Hyde, an Urban Fantasy (9 page)

“You saw her again? She came to you?  Did you . . .”

“Fuck her? No. I don’t play with women who have more issues than I do. Not twice, anyway. Why do you think she likes me?”

“Really?” She crossed the room and sat down. “If you’re fishing for a compliment right now, it’s not going to happen.”

Yeah, that was a stupid question.
“Make yourself comfortable.”

She leaned back, her head resting on the top of the couch, her legs crossed.

He moved a chair close to her and sat down. “You’re sure about this?”

Her eyes were large and scared. “Yes. I can trust you, can’t I?”

He took his time before answering. Could she? No. He could barely trust himself. At least not when
she
was around. He’d do it, find out if she knew something about Shelly’s death, and then kick her the hell out of his life before it was too late. If it wasn’t already too late.

“Only for this,” he said. “Not anything else, you understand? You should
not
trust a man like me.”

“Okay.” Taking a quick breath and exhaling slowly, she folded her hands together and put them on her lap. “What do I do?”

He looked around for something shiny she could focus on. He picked up a shit-stupid award he’d gotten for being a bang-up guy and looked at the bottom. Yeah, it’d work.

He stuck his head out of his office. “Jolie, don’t bother me for a little while.”

She looked up at him and rolled her eyes, still holding the phone to her ear, and mouthed, “How long?”

He shrugged. “When’s my next appointment?”

She looked at her watch, said, “I will give him the message,” into the phone and hung up. “You have thirty minutes until Mr. Somners comes.”

“That’ll do.” He slammed the door on her irritated expression.

Turning back to his pro-bono client, he said, “I shouldn’t be the one to do this. A lot of people are better at it than I am.”

“Are you better at it on Wednesdays?” Eden asked with a nervous grin.

“What?”

“Wednesdays are your ‘Come Get Hypnotized’ days, right?”

Huh, she actually listened to the bullshit that came out of his mouth. That was new. “I lie. A lot.”

She nodded. “That’s not terribly surprising. But if you can do it, I want you to.”

“I’ve only done it a few times, mostly as a parlor trick, so I may not be able to get you under.”

“Well, thanks for trying.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” He sighed, and then went through the steps—carefully explaining what he would be doing, what she should expect to happen, and a few of the questions he would ask.

They didn’t teach hypnosis in college, at least not the one he’d gone to. He’d figured it out with How-To manuals, obsessed with how the brain works—conscious and subconscious thought. He’d practiced on classmates. Much to the frustration of the few male friends he’d had back then, he drew the line on the near-side of a con to get into girls’ pants. He preferred his women conscious, not to mention responsive. But all that had been years ago.

Sure hope to hell I remember how to do this.

He kept his voice slow and melodic as he led her step-by-step into a deep relaxation. Understandably, it took a while before her muscles started to release and her eyes closed. Even
he
wouldn’t dare get too comfortable around a guy like him. But, once she let go, she seemed very susceptible. It was almost too easy.

Okay, looks good so far. Now what to ask.
“Who are you?”

“Eden. Colfax.” Her voice was dull, emotionless, empty.

Mitch wasn’t sure what conclusion he’d be happy with—that she was faking the whole thing, was on drugs, was suffering from multiple personality disorder, or that she was divided like him. No, definitely not the last one, that was for damn sure. He’d never wish that on anyone. But she was right—something was bringing them together. He didn’t believe in coincidences, just really fucking awful karma. You get what you give.

He decided to start with some easy questions to verify that she was really under before he got to the tough stuff. “What color is your underwear?”

She didn’t answer right away, but there was no tell-tale blush on her cheeks he assumed would’ve shown up if she was awake. “Pink.”

Yeah, that sounded about right for her. Pink. Interesting. Strangely, also a turn-on.
Focus, Mitch.
“Tell me about your parents.”

“I don’t have parents.”

“Are they dead?”

“My mother is. I don’t know about my father.”

“Do you do drugs?” He watched her face for any reaction, but it was peaceful, beautiful even.

“Never.”

 “Who is Chastity?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you truly believe you’ve been sleepwalking?”

“Yes.”

He rubbed his palms together. “Okay. How many times have you woken up in a different place from where you went to sleep?”

She paused, and he wondered if she was counting.

Shit, he was doing this wrong. “Has it happened a lot?”

“Yes.”

 “Aside from being in a different location, how do you know?”

“I see flashes of doing things, like memories that never were.”

He took a deep breath.
Now comes the hard stuff.
“Picture what the woman you saw looked like. Where she was. Where
you
were. Can you see it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Tell me what you see.”

“She is in a doorway, leaning against the side, sleeping.”

Sleeping?
He wiped his forehead. “What does she look like?”

