While Mitch spoke with a couple of officers, Mary stepped around the mess and joined Jen. "Thank God, you and your friend were here." She put her arm around Jen’s shoulder and they moved to the settee. "I’m going to call in another staffer. I think you ought to go home."
"I’m okay, Mary, but I do need to get out of here."
"Okay, just sit tight and I’ll make a few calls."
When he saw Jen sitting alone, Mitch broke off his chat and sat down beside her. She turned to him, moisture building in her eyes. "That offer to stay at my place is still open."
"I’d like that, Jen. I don’t want you to be alone tonight."
As soon as her replacement arrived, Mitch drove to her apartment. Jen was silent in the car, staring straight ahead, fingers clasped on her lap. He turned on some music thinking it might soothe her, but her body remained rigid. Once inside, she stood at the window, her fingers twirled one specific curl of her hair. He put on the kettle and poured instant coffee powder into two mugs. "Does excitement like that happen often?" He unconsciously rubbed his shoulder.
"No. Are you okay, Mitch?" The sound of her voice brought him relief. They could communicate now.
"I’m fine, just a little sore. I’m glad I was there. You realize that you pushed the buzzer?"
"I know. But I have to know why I did it this time."
The kettle’s whistle steamed off and Mitch poured the boiling water into the mugs. He added sugar to his, milk to hers, and stood beside her. She took the mug and sat on the sofa. "Mitch, what psychiatrist did you speak to about me?"
"Dr. Freda Masters."
"I’d like to see her."
"Okay. I’ll call her at home. I have her number in my book with the others that I call at work." Mitch pulled out his notepad and thumbed the pages. He made the call on Jen’s living room phone and arranged an appointment for the next morning. When he cradled the receiver he studied her, puzzled. "What made you decide to accept help, Jen? Did something come back to you?" They both sipped their coffee.
"No. It was the look on that man’s face when he looked up the stairs and realized he’d lost his family through his own actions. He needs help and he knows it. I need help and I’ve refused it."
Mitch took the mug from her hand and placed it on the coffee table alongside his. He pulled her against him and held her tight. His mouth grazed her forehead and nestled into her soft curls. She didn’t move and he figured that with no fiery sign of rebellion he was ahead. He raised her chin with his index finger and planted a tentative kiss on her lips. Her arms flew around his neck and she returned the kiss with more hunger than he expected. Her warmth seared his flesh; her passion seared his heart.
She was all the excitement he’d ever need. The sudden awareness struck him like a thunderbolt, and he made a deliberate effort not to press his advantage. It was enough to have her trust, enough to simply cuddle and drink in the new experience of feeling completely content. He’d never had that feeling before and treasured it. While he marveled over the phenomenon, she fell asleep in his arms. He carried her into her bedroom. Glancing around at the frilly pink decor, he laid her on the bed. She stirred briefly when he removed her shoes, but he covered her with a wooly beige blanket from a chair and she settled down. He started back to the sofa.
"Mitch?" The sound of his whispered name stopped him in his tracks.
"Yes?"
"Want to join me?"
"I thought you’d never ask."
He didn’t need to be coaxed. Mitch kicked off his shoes and turned out the light. He wasn’t about to take liberties and strip--that lay in store for the future. Once he crawled beneath the covers, his body spooned hers. She nestled back into him. Her ragged breaths changed to soft, even inhalations. It took a while before he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to miss this new experience lest it be the calm before the real storm hit.
~ * ~
Morning’s buttery fingers stretched across Jen’s face. Her arm flopped to the side and landed on a masculine chest. She rolled over, opened one sleep-bound eye and smiled. Mitch stirred from the blow and raised his brow. He looked like he’d been watching her sleep for some time. His arm, circling her waist, shifted position slightly and pressed her to him. Jen’s cocooned comfort brought up an urge to touch him and she followed it through by running her fingers down the side of his cheek. The prickly stubble of dark growth excited her fingertips. She stared into effervescent blue eyes and felt a warm summer’s glow in her heart. "It’s a new day," she murmured. "What time’s my appointment?"
