by Kim Murphy
When Russ headed in the direction of Phoebe, Shae took a sip from her wine glass. “Take a look around you. I invited him tonight, with Russ’s blessing. He thought Lee might be able to help with Phoebe because she trusted him. See where trust got me?”
“Are you saying he had an affair?”
“God, no.” Shae gulped her wine. “If only life were that simple. Everyone would have understood my reasoning if he had been a philandering husband. He was caring, devoted, and loving to me, but there’s another side to him. He’s distrustful to the point of being cynical and paranoid.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“After college, he went into law enforcement. From the beginning, he was a natural for the job. I decided to go onto grad school. Instead of waiting to see if we could survive as a couple apart, we foolishly got married. After all, we had been together since we were fifteen. We naively thought love could solve everything.”
Shae bit her lip before taking another sip of wine. “After I finished my doctorate, he was promoted to detective. So not only did I have to contend with his dark side that few knew about, but also the job. When he was a patrol officer, I was buried in my studies and able to pretend he did nothing more than write speeding tickets and help little old ladies whose cars had broken down. After I finished my dissertation and had a real job myself, I had more time on my hands. I met him at the station one day for lunch. He was on the phone and couldn’t join me right away. On his desk was a photograph of a nude woman who had been brutally raped and murdered.”
Shae closed her eyes. That woman’s blood splattered on the wall would stay with her until her dying day. “When he finished on the phone, he simply filed the photo away. That was it. He was ready for lunch. Get a couple of beers in him, and he has no difficulty talking about dismembered bodies, yet he can’t go to the Lobster Shack for a meal because he says it smells like decomposing bodies.”
“Certainly as a psychologist you realize the stress police officers are under.”
“I do, but we lost all of our friends who weren’t cops or married to one. He sizes up people upon meeting them and has amazing recall of height, weight, age, features of their faces, or any other distinguishing mark. And let’s not forget how he watches people like a hawk, waiting for them to do God knows what.” Shae gulped another breath. “I realize that stress goes with the job, but he gets an adrenaline rush from the excitement. I got to the point where anytime he strapped on his gun, I panicked that he might not be coming home. He shrugged my fear away with a joke that he was more likely to be hit by a speeding truck than shot in the line of duty.”
Valerie squeezed her arm. “Thanks for sharing. I know that must have been difficult for you. I’ll keep my eye on Phoebe, but underneath it all, he could actually be a decent guy. A little troubled perhaps but who isn’t? Compared to some of the guys the women bring to Colwell House, Lee sounds like a prince.”
“He hasn’t kept a steady relationship since our divorce. Wouldn’t you think after seven years...?”
A smile emerged on Valerie’s face. “You’re the psychologist.”
In frustration, Shae bunched her hands. “You know it’s different when analyzing one’s own life.”
“It’ll come to you, in time, but if Phoebe has taken a liking to him, you may have to face a clash of the professional and personal.”
Shae glanced across the room at Phoebe, where Russ stood talking to her. “That’s why I consult with Russ. He’ll help me keep that distance.”
Valerie nudged Shae. “Speak of the devil.”
A guest had opened the door, and Lee entered with a bottle of wine in his left arm. Even off duty, he knew how to dress. He wore navy Chinos and a two-toned gray T-shirt that flaunted the muscles in his arms. The shirt was a little on the long, baggy side. Aware that he chose the fashion to conceal his off-duty weapon, Shae pasted on a smile and went over to greet him. “Lee, I’m glad you could join us.”
Before he could respond, one of the neighbors held up his hands and shouted at Lee, “I didn’t do it!”
Laughter filled the room. Even Shae hated the cliché, but Lee took the joke in stride, as if it had been hugely original. “Good to see you again, Fred. Now, about that unpaid ticket...”
Fred’s face reddened. “I’ll take care of it first thing Monday.” He walked away in a huff.
Shae snickered to herself. “Checking up on my neighbors?”
