Out of the Shadow (22 page)

That intrigued her. "Like what?"

"Let me handle it."

They continued to discuss this over cups of steaming hot chocolate, but whatever she said to defend Evan, Drew had an answer. Still, she refused to let him wear her down with his insistence.

"Be fair to Evan. He hasn’t done anything heinous that I know about. Let’s not make any more of this than there is."

Later, after Drew asked her to reconsider
 for the tenth time, then left to do paperwork at his office, she carried another cup of hot chocolate into the living room. As angry as Evan had been, she ached for him. His reaction to spotting her with Drew demonstrated how much she meant to him. Even his restraint in not hitting Drew was out of respect for her.

          
She couldn’t deny someone out there had destroyed the lives of two people who were close to her and had done damage to hers, but she didn’t want to believe it was Evan. Even so, she would have to avoid being alone with him until she could be certain he meant her no harm. She had come to rely more on Drew in recent days and she meant to keep it that way for now.

All at once she realized she’d been collecting evidence in favor of Drew and against Evan the past few weeks. Perhaps he was the perpetrator, but it could just as easily be someone else. So why him? Was it intuition, or was it because they had grown too close—she cared too much---she was running scared?
 

After another long shift at St. John’s, Becca couldn't wait to be home. She entered her building and was about to turn the lock in her door when the faint odor of
Aramis
filled her nostrils and chilled her to the bone.

Without hesitation, she withdrew her key and made her way to the curb. Not knowing who to contact after her recent encounter with Evan, she frantically dialed Drew. On the third ring, he picked up the call.

"Drew, I think someone’s been in my building again. I’m afraid to go in alone, in case he’s there. Could you swing by and give me a hand?"

"How do you know he’s been there?"

"There’s the scent of cologne in the air. I’d recognize the odor anywhere.''

"Are you okay? Where are you now?"

"I’m fine. I’m outside the building."

"Good... Wait a sec."

She heard a muffled commotion in the background. Drew yelled something unintelligible, then he was back on the line.

"Stay put. I’ll be over as fast as my car will carry me."

Fifteen minutes later, Drew pulled up to the curb where she met him. They entered the building together. The odor had subsided, but her heartbeat hadn’t. No wonder she could no longer smell the cologne, she could barely inhale out of fright.

After surveying the hallway and stairwell, they crept into the apartment. Drew insisted on circumnavigating the two main rooms to search under, behind and inside every possible hiding place. He came up empty handed, except for locating Cecil huddled in a corner of the bedroom with his back up. "It looks like we’re alone. I can’t see that anything has been touched."

Becca collapsed into a chair, hand over heart. "I hope I wasn’t overreacting, but this constant sense of threat is so unnerving, it’s wearing me down. I don’t know what to do. I’ve reported the fact I’m being stalked to the police, but they don’t seem to be taking anything I say too seriously."

He took a seat on the armrest of the sofa, gathered her hand into his. "Let’s get out of here. I’ll finish up a few things at work and we can go out for something to eat. You shouldn’t be alone right now."

She nodded. "Okay, but first I have one phone call I have to make before I go anywhere."

"Who to?"

"Just some neighbors of my parents. I've been trying to reach them for awhile, but I heard from Julie they were on vacation and just got back yesterday. I want to arrange a meeting with them."

"Would it be too nosy of me to ask what for?"

She shrugged. "I want to find out about their son. He’s an old friend of mine."

He eyed her suspiciously. "Another old friend. That sounds familiar."

"You’re not going to do an Evan on me, are you?"

He playfully grimaced. "Never. Don’t let me stand in your way. Give them a call." He picked a magazine off the side-table and flipped through it.

For privacy Becca made her way into the bedroom. This time when the phone rang, Dorothy answered on the first ring.

"Mrs. Cantor. This is Rebecca Rosen, Julie and Irv Goldstein’s daughter. Do you remember me?"

"Of course I do, dear. How are you?"

The gentleness of the old woman’s voice put Becca immediately at ease. "Actually I have been better..."

"We’ve heard about your loss. We’re terribly sorry."

          
"Thank you. I appreciate that." She hesitated, not sure how to continue. "I’m wondering if you could help me with something."

"What is it, dear?"

