undercovertrouble_341-1e1.htm

by Undercover Trouble (Wings) (lit)

  "What was your name before you were adopted?"

  She uncrossed her ankles. Her shoulders straightened from their relaxed slump. "Baxter."

  "Now, Jennifer, I want you to go back to the time when your name was Jennifer Baxter. Can you do that?"

  "Yes, but I’d prefer not to go there."

  "Try it for me, and try it for yourself."

  "All right."

  "What do you see?"

  A sudden itch on her nose provided a good delaying tactic. As she scratched, she tried to avoid thinking. The room was still--like a tomb without the musty smell. "I see me."

  "What do you look like?"

  Jen reached up and touched her hair, trailing her fingers down through the curls. "I look like a little girl with bright red hair in ringlets. I have a pink bow fastened above my ear and I have on the green dress that Mummy said matches my eyes. "

  "What are you doing?"

  "I’m sitting on the grass, watching."

  "Watching what?"

  "A fire."

  She heard Dr. Masters adjust the position of the tape recorder on the end table beside her. It distracted her, momentarily. She twisted in her seat.

  "Relax, Jennifer. It’s all right. What is burning?"

  Jen could feel the tension building. She suddenly wanted to escape her confinement and run to Mitch where everything would be okay; yet she couldn’t force herself to leave. It wouldn’t be okay; she’d be lost and so would he. The room reeked with a familiar scent. "What’s that smell in here?"

  "My perfume?"

  "It’s lavender, isn’t it? Like my mother used to wear."

  "Yes it is. What’s burning, Jennifer?"

  "My house."

  "Is anyone around your house, Jennifer?"

  "No. Not yet."

  Dr. Masters paused her questioning, but Jen kept her eyes closed and surmised she was writing a few notes. "Jennifer, let’s go back before the fire, to earlier in the day."

  She hesitated. "Okay."

  "Is it a happy day?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Mummy and Daddy are fighting." An ominous dark cloud swirled around the room and sucked at Jen’s breath. Her fingers clawed at her throat.

  "Just relax, my dear, you are safe here. You are watching your parents have words?"

  "I’m in my bedroom, but I can hear them. No one has called me for dinner so I’m playing with my dolls."

  "How do you feel in that room?"

  "Sad and not hungry."

  "Are you going to leave your room?"

  Jen’s hand reached behind to the base of her neck and rubbed her skin. "It’s dark out and I’m hungry. I’m going downstairs and sit on the bottom step." She could feel the cold spindles against her forehead as she peeked between the rungs of the banister. Like an automaton, her hand moved upward and grazed the spot.

  "Where are your parents?"

  "In the living room still fighting, but it’s different."

  "How is it different?"

  "Daddy’s hitting her, over and over. He jumps after her every time she tries to get away, making her back against the wall."

  "What’s happening now?"

  "My mother grabbed the phone; he took it from her and is hitting her again. She’s falling and..."

  "And what?"

  "She knocked over a lamp."

  "What’s going on now?"

  Jen squirmed.

  "What, Jennifer?"

  "Daddy sees me. He’s here above me looking down. I’m so scared, I feel shaky. He’s yelling at me to get out. Now he’s gone back into the room and closed the door."

  "What are you doing?"

  "Listening. My daddy’s shouting, ‘We’ve got to get this fire out.’ Now I see it."

  "What do you see?"

  "Smoke coming from under the door." Jen could smell the choking, putrid stench; it overpowered the lavender. She could even feel the searing heat. She coiled away from the flames blazing in her mind.

  "What are you doing, Jennifer? Take your time."

  "I’m pounding on the living room door, but no one is coming. The door’s hot. I can’t breathe. I’m running to the neighbor’s house."

  "Is someone coming to help you?"

  "I’m ringing the doorbell, again and again. No one is coming here, either. I’m going to sit on their lawn and watch the fire. I hear sirens."

  "Jennifer, let’s come back to your job at the shelter."

  "Okay." She swiped her hand across her forehead. The room she was in now was becoming a presence.

