The Sins Duet

by Abbi Cook

  "What do you mean when you say you don't know? Do you mean you don't know how to describe it?" he gently probes.

  Unable to find any delicate way to describe what I've been experiencing, I choose the most direct answer. "Since the attack, I can't remember my childhood very well. Bits and pieces come to me sometimes, but for the most part, I don't remember it. I also don't remember other things, like how my husband and I fell in love or what my wedding was like. I don't know why, but I can't."

  The doctor's confusion gives way to interest. He leans forward toward me and nods his head before writing something down. "That's very interesting, Lauren."

  "It might be interesting, but when you're living through it, it's terrifying."

  "I'm sure it is," he says in a soothing voice I like. It makes me feel safe.

  "I want to remember everything I've forgotten. I feel like I'm missing huge parts of my life. Then in my nightmares, I see them but they seem nothing like what I think they should be. I know that sounds crazy, but it's what I've been going through for the past few months."

  He shakes his head at my mention of that word. Crazy. "I don't think that sounds anything like crazy. To be honest, the idea of crazy is overused anyway. Let's just call it out of the ordinary and see what we can find out about why it's happening to you. I can tell you the mind is a very complicated system. We won't find out what's going on today, but given some time, I think we can make some progress and hopefully figure out how to make your brain release those memories again."

  His words shock me. "So you think they're still in my brain? That I haven't lost them?"

  "I think anything's possible, but until I know a little more about your head injury, I can't really say. Tell me what happened."

  Taking a deep breath, I think back to that night and try to reconstruct everything just as I did for the police. "It was twilight and the lights were just coming on in the parking lot. I left the hair salon and began walking toward my car when from behind me, someone hit me hard in the head. I don't remember anything after that until I woke up in the hospital with my husband standing beside my bed with the doctor. They told me I was unconscious for about a half hour."

  "Did they find any brain damage due to the attack?" he asks quietly before dropping his gaze to his notepad.

  I feel exposed and vulnerable for a few seconds as I wait for him to look up at me. Does the idea that I might be brain damaged offend him? When he does lift his head, I see in his eyes that I may have incorrectly interpreted his not looking at me after that question.

  "No. They said I had a concussion, but they didn't find any damage from the attack in the CT scan. They sent me home and told me to rest for a few days and to avoid hitting my head again. They didn't need to tell me that, though, because I never wanted to hit my head in the first place."

  My little joke makes him chuckle. "So you went home and made sure not to hit your head again. How long after did the nightmares begin?"

  "Less than a month later. I stayed in bed for a few weeks because my husband was worried about me, so I want to say less than a month." As I speak, I think back to that time and calculate how long before the nightmares began. A month sounds good.

  "Did anything happen in those few weeks?"

  I nod, wishing I didn't have to remember what happened. "My sister disappeared a few days after my attack."

  “Disappeared?” he asks like he doesn’t understand what I mean.

  “She just ran away and we’ve never heard from her since. We don’t know if she’s alive or dead. The police don’t have any leads, and as more time goes by, I’m afraid that means something bad has happened to her.”

  "Oh, I'm so sorry. You know, Lauren, the human mind has ways of compartmentalizing painful events. I can't tell now, but it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility that your sister's disappearance so soon after your injury caused your mind to want to shut down parts of your past that it deemed painful so you wouldn't have to deal with them while you were dealing with the issue with your sister."

  "That makes sense, but why would my brain want to forget about how I met my husband and our wedding. I'm happily married, doctor."

  I really don’t want to lie. Inside, I cringe at that statement because when I finally mention Alexei, Dr. Trevino is going to know I lied about being happily married. Women in happy marriages don’t almost sleep with a near perfect stranger and then practically obsess over him every day after that.

  Shaking his head, he sighs. "It's hard to even guess at, to be honest. Our minds are complicated. Perhaps you associate that time in your life when you two met and fell in love with your sister? Sometimes it's as simple as that."

  "No. She wasn't around when we began dating or got married. She was off on a tour of Europe with my other sisters," I explain, not seeing how Lauren and Adam could be connected. In all the time we've been together, he and my sister have both been at family events on no more than three or four occasions. It must be something else.

  "Well, hopefully, we can uncover what the cause of your memory loss is. As long as we know it's not physical, we can proceed as if those memories are still in your mind. We just have to find a way for it to let them out."

  I like the way he phrases things like anything's possible. Nobody in my life is so positive. Lauren used to be. Of all the people I know, only she looked at the world in a way that made me think nothing was impossible.

  While Dr. Trevino writes something down about what we just discussed, I can't help but think about my sister. She believed she could achieve anything, and she had done so much more than any of us by the mere age of sixteen. Claire, Tess, and I never went to college, but she did. And she excelled at her classes too. None of the three of us view the world as full of endless possibilities. Tess sees it full of things to have, and she spends her time manipulating her husband to buy them for her, just like she always did with our mother. Claire views the world as a place with so much sadness because she's always felt too much of what she experiences.

  And me? I wish I could think that anything could be possible. Maybe I'm simply not wired that way. My life has always seemed so contained. Then again, when I was sitting on that hill in the backyard looking up at the stars that night, I don't think I thought of the world as limited like I do now.

