Secrets Amoung The Shadows

by Sally Berneathy

  "I don't know or care," he said, irritation rising again. "When I'm under a lot of pressure, I get feelings of claustrophobia. The only way that issue relates to the problem I'm having now is that the stress makes it worse."

  She nodded, and he knew she would probably waste valuable time in the future pursuing that avenue. He'd never be able to convince her it wasn't related to his present trouble.

  A timer on her desk gave a soft ding.

  "I see our time is up for today. When would you like to come back?"

  The hour was over, and he didn't feel they'd accomplished a thing. Damn! He had to get this matter taken care of. "Would tomorrow be possible?"

  "Certainly. Tomorrow at five again," she agreed.

  "Thanks," he said. "I know this is past your regular schedule, and I do appreciate it."

  She smiled then, a soft, caring smile, and he felt himself draw back mentally. He liked her better as a detached doctor than as a real person. He couldn't deal with a real person right now.

  ***

  As she drove home, Leanne rolled down her car window and let the warm September air flow around her and reclaim her after her unusually long day spent inside the confines of her office. One benefit of working late was that the major part of the rush traffic was gone.

  However, that wasn't the only benefit. She was glad she'd given Eliot Kane the after-hours appointment. He was obviously a very tightly controlled man whose problems likely sprang from that control. In spite of his concerns, she didn't see that he had any major worries right now. His mind was just screaming for help before things got bad.

  Being the one to offer that help was always a gratifying feeling. Though there was never a guarantee with mental problems, Eliot Kane was a strong candidate for the category of those who could be helped.

  As she approached her neighborhood in east Dallas, she felt soothed and welcomed by the quaint old homes and large trees, a major contrast to the stark newness of the area where her office was located. She turned onto her street, her gaze automatically going to the house across from hers, to the small, white-haired man sitting in the porch swing beside the large black Doberman.

  She waved out the open car window. "Hi, Thurman, Dixie."

  Thurman Powers smiled and waved back, and Dixie's ears perked, though she would never move without Thurman's permission.

  Leanne pulled into her driveway, hit the garage door opener and settled her car inside for the night. Thurman worried about her. If the weather was too bad for Dixie and him to sit on the front porch and watch for her return, they'd sit inside, looking out the window.

  He was the closest thing she had to a father, and she was his only family. His wife had died ten years before, and they'd never had children. Leanne and Thurman had bonded the first day she walked into his office as a very green intern. Through the years of practicing together, their friendship had grown, and she'd bought the house across the street from him when it came up for sale. Now that he was retired and she'd taken over the practice, they still maintained daily contact.

  While he might be a strictly cerebral retired psychiatrist, Dixie was his personal one hundred forty pound loaded weapon...and they were both determined to take care of her, a woman alone. That made it a lot easier for her to take care of him. The rare occasions he wasn't sitting on the porch or watching through the window, she went over immediately. Usually she'd find that he'd been upstairs working on a paper for a psychiatric journal, the time completely forgotten. Then she could go home with her mind at ease.

  When she crossed her yard from the garage to the front door of her hundred-year old home, she noted that Thurman and Dixie had gone inside.

  She opened her own door, and a small black dog less than one-tenth Dixie's size gave an excited "yip" then scurried onto the porch on legs too short for her long body, one ear drooping and one erect, brown eyes wide and sparkling.

  Leanne stooped to pet the manic animal. "Hi, Greta! Are you starved, sweetheart? If it's any consolation, I'm late for a worthy reason. I stayed to help a nice man."

  She straightened and went into the house with Greta at her heels, through the house to the back door where she let Greta into the fenced yard.

  As her small dog scurried about the yard, sniffing diligently under every tree, every bush, every plant, for evidence of intruders into her territory, Leanne leaned against the door frame, thinking about the appointment that had made her late.

  Beneath Eliot Kane's conservatively tailored charcoal suit lived a very real, very complicated human being. He was an attractive man. The well-tailored suit disguised but didn't hide his large arms, wide chest and muscular thighs. His dark blond hair, at first immaculately styled, then tousled from his nervous gestures, was the perfect frame for his golden brown eyes. His jaw was square, stubborn and challenging, his lips thin and determined but somehow sensual.

  And that, she thought, reaching down to pet Greta as the little dog trotted over, pretty well summarized Eliot Kane. He had a determination that was almost super human, and a quality of vulnerability that was totally human. He was dynamic and appealing and very much in charge, and he had mental problems that led him to ask for her help. It was an intriguing combination.

  She scratched behind Greta's ear then rose. "Come on, girl, let's get you some dinner."

  Later that night she climbed the stairs to her second floor bedroom. Greta moved up the polished wooden steps beside her like a slinky toy.

  When they reached the landing, Greta scurried ahead to the bedroom and dove into her doggie bed in the corner. Leanne followed, then bent down to scratch behind one ear. "Good night, little one."

