of a man outside the kitchen in the corridor all seemed too fantastical to even consider, and yet...something about the idea clicked.

  * * *

  “That’s true, but Mac had already arranged the session with Dr. Devins, right?” Luc jiggled his leg up and down as his mind raced.

  “No more talking.” Culvert glared at them, then turned his attention back to his phone.

  Priscilla leaned closer. “Yes,” she whispered. “Is Laura involved too?”

  He kept his voice soft. “Mac seemed to think it was someone inside the marshals. I’d say that’s very possible.”

  She winced. “I thought Laura was my friend. This is a nightmare.”

  “As a marshal working with Mac on the team, she would have had access to where you were, even before we actually met her.” Luc gave her hand a squeeze.

  “But why? What would make a psychiatrist and a US marshal do these terrible things?” The anguish in Priscilla’s voice coupled with the tears now streaming down her cheeks prompted Luc to draw her into his arms. He wasn’t able to take away her pain or confusion, but he could offer a shoulder to cry on and a warm hug. For now, that had to be enough.

  * * *

  A short while later, Luc looked up at Culvert, who had padded across the room without a sound. His stealthy actions must have aided him as a hired killer, given his ability to move about even in a place as creaky as this old cabin in silence.

  Culvert pointed to Priscilla. “Is she asleep?”

  “Yeah.” Luc tightened his arm slightly around the dozing Priscilla.

  The man grunted as if in reply. “Wake her up.”

  “Are we going somewhere?” Luc hated to disturb Priscilla—she’d had little rest these last few days.

  “No, but I’m hungry and, since you’re both here, figured I wouldn’t need to cook for myself.” Culvert eyed him. “Unless you can cook, you’d better wake up Sleeping Beauty.”

  As if on cue, Luc’s stomach growled, reminding him how long ago it had been since the aborted breakfast. “I can cook.”

  Culvert gave a mock bow and swept his arm toward the far corner where a camp stove rested on a wooden table. “Then you’d better get on with it.”

  Luc slid his arm from around Priscilla, then inched forward to gently ease her sleeping form onto the couch. She stirred but didn’t awaken. He wished he’d had a blanket to cover her with.

  In a box on the floor beside the table, Luc found several cans of black beans, a can of mixed vegetables and a box of elbow macaroni. Rooting around in the bottom of the box, he came up with a couple of packets of barbecue sauce. Black bean pasta bowls it is. Next to the propane camp stove he discovered two pots and a can opener. Not much in the way of a weapon, but good for making a hot lunch.

  After opening the cans and pouring the contents into the smaller pot, he hit the first snag. Culvert had returned to his position in the chair, his attention on the front door.

  Luc walked over carrying the larger pot. “Where’s the water?”

  Culvert didn’t turn his gaze from the door. “There’s a pump out back. Don’t do anything foolish.”

  Luc nodded once and headed out back, wishing he had Mac’s cell phone. He had sent the GPS coordinates of the cabin before he’d entered the clearing to the marshal’s personal cell phone, and now he prayed Mac hadn’t been hurt too badly to pass along the info to local law enforcement or the FBI. The pump handle moved easily, water gushing out and nearly overflowing the pot.

  The sun had taken up position high above him, but the trees still hadn’t shed all their leaves, leaving the tiny clearing shrouded in shadows. An animal rustled in the undergrowth. Luc jumped and only just managed to hang on to the pot’s handle. Water splashed onto his jeans. A pair of squirrels darted from the right to race across the yard, disappearing into the forest once more. Yet his heart didn’t stop hammering.

  Luc shivered despite the mild autumn day, an overwhelming desire to be inside the cabin’s four walls quickening his steps. Funny how he sensed evil not inside the cabin in the presence of a man who killed others for a living, but outside these walls.

  Almost on autopilot, he found the lighter, got the stove going and heated the water and the beans and veggie mixture. After adding the noodles to the boiling water, he spotted a coffeepot and asked permission for another quick trip to the pump for more water. Hot food and a hot drink—that was what was needed to boost his and Priscilla’s spirits. He gave little thought to what Culvert would think of the meal, choosing to focus on her well-being. Back inside, he put the coffeepot on the other burner and turned up the flame.

  “Luc?”

  Luc turned from the stove to see Priscilla sitting up on the couch, her hair tousled. “Yes?”

  “What are you doing?” She stretched, then yawned. Then her shoulders tensed as she caught sight of Culvert in his post by the door.

  “Putting together some lunch.” He turned off one of the stove’s burners, then moved the coffee percolator to the other burner. “It’s nearly ready, if I can find some plates or bowls.”

  “Let me help.” Priscilla came over. “If it weren’t for him, this would seem like a normal camping experience.”

  He leaned closer. “We can do this. It will be okay.”

  “Food ready yet?” Culvert called, his eyes hard as they met Luc’s gaze.

  “Almost.” Luc stirred the pot’s contents as Priscilla rifled through the canned-goods box.

  Then she tugged out a paper bag Luc had overlooked from underneath the table. “Aha! Success.” She triumphantly held up a bag of insulated coffee cups. “We can use these as bowls.”

  Luc scrunched up his face. “They’re not big enough for much of a serving.”

