Within Temptation

by Tanya Holmes

  Sheriff Gray took over again. His eyes were like green daggers. They were the same color as Mother’s. “You had no rainbows—er …bruises,” he said, a vein in his neck pulsing. “Are we clear?”

  Mother had a similar vein. It used to do that whenever I displeased her. First the vein, then the screaming, then the hitting.

  I looked for reassurance in Uncle Sears’ eyes, but it wasn’t there.

  “Shannon!” the sheriff yelled.

  I jumped. “No rainbows!”

  And just like that, my interrogator’s expression softened. “Excellent. Now I’m about to relax you a little bit more, sweetheart.” He stuck a needle into the IV bag tubing, and almost instantly, warmth slipped up my arm and cradled me. I was floating.

  For nearly thirty minutes after this, Uncle Jackson talked softly, calming me, reassuring me, until the panic and fear fell away—making me trust him again.

  “Now I want you to do something for me,” he said, smiling. “Look at the ceiling fan above us.” He switched off the bright light. “See it?”

  I swallowed convulsively. “Yes.”

  “See how the paddles blur as they whiz around and around?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Keep staring at them. Don’t look away.”

  I did as I was told. “All right.”

  After several minutes had passed, when everything around me started feeling warm and fuzzy, he said, “Imagine a cloud coming down and slipping inside you. It’s fog. White fog that’s so thick it covers everything. All the stuff that makes you sad, all the hurt; imagine the fog taking it away.”

  I was drifting out to sea. “Away?”

  “Yes, far and away,” he soothed. “Fog is good. Rainbows are bad. Rainbows upset you. We’ll just stuff them in the good fog. Would you like that?”

  “Good fog. Yeeeessssssss.”

  Five minutes later he said, “You can’t see the bad stuff anymore. You can’t even see us. I’m about to drop this conversation into the fog too—because it upset you. We don’t want you upset. We want nothing but good memories. All you see is truth, and the truth is that there were no rainbows.”

  “No rainbows,” I said, trance-like.

  “And you had an upset stomach. That’s why you stayed home.”

  “Upset stomach,” I parroted. “That’s why I stayed home.”

  “All you have now are good memories of your mother. The bad ones are gone. Forever. She was a very good mother. Okay? Keep looking at the fan. See the paddles go round and round?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go on, say it. Say, round and round.”

  “Round and round,” I repeated, “and round and round….”

  SHANNON: …and round, and round, and round, and round....

  DR. ROSEN: Whispers to Trace. She’s under pretty deep.

  SHANNON: …and round and round and round….

  DR. ROSEN: Shannon, it’s time to leave Briar.

  SHANNON: …and round and round and round….

  DR. ROSEN: We’re going to take another trip, all right? Back to Cheltenham Manor. Say goodbye to Sheriff Gray and Uncle Sears.

  SHANNON: …and round and round—bye-—and round and round and round….

  DR. ROSEN: Good. Let’s pretend I’ve waved a magic wand. Just like before. The fan is gone. The fog has lifted, and you can see everything as it was.

  Thirty seconds pass.

  DR. ROSEN: Let’s go back to the morning after your mother fired Trace at the pool. Do you remember that day?

  SHANNON: Sad voice. Y-yes.

  DR. ROSEN: Why did you go to the carriage house?

  SHANNON: Had to say goodbye.

  DR. ROSEN: To who, sweetheart?

  SHANNON: Trace.

  DR. ROSEN: Exchanges a look with Trace. You were hoping he’d come back?

  SHANNON: Whispers. Uh-huh. But he’s not there. I’m going to take a nap in the loft…I don’t want to miss him.

  DR. ROSEN: Okay, fast forward, Shannon. Trace has arrived. Are you still asleep?

  SHANNON: Smiles. Dreaming. Trace is in the sky. He’s floating, riding the motorcycle. The bike—it’s loud.

  DR. ROSEN: What happens next?

  SHANNON: Yawns, stretches arms. I wake up.

  DR. ROSEN: You come downstairs and enter the back area of the carriage house. What do you see?

  SHANNON: Starts to rock.

  DR. ROSEN: Shannon?

  SHANNON: Still rocking, begins to cry.