  She went into the bathroom to change to her gown. The silk flowed over her naked skin like a lover's fingers, evoking an image of Eliot Kane's fingers when he'd taken her hand

  She flinched. That was not acceptable. She stood with her hand poised on the bathroom light switch, forcing herself to adhere to the same honesty she expected from her patients.

  She'd already admitted that she found Eliot attractive, but he certainly wasn't the first patient she'd found attractive, and she'd never before had inappropriate feelings, never felt the slightest inclination to breach the doctor/patient relationship.

  She had no problem adhering to the prohibition against becoming involved with patients. The possibility of losing her license wasn't nearly as potent a deterrent as the other possible consequences of such an action. Involvement did not help and could hinder the process of healing.

  She could admire Eliot's courage, his strength, his obstinacy, and she could allow herself to feel sympathy for the confusion and helplessness he was apparently feeling at his sudden loss of control. She could even admire his wide chest and tumbled hair the way she might admire the good looks of an actor in a movie. And that was all.

  Lifting her chin, she switched off the light and crossed the plush, smoky blue carpet of her bedroom to the window to draw the drapes.

  Across the street Eliot Kane, still wearing his conservative suit, leaned against a tree, watching her house.

  Chapter 2

  She gasped, blinked, and looked again to be certain it really was him.

  He straightened when he saw her, stood erect and returned her gaze. In the pale glow from the corner street lamp, his eyes seemed to blaze. She could almost feel the hatred coming from him.

  But that was crazy! He didn't hate her. He came to her for help. He trusted her. They'd even scheduled a return appointment for the following day.

  It was only the shadows flitting across his face, she told herself, trying to be rational.

  Yet she knew that wasn't it. Enmity burst from him, surrounding him like an aura. It was there in his stance, in the tilt of his head...it was in the air, and it was directed toward her.

  Her hands clenched the curtains, and she wanted desperately to continue what she'd started, to close them, to shut out this strange apparition.

  But his gaze held her as if he had the Medusa power to turn
her to stone. Slowly his lips parted in a grim smile that spoke of anger and loathing.

  This man was Eliot, of that she was sure, but at the same time he wasn't Eliot.

  His question about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde hit her in the gut. Could he be right? Was she seeing another personality?

  His eyes never leaving hers, he raised an arm, and it seemed that one finger glowed red.

  Of course his finger wasn't on fire. It was only a cigarette. He lifted it to his lips, took a drag then lowered it and blew out a long, indolent stream of smoke.

  As his head tilted to follow the movements of his own arm, she felt her gaze inexorably drawn along. He tossed the cigarette to the pavement and ground it out with his heel. Leanne shuddered. Somehow the simple action took on menacing overtones.

  Greta barked and jumped for the window sill, startling Leanne and breaking the spell, diverting her attention to her dog. Greta growled, looked up at Leanne, then sat down beside her. The hairs on the dog's back bristled.

  "You feel it, too? We can't both be wrong, can we, little one?" She turned back to the window, intent on lifting it and calling out to Eliot, demanding to know what he was doing there.

  The street was empty.

  Whoever had been there was gone.

  But Greta gave another low growl.

  The neighborhood was old with lots of trees and bushes. In her own yard she had enough shrubbery to hide an army.

  Leanne shivered, though the room was warm. The air seemed to hold a residual chill as if from the gaze that had come uninvited into her home.

  When she'd talked to him in her office, Eliot had been attractive, likeable, sane. But she knew from experience that the mentally ill could appear completely well and normal just before they totally lost touch with reality, before they hurt themselves or someone else.

  She stooped and gathered Greta into her arms. "You're more perceptive than I am. You growled at him. I thought he was sexy."

  Eliot Kane was a very sick man, possibly even suffering from multiple personality disorder, just as he'd suggested. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He was a package deal. With the attractive, appealing man came the monster she'd seen outside her window.

  He'd seen her, knew she had seen him. She would confront him when he came in for his appointment tomorrow.

  ***

  He leaned against the big tree, well hidden among the shadows and lit another cigarette. The woman was terrified. He gained strength from her terror. He smiled as she pulled her drapes closed. As if she could keep him out. When the time came, she wouldn't be able to stop him any more than Eliot would. He was growing stronger every day. Things were falling into place.

  Soon.

  He closed his eyes, drinking in a sense of power. He pictured himself sneaking around, hiding in the overgrown bushes, checking doors and windows, testing to see if one would open.

  And one finally did.

  Quietly, full of a growing anticipation, he slid the window up and crawled in.

  The interior of the house was fuzzy and out of focus. He didn't know what it looked like. He needed to see it so his dreams could gain substance and become real. He had seen through the window of her bedroom upstairs. He focused on that, on opening the door and seeing the bed clearly with its white comforter. Exactly what he'd glimpsed from the street.

  But in his mind the woman lay in the bed instead of standing at the window. Her arms were outside the comforter, her head turned to one side on the pillow, dark, shiny hair spread out behind her. He stood still, watching the soft rise and fall of her breasts under the covers, admiring her, wanting her, knowing soon she would be his.

