Secrets Amoung The Shadows

by Sally Berneathy

  Eliot held onto that thought as he left the car repair shop and drove toward Leanne's office. He had to believe Wayne could have killed Kay; otherwise, he would have to believe Edward had killed her...that he had crushed her throat with the hands that shaved his face in the mornings and put food in his mouth at meals.

  Those hands were sweaty on his leather covered steering wheel. Somewhere deep in his gut, he didn't believe Wayne had killed Kay.

  ***

  Eliot parked his car and went up to Leanne's office.

  He pushed open the door of her outer office and found it empty. The receptionist had already left. But Thurman would be there today. Though initially he'd been opposed to involving a third party in his problems, it was good that the older man would be here. It would solve the problem of Leanne's safety. It would allow him to meet with her after hours instead of waiting until she could work him into her day schedule.

  He perched on the edge of a pale blue chair. Leanne had obviously gone to a great deal of trouble to make her office soothing, to relax her patients. The colors were all muted pastels, even in the paintings that decorated the walls. But the effect was lost on him.

  Even the thought of Thurman's presence grated on his nerves. In addition to his usual reluctance to reveal himself, he felt resentment toward Thurman, as if Thurman were an intruder. As if Eliot and Leanne shared a closeness that Thurman would shatter.

  He shifted uncomfortably in the comfortable chair.

  It didn't take a psychiatrist to point out to him the analogy between his teenage experience with Kay and Edward and the present situation with Thurman and Leanne. Except Leanne was his doctor. He couldn't afford to lose control of his hormones where she was concerned.

  Leanne's office door opened, and she came out wearing a white suit with a sapphire blue blouse that just matched her eyes. She managed to look soft and sexy in spite of the severe lines of the outfit...and he didn't dare see her that way. He had to see her as a doctor, only as a doctor. Her blasted Code of Ethics aside, if he thought of her as a woman, an attractive woman, he wasn't sure he could make himself trust her enough to spill to her what little was left of his guts.

  And he was certain he couldn't trust Edward.

  She gave him a tired smile and lifted one hand to rub the back of her neck. In spite of his resolutions, he wanted to push her hand aside and replace it with his own, massage away her tiredness, see if that hidden skin was as soft as her hands...the only part of her body he'd touched...unless you counted his dreams.

  And he had no intention of counting them.

  A film of perspiration broke out on his forehead as he tried desperately to control his feelings...his desires. Kay had excited his desires, and Kay was dead.

  "Eliot," she said, "come on in. Thurman should be here any time. He always leaves things to the last possible moment."

  Eliot rose and preceded her into the office. God, he hoped Thurman got there soon. At the same time, he hoped Thurman never got there, that he could be alone with Leanne.

  He took a seat in the familiar gray leather recliner and looked around the office—anywhere but directly at her. She'd opened the curtains today. The considerate gesture didn't escape him.

  Like her reception area, her office was furnished tastefully in a subdued, professional manner in contrast to her home which was cheerful and comfortable. In her living room last night he'd become entirely too relaxed. For a few minutes he'd forgotten that Leanne was a doctor doing a job. Especially with Thurman taking over that role, for a few minutes he'd fancied an emotional touch between Leanne and him.

  He made a resolution to stay away from her house.

  But how could he keep Edward away? If there was a connection between the women he was attracted to and Edward, then he had to keep all personal thoughts of Leanne from his mind.

  She settled behind her desk and took out her tape recorder. Her actions, her expression, everything about her was completely businesslike. And still he was incredibly aware of her as a woman.

  She might be his only chance to achieve sanity...yet at the same time being with her might provoke the next step in his descent into madness.

  His palms on the soft leather chair arms were damp.

  Leanne studied Eliot and fervently wished Thurman would get there. For the first time since she'd been an intern, she was nervous with a patient.

  She'd like to believe that her fear was a normal concern for her personal safety in the presence of a mentally ill person who might be a murderer. But that wasn't all of it. In spite of her common sense and ethical training, something inside her responded to the barely-veiled desire in Eliot's eyes every time he looked at her.

  Transference, she told herself sternly. The patient frequently became obsessed with the analyst. An occupational hazard. She was experienced enough to know that.

  Maybe her brain knew that, but her emotions didn't.

  As always Eliot wore a conservative suit and tie, but the expensive fabric and well-tailored lines failed to disguise the outlines of thigh muscles she knew would be hard and solid to the touch, of a broad chest that she fancied would be covered with a mat of hair the same color as that on his head.

  She pressed the button on the recorder. "Did you have any more dreams last night?"

  "No," he answered. "No more dreams. I didn't sleep very much after everything that happened.

  "That's certainly understandable." She hadn't slept much either...had tossed and turned, kicked off the cover and pulled it up, dozed off only to wake with a start dreaming of Eliot's hands on her body, her throat, choking her, caressing her.

  At the moment his long fingers clutched and massaged the leather fabric of the chair arms. She stared at them in hypnotic fascination, unable to look away.

  A quick knock sounded on the door she'd left partially open, and she breathed a silent prayer of thanks. "Thurman? Come on in."