“I didn’t,” Lee insisted, handing her the bottle of wine. “Do I apologize for being late or do you take it for granted?”
“Thanks,” she said for the wine. “Let me get you a beer. I think you know most everyone, so make yourself at home.”
“It was my home at one time.”
Fortunately, they usually refrained from barbed insults, and she took his comment with no hard feelings. She just had to maintain her cool when it came to Phoebe. She placed the bottle of wine on the table with the others and poured him a beer. He had already sought out Phoebe, and Russ returned to her side.
“Well?” Shae asked.
“There’s no doubt. She believes she’s from the seventeenth century.”
“And he knows we’re watching. All of that cop training. It’s almost like he has eyes in the back of his head.”
Russ snorted. “You’re not keeping your professional decorum.”
“I’m not?” She held up the beer that she had poured for Lee. “If I was getting personally involved, I’d walk over there and ‘accidentally’ spill this down his pants. See what I get for listening to you. Help us with Phoebe, indeed.”
“Calm down, Shae, and just take him his beer. Unless you’d prefer that I do it.”
“I can handle it.” She studied Phoebe and Lee a moment, thinking they made an unusual-looking couple. He towered at least a foot over Phoebe. Deep in conversation, he nodded while she spoke. He had always been a good listener. Maybe she was getting bent out of shape for nothing. If they were lovers, they certainly weren’t flaunting it. She moved in their direction and handed Lee the beer.
He muttered his thanks. “Phoebe was telling me about her session the other day.”
“She’s making progress. I thought it best to reduce her sessions to twice a week, but I’m sure she’s already told you about it.”
“She has.”
Shae focused on Phoebe. “Are you enjoying yourself, Phoebe?”
“Aye,” she answered, nibbling on a piece of cheesecake. “I have ne’er been to a gathering like it.”
If Phoebe continued to indulge herself with lasagna and cheesecake, she’d put on a few pounds too. Like me. Shae sighed. “I’m pleased you’re having a good time.”
Phoebe met Lee’s gaze and beamed.
He returned Phoebe’s look with one Shae recognized—one that used to be reserved for her. “I should be seeing to my other guests,” she said. “I’m glad you could make it, Lee.”
Throughout the evening, Shae kept herself occupied by mingling with guests. She noted that Phoebe never left Lee’s side. When Shae finally made her way around to them again, a neighbor was deep in a one-way conversation with Lee, complaining about several encounters he’d had with the police. Was it any wonder Lee preferred the company of other cops?
“Lee,” Shae said, “there’s a call from the station. Feel free to take it in the den if you like.”
He sent Shae an appreciative smile and grasped Phoebe’s hand. “Thanks, Shae.”
“You’re welcome.” She joined Russ again.
“Shae?”
Valerie’s voice came from behind her, and she turned.
“I need to be leaving. Thanks for inviting me.”
“And Phoebe?”
“Lee says he’ll see she gets home. I reminded her that should she decide to stay out, house rules are no more than two overnights a week.”
“Lee’s a stickler for the rules, and he knows Phoebe isn’t ready to function in society on her own. He’s also good at uncovering clues
. I think Russ was right,” she added with a squeeze to Russ’s hand. “Lee may actually be an asset in helping to figure out where she came from. Besides... I think he likes her.”
“That may be...” Valerie frowned.
“You’re still worried.”
“I worry about all of my girls.”
“I’ll talk to her, and I want to thank you, Valerie.”
“For what?”
“For giving a tough case a place to stay until she gets her head together.”
“It’s been my pleasure. Everyone likes Phoebe. She may do and say some strange things, but she’s hard working and eager to learn. I just hope she doesn’t try to soar before she can fly.”
Shae picked up the paper where Phoebe had scrawled her name. So do I.
