One Texas Night

by Sylvie Kurtz

  Tears of frustration blended with the rain on her cheeks. "It's okay. You'll be okay. It's okay, you'll be okay. It's—"

  "Melinda?" The voice came distorted and ugly across the static air. A blob took shape, black against the shifting shadows of the night.

  A scream rent the air. "Hide, Lindy, hide!" Primal fear, instinct, took over, flooding her body with adrenaline. The hammer of her heart filled her ears. Hands grabbed at her. Her throat vibrated raw. She pushed away, scrambling in the opposite direction.

  The monster—he was close, so close. Fear pulsed through her, pounding louder with every beat of her heart.

  Hide, Lindy, hide.

  Then he had her.

  Mouth open wide, she froze.

  "Melinda?"

  Holding her breath, she waited.

  For a reprieve from the horror.

  Or the next move, which would catapult her into terror.

  "It's me, Melinda. It's Grady. I won't hurt you."

  "It's okay," she said between ragged breaths. She couldn't hear the rain anymore, or the thunder. She couldn't feel the night, or the monster holding her. She couldn't smell the damp earth, or the winey breath. Fuzzy warmth suffused her. "You'll be okay—"

  "Melinda, look at me!"

  An insistent weight lifted her chin and she found herself looking into vivid blue eyes. Familiar, that blue. Safe. The rain stung her skin through the gauzy layer of her clothes. The stiff grass poked into the soles of her feet. A solid body pressed against hers.

  As the landscape of her nightmare shifted back to reality, a sob of relief escaped her. "Grady."

  "You scared me."

  "I scared myself." She'd done it again. She'd gone over the edge—let an old nightmare completely take over her present. Twice in two weeks. Shivers racked through her. Miniature eels of dread made her skin crawl. Was she going crazy? At least she still knew who she was this time. At least she hadn't woken up in jail. At least no fresh police tape flapped in the wind. She wanted to cry, but drew in a long breath instead and leaned her head against Grady's shoulder.

  Solid. Strong. Warm.

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself closer. One of his arms rose to cocoon her shoulders. His free hand stroked her hair in long, soothing motions. Gradually her heart calmed, her body stopped shaking, and her mind slowed. Between the rain's gentle wash and Grady's reassuring caresses, the panic trickled away. She sighed.

  "After the power went out, I heard you scream," he said. "How are you feeling?"

  "Black with splashes of red and pinpricks of purple."

  "What?"

  She laughed mirthlessly into the sodden material of his shirt. "I told you not everything was black-and-white. Or gray. Feelings come in color. We should go inside. You're all wet."

  "So are you. What happened?"

  "An old nightmare caught me off guard."

  Reluctantly, she took a step back, disengaging her hold on his waist. With his arms still wrapped around her shoulders, she placed her palms against his chest, lifted her head and sought his gaze. "Grady?"

  "Um."

  "Your sister …. What kind of psychologist is she?"

  His chest stiffened beneath her palms, caution masked his features. "She deals mostly with children."

  "Oh." Her gaze dropped to a pearl button on his shirt.

  "Why are you asking?"

  She traced the button's shape around and around with a finger. "Could she … could she hypnotize me?"

  "Why?"

  "I don't want to deal with a stranger. She seemed like a nice person." Melinda looked up again into the intense blue of his eyes. "I need to know, Grady."

  His fingers curled tightly around her shoulders. A muscle in his jaw twitched. His brow furrowed. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  He nodded once. "I'll arrange it."

  * * *

  After the stormy night, the day dawned steamy and hot. Not a puff of wind stirred the sheers covering the front windows. The cicadas' violin plagued the morning's quiet, and the sun baked the stone wall and reflected heat into the house. Coffee mug hot in his hand, Grady moved to open the door at the first sign of Desiree's car coughing up the sleepy street.

  His sister grumbled about the ungodly hour he'd woken her up, but holding a large coffee, she'd shown up at Melinda's house anyway.

  "Thanks for coming," Grady said.

  Des thumped him on the side of the head. "You owe me one."

  "You name it."