  DR. ROSEN: Remember you’re not really there. You’re here with me. Safe. Now tell me what’s happening.

  SHANNON: Sniffs, wipes eyes. I’m going to surprise him and sneak downstairs. He’s…. Sniffs again. He’s…. Moans. I don’t want to say! Please don’t make me!

  TRACE: Whispers. Doc, I don’t like this.

  DR: ROSEN: Presses a finger to his own lips.

  DR. ROSEN: It’s all right. Go ahead. Tell me.

  SHANNON: Keens.

  DR. ROSEN: What’s there, honey?

  SHANNON: Wheezes a few times. Mother’s dead! And Trace looks…scared. He has s-something in his hand—a…garden spade!

  SHANNON: Rocks and sobs. He’s falling to his knees. He’s turning Mother over! He’s putting his finger on her neck. Whimpers. Now h-he’s—he’s crying and talking to her.

  DR. ROSEN: What’s he saying?

  SHANNON: I don’t know. Moans. He’s bending over her, blowing into her mouth. Now he’s pressing his hands up and down on her chest. But the blood—it keeps…. Cries. He’s running away!

  DR. ROSEN: What are you doing now?

  SHANNON: Crying, rocking. Running to Mother. Have to—she feels…weird. F-floor s-queaks. Blood. Everywh—Ow!

  DR. ROSEN: What happened?

  SHANNON: Screams.

  TRACE: Shoots to his feet. That’s it. Bring her out now.

  DR. ROSEN: Time to go, Shannon.

  SHANNON: Hysterical. Mother! I’m sorry. I won’t write them anymore. I promise I won’t. Mother! Please, don’t go! Don’t leave me! I’ll be good, I swear!

  TRACE: Damn it, Doc! Bring—her—out!

  DR. ROSEN: Shannon, I’m going to count backward.

  SHANNON: Wailing.

  DR. ROSEN: When I get to one, you’ll awaken, refreshed, and unafraid. Ten, nine—

  SHANNON: Moooommmmy!

  DR. ROSEN: Eight, seven, six—you’re calm.

  SHANNON: Moaning and whimpering.

  DR. ROSEN: Five—four, three—you feel refreshed. Two—one. Snaps fingers. Awake!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The Fall

  TRACE

  ____________________________

  Dr. Joseph Rosen turned the recorder off and the tape rewound. Silence ruled while the bald old man waddled across his cluttered office. After tweaking the blinds open, he quietly excused himself, and disappeared down the hallway, leaving Shannon and me alone.

  From the leather sofa, I blinked as sunlight streamed in. Located in Gainstown’s fading business district, Doc’s modest office was crammed with professional journals, certificates, and plain old clutter—quite a difference from his prison office, a sterile room with concrete walls and bars on the windows.

  I was seated next to Shannon with my arm draped along the back of the sofa. I gave her a careful once-over. The black wool leggings and matching knee-length sweater made her white skin look moon pale. All the crying she’d done had stripped her of makeup. Her eyes were red and swollen, and unshed tears glistened on her lashes. I curled an arm around her rigid shoulders and hugged her close. Her body relaxed against the comfort of mine.

  An hour had passed since we’d recorded that tape. This was Shannon’s first time hearing it, and her emotions were raw, as were mine. Doc had warned us. He’d said if he could hypnotize her, the process would be akin to an emotional roller coaster ride. Little had I known I’d be riding along with her. Before the session, Doc had pulled me aside. Told me to keep my emotions on a leash when she came out of it. For her sak
e, I had to play it cool.

  I brushed my lips against her ear. “You all right?”

  She nodded and tried to put on a brave face, but I knew better. She’d been acting weird since she’d picked me up this morning.

  At first I’d thought she was still upset over what happened in the carriage house. Not that I blamed her. I hadn’t thought of much else, and Bev’s surprise call didn’t help. Even so, I suspected that was only part of what was bothering her, but she wasn’t talking.

  I looked up as Doc pushed a steaming mug of tea into her hand. He toddled back to his seat and lowered his bulk into a well-used armchair.

  “What’s your take on everything?” I asked him.

  Doc gazed over steepled fingers. “Do you remember why you screamed, Shannon?”

