“That’s where it all begins, isn’t it? Our childhoods. Those first, formative years that in essence influence every year that comes after.” He took a swallow of his coffee. “In my first year of practice, I consulted on a fascinating case. The woman suffered from disassociative identity disorder—”
“What?”
“Disassociative identity disorder, or DID. It’s the new name for multiple personality disorder.”
Anna thought for a moment, trying to recall what she knew about the disorder, realizing she knew little. She told him so.
His mouth thinned. “DID is the result of repeated horrific and sadistic abuse in early childhood. In an attempt to protect itself from the unthinkable and unendurable, the psyche splits, forming a whole new personality, one equipped to handle whatever the situation.”
He paused. “In the case I consulted on, the woman had eighteen separate and distinct personalities and each performed a specific function within the system.”
Silence fell between them. Anna searched for a quick comeback but came up empty. She picked up her coffee and drained the last of the beverage, gaze focused on the sprinkling of powdered sugar on the Formica tabletop in front of her.
After a moment, she cleared her throat and looked up.
And found Ben’s gaze on her deformed hand, his expression strange. She stiffened and dropped her hands to her lap. “You know who I am, so you know I wasn’t born with a four-fingered hand.” He didn’t reply and she cleared her throat again. “Ben?”
He shuddered, blinked and met her eyes. “What?”
“My hand. You were staring.”
He looked surprised. Then embarrassed. “Was I? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. I get started talking about my work and sometimes I…get lost in my own thoughts. It’s that absentminded-professor thing again. I really am sorry.”
She waved the apology off. “It’s all right. I’ve pretty much learned to live with it.”
“With your deformity? Or with people staring?”
“Truthfully? Living with four fingers is a lot easier than dealing with people’s curiosity.”
“You mean their rudeness.”
“Sometimes, yes.”
They both relaxed and Ben talked more, about that DID case and others he’d read about. Anna propped her chin on her fist as she listened, hanging on to every word.
“I can see why you’re so interested in the subject,” she murmured after a moment. “It’s fascinating.”
“It would make good material for one of your novels.”
“Are you a mind reader?” She shook her head, a smile tugging at her mouth. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
“I tell you what, you help me with my book, I’ll help you with one of yours.”
She opened her mouth to agree—and to ask him for help with her own personal problem—but found herself asking him about his practice instead. As he answered, she only half listened, using the moments to try to figure out why she had hesitated. She liked him. He was funny and smart. Down-to-earth and straightforward in a way she hadn’t expected. She believed in what he was doing, that it could help others. She believed that if she asked, he could help her.
So why couldn’t she bring herself to agree to be interviewed?
“Something’s holding you back?”
“Yes.”
“If this will help you decide, I hope my book will not only educate the public of the far-reaching effects of child abuse but also help heal adult survivors of child abuse. I’m a great believer in the curative power of knowledge. Knowledge brings understanding and acceptance, only then can healing begin.”
“Physician heal thyself?”
“In a way.” He leaned forward, expression earnest. “Actually, there is something to that. We all have the power to heal ourselves, especially in the area of mental illness. We just need help accessing that power.”
“And that’s where you, the trained professional, come in?”
“Exactly. And self-help books.”
“Like yours.”
“Exactly.” He fiddled with his napkin. “Tell me what I can say to sway you in my favor.”
She looked away for a moment, then back at him. “I’m not sure there’s anything you can say. I don’t talk about my past much. I don’t like to think about it.”
“But you dream about it, Anna? I know you do. It’s right there. At the edge of your consciousness, constantly poking at you. Whispering in your ear, influencing your every move. That’s a dangerous place for it to be. It’s an unhappy one.”
She stared at him, stunned. Uncomfortable. “I could tell you that wasn’t true.”
“But you won’t. Because you’re an honest person.”
She laughed suddenly, surprising herself. “Know-it-all.”
“What can I say? I’m a smart guy.” A dimple appeared beside his mouth. “Cute, too. In a bookish sort of way.”
He was cute, she decided. Smart and funny. She liked intellectual men. Especially ones with a sense of humor.
Ben Walker was the kind of guy she enjoyed spending time with.
She dropped her hands to her lap. “I’m still a little confused about how you came to find me.”
“My friend at the BBBSA—”
“No, before that. You just tuned into the E! special and…what?”
Ben glanced down at his hands, then back up at her. “I had a copy of Killing Me Softly on my desk and things just fell into place.” He laced his fingers together. “I’ve been interested in your story since I was a kid and it occurred to me while I was watching the show, that the inclusion of your story in my book would be perfect. Your trauma was unique, unlike anything else I presently have.”
“And where else could you find a kidnapped Hollywood princess?”
His expression grew solemn. “Most kidnapped kids never return home, Anna. You’re an exception.”
Timmy hadn’t made it home. A lump formed in her throat. She’d been the lucky one.
“What do you say? It’ll be painless, I promise.”
She doubted that. Just thinking about it had her stomach in knots. “I’ll think about it. I really will.”
He looked let down. “Often it’s the first step that’s the hardest. Not to push you, of course.”