  “Better than nothing.” She produced spoons from the bag as well. “We can always get seconds.”

  “And thirds.” Luc sighed, trying to keep his voice light and the conversation normal. “But you’re right—it’s better than eating out of the pots.”

  Priscilla separated out cups for their meal and coffee, while Luc combined the noodles and the bean mixture into the larger pot. He stuck the wooden spoon back in to use as a serving utensil. “Food’s ready.” The percolator bubbled but the color remained a light brown. “Coffee will be ready in a few minutes.”

  Culvert came over and Luc dished up some for him. The older man returned to his post, his eyes constantly roving from the door, to the window, to the couch where Priscilla and Luc sat to eat their meal. All three ate the first few bites in silence.

  “Not bad.” Priscilla made the first comment. “I doubt I would have done as well, given the limited ingredients. Who taught you to cook?”

  “My mom. That’s how she unwound after a day spent in surgery.” Luc went back for seconds, his hunger ramping up as the meager serving hit his stomach. “She insisted that I learn as well as my sisters. By the time we hit seventh grade, we each had a night to prepare dinner for the family. She made us pick our own recipes too.” He chewed another bite, memories of those times wafting through his thoughts.

  To keep Priscilla eating, he continued talking about his family. “My sisters and I used to fight over who got to cook the noodle dish for that week, as my mom only allowed one noodle dish, one rice dish, et cetera, per week.”

  Culvert had already gone back for thirds by the time Priscilla finished her first cupful.

  “Want some more?” Luc set down his cup to reach for hers.

  “Sure. It was quite tasty.” Priscilla smiled as she handed it to him. “The coffee looks darker now.”

  Luc spooned more food for Priscilla, then turned off
the burner before pouring them each a cup. “Did you see any sugar?”

  She shook her head. “That’s okay. I’m just glad it’s hot.”

  “Me too.” Luc shared a companionable glance with Priscilla.

  When they were finished, only a few noodles and black beans remained in the bottom of the pot. Luc found a black garbage bag in the corner that held a few cans, and gathered the meal’s trash.

  Luc picked up the coffeepot. “I think there’s enough for a second cup.”

  “Not for me.” Culvert crossed to the mantel, his expression hard and his gray eyes cool.

  A knock sounded at the door. Luc put the coffeepot down and edged closer to Priscilla.

  Culvert removed his gun from his waistband. “You can offer it to our visitor.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Priscilla leaned into Luc, needing his strength as she watched the front door slowly open. Culvert laid his gun on the mantel, but kept his hand still on the butt.

  Dr. Devins slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

  Priscilla gasped. The doctor stood there in a jacket with a slight rip in one sleeve—quite unlike his usual polished appearance.

  “Ah, I was wondering when you would join us.” Culvert didn’t move from his stance in front of the fireplace. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “I didn’t come here for coffee.” Dr. Devins darted his gaze around the room, his eyes bouncing off Priscilla’s face without making eye contact. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead despite the chill in the air.

  Culvert shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  “I’m not alone,” Dr. Devins blurted out. “The FBI—”

  “Say no more.” Culvert smiled, the expression scooting Priscilla closer to Luc. “Let’s invite them in.”

  Dr. Devins hesitated.

  Culvert removed his hand from the gun. “Does your wife know you’re here?”

  “She’s still unconscious.” Dr. Devins wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his jacket. The psychiatrist took a step toward Culvert. “Your little stunt in the parking lot nearly killed her!”

  “That’s too bad.” Culvert’s casual tone seemed at odds with his coiled readiness. “That would have been inconvenient, but not too surprising, given her extracurricular activities of late.”

  “Inconvenient?” Dr. Devins knotted his fists. “Don’t you mean convenient for you?”

  Luc squeezed her hand, and Priscilla glanced up at him. He dipped his head toward the back door. He wanted them to make a run for it while the other men were focused on each other. She gave a tiny nod that she understood. They stood close to the table, which was about five feet or so away from the back door. To have a real chance, they would need to inch their way back until they were within striking distance of the door.

  Culvert shook his head. “No, her dying would be most inconvenient. If she dies, then who will corroborate my story of a rogue US marshal attempting to kill a witness and pin the blame on me?”

  Dr. Devins relaxed his fists. “This has gotten out of hand. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

  “You weren’t complaining when the money rolled in.” Culvert’s voice had a sarcastic tone. “You were more than happy to do your part, as long as you got paid.”

  “It wasn’t enough compensation, not for the risk.”

  Priscilla and Luc took a step backward when Culvert’s attention was fixed on Dr. Devins, who had yet to acknowledge their presence in the room.

  Culvert barked out a laugh. “Sure it was. It was plenty of money. If you had invested it wisely, you’d have had a nice little nest egg now, enough to retire to the country of your choosing. Instead, your wife gambled it—and more—away in online poker games.” Culvert snorted. “What I want to know is why you didn’t simply hypnotize your wife to stop her from gambling.”

  Priscilla froze. Laura had an online addiction to poker? How did she keep it a secret from the US marshals?