"Our appointment is at nine-thirty."
"Oh, Mitch, you don’t want to be there."
"You don’t want me to go along?" His mouth curled in a pout.
She slid her head back from his on the pillow and tested his sincerity. "I wouldn’t force this on anyone."
"Jen, I want to be there for you. Besides I’ve been damned curious right along. I need to know as much as you do. Especially if we’re going to develop a stable relationship."
"You want one?"
"You nuts? Of course I do."
"I’m worried."
"Why?"
"I may not like myself when I’m through." She sighed and pulled up the covers to warm her sudden chill.
"And you may like yourself a helluva lot better." He bent over her and pressed a kiss to the soft flesh beside her mouth. Encouraged by the sensual look in her eyes, he moved his lips onto hers and deepened the kiss.
Her heart swelled with his tenderness. The devil-be-damned; she needed this kind of support. "I think you’re right."
"How right do you think I am?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, my prescription right now would be that a little lovemaking might enforce how much I like you." As his fingers began their slow exploration, her lips found his. Starting at the corner of his mouth, she delivered small grazing whispers of breath flowing haphazardly as she nipped and retreated. She loved his scent, loved the security of knowing his attention was fully on her. If it ended tomorrow she’d at least have this memory. For now, his gentleness, the smoky look in his eyes, the taste of his skin, and more memorable, the sharing of their body heat and strength, firmly imprinted on her mind. She could embellish her dreams with what love was about in life. For love him she did, and she would always treasure these moments that blossomed in an instant, flooding her heart with pleasure.
When he rose and removed his clothing, she stayed still, anticipating his next move would be to undress her. Her eyes fastened on his muscle-bound exterior. Her breath caught in her throat. She thought there could be nothing more profound than watching each part of him respond to what he saw waiting eagerly before him.
Mitch lowered himself back to the bed. Without hurrying, his fingers caressed her forehead, tidying stray wisps of hair back from her face. His fingers continued on an even more titillating track when they aimlessly ruffled through the tangled curls as though he were handling a treasure of gold coins. Her breathing became shallow as he suddenly switched to a more adventurous path down her neck to the buttons of her blouse. With the release of each button, he looked straight into her eyes. The glances made her body respond in a heightened awareness of her sexuality. How he could trigger the magical responses she felt at this minute, she couldn’t imagine, but she wanted to do the same for him. His head lowered, and as his mouth nuzzled along the top of her breasts, her desire strengthened to the point she began disrobing herself. His big hand stilled her motion, then continued the task. He removed each piece of clothing with ease, taking the time to plant a firm kiss on the newly bared flesh before he moved on to the next item. His roving hands brought her arousal to a fevered pitch with no room for sadness, only for joy--the joy of giving completely of herself. The joy of receiving, tenfold, what she offered. They remained clasped in each other’s arms, locked in the fulfillment of their emotions until long after the apex of their union had been reached. With a sudden movement, Mitch jostled them from the afterglow. Jen
smiled when Mitch reluctantly pulled back. She knew he worried that further enthusiasm on her part might make them miss the appointment.
"I’ll get breakfast while you get ready. You don’t want to be late."
Jen laughed to herself. She was learning to read him like a book. What a great advantage that would give her. She showered, then opened her closet door. Reality hit home. The seriousness of her doctor’s visit preyed on her mind as she grabbed whatever clothes were handy. Style wasn’t her priority today. Managing her life was. Seeking truth was.
The drive to the psychiatrist’s office was short, but long enough for Jen to build up a strong internal resistance. Mitch’s steady hand on the wheel, his body appearing relaxed, should have given her confidence, but didn’t. She couldn’t argue with his silence and because he offered no direction, she knew he, too, wasn’t convinced that things would go well. Her hand shook as she switched off the music, her head dulled, and to top it off, her stomach took to dancing a jig.