  "What does the attachment under your desk look like?"

  "Like..."

  "Yes?"

  "Like the doorbell I had been ringing for help during the fire." Jen brought her hands to her mouth. "Exactly like that one." Oh, how she wanted to scream, but there were no screams left. She’d left them at the neighbors as she’d stayed on the grass.

  "Jennifer, I think we’ve had enough for this session. The medication is wearing off. Open your eyes, my dear. How do you feel?"

  "Like I’ve been running ‘til I can’t breathe anymore but finally reached safety." She rubbed her eyes.

  "Do you remember any of what you saw?"

  Jen nodded trying to free her head from the cobwebs. "I remember seeing myself as a child and watching the horrible fire that killed my parents. I feel numb inside. Like it’s not real."

  "It will take time for you to absorb it and deal with it. Do you remember anything else?"

  "I remember going for help and... the doorbell." Her whole body tensed, but it was with excitement not dread. "That’s why I didn’t ring the buzzer at work. It never entered my head that it would bring help. You have no idea how knowing about the buzzer gives me relief, Doctor."

  "Then we’ll work with what we gained, Jennifer. You’ve been dealing with these issues all your life. With your permission, I’ll have my receptionist line up more appointments for you. I think we’ve made great progress; you should feel encouraged."

  "If these things were repressed, could that be the reason why I’m so temperamental? Above and beyond having red hair?"

  Dr. Masters laughed. "Most assuredly so. Resentment toward your life built up, frustrating you because you weren’t aware what caused it. Compounded by the unhappiness at home, you were lucky you didn’t have a breakdown."

  "That explains some of my problems through the years."

  "Do you remember anything else?"

  "No."

  "Think Jennifer. I don’t want you going home and having flashbacks come to you when you aren’t prepared."

  Jen leaned back and closed her eyes. She wanted to fly with what she had learned, but she’d promised Mitch she’d do what the doctor asked. She spoke slowly, firmly. "My parents were fighting, and my father hovered over my mother when she tried to get away. Wait! My father was a big man... scary. He’s the form I see when I least expect it... The one I saw when Mitch was making love to me... was my father? That’s gross!"

  "It could have been a transfer of his threatening movements to Mitch. His position of domination might have brought it back."

  Jen thought for a moment, then raised her hand to stop whatever the doctor was going to say. She had to be clear about this. "Would the need to overcome Dad’s power account for my interest in guns?"

  "I can’t say, but desperation to protect yourself would be rational."

  "So, I must have panicked when the man broke into the shelter, and used what I had for protection?"

  "You could have had a flashback. The porch light was out; you saw a hulking shape that may have reminded you of your father. Because you were in the same threatening situation, it’s logical to assume that you grabbed at the protection device you were sure would help you--your gun."

  Jen ran her fingers through her hair. Chills ran up her back. "I could have killed him. Why didn’t I? Or did I deliberately aim to give him a life of misery?"

  "Shooting a human is different from aiming at
a target, Jennifer. For one thing he was moving; for another, he was moving toward you. You only had seconds and fired to stop him, or no question, he’d have been dead. There would be no way in that fearful situation you’d have the presence of mind to deliberately aim to paralyze him."

  It was as if she awakened from an icy nightmare into the warmth of the sun. "I was so afraid I’d become a horrible person."

  "Jennifer, I think you’ll agree that this session has been worthwhile. But we’ll stop now so you can adjust to what you’ve learned. This Exposure Therapy has helped you confront painful memories and feelings. Now I can begin Cognitive Therapy, which will help you understand the ways the traumatic events continue to effect your relationships and other aspects of your life. We can deal with these things, my dear, don’t worry. I think there must be a very anxious police officer outside the door waiting for you."

  Jen’s cheeks suddenly heated; the need to see Mitch filled her heart. At last she could satisfy some of his curiosity. When she left the office and looked into the agitated sea of blue eyes, she knew he’d been agonizing in hell.