"I’d like to stop by and talk with you about Adam. You know we were friends and he babysat for me on occasion. After all I’ve been through, I’m eager to connect with my old friends and find out what happened to them."

The line seemed to go dead. "Hello, hello, are you still there..." she asked, then Dorothy’s shaky voice came back on the line.

"To be honest, dear, I don’t hear much from Adam anymore since he moved away from home. I don’t know if I can be of much help to you."

Becca gripped the phone. "I think you can be. It’s important. I’m planning a neighborhood reunion. Please let me come by. I’ll explain it all then."

Another hesitation. "I don’t know, dear. My husband doesn’t like to talk about Adam. I don’t think it will work out."

"But... "

"I’m sorry, but Dan’s coming into the room. I can’t talk about this now. I wish I could help you, but I can’t. I have to go..."

The line went dead.

"Hello...hello..." Becca clutched the receiver to her ear, not wanting to believe Dorothy had hung up on her.

In suspense for weeks wondering what she would learn about Adam, Dorothy’s reaction had only amplified the intrigue. It seemed like she might be on to something, but, unless she found another way in, she would always be out of luck.

She heard Drew say something to Cecil, then rumble around the room. No use keeping him waiting. With a resolute thump, she placed the receiver back in its cradle and made a pact with herself. She would pursue this lead, no matter the cost. Somehow, somewhere, she would figure out a way to get to Dorothy Cantor. 

As today demonstrated, she was in too much danger not to try whatever proved possible.

Chapter Sixteen

Across the street from the Cantor house, Becca shifted from one foot to another and rubbed her arms for warmth. She had learned from Julie that Dan Cantor played cards at Sam’s on Wednesday nights. She watched him leave the house and waited in the cold until his car drove off.

The second he turned the corner, she crossed the street and knocked on the Cantor's door. A minute later, she heard Dorothy yell, "Who’s there?"

Not wanting to frighten the poor woman, Becca immediately identified herself. Much to her relief, the door opened a crack and a woman, who appeared at least ten years older than Julie, with gray hair, numerous wrinkles and lines that etched gullies around her mouth, peered out. "What is it?"

Becca stepped closer. "As I said on the phone, I'm looking for Adam. I’m hoping you can help me out."

"I'm sorry, dear, but I told you I don’t know where he’s at. I really can’t help you."

Dorothy started to close the door, but Becca slapped her hand against it. "I only want to ask you a couple of questions. What can it hurt?"

The woman looked shocked by her reaction. "Why is this so important to you?"

She had to think fast. "I gave him something of mine I value and I want to see if I can get it back. Please give me a moment of your time."

Dorothy considered with a frown. "Okay, but only a few questions. I have things to do."

Becca agreed to her terms and entered the clean but cluttered living room of the Cantors' home. Two overstuffed, mauve sofas vied for space with numerous oversized display cabinets. Kitsch covered everything. A scan of the room revealed artificial plants of all shapes and sizes, shelves full of pottery and pictures, numerous vases, and other sundries. Dorothy had to move magazines from an armchair so Becca could sit.

"Would you like a cup of tea, dear?" Dorothy inquired.

Not particularly thirsty, but eager to prolong her visit, Becca agreed to the drink.

Dorothy retreated to what Becca would guess was an equally claustrophobic kitchen and, after a few minutes of clatter, returned with a steaming cup. She shoved aside a couple of pictures and a book, then placed the tea on an ornately carved walnut coffee table in front of Becca.

Dorothy took a seat on one of the sofas which offered Becca an opportunity to observe how thin the woman was. The hands she placed in her lap trembled.

"You look well, dear. How are your parents?"

To put Dorothy at ease, she updated her exclusively on the positive details of Julie and Irv's life. Dorothy listened closely and smiled broadly when Becca told her the part about Irv’s crusade against an invading monster mouse. and how he managed to vanquish the formidable foe.

"I’m sorry to show up this late, but I just left my parents’ house and stopped by on impulse."

Dorothy sighed. "It’s for the best, since Dan’s not here. It’s hard for me to find any time alone since he retired. How can I help you, dear?"

Becca sat forward, every muscle tensed. "I know you haven’t heard from Adam in a while, but do you have any idea where he could be?"

