Mind Games (10 page)

Derrick yawned at her back. He had a long drive home, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to invite him to spend the night. She fumbled in her purse for her house keys. Maybe he’d go home on his own volition?

“Would you like to come in?” she asked over her shoulder, twisting the key in the door.

He suppressed another yawn. His eyes watered.

“Do you have anything caffeinated?” He blinked away his exhaustion.

“You need sleep. Not caffeine.”

“Are you asking me to spend the night?” He arched a curious brow at her.

His hand closed over hers. Heat shot through to her core. Her mind leapt to the deep kiss they’d shared on the beach. The way his lips had brushed against hers, his warm bubblegum breath, and his husky voice telling her he was going to kiss her much, much more, later.

His body loomed at her back. He turned the doorknob and nudged her inside. He set her house keys down on the credenza with a clatter. The familiar click of the deadbolt snapped into place. He slid the chain-link lock in place.

Apparently he wasn’t going home.

Her place was still a mess from her earlier episode. She was tired, but she hadn’t found what she was looking for, and the anticipation of being with Derrick injected a rush of adrenaline through her bloodstream. She went over to an open box and rummaged through the contents, releasing a bit of nervous energy. Was tonight the night?

Excitement pulsed heat through her body. She took off the sweat jacket and slung it over the back of a dining room chair. The cool air quelled her nerves.

His footsteps came up behind her. He hooked his hands over her shoulders. His fingers gently massaged her fatigued muscles. “Thank you for helping me find Angel,” he said against the back of her head.

“You’re welcome.”

His hands slid down her arms, and he pulled her against him. His right arm crossed the front of her body, and his fingers lazily caressed her hip. He stroked her hair with his free hand. She melted into the warmth of his embrace. Her head fell back against his chest. His right hand slid from her hip to the side of her face, brushing her cheek, tracing her jaw line under her chin and down her neck to her collarbone.

“You need to relax.”

She turned in his arms and looked into his sultry brown eyes. “Maybe you can help.”

His hands circled her waist. His fingers drummed against the small of her back, rolling up and down her spine. She loved the slow torture rippling through her body. His touch set her skin on fire.

“Do you want something to drink?” She couldn’t believe she’d said something that stupid. The man had hunger in his eyes, and not the kind looking for food or drink.

“I’m not thirsty.”

No kidding.

She drew her lips together, averting her eyes from his. He pulled his arms and hands from around her waist and paced the floor. Did he sense her apprehension? His brow furrowed, and he rubbed the spot above his nose. Did he have the onset of a sudden headache?

“Derrick, are you okay? Can I get you anything?”

Times like this she wished she possessed a little of the sex-kitten charm associated with her Barbie dolls. She could take a lesson or two from the coquettish blonde bimbos men found sensually intriguing. Who was she kidding? She was no good at oozing that kind of sexuality. Dana had told her so, and she’d failed miserably at her attempts to turn him on.

He dropped his hands to his sides and replied, “How about some answers?”

Had she misread his purpose for coming in? Unlike the molten gaze his eyes had cast in the moonlight, he looked seriously at her with concern. She missed the hungry look he’d given her moments ago. She was confused by his question and puzzled by his actions. One minute he was holding her close, and the next he was pushing her away.

“Answers?” She wrinkled her nose and squinted her eyes, perplexed by his hot-to-cold mood swing.

“Is your father a medical doctor?”

“Yes. He’s a psychiatrist, and just like you he can prescribe medicine. But you know that. I don’t understand why you’re asking.” She shook her head at him.

“He has an examination room and a padded cell in his house. And what’s with the room with the rice on the floor and the books? It looks like a classroom. Does he or did he home-school kids?”

She didn’t like his interrogating tone. “My father is an adolescent behavioral therapist. He helps kids succeed.” She pulled back her shoulders, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She lowered her head then rolled her eyes up to him.
You’re really not going to go there with me, are you? How dare you question my father’s practice?

