Out of the Shadow (24 page)

She had to take control of the conversation. "I’m here to see Miller in 206. My friend Drew came along for the ride. Would you please find him a good magazine and a nice cup of coffee while he waits for me?"

"Since you’re visiting, you can take your friend back with you."

Damn. This wasn’t going well at all. Becca silently mouthed the word ‘no’, but she could see the lack of comprehension on Jane’s pudgy face. "Mr. Miller’s ill. It wouldn’t be appropriate to bring anyone into his room. Please help me out here."

Drew stepped up. "No problem for me. I’m not ‘fraid of getting sick. I won’t be in your way."

Becca’s stomach turned. This wasn’t going the way she had planned in the car. "You don’t understand. Miller’s close to ninety years old. In his condition any outsider carrying a bug would kill him."

Drew cut his eyes to her. "I thought you said he was dying."

"Mr. Miller’s dying? I hadn’t heard anything," the kindly, but clueless woman said.

"He’s close to death, but you never know when a patient will take a turn for the better and pull through. I can’t take the risk of bringing an outsider into his room under the circumstances. You agreed to wait for me out here, or I never would have permitted you to join me."

Drew looked at her through wary eyes, and with raised voice asked, "Are you sure you’re telling me the truth? This sounds kinda fishy."

"What purpose would lying to you serve? I don’t have time to debate this with you now. Go with Jane to the waiting room and I’ll be back when I can break away."

Drew shook his head vehemently. "Nah. I don’t think so. I’m stickin’ with you." And he began to move in the direction of the ward.

She grabbed his arm, terrified. If she didn’t restrain him, her only hope for escape would evaporate. "You can’t do this. You promised to wait for me. This isn’t going to work..."

His eyes narrowed. "Why’s it important to leave me out here? I don’t see why I can’t join-"

With all the commotion, the security guard entered from the hall. He was a big man, much bulkier than Drew, and he carried a gun on his hip. "Any trouble here?"

"No... No problem at all. My friend here is going to wait for me in the lobby while I visit a patient. He’s fully cooperative. Aren’t you, Drew?"

Drew didn’t say anything, but he gave her the meanest look she could ever imagine. "I’m not doin’ anything of the sort..."

The security guard stepped closer to Drew. "The lady here’s the boss. I hope you're not gonna make me escort you outside."

"Who says?"

The guard laid a hand on his weapon. "I do."

Drew looked from the security guard to her with a sneer. "Ya got your way this time, but don’t plan on gettin’ it again."

She turned to Jane. "Please show Drew to a chair."

When Jane came out from behind her desk and indicated the waiting area, he reluctantly followed. The moment she saw them trot off, Becca bolted for the ward, sprinting through the heavy doors that separated the lobby from the hospital. The doors closed behind her and she groaned with relief.

But she had no time to dally. She’d arrived in Drew’s car and would be at a disadvantage leaving on foot. As quickly as her shaky legs would carry her, she made her way to the rear exit of the building and sprinted the five blocks to Market Street, where she hailed a cab.
 At her building, she hurried inside to gather her necessities.

Cecil waited on the area rug for her. He stretched, yawned and sauntered after her to the bedroom where he rubbed up against her leg. With no time to waste, she ignored him in favor of tossing a handful of clothing and toiletries into a suitcase.

Cecil must have picked up on her mood because he followed her every move, meowing incessantly.
This cat’s uncanny,
Becca thought.
How does he know when I’m in trouble
? She stooped down and scooped him up into her arms. "I love you," she said into his fragrant and abundant fur. "I’m sorry I can’t take you with me, but Julie’s allergic to cats. I promise I’ll be back to rescue you from loneliness and boredom just as soon as I can."

She held onto him much longer than she deemed safe, reluctant to let him loose. His purring reminded her of all she had lost; her husband, her best friend, her dignity, her sense of security. Now her home and her cat. Bundling him closer, she allowed herself a minute of aching sadness before she placed him down on her favorite chair. Back in the kitchen, she filled his bowl with a large helping of Kibble and left two bowls full of water.

"I’ll be back in a couple days," she promised him with a ruffle to his fur, before racing for the door.