  “She was making progress. Then you had to get yourself captured.” Dr. Devins began to pace. “She heard rumors that you wanted to make a deal with the US Attorney’s Office. She couldn’t let that happen, but you were being kept in a secured facility.”

  Luc tugged Priscilla back another step.

  Dr. Devins pivoted and pointed a finger at Priscilla. “Mac wanted me to hypnotize you. That’s when it all started to fall apart.”

  “Why would that matter?” Priscilla understood Laura’s motivation to keep her gambling and association with Culvert a secret, but what did her memories have to do with Dr. Devins? And then she got it. Why she couldn’t remember much of Luc, why she recalled only bits and pieces of the actual shooting, why she felt she’d known Dr. Devins before their first session. “You were there, outside the kitchen that night. You were at the Last Chance Casino.”

  Dr. Devins thinned his lips.

  Priscilla took a step toward them, thoughts of escape out the back door fading as more pieces to the puzzle clicked into place. “You hypnotized me there, at the casino. That’s why I can’t remember that night. You blocked my memories.”

  “You were supposed to forget the shooting, not the stuff that happened before that,” Dr. Devins snapped. “I was rushed during my hypnosis of you, and that’s why it didn’t work as planned.”

  Luc put his arm around her shoulders. “You hypnotized Priscilla?” His voice was tight with emotion. “Why?”

  “For the money.” Priscilla kept her gaze on the doctor as she answered. “Culvert hired him to be on hand for certain jobs that took place in a more public setting to hypnotize any witnesses into forgetting what they saw.”

  “To pay off Laura’s gambling debts,” Luc finished.

  “The good doctor had to do something to keep his lovely wife out of trouble,” Culvert said. “She had borrowed money from the wrong people one time too many. Our arrangement allowed Devins the opportunity to pay off her debts, which, I must say, kept climbing higher and higher.” He turned to the doctor. “You really need to get her help with her gambling addiction.”

  She locked eyes with Culvert. “Why not just kill the witnesses?”

  “I don’t kill innocent people.” He picked up the gun from the mantel, resting it against his right leg.

  “A hit man with a code of honor?” Luc sounded as disbelieving as Priscilla.

  Culvert narrowed his eyes. “I don’t pretend to be something I’m not. The US Army taught me how to kill, and I found I was good at it—very good at it. When I returned from yet another overseas assignment, I’d had enough of the military and decided to branch out on my own.”

  “But you’re still a killer.” Dr. Devins’s voice had its old confidence back.

  “I’ve known a day of reckoning would come. One’s luck always runs out.” Culvert stared hard at the psychiatrist. “That’s a lesson you should learn.”

  “What, you believe there’s more to life than this?” Dr. Devins glanced around the cabin. “That there’s a final judgment?”

  The two men eyed each other like boxers circling in a ring, waiting to see who would blink first. Priscilla sidled beside Luc, reaching down to interlace her fingers through his. Maybe they could get closer to the door while the two former colleagues were distracted by their conversation.

  “No, more like the old adage ‘If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime,’” Culvert mocked. “Why don’t you tell Priscilla exactly what you did to her?”

  Culvert and Dr. Devins both turned to look at her. Priscilla froze. So much for edging closer to the back door. To distract them from where she and Luc stood, she blurted, “What did you do?”

  Dr. Devins blew out a breath. “You were easy. Culvert suspected someone was hiding in the kitchen. I waited for you to emerge, then followed you to the break room. The rest was simple.” His gaze hardened. “But you forgot the wrong thing! You remembered en
ough of the shooting to make it dangerous for both of us.”

  Priscilla tried to wrap her mind around this new information. “But how can you hypnotize someone against their will? I thought they had to be compliant for it to work.”

  “That’s a common misconception.” Dr. Devins straightened, a professorial tone coloring his words. “The truth is that most people can be hypnotized quite easily after witnessing a traumatic event. It’s often used to help patients with post-traumatic stress disorder overcome that syndrome.”

  Anger built as Dr. Devins continued to explain the benefits of hypnotherapy for PTSD. He had tricked her into suppressing memories not of the shooting but of her marriage to Luc, effectively robbing her of seven years of her life.

  “In a hypnotic trance, clients are able to reenact the trauma, this time substituting what they wish they had done with what they hadn’t been able to do in reality.” Dr. Devins continued as if addressing a classroom of undergraduates. “Thus, they are able to finally put the trauma behind them and reintegrate fully into their former lives.”

  “And what about me and the others you hypnotized?” Priscilla stiffened as anger pulsed through her body. “How are we to move on when you’ve blocked our memories?”

  Dr. Devins raised his eyebrows. “At this point, you don’t have to worry about that.”

  * * *

  The tension in the room accelerated with Dr. Devins’s ominous reply to Priscilla’s question. Luc gauged the distance between themselves and the back door. They had inched closer, but how many steps remained, he hadn’t a clue. Had he latched the door securely when he’d returned with the coffeepot water? He couldn’t remember if Culvert had been watching him upon his reentry into the cabin—and thus allowed Luc to take the opportunity to make a way of escape possible.

  Now, with both men’s attention on them, there was no chance of meeting their escape objective. Maybe they should make a break for it after all. Or maybe he should rush Culvert and allow Priscilla to dash for freedom.