Every Time I Love You

by Graham, Heather

  “It just began—”

  “No, it just began so dramatically. But think back. On your wedding day you passed out.”

  “That was the excitement—”

  “And your nightmares began two nights later. And Brent started with the war paintings. All right after you had just met.”

  Gayle groaned and sank back into the seat. “I don't believe any of this. And even if I did want to meet Marsha Clark, Brent would never do it. He thinks very little of psychiatrists. What is he going to think of a parapsychologist?”

  Geoff didn't answer her. They finished the drive in silence.

  Brent was outside on the wide veranda, leaning against a column, waiting for them. He smiled and came around to the passenger's side of the car and he kissed Gayle as soon as he helped her out. Then he thanked Geoff for the favor, saying, “Come on in. Let's have a drink.”

  He led the way into the passage and directed Gayle and Geoff into the parlor. “Gayle, wine? Geoff—a Scotch?”

  “Fine,” Geoff said.

  Brent left and Gayle quickly spun on Geoff. “Geoff! I think he was late on purpose. I think that he's stalling. It's as if he doesn't want to know what Shaffer had to say.”

  “Gayle, come on,” Geoff murmured unhappily. “I'm sure that's not the case at all.”

  “It won't be,” she said grimly. Arms crossed over her chest, she wandered over to the mantel. Brent came back into the room, balancing a wine glass, a Scotch, and a beer can. Geoff and Gayle both thanked him. Then Gayle accosted him flatly.

  “Shaffer says we're both sane. Completely sane.”

  “Oh?” Brent lifted his beer can to her and sprawled back comfortably on the couch, watching her.

  “He did have a suggestion.”

  “He did?”

  Geoff tried to rise. “I think I should probably get back—”

  “Geoff, stay!” Gayle pleaded.

  He looked at Brent. Brent shrugged. Geoff could already feel the tension rising, and he wanted to leave. Gayle glared at Brent.

  “Geoff—stay, please,” Brent said with a soft groan. “I think I'm going to want another opinion here, anyway.”

  Geoff sat.

  “Shaffer gave me the name of a woman to see. She's a psychiatrist too.”

  “Why? Why someone different?”

  “She's also a—a—”

  “Parapsychologist,” Geoff supplied.

  “A what!” Brent exploded. He was on his feet in a flash, stalking toward Gayle. “A what?”

  “I told you!” Gayle said to Geoff, ignoring Brent. Geoff tried to help.

  “Brent, she isn't a witch doctor. I don't see how it can hurt.”

  “And how the hell can it help to have a crone running around here tapping the walls and telling the air to be gone? Uh-uh! No way! This is absurd. We'll work this out ourselves.”

  “Brent, damn you!” Gayle cried. “We can't work this thing out ourselves!”

  “Why not? What has happened? What has really happened?”

  “A lot!” Gayle insisted. “Brent—”

  He came around to her, catching her hands. “We've acted a little strangely. Chad was telling me once he had an aunt who insisted on singing arias in the grocery store. They didn't waste much sleep on it, though.”

  “Brent! This is much more serious than that.”

  “Gayle! I will not see this woman!”

  She stared at him pleadingly, then turned to Geoff. “Help me!”

  Geoff stood uneasily, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He did want to help them, desperately. “Brent...”he began awkwardly. “Ah, hell, Brent, I'm not trying to take her side or anything, but look at the two of you. What you have together is rare; it's the greatest thing in life. It's so very special. Brent, how can you risk that? How can you not grab at any straw, no matter how flimsy it may be, that might help you?”

  Brent was very stiff and very straight. Gayle could feel heat waves of anger coming from him, wrapping all around her. But he didn't raise his voice; he just looked at Geoff and apologized softly. “Sorry, Geoff, I just can't do it. Not a parapsychologist.” He dropped Gayle's hands and turned on his heel and strode out of the room. A second later, they heard the front door slam and the Mustang revved into action.

  Gayle sank down on the couch and started to cry. Geoff set an awkward arm around her shoulder. “He'll come around. You know that he will.” He handed her his handkerchief, and she wiped her face and stiffened her shoulders and apologized for falling apart.