  "Lauren, let's talk about your nightmares. What can you tell me about them? Things like their frequency, who appears in them, anything you can think of regarding the circumstances in them and before you fall asleep when you have them."

  I take a few seconds to think about the most vivid ones and then begin telling him everything I can. "It feels like I have one every time I fall asleep, but in truth, they happen a few times a week. I had one a few days ago. In it, my mother was angry with me and forced me to drink some liquid that calmed me down. I didn't fight her about drinking it, but something felt wrong about the dream. Or nightmare. I'm not sure which to call these things my mind conjures up anymore."

  Dr. Trevino smiles and nods. "For our purposes here, the two are one in the same, so don't feel like you need to differentiate. Now in this dream, did you taste the liquid? What I'm asking is did you dislike how it tasted in the dream?"

  I shake my head as I think back to the details. "No. I don't remember thinking it tasted spoiled or bad. Nothing like that." I stop for a moment and then say, "Well, maybe. It was the same drink my mother always gave my sisters and me when we were upset. Milk and nutmeg. I just had a sense that something was wrong about drinking it, and when I woke up, I felt frightened."

  "What about your mother? Did she seem strange in the dream? Were you frightened of her?"

  "No. She seemed like she always is. My mother would definitely be described as a no-nonsense kind of person. She was exactly that in the dream."

  I stop talking, embarrassed about the subject of the dream but knowing I need to tell the doctor everything. I promised to be candid, and I want to be, but as I stare down at my hands resting in my lap, I can't find the words t
o explain what the dream was about.

  "Is something wrong, Lauren? Remember, you can say anything here. You're safe. I don't judge what my patients tell me, even if it happens in dreams."

  Those last few words come out more lighthearted than the others, and when I look up, I see him smiling at me. I wish I could find a way to say what I have to say in a more dignified way, but nothing sounds right, so I just say it.

  "The dream was about the first time I got my period as a teenager. That's probably TMI, but it's what it was about. I freaked out when it happened, and when my mother came to find me, she calmed me down with that drink she gave me. The weird thing is that never happened. The real life version of that event was nothing like what I dreamed."

  Dr. Trevino relaxes as I finish speaking, leaning back in his chair. "Dreams aren't usually literal replications of past events. Often our minds will change things to show what's occurring to us at the present time. Can you remember anything that happened that day or just before you went to bed that night?"

  I close my eyes to go through that day and can't stop myself from frowning. Adam kept me in bed for three days after I had that event and knocked a glass off the table. I spent that day reading my sister's diary.

  As much as I don't want to admit to what I was doing, I open my eyes and quietly say, "I wasn't feeling well, so I spent the day in bed. I found my sister's diary at my mother's last week, so I was reading through it. In one entry, she mentioned she thought my mother was forcing things on her. She felt out of control, but she couldn't figure out why."

  The doctor's expression morphs into one of concern, and I wait for him to condemn me for reading Lauren's diary. When he finally speaks, though, it isn't to tell me what I did was wrong. "Your sister who ran away wrote that in her diary? What do you think she meant?"

  I shrug. I wish I knew. "I have no idea. I can't imagine my mother doing that to my sister. My mother can be difficult, but she would never hurt any of us. As I said, she's just a no-nonsense person, and emotional daughters can be difficult, I imagine."

  My answer seems to satisfy him, and he sighs and nods his head again. "Okay. Tell me what happened in the dream. Try not to leave out any details, all right?"

  I do exactly as he instructs and expect him to stop me at some point, but he doesn't, so I rattle the whole thing off, barely breathing as I speak. When I finish, he nods like he seems to do quite often and jots down a few words on his notepad. I have to admit it feels so good to finally tell someone about that.

  "Okay, let's take a look at a few things. You said your mother was angry with you because of you were having a snack before dinner. Was that how she would act when you were a child?"

  I open my mouth and then close it, not because I don't want to tell him but because I'm not sure of the answer. I did pledge to be candid in our session, so I finally say, "I don't know. I want to say that fits my mother's personality because it does, but I'm having a hard time remembering a lot of when I was a child."

  The doctor scowls. "That's right. I'm sorry about that. It's okay, though. Still useful information. Now you said this isn't how this event actually happened in real life, right? Can you tell me about that?"

  He waits, his pen poised to write what I say, so I begin. "It’s strange, but I remember that clearly. When it really did happen, there was no crying at all. I wasn't even upset. I wasn't afraid either. I just told my mother, and she gave me a maxi pad and explained what was going on with my body. Very commonplace and downright boring, if I'm being honest. I know many teenage girls get upset and emotional like I did in the dream, but that wasn't how it was with me, even though neither my tutor nor my mother had ever warned me that it would happen."

  "It can be a very traumatic experience for a young woman," Dr. Trevino says in his sympathetic voice. "I find it noteworthy that you can remember that time in your past with no problem. Was it the same for your sisters too?"