Dorothy squinted in concentration. "I don’t know if I should tell you this, but since it’s so important to you, I will. Last time we heard from Adam, he’d been picked up on a drug possession charge and wanted us to bail him out of jail."

Dorothy appeared to be the least likely parent to have an addict for a son, and know how to handle him. "What did you do?"

"Dan and I had an equity line on the house which we tapped to help him out. He promised to pay us back." She looked stricken. "After he left jail, we never heard from him again." Misery deepened the lines on Dorothy’s face.

A lump filled Becca's throat. "I’m so sorry to hear he did that to you. Do you have any idea if he’s in the Philadelphia area?"

"Last I heard, but who knows if he stayed around or left town once he was out of jail."

"Wouldn’t he have been on probation? Doesn’t that make it hard for him to leave the city?"

Dorothy stared off into the distance. "Adam’s behavior has been unpredictable ever since he started using drugs. I can’t tell you what he did or what he’d do."

"It’s been so long since I’ve seen him. Do you happen to have any recent photos of him?"

Dorothy revived a little at the request. "He left home shortly after high school, but I still have his yearbook. Would you like to see it?"

Would she ever
. "I’d love to."

Dorothy left the room and returned with the yearbook in hand. Becca joined her on the loveseat where she flipped through pages until she landed on one covered with row upon row of smiling faces. She pointed to a picture in the middle of the page of a young man with brown hair and glasses. A geeky looking kid. No one would ever think of him as a future drug addict of America.

"That’s him." Dorothy touched the picture tenderly.

Becca took the book from Dorothy and scrutinized the face. The boy in the photo didn’t resemble anyone she knew, but if she imagined him twenty years older with contact lenses, it might be a stretch, but he looked a little like Evan Frankin. Yes, once she stared at the picture long enough, she could definitely see the resemblance. If only she had one of those computer age-enhanced photos like the ones of missing children on milk cartons. That would help a lot. But without that type of assistance, she would have to rely on a mental image, which suggested a similarity around the eyes and nose. "Do you have a copy of this picture I can borrow?"

"No, dear. This is the only one I have and, even if Adam has let me down, I want a reminder of the darling boy he once was."

Becca nodded her understanding and studied the photo. She wanted to memorize it before handing the book back to Dorothy.

Dorothy took the book from her, stared at the picture and sighed again. She closed the book. "Can I do anything else for you, dear?"

She had reached a dead-end. "No, but thank you for sharing that with me. I’m keeping my fingers crossed Adam will make a recovery and become part of your family again. If he does, here’s my number." She handed Dorothy a slip of paper with her cell number scribbled on it.

Dorothy placed the paper on the coffee table alongside the pile of magazines. Becca was tempted to put it in a less cluttered place, but couldn’t see any.

Dorothy saw her to the door. "Are you sure there isn't anything else I can do for you, dear?"

"No, you did plenty. Thank you." Becca gave Dorothy a quick hug and left.

Back in her car she started the engine and watched exhaust snake upwards in her rearview mirror. The car rattled from the cold and the engine coughed a couple times as if it was missing.
 She waited while it warmed, watching an SUV meander down the street, and thought about the distraught parents with their addicted son. Her heart went out to them.

Funny how at the least likely times your eyes are opened. She had gone to Dorothy’s to learn about Adam’s whereabouts and failed, but she had come away a whole lot wiser.

For as far back as she could remember, she had wanted more than anything else in the world to have a child, but she hadn’t thought through the possible consequences of that decision until now. After meeting with Dorothy tonight, she realized the reality might be a far cry from her fantasy. Any romantic idea she harbored that a child would bring her ultimate gratification, could turn out to be quite the opposite. A child wouldn’t necessarily bring her the joy and self-fulfillment she craved. Like Dorothy, she might have to be willing to hold that child in her heart—even if she had to keep it at arm's length. Was she ready for that responsibility?

She pulled away from the curb with the picture of Adam still imprinted on her mind. Her next stop: Evan’s place. Her pulse stuttered at the thought of what she might find there. But, no matter what, she had to connect the dots and find out if Evan was actually Adam.
 