  “It's—it's okay,” he promised her.

  She sniffed once, then said, “Geoff!” She jumped to her feet and reached for his hand. “Come with me, please! This is the perfect time, with Brent gone!”

  “The perfect time for what?”

  “To show you the sketches. You've got to see them.”

  He followed her through the house and then across the colonnade to the old kitchen. She dug excitedly into a cupboard and came out with a box. She unrolled a vellum scroll and laid it out before him.

  He felt his heart thump hard against his chest, and then he felt a queer thrill of fear streak all along his spine.

  Gayle was right. The sketch was very, very old. It was probably worth a fortune. It was wonderfully descriptive; it captured emotion.

  And it was precisely—down to every last expression—like the one that Brent had done.

  “Well?” Gayle whispered.

  He tried to smile at her. She was so vulnerable, looking at him anxiously with her wide blue eyes and cascade of golden hair flowing around her shoulders.

  How could Brent refuse her anything?

  He's afraid, Geoff thought. Brent McCauley is afraid and doesn't know how to admit it.

  “I think, Gayle,” Geoff lied, “that Brent must have seen that sketch somewhere when he was a kid. Maybe a copy of it, or something. And it stayed in his memory.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  He grinned. “Sure.”

  But he didn't really believe that. He reached down for her hand. “Come on, let's go get our drinks. Then I'd better go. I think that you two should be alone when he gets back.” He didn't want to look at the sketch anymore. He could still feel that sense of unease scraping against his spine like nails against a blackboard.

  Gayle nodded and rerolled the sketch. She slid it back into the cupboard. She tried to be casual as she and Geoff went back to the parlor. It was no good. They were both uncomfortable.

  Geoff left, telling her to call if she needed him.

  Gayle sat on the couch and waited for Brent. She hoped he wouldn't be late.

  She waited and waited and finally cried herself to sleep. He didn't come home late; he didn't come home at all.

  CHAPTER 17

  Dr. Marsha Clark's office was in a modern high-rise building downtown, not far from the gallery. Gayle didn't know what she had been expecting, but not this pleasant, light and airy place. Long, plate-glass windows brought in bright daylight and blue skies. The carpeting and furniture were in earth tones and there was an abundance of plants all about. It might have been any attractively decorated doctor's office, if it weren't for the word parapsychologist on the door.

  Geoff and Tina were with her. On the phone Dr. Clark had assured Gayle that she wouldn't mind the extra company in the least. While an assistant asked them if they would like coffee or tea and then went off to find the doctor, the three of them looked around.

  “Well,” Tina murmured, “there are no chickens tied to walls, or anything.”

  “That's voodoo, I think,” Gayle murmured.

  “No shrunken skulls,” Geoff offered.

  “That's cannibalism, I think,” Gayle retorted, but their words worked. She laughed and she felt somewhat better. Then Dr. Marsha Clark walked into the room, and things improved even more.

  She was a fashionably slim woman, with shoulder-length, permed brown hair. The overall picture was more than very attractive—Marsha Clark was beautiful. She had delic
ate features and a full mouth, but her greatest attraction was her eyes—they were a very warm dark brown, quick to flash with humor and interest. Her smile was easy and relaxed. Gayle judged her to be in her early to mid-thirties, and she was the farthest thing from an old crone she had ever seen.

  Marsha Clark had no trouble identifying Gayle from Tina, and greeted her with a firm handshake. She smiled at Geoff and told him how nice it was to see him again. Geoff introduced Tina; then Dr. Clark urged them all to sit down. Her assistant came in with the tea and the coffee. They chatted about the weather for a moment, all complaining that it was unbearably warm. Then Dr. Clark smiled at Gayle and said simply, “So, Mrs. McCauley, you and your husband have been behaving strangely lately, is that it?”

  Taken off guard, Gayle smiled. “Well, yes. In a nutshell, that's it.”

  “I know you told me a few things on the phone, but let's go over them again. It started with dreams—your dreams. Nightmares, right?”

  “Right.”