“How? By having them kneel on rice on a cold concrete floor?” His arms flew up in the air in disgust.

His accusation shocked her. “What in the world are you talking about? Daddy would never do such a thing.”

“He would and he does. I suggested that Angel needed RICE therapy. Rest, ice, compression, and elevation for her ankle. Your father agreed, and that’s when things got weird. He took us into that, that schoolroom and suggested she put on a hospital gown and kneel on the rice. He said something about the pain in Angel’s ankle going away if she focused on kneeling on the rice. Is his therapy that extreme?”

“My father is a highly respected therapist. No one has ever questioned his therapy, until now. I think you should go.” She nodded toward the door, hoping he’d leave. She sure as hell wasn’t going to escort him out.

“Sparrow, I’m sorry. It’s just that his method seems cruel and unreasonable. Do you know what goes on down there?”

She couldn’t believe how concerned he sounded over her father’s therapy method, and from the determined look on his face, he wasn’t going to leave without an answer.

“He helps kids. I’m not his assistant. Sessions are confidential. How dare you make these ridiculous assumptions?”

“Forget it. It’s been a long night.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Did he think he could squeeze an answer from his brain?

“Yes, it has, and for you to come in here and make accusations about my father after I’ve helped you is preposterous. Might I remind you that Angel is resting in the lap of luxury tonight?”

He dropped his arms to his sides and rolled his head around his shoulders. “My oath as a doctor is to do no harm. I can’t wrap my mind around the idea of your father’s method of rice therapy.”

“Well, maybe that’s because you’re a medical doctor, not a therapist.”

She went to the door, slid back the chain link, and clicked open the deadbolt. She pulled the door open, but his quick hand slammed it shut. His hostile action stunned her, and she jumped back from the door. She looked at him, knowing anger reflected in her eyes. She blew out her breath. Dana had pushed her around to get his way. She wouldn’t let another man do that to her. Ever again.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry.” He took his hand off the door.

“Me too. I think you should go.” She stepped in front of him, forcing him to move, and opened the door.

“Wait. What about your mom’s strange reaction to Angel. I think we should talk about that.”

She made a sweeping motion with her hand. “I don’t. Please just go.”

He walked out the door, paused, and turned back to look at her. The pleading look in his eyes didn’t stop her from closing the door in his face. He shouldn’t have questioned her about her father’s integrity. No matter how much she wanted Dr. Derrick Sloan, she wouldn’t let him disparage her father.

*               *               *

Knowing she was on the other side of the closed door almost pushed him to do something irrational. He hadn’t expected her reaction, considering her mother’s state of shock after she’d laid eyes on Angel, and how quickly her mood had changed when Dr. Von Langley entered the room. He’d assumed Sparrow would be as concerned about her mom’s odd behavior as he was. Derrick raised his hand to knock on the door, but stopped. He should leave. He’d upset her. He’d accused her father of unorthodox practices. She had the right to be angry.

He turned away from her house and slowly walked to his car.
How stupid can you be?
Sparrow sent him signals the minute he’d touched her, and he blew it. Sure, it’d been a long night, yes, he was tired, but he could have found the energy to make love to her. His groin tightened. He recalled how she’d looked at him, her hands resting on his chest, smoothing his shirt. Damn. He could have waited to ask her about her father. Now he was driving home exhausted and wanting her.

At this rate, he should change professions and become a monk.

His work and concern for his patients kept him from getting closer to Sparrow, and now his worry about her father’s work had ruined a stolen, intimate moment with her. He needed to find balance in life. Yet he couldn’t stop when it came to his work. Not even for a gorgeous woman. Maybe he needed therapy.

He pulled into his driveway, and the motion lights illuminated his surroundings. He walked to his front door and punched in the code to disarm the security system. The door closed behind him, and he reentered the number on the keypad to engage the system again.