Outside, Becca scanned the street for Drew, then made a mad dash to her car. She tossed the suitcase onto the backseat and gunned the engine. Right before she pulled away from the curb, she glanced back to see Drew’s gray BMW turn the corner. She slammed her foot onto the accelerator and roared out of her parking spot in a squeal of wheels.

In panic, she sped through a red light and made the next right, careening up the street by weaving in and out of thick traffic. After a second sudden turn, she glanced in her rearview mirror, but failed to spot Drew’s car. Even though relieved, she knew she’d never be safe with him in the world; that no matter where she went or what she did, he’d find her. That was the one thing she could depend on.

She picked up speed and veered onto the expressway ramp.

Irv hoisted Becca’s suitcases up the stairs to her old bedroom and Julie took her by the arm, ushered her into the kitchen. "Not that I’m not thrilled at having you here, but after that bizarre call and your sudden appearance, explain to me what this is all about."

Adrenaline raced through Becca’s veins after her narrow escape and wild ride, with a detour to the police station to report what had happened and drop off the hair sample from Drew’s brush.

"I’ll explain in a minute, but first, I could use a cup of tea." She heaved herself onto a bar stool. "Something herbal. Do you have chamomile?"

"Just green. Will that do?"

"Sure," Becca said, rubbing her temples.

While it wouldn’t be a far stretch for Drew to figure out she was at Julie and Irv’s, he would never make an appearance with them around. For the moment, she was safe, but this was a temporary arrangement. She had to find other digs soon.

She watched Julie heat a mug of tea in the microwave. What would Evan think about nuking the tea? It seemed like a sacrilege. The thought of Evan saddened her. She had treated him so poorly. Funny, he was the one she should have believed in, not Drew. She owed Evan an apology.

Julie plopped the mug onto the counter and took an adjacent stool. "What’s going on?"

After a deep sip of warm comfort, Becca lunged into a long-winded—but how could it be otherwise—explanation of what she’d been through that day. Julie sat stone-faced, listening. "I don’t know if I’m even safe here, but I didn’t know where else to turn..."

Julie raised a hand to stop her. "You did exactly the right thing coming to your dad and me. We might not be much, but we’re your parents and we’d do anything in the world to keep you safe."

Touched by the kindness after her ordeal, Becca’s eyes filled with tears. "Thanks, Mom. I have a key to my therapist friend's apartment that I plan to use because no one will know I'm there, but I wanted to see you first."

"You know you can stay here with us."

"I know I'm welcome here, but so does Drew. I’ll be better off there."

"Okay...but we’ll be here when you need us." Julie picked up a napkin and handed it to her.

Becca blew her nose unceremoniously and dabbed at her eyes. "I need an answer to a question that's been bothering me. Do you know if I was ever alone in the house with Drew? Please do your best to remember. It’s important I know."

Julie stared down at her folded hands for an extraordinarily long time, but Becca knew better than to interrupt her. Finally, she raised her head. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. "I feel so guilty. I can’t even tell you how horrible I feel."

Becca hadn't expected this reaction. She patted Julie's shoulder.

"Five years ago, Paulie told me about the incident in the bedroom. He had kept it a secret all those years, but couldn’t keep it from me any longer. He wrote me a letter explaining what he’d seen. I didn’t want to believe him. I told him he must have remembered it wrong. He was young and had a distorted perception of what happened. I refused to accept what he reported." She hesitated, wiped tears with the back of her hand.

Becca held out her napkin. "Want to share?" 

Julie took it from her. "I couldn’t admit I had let you down like I did. That I hadn’t protected you. I couldn’t face it, even though I suspected something terrible had gone wrong after your nervous breakdown. I was in denial..." She lowered her head into her hands and wept.

Becca slung an arm around her mother’s shoulders. "Don't worry, Mom. There's no need to beat yourself up any more than you already have. I forgive you."

Julie thrust her arms around Becca’s neck and buried her head into Becca’s hair. And sobbed.

Becca held onto her mother while she cried, and a warm sensation settled over her. For the first time in years, Becca experienced what she could only describe as pure unadulterated love for her mother. Now it all made sense. With all the self-recrimination Julie had carried around, no wonder she was often defensive and overprotective. Becca drew her mother closer, no longer afraid of the unbreakable bond between them. She could take care of herself. She didn't have to keep her mother at arm’s length.