Situated in a new modern high-rise, Dr. Masters’ office overlooked the dockyards where a Royal Canadian Navy submarine and two Iroquois class destroyers undergoing refits waited for sea trials. The interesting view captured her attention while they waited. It was better not to have to talk now, at least from Jen’s point of view. One wrong word from Mitch and she’d be out of here on the run. Mitch grabbed her hand and squeezed. The heat from his palm bubbled through her blood stirring in a little encouragement.
"You can go in now," the receptionist said. "Dr. Masters is ready for you."
Jen glanced at Mitch. His sober face brightened like a sunbeam. He looked proud of her. Proud? No one had looked that way for as long as she could remember. With a sudden change of attitude, she waltzed into the room ahead of him.
When Dr. Masters came around her desk to introduce herself, Jen noticed she was on a first name basis with Mitch. Maybe they would conspire against her. She stopped herself short. Mel Gibson’s face flashed into her mind. Could it be she was as loony as the neurotic he portrayed in Conspiracy Theory? She did need a shrink.
The fiftyish gray-haired woman had the warmest smile Jen had ever seen. Her well-applied makeup accentuated a stylish form-fitting gray blazer that showed off her trim figure. The pleated black skirt she wore danced just below her knees above black suede heels. A white camisole peeking through the vee opening of her jacket provided a perky contrast. Jen could relate to this female who showed good taste. She looked down at her own conservative outfit of a beige silk blouse and dark brown slacks. She wondered if she’d shown up in leather and a miniskirt, would she be met by the same friendly approach? Somehow she thought she might be, but she was still nervous.
"Please sit down." Dr. Masters motioned to two plush rose-colored chairs in front of her desk. She returned to her chair and folded her hands on the oak desk’s surface.
"I expected a dark dingy office with the curtains pulled," Jen stated appreciatively; her eyes scanned the large amount of walled glass.
"That would be horrible, my dear. Light is what we need more of, I’m sure you can attest to that."
Jen nodded. "I hate the dark and always keep a night light on."
"Mitch, I’m going to ask you to leave us. Jennifer and I will chat for an hour. Perhaps you’d like to go for coffee; there’s a restaurant downstairs."
Mitch frowned. "I’ll wait outside." When he placed his hand on the doorknob, he looked back at Jen. That one compassionate glance boosted her sagging courage. Her heart reveled in his gentle consideration.
The door shut softly at his exit and Dr. Masters turned to her. "Mitch has told me a bit about you, Jennifer, but he wasn’t able to fill me in on your personal life. You’ve been keeping secrets?"
Jen instantly bristled. "No. I don’t keep secrets, deliberately. There are things I don’t know and things I keep private."
"Whether we know it or not, we all keep secrets. It’s how we control our lives. For instance, when a couple starts dating, they keep their true selves hidden lest their counterpart be turned off. Sometimes, however, the secrets control us, especially if they are unhappy ones. It’s called repression and it expresses itself as denial. We refuse to acknowledge their existence, so we hide those secrets deep in our subconscious. They’re so deep we can’t even find them ourselves. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?"
"I’m here because Mitch told me you were an interventional psychiatrist, not one of those Dr. Sigmund Freud types that insist on the patient doing all the talking. I know, from my psychology course, that means you discuss the problems with the patient, give advice and prescribe medications, if needed. Am I right?"
"Yes, you are right on."
Jen leaned back in her chair and groped to understand. Her fingers dug into her palms. "You think I’ve been keeping my childhood secret from myself?"
"Perhaps. Let’s start by having you tell me about your life and we’ll see how far we get."
"There isn’t much to tell." The doctor’s raised eyebrow emphasized she was proving the psychiatrist’s point. She started again. "I was born in Halifax. At three, I went to live with an aunt when my mother and father died." Jen sucked in a big breath of air, then continued on. No way was she going to quit this early and prove the psychiatrist right again. "They were trapped in our house when it burned down. My recollection is being moved from pillar to post amongst different relatives. It seemed no one wanted me."
"Were you in happy homes?"
