Read Online Secrets Amoung The Shadows by Sally Berneathy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sally Berneathy
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"I didn't mean it like that. At least, I don't think I meant it like that. I've always been so absorbed in my work, I'll notice everybody going home and realize I haven't had lunch. I can be driving down the freeway thinking about a knotty problem and miss my exit." He stopped and looked at her, his hands lifted beseechingly. "Doesn't everybody do things like that?"
"When you put it that way, yes, everybody does things of that nature. What I'm asking you is whether your memory lapses go beyond the normal."
He sat down again and ran a shaky hand through his hair. "I don't know any more what normal is. There's something else I probably need to tell you about. I understand these other…uh…personalities take on different names."
She nodded slowly. "Frequently."
"Well, today when I found Kay's card in my desk, I thought about Edward putting it there."
"Edward?" She whispered the name as the shadow of despair darkened the windows, invading the room and settling in her gut.
"Edward was my imaginary playmate when I was a child. At first the other kids went along with the game, but then they got older and went on to other things, and I quit telling them about Edward. But I didn't quit playing with him until I developed a crush on a girl. I went out with her and admitted to her that I still talked to an imaginary person. She laughed at me, then she told everybody else, and it took me a long time to live it down. I never played with Edward again." He stopped, watching her closely. "The girl's name was Kay Becker."
"Kay Becker, Kay Palmer. Are you saying you think it's the same person?"
"Kay Palmer was the dead woman's married name. The police said I went to school with her."
"What do you think?"
"I don't know. It's possible. She moved across town to a different school when I was fourteen, right after our little fiasco, and I never saw her again. Twenty years later, with her hair dyed—maybe. I can't say for sure. I've only seen her in my dream and on the television news spots."
"So you gave up your invisible friend because a girl betrayed you and embarrassed you, and now that girl could be a victim of a brutal murder."
"It doesn't sound good, does it?"
He was right about that. It didn't sound good. If Edward had emerged during Eliot's childhood and felt Eliot had deserted him, he could have resurfaced years later to take revenge on the person who'd caused such desertion.
Yet she still found herself reluctant to make such a diagnosis, to admit that Eliot was a killer.
Was she simply being cautious, as any doctor would be, or was she so drawn to Eliot on a personal basis that she'd lost sight of her objectivity?
The mere fact that she had to ask herself such a question was uncomfortably disturbing.
"I suggest we try hypnosis again," she said briskly, trying to mask her self-doubts as well as her fear of what they might discover.
He shot up from the chair and leaned across her desk, a scowl creasing his brow. "You can't be serious! What if this Edward comes out and tries to kill you?"
She drew back instinctively. Was he threatening her? The possibility still existed that he was a cold-blooded killer needing a defense of insanity. That was something else she couldn't—or didn't want to—accept.
"You'll be under hypnosis," she said. "I can handle it."
"I'd feel better with a little insurance." His features grim, he reached inside his pocket, then slapped his hand on her desk with a thud.
She jumped to her feet at the action, the noise. When he drew back his hand, a .38 caliber revolver lay on her desk.
"Do you know how to use that?" he demanded.
"Eliot, where did you get a gun?" she gasped, images of her father's last moments flashing through her mind.
"It's legal, it's registered," he assured her. "Can you use it?"
"My father enjoyed hunting. He taught me to shoot when I was very young." But that didn't mean she could. She hadn't touched a gun since her father's death. That gun was a .38, very similar to the
"When you put it that way, yes, everybody does things of that nature. What I'm asking you is whether your memory lapses go beyond the normal."
He sat down again and ran a shaky hand through his hair. "I don't know any more what normal is. There's something else I probably need to tell you about. I understand these other…uh…personalities take on different names."
She nodded slowly. "Frequently."
"Well, today when I found Kay's card in my desk, I thought about Edward putting it there."
"Edward?" She whispered the name as the shadow of despair darkened the windows, invading the room and settling in her gut.
"Edward was my imaginary playmate when I was a child. At first the other kids went along with the game, but then they got older and went on to other things, and I quit telling them about Edward. But I didn't quit playing with him until I developed a crush on a girl. I went out with her and admitted to her that I still talked to an imaginary person. She laughed at me, then she told everybody else, and it took me a long time to live it down. I never played with Edward again." He stopped, watching her closely. "The girl's name was Kay Becker."
"Kay Becker, Kay Palmer. Are you saying you think it's the same person?"
"Kay Palmer was the dead woman's married name. The police said I went to school with her."
"What do you think?"
"I don't know. It's possible. She moved across town to a different school when I was fourteen, right after our little fiasco, and I never saw her again. Twenty years later, with her hair dyed—maybe. I can't say for sure. I've only seen her in my dream and on the television news spots."
"So you gave up your invisible friend because a girl betrayed you and embarrassed you, and now that girl could be a victim of a brutal murder."
"It doesn't sound good, does it?"
He was right about that. It didn't sound good. If Edward had emerged during Eliot's childhood and felt Eliot had deserted him, he could have resurfaced years later to take revenge on the person who'd caused such desertion.
Yet she still found herself reluctant to make such a diagnosis, to admit that Eliot was a killer.
Was she simply being cautious, as any doctor would be, or was she so drawn to Eliot on a personal basis that she'd lost sight of her objectivity?
The mere fact that she had to ask herself such a question was uncomfortably disturbing.
"I suggest we try hypnosis again," she said briskly, trying to mask her self-doubts as well as her fear of what they might discover.
He shot up from the chair and leaned across her desk, a scowl creasing his brow. "You can't be serious! What if this Edward comes out and tries to kill you?"
She drew back instinctively. Was he threatening her? The possibility still existed that he was a cold-blooded killer needing a defense of insanity. That was something else she couldn't—or didn't want to—accept.
"You'll be under hypnosis," she said. "I can handle it."
"I'd feel better with a little insurance." His features grim, he reached inside his pocket, then slapped his hand on her desk with a thud.
She jumped to her feet at the action, the noise. When he drew back his hand, a .38 caliber revolver lay on her desk.
"Do you know how to use that?" he demanded.
"Eliot, where did you get a gun?" she gasped, images of her father's last moments flashing through her mind.
"It's legal, it's registered," he assured her. "Can you use it?"
"My father enjoyed hunting. He taught me to shoot when I was very young." But that didn't mean she could. She hadn't touched a gun since her father's death. That gun was a .38, very similar to the
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