Secrets Amoung The Shadows (13 page)

"Eliot, it's not crazy," Leanne assured him. "I know this is hard for you. This isn't something that makes sense in the context of your everyday life. But it's not crazy. You invented Edward when you were very young. He filled a need then, and the more we know about him as a child, the more we'll know about his adult manifestation."

He studied her silently, dubiously, for a moment. "Very well," he said, accepting her assessment. "So we have to analyze Edward. He was sad at first. He wanted Mom and Dad to accept him the way they accepted me. Then he got angry. Every time they said something about him, he'd remind me that they weren't my real parents."

"Did you resent your foster parents because they'd taken the place of your real parents?" Thurman asked.

"No," Eliot said slowly, as if considering the idea. "I didn't resent them. I loved them. It did upset me because they didn't understand about Edward. They wanted me to play with real kids who were never as interesting or fun as Edward was. But I knew they just wanted the best for me. I made an effort to please them. I stopped talking about Edward even though I always took him along wherever I went. For a while the other kids kind of accepted him, like we were all playing a game that was a secret from the adults. However, it was only a year or two before I realized I had to keep him a secret from the other kids, too."

"So do I." Eliot's words snapped electrically through the air. "I deserted Edward for Kay so he killed her. When I started coming to Leanne to get rid of him again, he decided to kill her."

"You're jumping to unsupported conclusions," Thurman said. "You broke contact with a part of yourself to please a girl in school. You don't even know for sure that Kay Palmer and Kay Becker are the same person. You certainly don't know that Edward killed her."

Eliot leaned forward, his expression intense. "I went to see Kay's husband today. He was going to give her a divorce. She had a reason to call Edward and ask him over to celebrate."

"If he's telling the truth."

Eliot nodded. "If he's telling the truth. And I think he…could be."

Leanne sensed he'd been about to say
I think he
is
telling the truth,
but he'd changed it. If he accepted that, the odds went up that he had murdered that poor woman. She was glad he hadn't said it, that she didn't have to accept it, either.

"You said she would call Edward to celebrate, but I understand from Leanne that the police told you she had your card, that her friend in the shop recognized you as Eliot, not Edward."

Eliot's eyes widened as if he'd been physically struck. "That's the second time you've insinuated there may be another one of those monsters in my head."

For a long heartbeat, Thurman didn't reply. Leanne had to fight the urge to jump in and reassure Eliot. This was Thurman's case now. Any reaction from her would be personal and inappropriate, possibly detrimental.

"Alternate personalities are not monsters. They're simply different aspects of one personality, hidden in different compartments. Our goal is to break down the walls to those compartments integrate all the personalities into one. The first step, if we determine that you do have MPD, is for you to accept the other personalities."

The muscles in Eliot's jaw tightened in stubborn refusal.

"What do you say we call it quits for tonight?" Thurman asked, making no attempt to persuade Eliot. He'd planted the seed. He obviously realized that was all he could hope to accomplish at the moment. "Do you want to come by my house on Monday evening, about seven?"

"I'll be there," Eliot agreed. He understood what Thurman was telling him, but he had no intention of accepting as a part of himself someone who had so much anger and hatred as Edward. He'd brought up and confronted his long-ago problem with Kay Becker as well as the traumatic accident that had killed his parents. Maybe that would suffice. Maybe now he wouldn't be troubled with Edward's thoughts and dreams.

He held that determination as the three of them rode down in the elevator and walked outside together into the dusk.

"Call me when you get home," Leanne requested of Thurman.

He nodded, hesitated a moment, looking from Eliot to Leanne. Eliot's gut clenched in anger and self-hatred. Was Thurman going to insist on protecting Leanne, on staying with them until Eliot left? What kind of monster had he become that women needed to be protected from him?

"I'll call you," Thurman promised, casting a look back at the office building where the security guard watched them from inside the glass doors, then getting into his station wagon.

"I know. What both of you said about integrating Edward's personality into mine...I don't want that. I want to get rid of him." How could he accept into his being someone with so much anger...someone who hated Leanne, who fantasized about hurting her?

"Once we get in touch with Edward and discover why he's so angry, we can work to heal that anger." It was her professional look, her professional tone. It was what he needed from her...but not what he wanted.

"I shouldn't be asking you business questions since you're not my official doctor any more, should I?"
I shouldn't be talking to you at all, should I?

"It's okay." In the dusk he couldn't be sure, but he was fairly certain she blushed. Had the same thought crossed her mind that crossed his? If he wasn't her patient, the ban on a personal relationship would be lifted. If he shouldn't ask her business questions, what sort of questions could he ask her?

None, he reminded himself grimly. His interest in her had already incited Edward to stalk her and have gruesome fantasies about her.

He took a step backward, away from her. "Good night," he said, aware the words came out sharp, angry.

As she looked up at him, the twilight caressed her skin, darkened her shiny hair, colored her eyes a muted blue-gray and cast shadows about her lips that made them look half-parted and swollen, ready to be kissed.

"Good night," she said, but she made no move toward her car.

Except for the two of them, the parking lot was deserted. The glaring overhead lights hadn't come on yet. The security guard was probably back to reading his book by now. All Eliot had to do was lean over and touch her lips with his. Somehow he didn't think she'd stop him. Cover her lips with his, pull her slim body against his...sign her death warrant?