  “She passed out the day of her wedding,” Geoff said.

  “But, oh, you should have seen them!” Tina supplied. “From the moment they saw each other, I think that they were in love. It was so wonderfully romantic.”

  Gayle cast Tina a quick glare and Dr. Clark laughed. “It sounds lovely. But you passed out at the wedding; then the dreams started. And then, once you moved into your new home—your old home, that is—your husband became affected. Calling you by a different name, behaving as if you had done something terrible to him, being crude and rough and domineering.”

  Gayle nodded uneasily.

  “And then?”

  “I—I had some kind of dream again myself. I ran away from him, out to the lawn. When he tried to stop me, I fought him.”

  “So you've hurt each other?”

  Gayle inhaled nervously and looked down at her hands. “Yes.”

  “And what is the name that he is calling you?”

  “Katrina.”

  Dr. Clark nodded and sipped her coffee. She was silent so long that Gayle grew nervous. “Dr. Shaffer says that we're both sane. So what is it, Dr. Clark? Is my husband possessed? Am I possessed? Are we both possessed?”

  Dr. Clark chuckled softly. “I don't think so, but then, there are a number of possibilities.”

  “Should I have a priest out to the house?” Gayle asked, frowning.

  “Maybe. But according to what you've told me, I don't think so. Tell me, where is Mr. McCauley today?”

  Gayle stared down at her hands again. “I don't know.”

  “He was upset with the idea of coming to me?”

  She thought about lying, but she needed help desperately. She looked up at Dr. Clark. “Yes.”

  “Don't be disturbed; I'm not, Mrs. McCauley. A number of people feel that way. If it's necessary, I think that we'll get him in here.”

  “If it's necessary...?”

  “We'll start with you.”

  “Start—where?”

  “Have you ever been hypnotized?”

  “No, never.”

  “Are you willing to let me hypnotize you?”

  Gayle stared at Marsha Clark blankly. All of a sudden she was afraid. Deeply afraid, as if a tidal wave were about to wash over her.

  Something would come out.

  She knew it. Just as suddenly as she knew the fear, she knew that something would come out. A secret inside of her, so deep that Dr. Shaffer couldn't have begun to find it, but there, and brimming on the surface now. “I—”

  “Don't be afraid. It's a very simple procedure. What you have heard is true—under hypnosis, you don't do anything that isn't in your normal code of behavior. You're still very much in control.”

  Gayle looked at Geoff and then at Tina a little desperately. They both nodded at her, and she finally nodded to Dr. Clark. “Good then,” the doctor said, rising briskly. “Mrs. McCauley, come over here to the lounge, if you will, please. And there, see the spiral on the wall? Just watch it. Your friends will be fine; they're welcome to stay right there on the chairs, all right?”

  Gayle nodded again. She stretched out on the buff-colored lounge and found that it was very comfortable. Marsha Clark brought a little pillow, then pointed to the wall, a painted black spiral on it. “Just watch the spiral. And relax. And most important, trust me.”

  Gayle stared at the spiral and listened as Dr. Clark began to talk. She told her again to relax, to relax her feet and her toes, her fingers, her calves, her hands. She heard the doctor moving about the room, and then she heard the sounds of water running and a breeze rustling through the trees.

  It was madness. She could relax from here to eternity, Gayle decided, but she wasn't going to become hypnotized. She was very much wide-awake.

  Dr. Clark began to describe the stream where the water flowed, and she talked about dusk and about a lazy time of sheer comfort. Gayle kept staring at the spiral; then Dr. Clark told her that she could close her eyes and rest.

  “I'm ready to close my eyes and rest,” Tina murmured softly to Geoff. He placed his hand over hers and squeezed it. “God, I hope this does something for them,” she whispered.

  Geoff felt the same. Gayle looked awful. She was so tired. She must have cried most of the night, for it was evident in the pallor of her skin. For a moment Geoff thought that he'd like to strangle Brent McCauley for doing this to her, but then he reminded himself that McCauley was in every bit as much pain.

  Dr. Clark told Gayle that she would sleep until she heard three sharp taps. She asked Gayle if she was comfortable, if she could hear her, and Gayle answered yes to each question.