  "You cook dinner on Sunday. You know how much I hate cooking, even for you guys." She dumped her huge purse on the floor. She lifted the plastic cover off her cup, and took a long, appreciate sniff of the coffee, then a deep sip.

  "It was my turn last week."

  With caffeine now streaming trough her, she looked more like her normal self. "Sisterly acts of devotion come at a price."

  "I'll have to remember that." He paused, uncertain as to what he wanted to say. "Really, Des, thanks."

  Desiree watched Melinda, dressed in a light denim dress and white canvas sneakers, pacing the patio like a caged cat. "I'm not sure I'm doing you a favor." She took another big gulp and placed her cup on the kitchen counter. "Ready?"

  He nodded and waved her ahead toward the patio.

  "Why don't you sit in the hammock chair?" Desiree said to Melinda after greeting her warmly. She sat opposite Melinda on the stool she'd dragged out from the kitchen.

  Grady leaned against the stone wall, not sure this was a good idea at all. Melinda looked pale. She'd refused to eat anything. Hadn't touched the cup of tea he'd brewed for her. And she'd paced that blasted garden of hers for hours, keeping him at bay as if he didn't exist. Well, what did you expect after the way you scared her?

  "How do you feel about hypnosis?" Desiree asked.

  Melinda twisted her hands in her lap and shrugged one shoulder. "I'm a little scared."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I … I mean, I'm afraid ... of what I might find." She gave a quick look in his direction. Had he pushed her too hard? Was he allowing this to satisfy his investigation's needs? Or was he affording her a safe way to remember?

  "That's normal with the memory blanks you have. Those are probably very painful memories you've buried. But isn't it worse to have your life disrupted to avoid knowing something? Because, even if your mind pretends it doesn't know, what happened, happened. You can't change that. But you can deal with the painful reality rather than hide it in a different world. What hypnosis can do for you is restore those memories instead of erasing them. It's up to you. Do you want to continue?"

  Melinda hesitated, but her features cemented into a determined set. "Yes, I do."

  "Now there's a few caveats I want both of you to be aware of. Sometimes it takes more than one session to get to the heart of things." She turned to Grady. "If Melinda remembers seeing who killed Angela while under hypnosis, you'll still have to find a way to prove it without using her testimony. Memories regained under hypnosis may not be acceptable in court."

  He'd understood that from the start, but knowing where to look made all the difference.

  "What are you expecting from hypnosis?" Desiree asked, turning back to Melinda.

  "I want to know who it is I'm so afraid of. I want to help Grady find Angie's murderer."

  "Okay. Let me go over a few general things with you. The first thing you'll notice is that you'll start to feel relaxed and a bit drowsy. Don't try too hard. Just let things happen."

  The toes of Melinda's shoes turned toward each other and her gaze fixed at the nail of one thumbnail scraping against the other. "What if it doesn't work? What if I can't be hypnotized."?

  "Dissociation takes practice. You've probably hypnotized yourself many times already without knowing what you were doing."

  Melinda's head jerked up and a touch of panic flitted across her face. He wanted to go to her, to hold her, but Des had warned him to stay in his corner and not interfere.

&n
bsp; Desiree leaned forward and touched Melinda's hand. "Don't worry. You'll be in constant contact with me. You don't have to answer any questions you don't want to answer. And you'll remember everything that happened when you come out of your trance."

  "Really?" Melinda said in a relieved puff.

  "Yes, in general, most people remember everything. It's important to remember not to push yourself too hard. If things don't happen, well, they just don't happen."

  "Okay."

  Desiree sat squarely on the stool and flipped her braid behind. "Now, I want you to sit back and relax with your feet on the ground and your hands comfortably in your lap. Turn your eyes to a spot on the patio ceiling. Keep your eyes fixed on that spot and focus. Take a deep breath. Hold it... then let it out slowly. Feel the relaxation flow into you. Nothing bad will happen to you. You are safe here. Listen and concentrate on my voice...."

  Desiree spoke in a singsongy lullaby. Melinda's eyelids fluttered. His hands tightened around his biceps.