  ~ * ~

  Mitch had all he could take. He’d tried watching the harbor activity, but that didn’t work. Then he picked up one magazine after another, thumbing through them restlessly. He wondered why waiting areas never seemed to have stimulating material to read. No matter, he wouldn’t be able to give it his attention anyway while she was in a therapy session. He paced back and forth along the glass wall.

  He hoped the counseling would help her get on with her life, but it could mean the end of their relationship. He didn’t want to be her crutch. Not now. He’d impacted her life already, pushing her more than was right. He should be the one in for treatment the way he’d bulldozed her along.

  His heartbeat stepped up the pace just thinking about her. He made a mental note to watch out for that quickened rate and try to tone it down; she had a lot to deal with right now. He’d seen others suffer the agonies of therapy, and he knew it required hard-nosed effort on their part to get their lives balanced. Jen’s past was full of ghosts. Could he compete with them? He wanted to be there for her, but he needed to cut her some slack. Maybe he should fade into the background to give her space and a chance to put her life in order. He might not have the option. She could come through that door at any minute perfectly healed by some miracle--or on the downside, she could reject him altogether. He’d play it by ear. The office door opened.

  ~ * ~

  With an initial burst of enthusiasm, Jen told Mitch about her experience. "Dr. Masters says it will take more appointments to work out my problems, but we made a good start." Mitch’s expression changed from worried to a blank stare. The change had a depressing effect on her. She’d expected him to be happy, or even gloating with an "I told you so." Anything but indifference. His difficulty must be because I’m old news in a sense. Her thought didn’t lift her mood. They drove to her apartment in silence.

  Mitch parked the car but kept the engine on idle. He stared straight ahead.

  "You’re awfully quiet, Mitch. Would you like to come inside?"

  "No, I don’t think so. I’m going back to the lake and see if the canoe washed ashore. You intend to follow up the appointment, don’t you?"

  "Yes." She wanted to say so much more, but the atmosphere wasn’t conducive to showing her gratitude or admitting the love for him that had mushroomed in her heart. As she studied his profile, she realized that Mitch’s emotional strength, not his brawn or overbearing ways, had brought her within reach of victory over her fears. If he was deciding to back off, it must be because it was time for him to move on with his own responsibilities, and he didn’t have the heart to rebuff her openly. His duties involving her had finished. So be it.

  Jen reached over and patted his arm. Although her insides felt heavy, a place in her mind photographed a snapshot to go with the one of him on the motorcycle. "Thanks for coming with me and for all that you’ve done... Bye, now." It was the end of something far more wonderful than she’d recognized at the time. Her controlled stroll up the walkway didn’t show the heartbreak that jeopardized her stability. She resisted the inclination to turn and look as he drove off. Later, as she lay in her bed, her mind a jumble of lost dreams, she pictured Mitch below the skylight sleeping peacefully, his body relaxed and his mind serene from a job done well.

  When morning came, after a quick call to the shelter, she rushed about getting ready to take over the day shift and give Mary a much-needed break. A call to the vet from work informed her Spooky was in fine shape and could be picked up on her way home. Life was slipping back into the old pattern but with the expectation this time that all would go well. The weight in her heart felt different from the previous gloom she’d had at her workplace. That darkness had disappeared with the promise she could deal with her past. No, this pain was a slash that bled inside and couldn’t be healed by conversations with a stranger.

  On the way home, Jen picked up Spooky and cuddled him in her arms. His moist nose and liquid stare soothed her unease and filled her with gladness. His friskiness was a boost for her low spirits. When she let him inside, he ran to the window and barked. She picked him up again and watched his eyes dart to the maple tree where they’d seen Mitch. They both stared at the tree a long time. She checked the door to make sure it was securely closed before she let him down.

  After feeding him, Jen opened the refrigerator door and saw nothing appealing. She grabbed a glass of milk, drank it down, and looked at the phone. Unable to resist the temptation, she dialed the police station and asked for Inspector James. She was forwarded to his cell phone.

  "Hello?"

  "Hello, Inspector. Jen Murray, here. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’d like to get in touch with Mitch to thank him for all he’s done."