  She was staring into her tea. “Yes. The spade cut my knee when I went to Mother. I’d forgotten about that.”

  “Well, no question your memories were deliberately manipulated,” Doc said. “There’s a term—False Memory Syndrome. The mental health community doesn’t officially acknowledge it, but even cynics acquiesce when presented with well-documented case studies. And it’s an indubitable verity that memories can be distorted. I imagine this Sheriff Gray injected you with sodium amytal or sodium pentothal to facilitate an inalterable state of hypnosis-induced amnesia.”

  “English, Doc.”

  “Shannon is suffering from FMS—false memories. There are critics, but the fact is that memories can be altered. And this is what the sheriff did. He used drugs to help push her into a trance-like state. This allowed him to add and extract whatever he wanted—to control her. I hate to say it, but I don’t think that was the only session.” Doc looked at Shannon. “It’s just the only one you remember.”

  I swore under my breath.

  “He was with Special Forces in Vietnam,” Shannon murmured into her tea. “He dealt with captured Viet Cong. Something to do with interrogations.”

  Doc nodded. “Yes, the interrogation background would explain much.”

  “Back in high school, Eddie used to brag that the sheriff once belonged to a Black PSYOPS unit,” I said. “I just thought he was talking shit, but now….”

  Doc removed a cigar from his jacket, clipped an end, then set a match to it. Smoke curled around his face. “Well, they’ve used those intel techniques for years. The skilled ones can unlock, or in this case, cloak information without their subjects even knowing it. The RAND Corporation has done extensive research on hypnosis and mind control.” He handed me a thick folder. “I’ve made copies of some of their most compelling reports.”

  I started thumbing through them.

  “This is crazy.” Shannon’s expression shaded even more. “I still don’t see how he did it.”

  “It’s all about trust,” Doc answered. “He and your uncle were authority figures to you. Granted, only one quarter of the world’s population can be hypnotized—that is, be placed into a trance-like state and manipulated—but you were very young, impressionable, and emotionally traumatized. Your walls were already breached.”

  I set the files aside. “I never much believed in it ‘til now.”

  “It’s not as difficult as it seems, son. We use hypnosis on ourselves all the time.”

  Shannon’s brows raised half-mast. “How?”

  “Millions awaken at the same hour every morning—without an alarm. Why? Because they program their minds the night before. Some call it an inner clock, but it’s just basic self-hypnosis. How else does a sleeping mother hit the ground running when her baby cries?”

  Shannon seemed to consider that. “But isn’t this different? My God, they could have gotten me to do anything.”

  Doc lifted a finger and smiled warmly. “Ah, but that’s the biggest misconception of all.” He crossed his stubby legs. “There was a case in Paris. In 1889 or ‘90, I think. The woman was sentenced to twenty years for a murder she committed under the influence of hypnosis.”

  She gazed at him over the mug’s rim. “Doesn’t that prove my point?”

  “No,” he said, his smile widening. “Hypnosis isn’t the free-for-all Hollywood makes it out to be. A hypnotist cannot compel you to do what’s contrary to your character. Everyone has a personal set of acceptable behaviors. For Gabrielle Bompard—the woman in Paris—it was murder.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are you saying lying is part of my nature?”

  “No.” I rattled her shoulder. “Doc’s not saying that at all. You’d already decided to protect your mama before they even got to you. Remember the gazebo? When I gave you the necklace? You wouldn’t even admit it then.”

  “You weren’t ready for the truth,” Doc added in agreement. “You needed to believe she was the perfect mother. That’s why the sheriff’s suggestion took. You’d been so traumatized that deep down, you wanted to forget the bad things. You see, the mind won’t accept something it hasn’t already green-lighted. The sheriff and your uncle knew that, and used it to their advantage.”

  “At least we know you didn’t witness the murder,” I said.

  “But why did they make me forget? Why do they continue to lie about it? What are they hiding?” Shannon set her mug aside. “Dr. Rosen, can I come back? I want to do this again—as many times as it takes. I need to remember everything.”

  “I think that’s an excellent idea,” he said around a cloud of cigar smoke. “I’ll have my assistant schedule a session for sometime next week. And, Shannon? I’d like you to consider regular therapy as well—if not with me, then with another mental health professional.”