  What an interesting question. I hadn't thought about that after the dream. "I'm not sure because I don't feel like I have any memories of when any of them first got their period, but I want to say my gut feeling is it was the same for all of them. No histrionics. Nothing. It just happened and that's it."

  "Are your sisters a lot like you, Lauren?"

  That question makes me chuckle. "Not in the least. One feels everything. The other feels nothing. And the third one was always strong-willed."

  As soon as the sentence about Lauren leaves my lips, I realize my mistake. So does the doctor.

  "Was? That sister isn't strong-willed anymore? Is that the sister who's missing?" he asks, focusing his gaze on my face.

  My foolish slip-up makes me uncomfortable, but I work hard not to show how much. "Yes. She’s strong-willed."

  He folds the cover over his notepad and places it and the pen on a table next to his chair. "Okay, I think we had a good first session. I'd like to see you again this week, if you can, and if not, next week at the latest."

  As he explains how he looks forward to making progress with my nightmares, all I can think of is how good it felt to tell another living soul everything I said and not have them dismiss me or worry about me. I follow him out of the office eager to schedule another appointment and hopefully make more progress next time.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Alexei

  When Samson messaged me to let me know Natalie was leaving the house today, I wasted no time making sure he followed her. When he told me the reason she decided to go out this morning, I have to admit I was intrigued.

  A therapist. The first thought that marched through my mind was that idiot husband of hers would be meeting her there for some couples’ counseling. It took no more than a second to dismiss that ridiculous idea.

  No, this therapist visit has nothing to do with their marriage. At least nothing to do with them reconciling.

  What it does have to do with makes me wonder. According to Samson, in the nearly two weeks since I’ve had him watching her, she’s never visited this doctor. That could mean nothing, but then again, it could mean she’s recently decided to talk to someone.

  A trace of guilt pinches at me for my part in whatever mental health issues she’s having. Normally, I wouldn’t give a fuck about how my behavior affects some woman, but Natalie isn’t just some random female. I can’t shake the feeling that beneath that beautiful exterior lies so much more just aching to be revealed. She’s broken in some way that I can’t get past, and it’s begun to affect everything about my life.

  Parked near the entrance to the building where the doctor’s office is, I watch for her to come out even as I can’t decide what the fuck to do with her. No, that’s not true. I know what I have to do, but before that, I have to see her again.

  The problem is that after teasing her the other day, who knows if she won’t run away from me when I try to speak to her. She has no idea how much I wanted her when she was at my house. That I stopped myself truly is completely uncharacteristic of me. In work as in love, I take no prisoners and prevail. When I want a woman, I have her. When I’m paid to kill people, and I do it without a hint of emotion.

  At least until I met her.

  She exits the building wearing a smile and slips her sunglasses on before walking away from where I’m sitting. I jump out of my car and trot across the street, my heart slamming into my chest as I anticipate her reaction to seeing me again after our last time together.

  Ahead of me, she walks like she has no plans, no place to go on this beautiful day. Her pink and white polka dot sundress flutters in the breeze whenever a tiny gust of wind whips up to break the heat for a second or two, and each time she quickly pushes the dress against her legs to make sure it doesn’t blow up and show off her thighs. I keep pace with her, wishing the wind would be faster than she is so I can get a glimpse of her body. Just the thought makes my cock start to get hard.

  I want to see all of her, her supple body naked to me and this time I won’t let some crisis of conscience stop me from
having her. I know what I have to do eventually, but for today, I know what I want to do.

  She’s headed toward an apartment that’s been in my family since my father was my age. I rarely visit the place, but it will work for today’s plans.

  When she’s a block away from there, I hurry to catch up to her when she stops to wait for the light to cross the street. With every step, my desire to have her ratchets up another notch. She’s beautiful and sweet and I want nothing more than to take her for my own.

  I brush up against her, and she turns to look up at me, surprise quickly giving way to something in her expression that looks like fear. She moves to put space between us, but I grab her arm and give her a slight shake of my head.

  “You’re hurting me. Let go, please,” she says in a soft voice so no one but I can hear her.

  “No. We’re going to my place near here. Don’t make a scene, little bird,” I say in a tone far sterner than anything I’ve ever used with her before.

  Her blue eyes grow wide and fill with pure fear at my warning. “What are you doing? Don’t do this. Please, Alexei.”

  The light changes, and I tug her off the curb onto the street as a bald man with a pot belly in a business suit glances over at us. I sense he wants to say something, but with a single hard glare from me, he turns his head, happy to allow whatever’s happening next to him to the beautiful brunette he was probably checking out just a minute ago.

  My fingers press into the soft flesh of her upper arm, and when she tries to pull away, I’m forced to tighten my grip. If it hurts, she doesn’t say anything about it. I should have known she wouldn’t cause a scene. It’s not her style.

  When the man crossing the street with us turns to go up to the next block, we’re finally alone. Leaning over, I whisper into her ear, “I’m happy I ran into you today, Natalie.”

  She swivels her head in my direction and gives me a look of disbelief. Happening to see her in Georgetown near her sister’s house was one thing. Coincidentally being in the neighborhood of a doctor she’s likely never seen before today isn’t believable in the least.