  "Imagine yourself floating, drifting, gliding down a gentle current. Notice your left hand. Picture a large helium balloon attached to your wrist, lifting it up and up."

  Melinda's wrist drifted upward. How could she be under so fast?

  "Try lowering your hand. It stays up. Right now it's too hard for you to lower it." Desiree paused. "Okay, bring it back down now. The balloon is gone. The hand is becoming very heavy now, as though lead were attached to it, pulling it down, down, and down. As that arm is pulled down, your eyelids become heavier. You can't keep your eyes open. It's okay to close them. Relax now."

  Melinda's eyes closed. Her body looked limp and relaxed. Even the frown between her eyes melted. His jaw hurt and her forcibly tried to relax it.

  "I want you to imagine yourself on a stairway now—a long, winding stairway. As you go down the stairs, you go deeper into hypnosis, deeper and deeper." Desiree's voice got softer, gentler.

  "Remember, then go back into the past to pleasant day when you were a child."

  A wide smile spread over Melinda's face—a wonderful, bright smile that magically transformed her and managed to twist his gut.

  "Where are you, Melinda?" Des asked.

  "I'm in Mama's garden. I'm chasing butterflies. Yellow ones."

  "How old are you?"

  "I'm four. Mama's chasing butterflies with me. She catches me and whirls me around." Melinda's head tipped back and she laughed in the carefree way only a child could. "Then we fall down on the ground and look at clouds. Mama's so soft. She smells so pretty."

  Could this be real? Could she really think she was four again and playing with her mother? If he didn't trust Desiree implicitly, he'd be inclined to think the whole thing was a hoax.

  "Go forward now. Go to when the blanks started to come. What do you see?"

  A frown creased Melinda's forehead. "I'm in my bedroom. I'm drawing a picture for Mama and Daddy."

  "How old are you?"

  "I'm six. Mama gave me George-the-monkey for my birthday. He's got a silly grin and makes me laugh. He's got a key in his back and when you turn it, music comes out of his tummy. Mama says the music is 'The Greatest Show on Earth.' But the cymbals won't work. I open the door, and I hear a noise. Mama's upset. She's crying. I can hear her. Mama, don't cry. I run to hug her. Then somebody yells."

  "Who's yelling?"

  "I don't know." Her frown deepened and she shook her head. "I can't see inside the room. 'Keep your voice down, Lindy will hear.' 'She's asleep like a good little girl. Wish I could say the same for her mother. Who was it this time?' 'How many times am I going to have to tell you, there is nobody else?'" Melinda jerked as if someone had slapped her. "He hit her! 'Don't talk back to me, you whore!' Mama's crying, she's crying and he's hitting her and hitting her."

  "Who's hitting, Melinda?"

  As if she'd dropped something, Melinda looked down to her left. "The cymbals. They're fixed!" She scooted to a corner of the chair, hunching her shoulders, bringing up her legs. Then, as if she held some paper and a pencil in front of her, she drew.

  What's happening? Grady desperately wanted to ask, worried the experiment wasn't going the way it should.

  Carefully, Desiree placed a pad of paper on Melinda's knees and a pencil in her moving left hand. Childish lines appeared on the paper.

  "She's right-handed," Grady whispered as he crouched beside Desiree's stool.

  "Shh."

  "Tada-da-da..."

  "What are you doing, Melinda?" Des asked.

  "I'm drawing a picture for Mama and Daddy."

  "Do your parents fight often?"

  Melinda flinched, then scrunched her forehead in concentration. "I like to draw."

  "Does it scare you when they fight?"

  She made a fist around the pencil and slashed at the piece of paper. Grady thought of the sketches he'd found in the bottom of her closet. Was this how she'd produced them? During a stint of self-hypnosis? But what was the trigger? She dropped the pad and reached down for something. She brought this invisible thing to her chest and hugged it.

  "I like the music." She moved her head from side to side, rocking herself back and forth. "Tada-da-da... It's okay. You'll be okay. It's okay, you'll be okay. It's okay …."

  Grady touched Desiree's arm. "That's what she said last night before she spaced out."