She smiled, liking him more with each passing minute. “I know. But I do need a little time. I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
“I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”
They stood and exited the café. “I’m going this way,” she said, pointing in the direction of St. Louis Cathedral. “How about you?”
“I’m parked at Jax Brewery.”
“Then this is goodbye.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets and shivered as the cold wind wrapped around her legs.
“It is. For now.” He bent and brushed his lips against her cheek. “I enjoyed talking, Anna. Call me.”
Without waiting for her reply, he turned and walked away.
CHAPTER 15
Thursday, January 18
7:15 p.m.
Ben lay on his bed, alone in the dark. He breathed slowly and deeply through his nose, the warm compress across his forehead cooling quickly. Too quickly.
The headache that had dogged his day had returned during his meeting with Anna, growing in intensity as their minutes together had ticked past. Still, it hadn’t been too bad until he’d reached his car.
He had managed to unlock the car door and fall into the vehicle. How he had made it home, he didn’t know. But he had. Obviously, for here he was.
Ben closed his eyes, the pill the doctor prescribed bringing a whisper of sweet, merciful relief. He thought of Anna, of their meeting, of the way it had ended. She had watched him walk away. He had been intensely aware of her gaze on his back and had given in to the urge and had glanced around—to find her staring after him, a hand to the cheek he’d kissed, her expression both surprised and pleased. Or so he had wanted to believe.
Ben review
ed their conversation, both the highs and the lows. She had been openly interested in his work. Her enthusiasm had been contagious and he had found himself opening up, sharing more than he usually did. They’d gotten along well, he thought.
His self-satisfaction evaporated. Then she had caught him staring at her deformed hand. It had been upsetting to her, though she had handled it well. He had been truthful with her when he’d said he hadn’t even realized he was doing it. That he had blanked out.
All his life he had suffered from lost moments like those. And like his chronic headaches, those moments had become more frequent in the past months. Concerned, he had discussed both with his physician, who had ordered a battery of tests, including a CAT scan and MRI.
The tests had turned up nothing abnormal, much to Ben’s relief. He had feared the worst, of course.
His doctor had questioned Ben at length about his eating and drinking habits and also the stress in his life, of which he’d had plenty this past year, what with his mother’s rapidly disintegrating condition and the changes in his life that had occurred because of it.
In the end, the physician had recommended that Ben lay off caffeine and suggested meditation, yoga or another exercise regime as a way to reduce stress. Ben had followed the doctor’s orders and had experienced an improvement in his condition. But only a slight one.
Ben dragged his attention away from that disconcerting thought, focusing on another, equally disquieting: Anna hadn’t agreed to be included in his book. He had pushed too hard. Had scared her off.
He hadn’t been truthful with her.
The pressure in his skull intensified and Ben groaned. He had always gone by the adage that honesty was the best policy; as a therapist he saw firsthand the destruction dishonesty wrought in people’s lives and relationships, and steered his patients toward total emotional honesty.
So why hadn’t he told Anna the truth about how he had come to be watching E! that Saturday afternoon? Instead, he had led her to believe it had been a coincidence, that he had already been a fan of her novels.
He had been afraid if he told her the truth, she would bolt.
She had bolted anyway.
If his head didn’t hurt so bad, he would kick himself for being such a jerk. He liked her. She was smart, with a subtle sense of humor and an emotional integrity he didn’t see in many people these days. She deserved his honesty.
And if he was completely honest with himself, he liked her in a way that had nothing to do with his book.
Suddenly, miraculously, his pain was gone. Ben made a sound of surprise and relief, plucked the compress from his forehead and sat up. He smiled, then laughed, feeling as if he had once again faced the devil—and fought him off.
He would call Anna, Ben decided. He would ask her to dinner and over a sumptuous, five-course meal come clean: about the package that had been left for him and his feelings.
Where they went from there remained to be seen.
CHAPTER 16
Thursday, January 18
7:50 p.m.
After leaving the Café du Monde, Anna had gone to mass at the cathedral. The doors had been open, the church bells ringing, and on a whim she had slipped inside and let the welcoming arms of the church enfold her.
The familiar ritual had both reassured her and lent a clarity to her thoughts. Now she left feeling centered. Warmed and ready to face whatever new curve life threw her.
Jaye would come around. She would find a new publisher. A new agent. In the end, nothing would come of the show on E! except an increased feeling of independence.
Despite the chill, Anna took a roundabout route home. She wandered past familiar shops and restaurants, ducking down residential side streets, each as recognizable to her as the back of her hand. Once she reached her apartment, her thoughts would be interrupted. There’d be dinner to prepare, the answering machine to check, mail to sift through.
For now, these few minutes, she didn’t want to think of anything but Ben. Their meeting. She had liked him. Enjoyed his company. Been fascinated by his work, the things he’d had to say about it.
She brought a hand to her cheek, to the spot where he’d brushed his mouth against her skin. It had been a bold move. Romantic. The kind of gesture meant to steal a woman’s breath. To force intimacy.
In those ways, it had worked. She had experienced a tickle of excitement, a small but heady rush of pleasure. Of what if?