"I love you, Mom."

"I’m so sorry." Julie sobbed into her hair. "I shouldn’t have left you alone with that boy. I should have been a better mother. If I could do it all over again, I’d never have left your side. I’d have pinned my heart to yours."

Becca couldn't help but picture the image Julie painted with her words. And, all at once, her sadness and love and gratitude coalesced in an unexpected spasm of laughter. Julie straightened and stared open-mouthed at Becca, who nearly doubled over in a mixture of misery and mirth. Convulsive laughter kept coming in waves and she was helpless to restrain it. Before she knew it, Julie had joined in and they both laughed so long and so hard that the sound summoned Irv into the kitchen.

He looked from his wife to his daughter with a bemused smile. "What’s gotten into you two?"

"Nothing," Julie said between bursts of laughter.

"Mom and I are conjoined twins." Becca joked. "We’re joined at the heart."

That triggered another round of laughter.

Irv watched them for a minute, then shook his head. "You girls," he said, and left the kitchen.

Julie glanced over at Becca with a conspiratorial grin. "He’ll never understand us, but we know what page we’re on."

"The funny page," Becca said, and they guffawed again.

Becca finally stopped laughing long enough to draw a breath and wipe away the tears that streaked down her cheeks. "I need to know one more thing, Mom. Will you be there if I need you?"

"What a question. There’s no limit on my love."

And for the first time in years, Becca's love for her mother knew no limits either.

Chapter Eighteen

A call from Detective Mills the following day confirmed Becca’s suspicions. Under a Comparison Microscope the hairs from Drew’s townhouse matched the hairs on the rag and those from the comb in Angela’s apartment. While the lab would run mitochondrial DNA tests on the sample, the police were 99.9% certain they had a match.

Becca immediately offered to come down to the station and meet with Mills, but Mills cautioned against it. While she explained this sample, like the last one, couldn't be used as evidence, she had sent two officers over to Drew’s to pick him up for questioning. She told Becca to sit tight and wait for a call.

Becca could hardly contain herself. Her detective work had paid off and she was eager to participate in the investigation. She restlessly paced the studio apartment where she was sequestered.

A second call from Mills came thirty minutes later.

"Are you sure of the address?" the detective asked. "We’re here at the one you gave us, but the place has been abandoned. No one lives here."

They compared notes and sure enough, Mills had the right house.

"Strange. Drew said he owned the house. Why would he leave it like that?" Becca scratched her head. "Will you be there for a time? I’d like to see for myself."

"I won’t, but a couple of other detectives will stay behind to snoop around for any evidence. I have calls to make. I’m going to find out who owns this building and what they know about your so-called friend. I’ll let the other officers know you’ll be by and they’ll let you in."

For once she heard acceptance in Mills' voice, but she was too grounded in her certainty to have been disturbed even if Mills didn’t believe her. "Please don’t call him my friend. He’s no friend of mine, I can promise you that." She hung up the phone, changed into jeans, boots, and a charcoal wool sweater before she headed over to Drew’s. She arrived to find the house empty of furnishing as described. Two officers were busy dusting the premises for fingerprints.

"Any luck?" she asked the tall good-looking officer who let her in.

"Not much. Looks like the suspect wiped the place clean. We found a couple sets of prints in the bathroom, but they don’t match."

At the word suspect, she perked up. Good news. She was no longer the only one in their sights. "One set of fingerprints might be mine. I hope this doesn’t complicate your job."

The cop smiled. "My job is complicated. You’re welcome to look around, but don’t touch anything."

She traveled from room to room, revisiting her evening with Drew. Where had he gone? Drew wasn’t the type to vanish completely, sight unseen. He was more likely to make a statement. Wreak revenge. 

By the time she reached the bedroom, her sense that something might be wrong had transformed into full-blown fear. She snagged the officer’s attention. "Do you think you could take me by my apartment? I have a weird feeling Drew might have been there and I don’t want to go in alone."

"Give us a couple more minutes to finish up here and we’ll be glad to run you by."