I glanced down at my notes. "Hypnotherapy has been a major component of traditional psychotherapy ever since Sigmund Freud borrowed the technique from Franz Anton Mesmer, the father of mesmerism, including it in his repertoire of tools for treating hysteria. ‘Hysteria’ in the late 19
th
and early 20
th
centuries is what we now refer to as stress on one end of the spectrum and post traumatic stress disorder at the opposite extreme. Freud found that hypnosis could be used with hysterical patients to bypass the defenses erected by the unconscious mind to protect itself. It’s a trick of sorts. A way to convince the mind to work with the therapist instead of against her.

“
Later, in the mid-twentieth century, Milton Erickson revived the use of hypnosis in his practice and became the most influential of all modern hypnotherapists. His techniques are used today by a new generation of psychotherapists, including myself.

"During our next therapy session, I again employed the form of hypnotherapy I refer to as trance work to lead Becca back to the day she had previously described in her parents' bedroom. Again, as before, I asked her to revisit the scene unfolding before her, but this time I suggested she go deeper and describe in detail every nuance of her mental image.

Becca quickly became restless. She rolled her head from side to side and squirmed, indicating to me that she had psychologically arrived at the right junction of time, space and event, for me to make my move. ''What are you experiencing?'' I asked.

"He’s sitting next to me and wants me to play a game with him."

''
Who’s
sitting next to you?"

"I can’t see his face, Sarah...Oh God, he’s taking off his glasses and putting them down on the floor."

It was time to give her a gentle nudge. "What’s preventing you from seeing him?"

"He won’t let me..."

"How is he stopping you?"

Again her voice took on a childlike quality. ''He said he’d kill me, my dog Max and my mom...I can’t do it."

"You’re no longer a child. He can’t harm you now."

She gasped. "Yes, he can and he will."

"Does that mean he’s the man who’s been stalking you?"

She began to rock herself. "I think he’s the one..."

"Go on. What else can you tell me?"

"He’s bigger than me and stronger. He’s trying to push me down, but I struggle to get away. He tells me to relax and not be so formal."

"That’s a strange thing to say."

"He starts to unbutton his shirt. Oh, look at his hand. He’s wearing a school ring with a large blue stone." She sniffed the air. "And he smells of cologne, like he just put some on."

"Good detail. Is it the same cologne your Uncle wore?"

"I don’t know...I think so... Oh no, he’s trying to remove my top."

She began to make sounds like a frightened animal. Concerned about her reaction, and on the alert for any developments, I didn’t want to interrupt the flow and miss an opportunity to take her beyond where she’d gone before. As gently as possible I asked her to describe what happened next.

Her reaction was immediate and firm. "No!" she roared and sat bolt upright, eyes open. "I can’t do this anymore."

I gave her a minute to calm down. "What just happened?"

"I don’t want to do this...he hurt me," she wailed pitifully, like a child in pain.

Worried about her, I took the seat beside her on the sofa. "It’s okay," I assured her. "Don’t worry. We’re making terrific progress."

Becca looked at me with desperation in her eyes. "I’m such a mess, Sarah..."

"No you’re not..."

She quivered all over as though she’d just come in from the cold. "I’ll never figure this thing out. I’m doomed to live with it haunting me forever. I know what he did and it’s not pretty, but I might never know who did it..."

"That’s not so," I assured her. "You’ve moved further along today. Each time we meet, we get closer to the truth."

She looked up at me with such hope and trust in her eyes, it nearly broke my heart. "You think so?" she asked in a thin voice.

"I definitely do. Don’t give up on yourself. You’re heading in the right direction, but we can’t hurry the process. Rest assured it’s progressing at the right pace."

She blew her nose on the tissue I handed her. "I hope you’re right. I want to know who did this to me before he has a chance to do it again." She gazed at me with wide-eyed hope, tempered with doubt.

I hugged her to me. "You will. You’ll see." And I meant it. From experience, I knew these types of revelations were like a new bloom and blossomed on their own schedule, but she was making headway. Now if she would only hang on, she would figure it all out. Soon, I thought, but hopefully soon enough.

Through splayed fingers, Becca levered open the mini blinds covering her apartment window and watched Evan pull away from the curb in his aging compact. She waited until he turned the corner before making her way next door to his building. He had mentioned an acupuncture class in the morning, which provided her with an opportunity to investigate his condo.