He took a quick look around. The place felt empty and unlived in. Probably because he spent more time running the Mobile Health Clinic RV than he did in his own house. He thought about Sparrow’s house and all of her feminine touches. The décor was a reflection of her easy, breezy California personality. His place was cold like the Colorado winters he’d endured growing up.

Derrick flopped down on the couch and kicked off his shoes. Hell, he hadn’t even picked out the furniture for the place. No time, of course. He’d allowed a decorator he’d paid a minimal fee to furnish the house. He didn’t care. He grabbed the remote from the coffee table and flicked on the TV. He stretched out and reached the throw blanket from the back of the couch. It lacked the softness of Sparrow’s pink blanket and its heavenly scent. The background noise of the TV might lull him to sleep, but restlessness gripped him as visions of Sparrow danced in his head.

Derrick shifted onto his side, turning his face from the glaring TV. In the darkness, his fantasy took flight. Sparrow faced him, running her long fingers up his chest, twining them behind his neck. She reached up on her tiptoes for a kiss. He imagined the sweet taste of her palate, and the sweet spot between her legs. His hand stroking her between her thighs, rubbing the soft cotton barrier separating her flesh from his, he’d rip her panties free and press his hardness against her, urging her to take him. Her hand would close around him, and she’d look up at him with those innocent, girl-next-door eyes.

Derrick moaned, frustrated by his arousal and the realization he could be deep inside of her right now, making love to the woman he found riveting. If only he hadn’t spoken so hastily about Dr. Von Langley. And that thought killed the fantasy, just as it had ruined their night earlier.

He punched at the pillow and tossed and turned on the couch, twisting his body from one side to the other, trying to get comfortable. It was no use. He faced the television and searched for the remote. It had probably fallen on the floor. Sleep escaped him. His mind flooded with questions about Dr. Von Langley.

Forget about Dr. Von Langley. You need sleep. More importantly, you need to make things right with Sparrow.

His mind drifted to thoughts of sex again, which he wouldn’t be having with her if he didn’t drop the subject of her father and his questionable “rice” method. Thinking about her that way, and having thoughts of Dr. Von Langley filter in and out, squashed his arousal for good.

Derrick swung his legs over the sofa and ran his hands through his hair, dragging them down his face. He rubbed his tired eyes. Worry overcame his desire for sleep. He picked up his fancy watch—three o’clock in the morning.

Some old rerun of a nineties sitcom blared from the TV. Reaching under the sofa, he found the lost TV remote and flicked through the channel menu. Why did he bother to pay for cable? He was hardly home to watch TV, and when he was, like now, nothing interested him.

“Damn, you really screwed up,” he muttered. Had she accused his own father of some sort of negligent behavior, he’d have reacted the exact same way.

Uninterested with the noise on the TV, he went to his bedroom. He should crawl into bed and force himself to sleep, but that wasn’t going to happen. He grabbed his laptop and took it out to the living room. The screen illuminated, and he connected to the Internet.
Don’t do this.
He couldn’t stop from searching for information on the illustrious career of Dr. Theodore Von Langley.

Sparrow pulled the blanket over her shoulders and curled into the fetal position. She wasn’t sure what woke her, but she knew she wasn’t ready to leave the warm confines of her bed, or her sulking. The bedside clock flashed three o’clock, and she watched the digital numbers slowly turn. The minutes ticked away to morning. Focusing on the glowing numbers might help her fall asleep. She watched time slip by. Guilt niggled at her for not getting up and doing something productive.
Relax
. That was the wrong word to think of—her mind jumped to Derrick caressing her arms and pulling her close, telling her how she needed to
relax.

She felt foolish thinking he’d come home with her to seduce her. His purpose had been to question her about her father. The nerve he’d touched shocked her with anger again. Her body broke from her cozy slumber. She threw back the covers and got out of bed.

She went into the bathroom and brushed her hair, sweeping it up into a clip, and then splashed cool water on her face. It was too early to go to the nursery for dirt and flowers. She decided to pamper herself.