  "I see. He can be hard to contact. He may be at the cottage. I think he was going to take a few days before coming in again. I can’t give you his phone number, but I can tell him you would like to talk with him. Maybe he’ll call you back. How are you doing?"

  "I’m fine and back at work. Thank you." She fiddled with the cord, working out the kinks. She wanted to ask more, like what was his impression of Mitch; did Mitch have any other female involvement. Mitch, Mitch, Mitch, but she chickened out. "Never mind getting in touch with him. I’ll probably see him sooner or later. Bye now." Her mouth pursed. Maybe he’ll call me back? No way am I going to wait on his pleasure, dammit!

  "Spooky, we’re going to the lake. We have a right to be there, too. And a need."

  "Yip-yip-yip!"

  ~ * ~

  Darkness had set in by the time Jen reached her cabin. She edged the car slowly along the road the last three hundred feet. Her goal was to arrive unnoticed. Apparently she did, because once she got out of the car the only sound in the offing was the distant loon’s faint call. She waited for the response. Nothing. All else was silent. Had the frogs and crickets gone into hibernation? What about the owl? At least the scent of the pines was still strong.

  The moon had just risen over the treetops, lighting the yard with its magical glow. Jen wandered down to the dock, while Spooky rooted excitedly in the bushes. Her canoe was tied to a post, bobbing, with the paddles inside. She spent a few minutes sniffing in the earthy freshness, and listening to the gentle lap of the water against the dock. It was peaceful out here.

  Reluctantly, she entered into the cabin’s emptiness, checked out the rooms, then filled Spooky’s dish with food. She couldn’t resist the urge any longer. She left the pup eating from his bowl and sneaked through the trees for a closer peek at the light burning in Mitch’s cottage. His parked Harley gleamed in the moonlight. This time she didn’t go to his door. She smiled, retraced her steps back to the cabin, and unpacked her overnight bag. The revelation came in one awe-inspiring burst. The lake was where she’d felt the greatest fulfillment of being alive. Although Mitch was the source of that happiness, she had learned one thing from being in the city: if there we
re to be a substantial change in her life, she alone had to make it. And make it she would. By facing her demons, and also by coming back here where she’d had such turbulence, she had already started. She felt good about herself--full of pride.

  The laptop’s placement on the living room table brought an instant surge of daring. She eased into the chair, opened up the computer and entered the world of the Internet. This time she wasn’t going in for fantasy. She was going for truth.

  ~ * ~

  Earlier, Mitch had thought returning to the lake would give him the solitude he needed to adjust for his return to detective duty. It would be less of a challenge but less wearing on the nerves as well. Don’s departure from the force left the sergeant’s position open, and it was his if he wanted it. He could run investigations his way, a goal he’d longed to reach for many a moon. The promotion didn’t come with the satisfaction he’d sought. It gave him a sense of aloneness. Jen’s absence added to it. His eyes barely skimmed her property when he drove by, but it was enough to land a cold hard punch in his stomach. Her empty cabin, the bright moon, especially the call of that damned lonely loon, fused together sending him into the doldrums. He’d be glad to leave here.

  He entered his cottage and turned on the lights. With the closing of his door, he missed hearing her car’s arrival, failed to catch a glimpse of Jen as she stood on her dock looking up at a sky filled with a multitude of magic sparkles. Lost in his misery, he had also missed the squeak of the neighbor’s screen door. He plopped in a chair and tried to figure out where he’d gone wrong.

  Mitch pulled out his computer. At least in returning to work he’d get to dress decently and present himself as an authority figure. There’d be little trace left of the biker. His Harley would remain a reminder of her; maybe he should ditch that too when he left the lake. He reached up and ran his fingers along his stubbled chin. Automatically he thought of her again---the redheaded witch that had captured his heart.

  Mitch sighed, hooked up his computer and without giving it much thought entered the chat room where he’d first found Pixie. Not recognizing many of the occupants, he took a break, made a cheese sandwich, grabbed a couple of Labatts and carried them to a chair on the veranda.