* * *
As during the previous occasion, the candle was on the coffee table. Lee stared into the flame. Don’t think of Phoebe. The flame was part of him. Absorb it. Over and over, he repeated the words in his mind. Across from him, Phoebe’s eyes flickered like brilliant jewels, urging him on. The candle’s flame wavered with tiny wisps of smoke, tendrils reaching for the ceiling. The smoke formed the mist, and like before, he plunged into a thick fog.
Phoebe was beneath him. This time, he had no desire to break the trance. He shoved up her skirt. They came together feverishly, as desperately as two lovers who had been separated for far too long. She cried softly as they clung to one another. Was he Lightning Storm, as in the previous vision? He didn’t care. He clutched her hips against him. On the edge, he could no longer hold back.
Caught up in the pleasant afterglow, he held and kissed her.
“Lee...”
It was her voice, but he couldn’t let go—not yet. He kissed her again, and she parted her lips, while her hands stroked the length of his back.
“Lee, there’s more to see.”
Her gentle voice broke the spell. Conscious of the flame, Lee drew away.
Phoebe grasped his hand. “There’s more for you to see. Pray, continue. I vow you shall not lose yourself.”
For the moment, he felt satiated. “Was it real?”
“In our minds. For we are connected.”
Lee agreed to continue. Once again, he focused on the flame. When the mist drew him in, Phoebe stood beside him in the same long green skirt with laces and metal eyelets, as on the previous occasion. Next to her was the white greyhound.
The soft leather of deerskin brushed against his flesh. Long hair on his left side touched his shoulder and extended to the middle of his back. He was seeing the world through Lightning Storm’s eyes. Phoebe was noticeably pregnant. With some reluctance, he touched her abdomen.
She pressed his hand against the growing child in her womb. Beneath his fingertips, the baby wriggled. What could it all mean? He had wanted children with Shae, but she had been too busy building a career to take the time. Regret? For what might have been? He held Phoebe close.
Lee blinked and the mist vanished. The candle had burned to a nub. How much time had really passed? Drained of energy, he felt like he had pulled double duty. Even with Phoebe beside him, he couldn’t break the wave of exhaustion. “I don’t understand.”
“You shall in time.”
“And us? Phoebe, it seemed real.”
Her gaze met his. “’Twas as real as you wish to make it.”
What in the hell was that supposed to mean? “That’s not an answer, and you know it.”
“’Tis the best I can give. You, alone, must decipher the meaning.”
Had his feelings toward Phoebe been Lightning Storm’s or his own?
“You need rest,” Phoebe said. “The experience can be all consuming ’til you are more practiced.”
She turned, and he grasped her hand. It trembled beneath his grip. “Don’t run.”
A smile appeared on her lips. “I could ne’er run from you, Lee Crowley, but I fear I shall end up as I always seem to—alone.”
He tightened his grip on her hand. “You’re not alone.”
“My faith was rectified when I met you.”
He only hoped he could live up to that trust. He had failed with Shae.
* * *
Lee hadn’t visited campus in nearly fifteen years. Woods surrounded red-brick buildings. Blossoming dogwood trees lined sidewalks and buildings. He entered the hall housing the linguistics department, located the office of a former professor, and knocked on her door. A woman with brown hair, peppered with a touch of gray, answered. “Detective Crowley, I’ve been expecting you.” She ushered him into her office.
“Please, call me Lee. I’m not on an official investigation.”
“Lee.” She motioned for him to have a seat, before taking her place behind the desk. “I’m Ellen Hatfield. What can I do for you?”
Thankful that she hadn’t recognized him as a former student, he took a digital recorder from his pocket. “I was wondering if you can identify the language.” He switched on the recorder to Phoebe’s voice reciting numbers and saying a few phrases in the language she had used in the hospital.
“Algonquian.”
“You’re certain?” He switched off the recorder.
“Yes, but I don’t recognize the dialect.” Her brows knitted together. “It doesn’t sound like Ojibwe. Would you like me to try and identify it?”
He handed her the recorder. “There’s about forty-five minutes on here.”
“Can you give me some background? You said it wasn’t an official investigation.”