"Good night," he said again, and turned and strode away, cursing under his breath, swearing not at her or even at himself but at the circumstances that had brought them together and kept them apart.

***

Edward stood across the street, staring up at her house and hating her. She was just like the rest of them.

His eyes blazed as if a fire burned in his brain, and he suddenly shifted his attention to Eliot.

"You can hear me, can't you, Eliot? You can't keep me out when you're asleep, and soon you won't be able to when you're awake.

Your Leanne, she's like your mother...foster mother, that is. Not our real mother. She's like your first grade teacher and like Kay. Like all the girls after that...and now Leanne Warner. Every one of them played a part in keeping me in prison. They set out to separate you and me. And they succeeded, but only because you let them.

"You shoved me to the back of your mind. You took them to the movies and not me. You talked to them and shut me out. It's your fault I couldn't get out until now. I owe you, Eliot. Killing Leanne will get rid of her, and it'll hurt you because you like her, don't you? You'll go to prison for killing her and for killing Kay. You're right about her identity. Kay Palmer was Kay Becker all grown up. I punished her for what she did to us.

"Now I'm going to punish you. Soon you'll be the one in prison, and I'll be free to enjoy the things you've enjoyed all these years without me. It's my turn.

"Watch me, Eliot. I'm getting stronger all the time. You can't escape me now. When I want your attention, I have it. You can't ignore me any longer, no matter how hard you try."

He took a final pull from his cigarette, tossed it to the pavement and crushed it, then moved closer to the house, up the walk, around the sides, checking the windows as he went. How convenient of her to live in a house with so much foliage, so many places to hide, he thought.

The windows were locked. That was all right. He wasn't ready yet. There were still some things to do.

He came back to the one he'd chosen before and leaned against it, eyes closed, focusing on what would be, on his plans for the future.

He pictured himself looking at the window again, pictured himself lifting it and climbing through it, into Leanne's house.

The interior was silent and empty...cavernous with unclear outlines and no furniture, dream-like and surreal. He could see the front door and the entry hall where he'd stood, where she'd almost invited him in. He'd seen that part of her house. He could picture it accurately, but he hadn't been able to get inside.

"Somehow she knew I wasn't you. She called me Edward and slammed the door in my face. But it doesn't matter. The next time will be different. She won't get away from me. Haven't I already proven how powerful and smart I am? More powerful than you, Eliot. Smarter than you."

She wouldn't be down on the first floor, of course. She'd be asleep on the second floor. That's where he'd seen her at the window when he'd stood across the street.

In an instant, in his fantasy, he stood in her bedroom. She lay in the iron frame bed under the white comforter, head on a white pillow.

"Damn her, who does she think she is, having everything white? Who's she trying to fool? Maybe you, but not me. I know she's not pure and pristine. I know her for what she is...evil. Another woman trying to get rid of me."

He watched her breathing, watched her breasts rise and fall.

"You think about those breasts, don't you, Eliot? You fantasize about touching them, kissing them. Oh, yes. I know your thoughts just like you know mine."

He walked over and placed his hands on her breasts, squeezing hard.

"Watch closely, Eliot. Don't you wish you could do this?"

Leanne opened her eyes, and he saw pain in them, the dawning knowledge of what was going to happen to her. They looked like Kay Palmer's eyes had when she'd known.

"You want to turn away, don't you, Eliot? No, I want you to watch closely. Watch what's going to happen to her."

Slowly, deliberately, he shifted his hands to her throat and squeezed, feeling the small bones crack, watching her eyes bulge, her lips open, gasping for breath that wouldn't come. Her dying washed over him, filling him with power and ecstasy.

Chapter 11

Eliot shot bolt upright in bed, heart pounding against his ribs. Dear God, not again! How could he possibly dream such horrible things? How could any corner of his mind harbor thoughts and emotions so completely opposite to what he really felt?

With shaking fingers he picked up his watch and looked at its luminous dial. Almost three in the morning. He couldn't call Leanne at this hour just to hear her voice, to know she was safe.

He stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom to splash cold water on his perspiring face. He had to calm down, to think about this rationally.

He looked at himself, at his bare chest, the black bikini briefs he wore—not the khaki pants and cotton shirt he'd worn in the dream. It was only a dream. That's all. A crazy, inexplicable nightmare.

The last part—the part where Edward had broken into Leanne's house—had been fuzzy and out of focus, the way the first dreams of killing Kay had been. A dream about a dream.

He flicked on the harsh overhead light and looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, into his eyes for some sign that they could possibly have been fantasizing about watching Leanne die, at his fingers to see if they showed the imprint of her throat, of her breasts—

He turned away in disgust and leaned over the toilet bowl, gagging.

This wasn't possible. No part of him could feel those depraved things Edward had felt in his dream. No part of him could want Leanne dead.

He staggered back into the concealing darkness of his bedroom and slumped onto the bed, his hand reaching for his phone. He had to know. He had to be certain she was safe.

The burring that sounded in his ear, indicating her phone was ringing, was harsh and discordant. By the second ring his heart was racing, sweat once again beading on his forehead and upper lip, hand shaking so badly he could barely hold onto the phone.

"Answer, Leanne," he croaked into the darkness.

On the third ring, he heard someone pick up. He held his breath, terrified he'd get only her recorded voice, that he wouldn't know if she was safe.