"Thanks." Not wanting to be underfoot, she left to take a seat on the outside steps, but it was the worst thing she could have done.

Alone, her fear turned into panic and she could barely sit still. To cope, she rose to pace the sidewalk in front of the house, vaguely aware of stares from behind the curtains of neighboring townhouses and from passersby drawn by curiosity to the taped-off house.

Finally, the two detectives joined her on the street and helped her into the back of their police cruiser. At her apartment building, the good-looking African-American cop insisted on going in first to make sure no one was lurking around the premises. Becca watched while his pock-marked partner checked out the street and alley, then entered the building. A couple minutes later he returned.

"No one’s inside, but I have bad news—"

She knew what he was going to say before the words left his lips. With a loud moan, she dashed past him into the apartment and rushed to the bedroom, where she spotted Cecil on the bed—and stopped dead. The cat lay perfectly still, spread out as though asleep on her plum satin quilt. Too still with all the commotion. She approached him on tiptoes, tears stinging her throat and eyes, and gingerly picked him up into her arms. His head fell backwards at an unnatural angle, his neck broken.

She crushed Cecil to her chest and buried her head in his fur—the silky-soft fur she loved to touch. Tears now flowed fast and furiously. How could she ever live with herself for bringing such a violent fate upon her best friend, her husband, and now her long-time buddy and loyal companion? She had let them all down. Even with the policemen circulating about, she allowed herself a good long cry.

What might have happened to her if she had been in the apartment at the time?And what might still happen with Drew on the loose? Intense terror doubled her over. The tall cop came up beside her.

"I’m sorry about your cat," he said with kindness. "Are you all right?"

She tried to dry her eyes, but the tears kept coming. "As okay as I can be right now."

He reached over with gloved fingers, lifted a piece of paper off the spot where Cecil had been lying and read, "Never forget me. I’ll never forget you."

Her stomach churned.

The cop studied the letter. "Our first piece of material evidence. We don’t usually collect evidence after a feline homicide, but this is different. We’ll be checking around to see what else we can find."

Mute with grief, Becca took a seat on the far side of the bed and buried her head in Cecil’s fur. She must have remained that way for at least ten minutes before she heard Evan’s voice beside her. She looked up and into his worried eyes.

"I was on my way home and spied the police car. I thought you might need me. It wasn’t easy to talk my way in here. What’s going on, Becca?" He glanced down at Cecil in her arms. "Is he dead?"

She nodded. He lowered himself onto the bed beside her, encircling her in his arms. With her head against his shoulder, she started to sob again. She could no longer support her own weight, so she let his strong arms hold her upright.

Finally drained, she laid Cecil gently down on the bedspread. At Evan’s coaxing, she finished what she had to do with the police, then allowed him to lead her to his condo. He helped her into bed, made her a cup of hot jasmine tea and watched over her while she slept the rest of the day away.

By nightfall, she revived a little, but had no appetite for the split pea soup he placed on the side table. He took a seat at the foot of the bed.

"Feeling any better?" he asked.

"A little, thanks to you."

"I wish I could do more. I feel as if I’m partly to blame for not being there when you needed me, but I wasn’t sure you wanted me around."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe I’m the one who needs to make amends to you. I had the mistaken idea I couldn’t trust you. I was so deluded. I’m sorry I treated you the way I did."

He took her hand. "It’s understandable under the circumstances. You were confused."

"I didn’t know if I could believe you."

"I guess my behavior didn’t help. It’s just that...well...I love you, Becca, and I was riddled with jealousy and fear."

She smiled to herself, remembering her therapy session. "How do you know it’s love you feel? Are you sure it's not infatuation?"

He gave her a quizzical look.

"I mean, how do you tell them apart?"

"Now who’s the metaphysical scholar?" He took her into his arms. "I don’t care what you call it. I don’t care if you call it eros, agape, or puppy love. Call it inspiration for my money. All I know is, I feel more attached to you than I’ve ever felt to anyone else. Enough that I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"Are you serious?"

He looked her in the eye. "I’ve never been more serious in my whole life." To prove it, he kissed her with such tenderness. For an instance, it quieted the storm raging inside.

"I’m not thinking too clearly at the moment. I’ll have to consider your proposal when I’m feeling a little more able."