She smoothed a cool mudpack over her face guaranteed to draw out impurities within thirty minutes, or so the instructions declared. Perhaps once the impurities were cleansed from her pores, the craziness running through her brain would seep out through those tiny holes in her face and clear her mind of the lunacy causing her to have visions. Perfect. She’d make a cup of tea and work on her project for the Alternative Doll Convention.

The teakettle whistled. She steeped a teabag and carried the steaming cup of peppermint tea into her studio. She raised the full cup to her lips and took a sip. The mudpack on her face had tightened, but she’d made sure to leave the area around her mouth clear of the hardening mask. She set the steaming cup of tea on her desk and then picked up the bags she’d piled in the corner of the room and sorted through what she would need to work on the scene: several patches of green indoor/outdoor carpet, plastic doll legs, brown clay, and moss.

She grabbed a pair of scissors from her desk organizer and the metal tray lined with scalpels, cuticle scissors, and other sharp objects. She cut the faux grass to fit the area of the wood board and glued it firmly in place. Next she made mounds of dirt out of the brown clay, covering each lightly with a brownish-green moss that would pass for mulch. She’d use a scalpel to shape the clay mounds later, but right now, she was anxious to plant the legs. Pulling a thin, sharp blade from the metal tray, she shoved the sharp point into the doll’s foot. She stabbed a small hole in the remaining plastic feet and then plopped down the moss-covered mounds of brown clay, sticking the middles with an upside-down doll leg. The landscape looked impressive.

Now for the treetops. She dragged the plastic storage box from the corner and peeled off the lid. An assortment of doll parts, hair, and clothes was inside. She found the plastic baggies filled with long strands of blonde hair. She picked them out of the box, twitching her lips from side to side.

“Hmm.”

She’d need to dye the blonde hair green. That would make for interesting-looking palm trees if she could bind the hair just so and plait together several strands to make it thick. School glue would work to clump the hair. But first the dye job.

She picked up her cup of tea with her free hand and went back to the kitchen. Tossing the bag of doll hair on the counter, she gulped down some of the tea and then got busy diluting green food coloring. Dipping the long blonde hair in the green solution, she estimated it’d take about one minute for the color to adhere. She watched the second hand on the pineapple-shaped wall clock. She pulled the strands from the liquid; she liked the nice shade of green they’d taken on. She placed them on a stained hand towel and continued dyeing the remaining hair. When the last strands were finished, she left the kitchen. The hair needed time to dry.

Back in her studio, she pondered the project while sipping the peppermint tea. Her face felt itchy from the mask, and she resisted the urge to scratch it. She’d bought miniatures to add detail to the scenery. There were teeny, tiny squirrels, birds, and flowers. The selection of miniatures was random, but she was certain she’d bought them with something in mind. An idea was just waiting to come to fruition.

When she had conceived the project, it was a seed waiting to germinate. The seed blossomed. She smiled at the plastic tree trunk doll legs. Her smile cracked the mud mask. “Rats.” She went into the bathroom and rinsed the mask from her face.

The cool water poured chills over her body. She applied a light moisturizer and went back to the kitchen to retrieve the green hair and a fresh cup of tea to drown out the goose bumps popping up on her flesh. She took a sip and carried the cup and the hair back to her studio.

With clear glue, she carefully applied a thin amount to the hair and created the likeness of palm fronds. She took a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and dropped a tiny bit of permanent adhesive glue to the tip of the bound green hair strands. Very carefully, she pushed the palm fronds of hair into the holes she’d punctured into the doll’s feet. She held very still, waiting for the adhesive to stick.

She had already worked on making flowers for the gardens using tiny upturned dolls’ hands glued together to look like petals, with an eye glued into the center for the iris. Another uncomfortable chill raced up her spine. When she’d strolled along the paths of the flowerbeds near the potting shed at her parents’ estate, she always felt like there were eyes watching her. She believed it so much, one time she had dug up small sections of the flowers. She’d dropped the trowel and ran from the finger protruding from the soil. Her father had never suspected her, insisting it was rodents. She didn’t confess her crime, but had confided in him about her suspicions concerning those gardens. He shrugged her hysterics off as nonsense and an overactive imagination, suggesting she read less horror novels and more literature. She shook off the unpleasant memory. The display was supposed to be a tropical oasis, not a replica of the grounds of her parents’ estate.