  Then Dr. Clark asked her flatly, “You've known your husband before? You've known him very well, before now?”

  Geoff wasn't sure what happened then, if his imagination took flight, if fancy claimed him. Perhaps he, too, had fallen under a form of hypnosis. Time seemed to stand still while they waited for Gayle to answer.

  “Yes,” Gayle said at last.

  “Tell me about it.”

  A smile, a soft and beautiful smile, curled her lips. “I knew him before. Very well.”

  “When you were Katrina?”

  Geoff inhaled sharply. Tina wound her fingers around his tightly.

  “Yes,” Gayle said.

  “You are Katrina. What is his name?”

  “Percy. He is Percy.”

  Geoff swallowed sharply. Tina gasped. Gayle was speaking, but her voice sounded different. There was an accent to it. It sounded...British, and yet not like any British accent he'd ever heard.

  “You are Katrina; he is Percy. And you are in love with him?”

  “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  Gayle still smiled so sweetly. Yes, Geoff thought, she is deeply in love with him, just as Gayle is deeply in love with Brent.

  What was he thinking? It was madness.

  “Take me back, Katrina. When did you meet him? Please tell me when you met him.”

  “The driver was going too fast. The streets were muddy. It had been so rainy...”

  “Katrina, keep talking to me, please.”

  Her smile broadened. “The coach fell over. He helped me out. He was so audacious. He said things that a gentleman must not, and yet he was so kind and solicitous. I put him in his place, of course.”

  “But you were falling in love with him.”

  She blushed very brightly and prettily on the lounge. Her hands fluttered momentarily in the air, then fell to her sides again. “You don't understand. It wasn't proper. My brother was a lord, a friend to the governor. Percy was...backwoods. And more. He was friends with Patrick Henry; he adored the man. He was a traitor, and I wasn't allowed to associate with him.”

  “But you did?”

  She squirmed uncomfortably.

  “But you did?” Dr. Clark repeated.

  “I will not tell you. I will not.”

  “You won't tell me anything?”

  “No. Yes. I had to see him again. You must understand. I had to see him ag
ain. I tried to run into him, and I did. And I knew that he was feeling...everything that I was feeling. I wanted him to love me, but I was afraid. I was just sixteen and I had heard so many tales about men. And especially...his type of man. A colonist. A Yankee. Ill-bred and ill-kempt. I panicked. I ran home.”

  “You ran home.”

  “I was caught.”

  “Caught?”

  “My—brother.”

  “And what happened?”

  “I will not tell you.”

  “You must tell me.”

  “I went back to Percy. I went back to him, and I found him in the darkness.” She paused, hesitating.

  “You went to him. You went to him in the darkness.”

  “I found him in the shade of the elm and he led me into the barn. You must understand. He was so fine. He had such passion and he was so young and...”

  “And?”

  “I meant to quiz him. I meant to talk and I meant him to fall in love. I wanted flowers at my feet and I wanted to make him humble and adoring.”

  “But that wasn't his way?”

  “No.” It was whispered softly. So softly. And with such enduring tenderness, it was nearly painful to hear. “No, it was not his way. He kissed me again and he bore me down to the hay.” She seemed distressed again, shifting uneasily on the lounge. “You must understand. It was right...it was like the sun bursting down upon us; it was all golden light. They would say it was immoral, but it was not. You must understand—”

  “I understand. It was very special. He made love to you, and you consented because it was very special.”

  “Yes.” The smile was back, the awe, the tenderness. “It was right, it was...blessed. I loved him. I knew that I loved him when I saw his eyes, when he kissed me. I felt his hands. I felt his touch. He was so very fine...”

  She went on. She described their first encounter so sweetly and in that soft, strangely accented voice that time and the very air seemed to hang still again. Geoff did not realize until she ceased to speak that he had gone rigid, that beads of sweat had broken out upon his forehead. He couldn't have spoken if he had wanted to, and when he dared to glance at Tina he saw from the awed expression on her face that she was feeling the same thing, that she had been equally touched.