"I’d expect nothing less," he said, and gave her an affectionate squeeze. "Whatever you decide, I only hope we can put this damn thing behind us."

But she knew better. Drew hadn’t given up on her after all these years, why would he let her go now? She burrowed her head against Evan’s shoulder, but even his closeness felt like temporary comfort. With Drew in the world, there was nowhere to hide.

At a sniveling sound I glanced up to see one of the two hefty social workers drying her eyes. Beside her, another woman squirmed in her seat. Most eyes were fixed on me, although I caught one of the men in the back of the room with closed lids.

A woman with silver-gray hair in a canary-yellow tailored suit raised her hand. "It's unusual for any of our patients to undergo as profound a transformation as Becca did over such a short period of time."

"You’re right,'' I agreed. ''As you well know, when someone's been violated as a child, they're often dysfunctional as an adult. They learn to shut out more than just memories of the abuse. They become so skilled at denial as a survival mechanism that they detach from their own feelings and experience little real compassion or connection to others. But a series of events like those that befell Becca can awaken more than mere memories." I glanced around and saw a number of nods. "Because Becca was forced to face her abuse and deal with the associated feelings, she was jettisoned forward developmentally at warp speed. Intense stress can act upon the psyche in a manner similar to raising the temperature in an oven. The higher the heat, the quicker the change. By the time Becca left therapy, she was a strong, loving woman who could take care of herself and be present for others."

A tall, thin woman with dark hair pulled back into a bun stood. "How can you account for Becca’s inability to identify the real perpetrator when he was literally under her nose?"

"I was going to address that topic. Beside the fact he was disguised at the time of the abuse, trauma has a tendency to distort memory. Emotional shock can camouflage details that would normally be evident to the alert mind. This is especially true in children because they lack the capacity of adults to process information. But that doesn’t mean the data isn't stored in the unconscious. It is our job as therapists to find a way to excavate these buried treasures so that they become useful tools for healing.

"Add to this the fact that memory and perception are always subjective. What one person recalls about an event may be a far cry from what another remembers. Think about Faulkner’s
The Sound and the Fury.
His characters all experience the same situation, but recollect it in disparate ways. I think it’s best said in
A Course in Miracles
." I glanced down at my notes for the quote. '''Perception selects and makes the world you see. It literally picks it out as the mind directs... For what you look for you are far more likely to discover than what you would prefer to overlook.'

''It goes on to say, 'Memory is as selective as perception, being it’s past tense.'''

A burly man in the back row with his tie undone and his top shirt button opened raised his hand. "Dr. Abrams, did Becca ever complete treatment?"

I squinted at him under the fluorescent glare. "Please bear with me. I know it’s been a long two days, but I’m about to tie up loose ends. What I have to say should answer your question."

While I addressed him, I noticed Adrian half-hidden behind the social workers and was suddenly distracted. What power did this man have over me that one look rattles me this way? Scary to think what an evening with him might do. "Any other questions?"

Since there were none, I continued.

"Shortly after the incident with Drew, Becca called and requested an emergency therapy session. Since she was now convinced he was the one who molested her, she wanted to go back in time to see if her memory fit her newfound knowledge. I arranged an appointment with her for the following day.

While still shaken, the woman who entered my office the following afternoon was a far cry from the woman I first met six months earlier. She arrived wearing a pair of conservative black slacks with a black jacket and low-slung black leather pumps. When she led the way into the inner office, her posture matched her mood. While somber, her stride expressed both resolve and readiness to do the work.

She spread out on the sofa without my even asking. "Okay, Doc. I’m ready to return to that bedroom."

Before I had a chance to reclaim my seat, she had closed her eyes and taken a couple of audible breaths. I readied my pad and pen. "I want you to go back to the time of the molestation in your parents’ bedroom. Envision your molester by your side and watch what he does."

After a couple of silent minutes, she suddenly shouted, "No! Don’t do that. Stop it. That hurts."

"What is he doing to you?"

"He’s touching me and putting his fingers up me. It’s hurting me."

Since she was so young, how frightening and painful this must have been for her. I tell her this, then ask her to let me know who was doing this to her.