She planted the last palm frond and sleep gripped her body. She berated herself for not drinking a stronger black tea. The peppermint tea had relaxed her, and her fingers and hands were fatigued from the detail work with the palm trees. She wanted to work on the project longer, but her mind and body refused to cooperate.

With her mind in such a peaceful place, she decided to practice some deep meditation. She cleared a space on the floor for a yoga mat and turned up the heat in the room. Cocooning herself in warmth would further her state of mind. She felt so drowsy. As a precaution, she set the alarm clock in her bedroom for eight, thankful she didn’t have an early morning yoga class to teach. She walked back across the hall to her studio and sat in the lotus position on top of the yoga mat. With her hands upturned on her knees, she joined her index fingers to her thumbs, deeply inhaling and exhaling.

“All I need is deep within me waiting to unfold. I must be still and search for the silence. I must seek the truth and it will reveal itself to me.”

She sat in silence for several minutes, focusing on the blackness behind her closed eyes. Inhaling and exhaling cleansing breaths, she felt as light as a feather. With each breath she took, her mind became a blank canvas, free of thoughts. She was ready to start the mantra.

“Aoom-Mani-Padmay-Hoom, Aoom-Mani-Padmay-Hoom, Aoom-Mani-Padmay-Hoom…”

She concentrated on the rhythm and sound flowing from between her lips. Deep from her diaphragm she chanted, forcing the words up from her stomach, to her esophagus, through her vocal cords, and out her mouth, releasing each syllable slowly, clearly. Endorphins released. Behind her closed eyes, she saw a pinpoint of light. The circle of light grew, a soft golden glow, and like a bird ready for flight, her weightless body raised above the floor.

“Aoom-Mani-Padmay-Hoom, Aoom-Mani-Padmay-Hoom, Aoom-Mani-Padmay-Hoom…”

Behind the fair light she saw her father and Angel in the garden. Their lips moved, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying. Her father pointed to several species of flowers. Angel smiled adoringly at him. He plucked a lush pink rose from its stem and handed it to her. The golden haze of light turned murky green. Her father wrapped an arm around Angel, who smiled up at his kindness. Water pooled under her father’s feet. The dripping wet vision of the dead girl from the ocean stepped out from behind him. A raised piece of driftwood in her hands, she swung it like a bat, whacking Dr. Von Langley with it and sending him falling onto his hands and knees.

Sparrow was jolted from the assault; her backside hit the floor and her eyes popped open. Her uneven breathing hitched at the sight of the dead girl standing in front of her smiling and leaning against the piece of driftwood she’d struck Sparrow’s father with. Sparrow rubbed her eyes, hoping to wipe the vision away. Her cheeks felt moist, and she realized she had been crying.

The dead girl’s face contorted in anger. She squinted her eyes at Sparrow, wrinkling her nose in disgust, and puckering her lips in rage. Thrusting her right arm forward, she dangled the charm bracelet on her wrist with fury. The charms clattered throughout Sparrow’s studio like wind chimes assaulted by a gusty breeze. Sparrow clapped her hands over her ears. The chiming intensified. She pressed her hands tighter against the side of her head, but the chiming grew louder. The dead girl would not be ignored.

“What do you want from me?” Sparrow yelled over the deafening and frightening sound.

“Stop him.”

Sparrow’s transcended state of mind slowly drew out of the hypnotic state. She tried to regain control of her splintering thoughts. The vision of the dead girl grew fuzzy. The chiming diminished.

“Wait. Don’t go. Who are you?”

It was too late. Her altered state escaped her. The dead girl vanished before Sparrow’s eyes.