  TRACE

  ____________________________

  She’d seemed fine when we left Doc’s. Even claimed she was fine to drive. In fact, she’d insisted on it. Said she couldn’t sit still, and getting behind the wheel would help her sort things out.

  Five minutes into the trip home, I decided she was fine too. So I settled in for a nap, but was jarred awake when my shoulder slammed into the passenger-side door. The radio was blaring an annoying Christmas song about jingle bells, sleigh rides, and lovely weather.

  I leveled a groggy look at Shannon while I grappled for the seatbelt strangling me.

  “Go back to sleep,” she muttered. “Everything’s fine.”

  The tremble in her voice said otherwise. She swerved onto the interstate’s northbound lane—to hell with turn signals and yielding. Horns blared. Epithets flew.

  An irate trucker flipped her the bird and yelled what looked like “Bitch.”

  “Pull over,” I ordered, snapping the radio off. “Now.”

  She veered hard toward the shoulder and lurched to a stop. The chassis was still writhing when I ripped my seatbelt off, hopped out, and cut around the hood.

  I banged a knuckle on the window. “Scoot over. I’m drivin’.”

  Traffic whizzed by. She shoved the door open and slid to the passenger side like a pissed off toddler who’d just been sent into time out.

  We sat in silence. Me with an elbow latched to the window, my head propped on a fist. She forked her fingers through her hair and her bangs hovered over the back of her hand. She’d been wound tighter than a ball of yarn all day, and I feared she was about to unravel.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Her phone jangled. She snatched it from her pocket, then rolled her eyes at the incoming number. She didn’t answer the call, just tossed the gadget into her purse.

  “Shannon?”

  She let out a slow breath. “I don’t know what’s real.”

  “So you’ve been stewing this whole time?”

  She stared daggers into the windshield. “More like boiling.”

  I stayed put. Coddling, she didn’t need. A listening ear would do her much better. “It’s a lot to digest,” I said.

  “Not only do I have to get hypnotized again, I’ll probably be in therapy for the rest of my life! And why? Because my godfather went poking around in my head. I knew they were lying, but now that I’ve got proof….�
�� She turned her angry eyes on me. “How can you just sit there? This doesn’t disturb you?”

  It did, but my anger would only fuel hers. Strange that I was even thinking this way—rationally. Before, I’d’ve kicked ass and asked questions later, but the stuff with Bev and Icky taught me a crucial lesson. After all was said and done, I was still alone and missing the hell out of my sister.

  The lecture Doc had given me in private right before we’d left put things into perspective. If I didn’t get a handle on my rage, I’d be looking at the other side of those prison bars again. There was too much I wanted to do. Like go to college. Start a renovating business—maybe even open up a dance studio. Buy a house. Get married. Have some kids—

  I blinked. Whoa. What the—

  “Trace?” Her eyes questioned me. “Aren’t you angry?”

  I blinked again to clear my head, then chose my words with care. “Yeah, I’m angry, and I want justice. But this isn’t about me right now. It’s about you. And you’re in a better position to get to the truth. They screwed with your head.” I paused. “So what do you want?”

  “What do I want?” Red flamed her cheeks. She drew herself up and exploded. “I want them to tell the truth for once! I want them to stop making me think I imagined it all—that I’m crazy! I need them to pay for what they did to you and your family. And to me!” She scowled. “Let’s just go.”

  “Where?”

  She yanked the seatbelt over her chest, drove it home. “To Roanoke. To see my godfather.”

  “But he’s here.”

  Her expression brightened. “Since when?”

  “Cholly saw him this morning when Eddie came by to fill up. Gray was in the passenger seat. Cholly said he looked like he’d lost a lot of weight. I heard he was in town ‘cause Dee Dee had her baby last night.”

  Her lips thinned. “This works out perfectly. Let’s go.” She took out her cell phone and started poking buttons. “And I’m going to record everything. We’ve got a One-Party-Consent law in this state, so I don’t even have to tell him.”

  Oh, hell no. She needed—heck, we needed a break from all this shit. “You’re in no condition to tussle with Gray and neither am I. We’ll catch up with him tomorrow.”