But it had taken her aback as well. Because it had seemed so out of character for the man she thought Ben Walker to be.
Anna frowned. She had only just met him, shared no more than an hour of conversation, that hardly made her an expert on his character. Still, in some strange way, she felt as if she did know him.
Anna shivered and huddled deeper into her coat. Fully dark now, the temperature had begun to careen toward the expected low of thirty-eight. Not too terribly cold until factoring in the humidity. The wet cold seeped through outer garments, clothes and skin, going clear to the bone.
Enough mooning, she decided, shivering again. Time to go home.
Less than ten minutes later, Anna stepped into her apartment. She tossed her mail on the small entryway table, slipped out of her coat and hung it up. Still chilled, she hurried to the kitchen to fix a cup of hot tea, pausing at the thermostat to kick up the heat a notch.
While waiting for the water to boil, she listened to her messages. Her mother had phoned—she had found the videographer’s business card, and just as she had recalled, he had one of those silly names: Peter Peters. Dalton had called as well, wondering how her meeting with Ben had gone; her dentist’s office had left a reminder about her appointment the following day.
The last message was from Jaye’s foster mother, requesting that Anna call. Surprised, Anna did so immediately.
The woman picked up on the second ring. “Fran, Anna North. You called?”
“Yes,” the woman said, sounding frazzled. “I was wondering, is Jaye with you?”
“I haven’t seen or spoken to her.” Anna frowned. “Didn’t she come home from school?”
“No. I wasn’t concerned at first, she sometimes stops at a friend’s or goes to the library. But she knows the rules, unless she has permission to stay out, she’s due home at five-thirty for supper.”
Anna glanced at her watch. It was nearly eight and dark already.
“I’m sure she simply went to a friend’s after school and lost track of time,” Fran said, “but as her legal guardian, it’s my responsibility to know where she is.” Anna frowned. Her legal responsibility. Not because she cared. Or was truly concerned.
Anna scolded herself for her thoughts. Fran and Bob Clausen had been good to Jaye.
“Do you have any idea who she might be with?” the woman asked. “I’m afraid I’m at a loss.”
“I tell you what,” Anna offered, “I’ll call around and see if I can locate her. I’ll call you back.”
Ten minutes later, Anna had eliminated all the possibilities. She’d talked to Jennifer, Tiffany, Carol and Sarah—Jaye’s closest friends. None had seen her, not in school or after, a fact that deeply worried Anna.
“Did I tell you about the creep who was following me?”
At the memory, a flicker of panic burst to life inside her. Anna shook her head and dialed Fran in the hope that Jaye had returned. She had not and Anna filled the woman in on what she had learned and her plan to check out all Jaye’s favorite hangouts.
“Did Jaye tell you she was followed home from school the other day?”
For a moment the other woman was silent. “No,” she said finally, “this is the first I’m hearing about it.”
“Jaye wasn’t overly concerned but now—”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Anna. She’ll probably walk through the door any moment.”
Anna hoped so. After promising to keep in touch, she grabbed her purse and car keys and headed out.
At ten-thirty she gave up. Not because she was tired, but
because she was flat out of ideas. She had tried the arcade and Rock ‘n Bowl, two CC’s coffeehouses and even the library—all the places Jaye frequented either alone or with her friends. Nobody had seen her all day. Fourteen hours. Too long for a fifteen-year-old to be unaccounted for. Too much could happen to a teenage girl in that amount of time. Most of it bad.
Panicking in earnest now, Anna hung a left on Carrollton Avenue, heading toward the Clausens’. Surely Jaye had arrived home by now. Safe and sound, pouting because the Clausens had administered an appropriate punishment. Sure, Anna thought. Jaye had been in some sort of pique and decided to skip school. Maybe her friends had even been in on it and had been covering for her.
Though Jaye hadn’t behaved in such an irresponsible fashion in a long while, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. She was a teenager, after all.
Fran Clausen opened the door before Anna knocked. Her face fell. “You didn’t find her, did you?”
Anna shook her head. “I’d hoped she would have shown up here by now.”
“She hasn’t,” Bob Clausen said from the doorway to her right, his voice gruff. “And she won’t either.”
Anna turned to face him. He was a big man, well over six feet, with rough, uneven features. “Excuse me?”
“She’s run off.”
Anna made a sound of dismay and shifted her gaze to the other woman. “Fran, has something happened that I don’t know about?”
The woman opened her mouth; her husband answered for her. “Surely you’re not surprised? She’s done it before.”
“But she’s grown up so much since then. She’s taken a long look at herself and what she wants out of life. She knows that running away isn’t going to get it for her.”
Anna looked from the wife to the husband. “Did Fran tell you that a man followed Jaye home from school?”
He rolled his eyes. “That sounds like nonsense to me. If she had really been followed, she would have told us about it.”
“I didn’t believe she had run away at first either,” Fran murmured. “But after you talked to her friends and learned she hadn’t been to school…”
Dark and Twisted Reads: All the Pretty GirlsA Perfect EvilBone Cold (A Taylor Jackson Novel) Page 80