  "Sorry I'm late. Rush-hour traffic. I'd forgotten what a misnomer that is. Nobody can possibly rush." The older man strode in looking ten years younger. Being back in practice seemed to agree with him.

  He scooted over a chair and sat close to Eliot, facing him. "So how are you today, Eliot?"

  "Good. No more dreams."

  "Are you ready to find out what's happening to you?"

  "Yes," Eliot replied, his voice firm.

  She rose and drew the curtains over the wall of windows, turned down the lights and brought her chair around to the front of her desk, on the other side of Eliot from Thurman. She and Thurman had agreed the night before that she should do the hypnosis since she'd already gained his trust and taken him under once.

  "All right, Eliot. Lean back and relax." As before, his stance bore a resemblance to relaxation only by comparison to his usual tightly controlled posture. But it would suffice. He was so determined to succeed, he practically put himself into the trance.

  "We're going back in time, Eliot," she said when he appeared to be in a light trance, "back to yesterday, to the first time you met Thurman Powers. Are you there?"

  "Yes." The word was a drawl, a stark contrast to his usual clipped tones. He seemed to have gone a little deeper this time.

  "Okay, now we're going back to the first time you came to my office. See yourself coming in the door and sitting down." She paused for a moment to let him get oriented in that moment of the past, then continued. "Now let's go back even further, back to your high school graduation. Can you tell me about that?"

  His features softened, and a faint smile crossed his face. "I know Mom and Dad are happy. I made valedictorian."

  It didn't surprise her to learn he'd been an overachiever even then.

  "Very good. Now let's go back some more, back to the first day you went to grade school. Tell me about that day."

  He frowned in a petulant little-boy manner, his strong, chiseled features appearing to soften. "They said Edward can't come. He wants to go to school, too."

  She caught her breath, exchanging a significant l
ook with Thurman. They were narrowing it down. The answer she didn't want to find was becoming more certain. Was he talking about an imaginary playmate, something most children had at one time or another, or had he already dissociated by the time he was six years old?

  "Who said Edward can't go to school with you?"

  His frown deepened. "Mommy and Daddy. But I'm going to take him anyway. We won't tell them. Edward wants to learn to read and write, too."

  It was still impossible to determine what role Edward actually played in Eliot's life.

  "How does Edward feel about the fact that your parents don't want him to go to school with you?"

  "It makes him sad, but he never cries."

  "Do you cry?"

  "Sometimes. I cry for Edward and me both since he can't."

  She exchanged another look with Thurman. One personality who did the crying for the both of them and another personality who never cried. That sounded very much like dissociation.

  "Eliot, we're going back some more, back to when you were three years old, back to the accident that killed your parents. I want you to watch this as though it were a movie and report to me what you're seeing. You're not going to be personally involved. You won't feel the pain. You'll just tell me about it. As soon as you get there, tell me what's happening."

  He flinched, and she caught herself doing the same. She could only hope her admonition would be sufficient to keep him from reliving the pain as though it were actually happening. If this did prove to be the incident that had caused the split, eventually he'd have to deal with the agony, but she needed to know more about what was going on before they began that process.

  "Noise," he said in a small voice as though his vocal chords had shortened to those of a child.

  "What kind of noise?"

  "Crash! Loud. Mommy screaming."

  "What else besides noise?"

  "We're going round and round but not a fun kind of round and round. A scary kind."

  "It's okay. You're just watching. You're not really in the car. Is it still going round and round?"

  "No."

  "What's happening now?"

  "We go upside down and then right side up, over and over. It's kinda like a ride at the fair, but it's not fun. I'm scared." His fists clenched, and his face contorted as if he were about to cry.

  "Relax," she soothed, her heart going out to this strong, controlled man who'd once been a frightened child. "It's not really happening. You're watching like when you got to a movie. Relax." Impulsively she reached out a hand and laid it on his.

  Another hand touched hers, and she gasped. Gently Thurman, with an admonitory look, took her hand from Eliot's and laid it back in her lap. She'd become so involved with Eliot's story that she'd momentarily forgotten herself, lost the doctor part of her to the human part. She should never have touched Eliot.

  She leaned backward and nodded her agreement with Thurman's gesture.

  "Go on, Eliot," she said. "Tell me what you're seeing. What's happening to your mother and father?"

  "I don't know. Something's wrong with Daddy. Daddy! Wake up! Mommy's hurt. She turned around, and her face is all bloody! Mommy, Mommy! Now she's going to sleep, too. Wake up, Mommy! Please wake up! Mommy and Daddy won't wake up." He made fretful sounds.

  "Eliot, don't look at them anymore. Tell me about you. What are you doing?"

  "I gotta get out of my car seat, but Mommy fastened me in so tight I can't. Edward, help me!"

  Chapter 10

  Leanne jerked back as though he'd punched her. They'd found it! The moment the personalities split.

  She looked at Thurman. Even as the consummate professional that she knew him to be, his expression was sad, hurting for the small child and the grown man who'd been unable to endure the pain of seeing his parents die.