"Not really. I got a lot of beatings in a couple of them, but as I got old enough to tell, they stopped. Still, there wasn’t much love handed out. I was an inconvenience. I found out later there had been no insurance on the house. Everything my father had was tied up in building it."
The doctor fiddled with a gold cross hanging around her neck and Jen’s eyes fixed on it. The sun’s rays caught the movement, then reflected onto the desk in a mosaic of golden splotches.
"Do you think of those times often?"
"Oh, I’m sorry." Jen’s attention bounced back to the doctor. "I don’t think of them at all. I have no contact with the relatives who raised me."
Dr. Masters stared quietly at Jen for a moment. Jen avoided her gaze and scanned the room. "Your feelings toward these people are deeply rooted, aren’t they, Jennifer? I can see you cringe. It’s understandable that a child who feels rejected finds her own way of coping. Your way was to shun difficulties as if they weren’t there. Mitch told me about the night you were attacked at the shelter. He said you can’t remember much that happened, especially shooting the attacker."
"That’s true. I’ve tried. The memory is gone."
"I think the memory is lying with all the others you don’t want to think about. They need to be fleshed out."
Jen stood and walked to the window. Traffic was heavy in the street below her. She watched the schooner Bluenose II nudge into its berth, ready to take on another load of tourists for a short cruise. "I do want to think about them now."
"It’s not you that hasn’t wanted to remember, Jennifer. I suspect it’s the three-year-old child."
Jen reached up and pressed a hand against the glass. Cool, smooth, and a barricade from falling to the pavement below, it presented one more barrier in her life.
"I can help that child, Jennifer--if she will let me."
"How?"
"I can use hypnosis or administer an injection of sodium pentothal. Normally I’d wait for a few more office visits, before doing either, but you’ve waited a long time for clarification. Not everyone can be hypnotized. Since Mitch is here to drive you home, I prefer to use the sodium pentothal. The treatment will provide you with the opportunity to disclose the secrets of your past emotional traumatic events, to legitimize the episodes, and thereby break down the barrier that prevents you from recalling the shooting episode. The drug will relax your mind and remove your inhibitions. Your metabolism will slow and stress or excitement will be minimized." Dr. Masters’ calm gray eyes cast as much assurance as her words
: "You’ll become more communicative, but you won’t lose your self-control. You’ll tell me only what you want."
Jen lowered her head and stayed still for a moment, then lifted her eyes with a determined brightness. "Then let’s get on with it."
"I want you to sit in the La-Z-Boy and raise the foot. Lean your head against the headrest. I’m lowering the blinds, and I want you to relax as much as you can. Don’t let the tape recorder bother you when I turn it on. I need it to help with my notes."
Jen made herself comfortable, despite the apprehension brimming just below the surface.
Dr. Masters entered a closet and returned with a syringe. "Okay, Jennifer, I’m giving your forearm an injection of one cc of sodium pentothal. You’ll just feel a poke."
Jen focused on Dr. Masters’ jewelry, then on her confident smile. She waited for the drug to do its work.
Thirteen
"Do you feel relaxed, Jennifer?" The voice filtered through her mind like a soft melody. Jen heard the click of the recorder’s button.
"Yes." She had trouble keeping her eyes open.
"Are you sleepy?"
"Yes. Very sleepy." She rubbed her arms; they felt limp, so she rested them on the armrests.
"You are safe here."
Jen shuttered her eyelids and experienced what she thought it must be like to exist in a twilight zone--conscious, but not caring what went on around her. Tuned in to herself and how peaceful she felt, she became oblivious to her surroundings.
"Tell me your name."
"Jennifer Murray." She liked the sound of her name. She repeated it and smiled.
"Where do you live?"
"Halifax."
"What do you do for a living?"
She paused. No secrets here. "I’m a social worker."
"Where?"
"At a women’s transition house."
"Do you like to work there?"
"Yes." Jen removed her hands from the armrests and folded them across her lap. The questions, posed one after the other, required little thought. There was no challenge here. She crossed her ankles and sighed, content with herself.
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