  He moved soundlessly toward her, put his hands around her throat softly, caressingly.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him, fear flooding her beautiful face. Her slim white hands thrust up, reaching for his, trying to push him away. But he tightened his grasp, drinking in her terror, becoming stronger, invincible. Her lithe body heaved under the dainty comforter, her legs thrashed about until the bed covers slid to the floor and he could see all of her, claim all of her as he choked the life from her body, watched the glaze of death slide over her eyes.

  The vitality leaving her seemed to flow into him, and he was intoxicated, potent, in control of the whole world...free. Nothing was beyond his ability now.

  Only a vision now, but soon…

  Eliot shot upright in bed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Sweat burst out on his forehead, and bile rose in his throat as the ecstasy from his dream was replaced with revulsion.

  He turned his hands over, stared down at the palms, curled the fingers, and remembered with horror and disbelief how they'd felt wrapped around Leanne Warner's throat.

  Chapter 3

  As she drove to work in the bright light of day, Leanne questioned her perceptions of the night before.

  It had been real, not a dream. She hadn't imagined the man outside her window. Greta had sensed someone there. But had the man really been Eliot or had she, overly tired and with her thoughts focused on Eliot, seen his face on another man?

  She walked into her office to find a message from Eliot Kane marked Urgent.

  Even if not for that urgent request, she still would have known, the minute he answered the phone, that something was wrong. His voice came to her ears deep, resonant, and troubled.

  "I just wanted to be sure you were all right," he said. His tone and his odd question clutched her stomach with an icy hand bringing back the eerie sensations of the night before.

  "Why wouldn't I be?"

  He hesitated, increasing her wariness. "No reason. We'll discuss it tonight. I have a call on the other line. I need to run."

  He was lying about getting another call. She could hear it in his voice, but there seemed little point in pursuing the matter over the phone. Even so, she had to resist the impulse to demand to know what he'd been doing at her house...if he remembered being at her house.

  "Very well," she agreed. "This afternoon, five o'clock."

  "Yes," he agreed, and the word seemed to come from deep within a bottomless well of despair. "We have some matters that need to be discussed."

  Did his call mean he remembered being at her house? Was his problem only a story to provide a basis for a defense of insanity for that woman's murder? He'd come to her after Kay Palmer's death, told her he'd dreamed it in detail. She had to acknowledge the possibility that he had committed the murder and was using her to build his defense.

  One thing she did know she'd distinctly heard the falseness in his voice when he'd lied to her about having another call, a falseness she hadn't heard before.

  ***

  He was waiting that afternoon when her four o'clock appointment left.

  "Dr. Warner," he said, rising and coming toward her, hand extended. She was again struck by his dynamic appearance.

  Perhaps they occupied the same body, but this was not the same man who had stood outside her window last night. Deep in his eyes she could see kindness, concern and anxiety but not the hatred and anger she'd seen the night before.

  The unbidden thought came to her that this was Dr. Jekyll.

  She dismissed the thought. She had far too little evidence on which to base such a drastic diagnosis. That would be every bit as unprofessional as her sensual thoughts of him the night before.

  She took his hand and felt the firmness and warmth, the determination of his grip.

  The doctor in her recognized that this compelling man could also be the creature who'd stood outside her window. He could be a murderer trying to con a psychiatrist so he could escape the death penalty. At best, he was mentally ill.

  But, against her will and her common sense, something deep inside was drawn to his magnetism and strength.

  She dropped his hand abruptly and turned away to lead him into her office. What on earth was the matter with her? Had she suddenly become self-destructive?

  "Last night I dreamed I killed you," he said from behind her.

&nb
sp; She stopped.

  Though he'd spoken in a normal tone, not loudly, the words seemed to echo in the empty rooms.

  She looked back and saw that he wasn't following her but still stood firmly planted in the reception area, his expression grim, his fists clenched at his sides.

  "Come in, and we'll discuss it," she said, trying to maintain her composure in spite of a return of the fear from the night before. Her heart raced, and breathing became difficult.

  He inclined his head toward the empty reception desk. "She left."

  "I know. She leaves at four thirty to miss some of the rush hour traffic."

  "So we're here alone. Do you think that's a good idea?"

  "We were here alone yesterday, Eliot." What was he working up to? She fought a sudden desire to bolt past him and through the door. He wasn't making her feel any better with his strange comments.

  "Yesterday I hadn't dreamed about killing you." He clenched his fists so tightly the knuckles turned white. His jaw was set square and determined, but his expression was tortured.

  She made an effort to smile confidently. It was, after all, her job to be reassuring. "As you can see, I'm very much alive and unharmed."

  "So was Kay Palmer...after the first dream. We've got to face the possibility that I may have a split personality, and that other side of me killed her. What if I should suddenly turn into that other person and do something to you?"

  She considered the possibility, had been considering it for the last few minutes. But she had chosen this career so she could help people like Eliot, and indulging her fear wouldn't help him. She'd never before been frightened of a patient. She was trained to deal with mentally ill people.