  "What is Edward doing?"

  "Sleeping. He hurts. Oh, Edward hurts so much." He writhed in the oversized chair as if the pain were his own. And, of course, it was.

  "If Edward's sleeping, how do you know he hurts?"

  "I feel it when Edward hurts."

  "And he feels it when you hurt." She made the distressing assessment, waited for an answer, then, when none came, realized she hadn't asked a question. "Does Edward feel it when you hurt?" She knew the answer before it came.

  "Yes."

  "Can I talk to Edward?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "He's sleeping." He squirmed in the chair, pushing at imaginary restraints, becoming more and more agitated. This, she thought, was doubtless the source of his claustrophobia. Trapped in an infant seat inside a wrecked car while his parents died before his eyes.

  He'd had enough for one session. "Okay, Eliot, we're going forward in time. You're four years old now. Five. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. All the way back to the present."

  He seemed to age before her eyes, his jaw becoming set and square again, lines of tension appearing around his eyes. She knew it was an optical illusion...the dim light, the change of body posture and facial expression, her own suggestion...but it was disconcerting. The entire situation was disconcerting.

  "How old are you now, Eliot?"

  "Thirty-four." His voice, too, had returned to normal.

  "Where are you?"

  "Your office."

  "Can I speak to Edward?"

  His forehead wrinkled as though in concentration or confusion. "Edward isn't here."

  She looked at Thurman and shrugged.

  "Let me try," he whispered.

  "Eliot, Thurman Powers would like to talk to you now. Will you speak to Thurman?"

  "Yes."

  She sat back and watched while Thurman covered the same ground she'd covered in their previous session...and with the same lack of results. He had no more success in contacting Edward than she did.

  Finally he gave up. "Bring him out," he said.

  "All right, Eliot, you're going to wake up now. You'll feel wide awake and rested, and you'll remember everything that was said. On the count of three. One...waking up. Two...almost there. Three. Open your eyes."

  Eliot sat erect, his expression strained. "Does that mean what I think it means?" he asked bluntly. "Am I a multiple personality? Did I murder Kay Palmer?"

  "It doesn't prove anything," Leanne denied, reassuring herself as much as him. "It gives us a starting point to work from." She strove hard to keep her voice impersonal, to hide the desperation and sadness.

  She rose and turned up the lights, using the action to give herself a moment to compose her thoughts.

  Eliot was Edward. If she'd harbored any doubts...hopes...she had to give them up now. Eliot was mentally ill. Eliot was Edward, and that meant part of Eliot hated her. Which was a clinical reality and shouldn't bother her, shouldn't leave a knot of anguish in her stomach, but it did.

  "Can you tell us anything more about the automobile accident?" Thurman asked.

  Leanne moved her chair back behind her desk and sat down, watching Eliot who was once again a man in control.

  He shook his head. "No, I'm afraid I don't recall anything else. I remember what I saw under hypnosis, but it's not really connected to me. Leanne said it would be like watching a movie, and it was. It is. I remember watching it but not actually being involved."

  "And you remember nothing more about Edward in the accident?" Thurman pursued. "You said he was sleeping."

  "Yes. I seemed to see him sitting next to me, strapped into a car seat just like me, separate but somehow a part of me. He was sleeping, unconscious maybe. You think that's where my personality fragmented, don't you?"

  "It's a possibility, but at this point we can't be certain. We still haven't been able to contact Edward. He's appeared twice of his own volition, but we can't bring him forth from your mind. Until we see you switch from Eliot to Edward, we can't make a firm diagnosis."

  "But the odds are against me, aren't they?"

  "I don't think we can put it in those terms. Let's just say the signs point to the possibil
ity that you have Multiple Personality Disorder. Even so, dreaming about killing a woman doesn't make you a murderer. You dreamed about killing Leanne, and she's very much alive."

  Eliot's gaze lifted to hers, and she could see the agony there. "Thurman...Dr. Powers...would you consider taking over my case? I don't think it's a good idea for Leanne to be involved. I'm afraid Edward will...do something."

  "You think Edward will want to harm Leanne because she's treating you?" Thurman asked. "Do you think he'll try to harm me if I'm treating you?"

  Eliot smiled. "With Dixie around, I don't think he can. Anyway, Edward's anger is directed toward women."

  "Because you broke contact with him when you began seeing Kay in high school?" Leanne asked.

  "I was attracted to her," he said. "I let her come between Edward and me. And now she's dead."

  She looked away from him, down at her desk. The implication was crystal clear. He was attracted to her and couldn't risk inciting Edward further by continuing his association with her.

  "By acting as your therapist, you think I'm coming between Edward and you," she said, ignoring the first part of his statement.

  "That's right."

  "I'll be happy to take you on as a patient," Thurman said. He wouldn't have missed the implications, either. "Tell me what Edward was like when you were young."

  "He was no murderer. He was my friend, my playmate. We always had a good time. He wanted to do all the same things I did. He was happy and loving, grateful when I took him to school."

  "Grateful? That's an odd term to apply to an imaginary friend. Why do you think he felt grateful?"