“I was originally assigned to the case. A white female in her late twenties was brought into the hospital. She had been beaten and whipped. At first, she only spoke this language. In six weeks, we know little more about her than we did then. While she also speaks English, she reverts to this language when under stress. The case remains open, but no one seems to know who she is or where she came from. A couple of translators didn’t recognize the language.”
“Not surprising. Few translators are familiar with Native American languages. It may take me a few days, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Lee handed her his card. “I appreciate your help.”
“I’m happy to do it. By the way, you seem to have done well since leaving school.”
So much for her not recognizing him. “I’m surprised you remember me. English wasn’t one of my better subjects.”
“As I recall, a lot of subjects weren’t your better ones.”
He shrugged. “That’s why I’m on the streets and you have a desk job.”
She laughed. “Good seeing you again, Lee.”
“Same here.”
“I’ll give you a call when I have something.”
“Thanks.” After a quick goodbye, Lee went out to the T-Bird. Phoebe was indeed capable of speaking a Native language. She certainly didn’t have any Indian characteristics herself, but, then again, many in the local tribes had been mixing with other populations for almost four hundred years. He’d wait for Dr. Hatfield’s analysis before drawing any conclusions.
* * *
20
Phoebe
Soon aft Singing Woman’s death, I lost the child I carried. I painted my face black and wailed my sadness. I was almost seventeen seasons afore I was with child again. When my due date drew near, Lightning Storm accompanied me downriver in a canoe to stay with Momma ’til the babe was born. Except for brief gatherings, I had seen little of Momma since marrying Lightning Storm. She and Silver Eagle greeted us and held a feast in our honor.
Both Momma and Silver Eagle were beginning to show their age. Momma’s gray hairs hid neatly amongst her blonde locks, and Silver Eagle, a warrior nearing forty, would soon become an elder. My half brother, Sly Fox, had grown tall and lean and would go through the men’s initiation, huskanaw, in another year or two.
During the feast, Silver Eagle spoke softly to Lightning Storm. I suspected something amiss. The men were trying to protect me from overhearing, and I spotted tears in Momma’s eyes. Later, wh
en I was alone with Momma and the other women, clearing bowls and leftover food from the feast site, I asked, “Why do the men speak in hushed voices?”
“Pocahontas has died in England.”
In spite of my youth, I understood the consequence of her words. Peace betwixt our people would soon end, and Momma and I carried division within our hearts.
The other women gathered round us, reassuring us that we would always be welcome amongst the Arrohateck. But Lightning Storm and Sly Fox would be drawn into the English wars. How was this really any different than other hostilities? I reminded myself. Men oft warred amongst themselves. Lightning Storm already had scars that proved himself in warfare.
Ordinarily, the Indians did not kill innocent women and children. The English oft held no such qualms. I thought of my vision afore my huskanasquaw. Would it finally come to pass? I felt like a lass once more. “Momma, I’m frightened.”
I spotted fear in the other women’s eyes and chastised myself for voicing my childish fright aloud. All of the women felt the same. Whilst the Arrohateck men were expert bowmen, they had no guns, cannon, or horses.
* * *
21
Shae and Lee
During the previous session, Shae hadn’t resorted to hypnosis, and Phoebe had talked about her pregnancy. Because Phoebe was speaking on her own, Shae felt they had made a significant step forward. This session Phoebe had regressed. They were back to using hypnosis. In such a complex case, she wasn’t surprised by the reversion, but she still had no clue as to where Phoebe’s “memories” were coming from. It was almost as if Phoebe Wynne had walked out of the mist she mentioned while under hypnosis. “I’m sure none of this is easy for you, but I think each session brings us closer to what’s troubling you.”
Phoebe’s eyebrow arched slightly. “Learning to manage in this century is what ails me, doctor.”
“Yes, of course,” Shae replied, worried that Phoebe might be considering withdrawing from her sessions. “We’re working on that too, but it’s all going to take time.”