  "It's her trigger phrase. What she uses to hypnotize herself. She's fine." Desiree didn't give him a chance to argue. "Melinda, where are you?"

  "Away."

  She looked dreamy and definitely not there. Could someone really escape within her own mind? He wanted this to end, yet he wanted to access those repressed memories. He had to trust that Des knew what she was doing; that Melinda would come out of this all right.

  "Away where?" Des asked,

  "Some place far inside. George taught me how to go there. There's lots and lots of space, and the light—it keeps me warm."

  "Melinda, go forward. You're eight. Imagine yourself right before your mother died. Where are you?"

  Her head jerked up.

  "What do you hear?"

  "I don't know. Rain. Thunder. I'm scared. I want Mama."

  "Did you find your mother?"

  She frowned, looked around. "No, she's not anywhere. Oh, there she is." Relief washed over her face. "I see her through the livingroom window. She's in her greenhouse. The wind, it's strong." She put one arm up to protect herself. "My PJs are getting all wet. It's hard for me to walk. Mama! Mama!" She gasped.

  "What's happening, Melinda? What do you see?"

  "The monster, he's hurting Mama!"

  "Look at his face, Melinda. It's okay. He can't hurt you. Look at his face. Who is it?"

  Her eyes opened wide with terror. Her breaths came quick and shallow like a pursued animal's.

  Grady tensed, ready to jump. "What's happening to her?"

  "Shut up! She's in too deep. I'm losing her."

  "Do something!"

  "I'm trying!" Desiree leaned forward. "Listen to me, Melinda." Her voice was once again calm, steady, and soothing. "He can't hurt you. He can't touch you."

  Melinda jumped up from the chair, and as if something hampered her efforts, she tripped backwards to a corner, formed by the wall and a side of the house, where she cowered into a tight ball. "No! No! No!"

  Grady sprang toward Melinda, but feared touching her and interfering with Desiree's ability to bring her back. He could see Melinda's pain, feel her struggle. He wanted to protect her, but he had to let her go through with this—for herself as much as for the case.

  "Come forward now. Come back to today. You're comfortable and feeling relaxed. You're aware of the memories you just relived. You see them like a movie. These memories cannot hurt you. In the past, you've run from the fear. Now you go to it. Stare at the fear. Face it. It hurts, but it doesn't scare you anymore. You can remember."

  Grady swiveled back to his sister and questioned her silently.

  "I'm just making a post-hypnotic sugge
stion." Desiree focused back on Melinda, sitting limply in the corner.

  "I'm going to count backward from three, and at one, you'll open your eyes and be fully alert, feeling relaxed and refreshed, and your usual sensations and control will have returned. Three, take a deep breath. Two, let it out. One! You're fully alert. How do you feel?"

  Melinda blinked, looked down at herself rounded up in a ball. A little wobbly, she pushed herself up. He reached to help her, but she ignored his hand. "A little groggy."

  "What do you remember?"

  "I... I... I remember your voice. I remember floating like in a dream."

  "What else?"

  "Pieces and parts of a nightmare I've had ever since I can remember. I was... frightened."

  "Would you like to discuss what you saw?"

  Melinda shook her head. "I'm not sure I can. It still doesn't make much sense."

  "That's all right. Take your time. Don't try to solve the whole puzzle at once."

  She looked at him, uncertainty dancing in her dark eyes. "I think I saw Angela's window …."

  "What did you see?" Grady urged gently.

  She turned from him to finger the leaves of a plant on the wall. He sensed the internal war being waged. With a little push, could he help her face her monster?

  He came up behind her and put his hands reassuringly on her shoulders, felt them curl forward against his touch. "What did you see?"

  "Grady, don't—" Des said in the background.

  "Tell me what you saw, Melinda," he whispered into her ear, willing her to understand that she wasn't alone, that he was her friend, not the enemy.

  She pivoted on her heels, glanced at him with doleful eyes, and gave him a sorrowful smile. Her hand reached up and caressed his jaw once. Then, with back still and shoulders straight, she marched into the house.

  "What'd you do that for, you jerk?" Desiree punched him in the arm.