“Long hair. Black or close to it. Pale skin. Red shirt.”

Mitch didn’t know if Shelly had been wearing red that day. Everything in the memory seared into his brain was red. Blood-red. But he didn’t know how much of that was real.

“Is there anyone else there?”

“Yes. Another woman. Pretty. Wearing a green shirt and tan pants. High heels.” That could have been Jolie.

“Anyone else?”

“A man. But she can’t see his face.”

She?

Before he could ask which ‘she’ Eden was speaking of, she spoke again. “His face is hidden by the bushes in front of her. His body is tucked in towards the sleeping woman.”

Me, that was me. Or him, maybe.
No, he needed her to go back further. “Go back a bit. To before the woman was . . . sleeping. What do you—does
she
—see?”

“The pictures are all jumbled. I don’t know which comes first. She saw the sidewalk, stores, the house, the lawn. I think she went around the side, but I don’t know why.”

She twitched. Then a full-body jerk.

He leaned forward and held her hand, ignoring the current he felt as their skin touched. “Eden, you’re okay. You’re safe. Nothing bad is going to happen.” He squeezed her hand, stroking the back of it. His stomach dipped as he thought,
Please, don’t let anything bad happen to her.
He dropped her hand and sprung back from her, his heart beating a rhythm foreign to him.
Focus.

“Tell me what you’re seeing,” he said, adjusting himself further back in the chair.

“Nothing. All she sees is the woman sleeping. They can’t wake her up,” she said, shaking her head.

He was nauseous. “Did you touch the woman? To make her go to sleep?”

“I can’t see it, don’t know if she moved. It’s just flashes. But, I don’t think so.”

No matter what questions he asked, what way he phrased them, she didn’t—or couldn’t—answer differently.

He lifted his hands off the arms of the chair. They were sweaty and stiff from gripping so tightly. She’d picked the wrong person to come to for help. The one person who would’ve given anything for a ‘yes’ answer. So he’d be able to pass his guilt off onto someone else.

After a few more questions that got him nowhere, he said, “Tell me about the other flashbacks. How they appear and what you see.”

For ten more minutes, she spoke of broken images, random people, various places, but nothing tangible or even truly understandable.

As far as he could tell, and Eden seemed to know, she wasn’t a murderer. If she knew more than she was saying, he didn’t know how to get it out of her. She’d seen something—Jolie, Shelly. Maybe Hyde, maybe him. But did that mean she’d
done
anything?

He needed to think. To know. One way or the other. His hope that she’d been involved wasn’t enough. There was definitely some freaked-out shit going on here—her use of pronouns was too messed up to be normal.

Multiple personalities. That had to be it. Could another personality be responsible for Shelly’s death? Could he keep Eden close enough to figure it out? He needed to keep his mouth shut until he could figure it out, keep her guessing. But that would also mean she’d be close enough to cause more problems with Hyde.
Fuck
.

Ready to bring her back into consciousness, he stopped to look at her.  She was so relaxed and peaceful, as if she was just taking a nap. As if they were regular people. Sitting on his couch as if she was his.

W
hoa, where’d that come from?
He wasn’t that guy. He wasn’t even the kind of guy to be satisfied with a quick peek into a stranger’s medicine cabinet. No, he was the kind of guy who picks the lock, empties all the bottles onto the counter, pockets the good ones—with zero intention of actually taking them—and then puts all the rest back into the wrong bottles.
That
was him. Who he made sure he was. Who he forced himself to be.

But she trusted him. Okay, fine. He wouldn’t try to lay down some fucked-up post-hypnotic suggestion just to mess with her. That would be immature. Instead, he’d just ask her
one
inappropriate question.
One.

“Go back to the night at my house. Do you remember us being together?”

“Yes.”

He knew it. She hadn’t slept through that. Okay, did he say
one
question? He’d meant two. “What do you see? Feel?”

“Afraid.”

He swallowed. He couldn’t stop there.
Three questions, just three.
“Why are you afraid?”

“I don’t know how she got here. Why I woke up in your bed. What you did.”

Four.
“So, I don’t scare you?”

“No. You are mean, but you don’t scare me.”

Understandable.
“Go back a bit earlier. What else do you see? Feel?” He lost count what number he was up to.

“How you look. Peaceful. How I feel. Disgusted.”

“Why do you feel disgusted?”

“Because I wish being here had been my decision, but it wasn’t.” Her breath hiccupped. “Carter’s going to be so upset.”

“Who’s—” Nah, he’d used up all his questions. And he really shouldn’t be doing this to her. He had a conscience. He just tried very hard to ignore it most of the time. It won this round.

If only she’d stop mumbling about some guy named Carter.

Bringing her out of hypnosis, he made sure she would feel relaxed, peaceful . . . and forget those last few questions he’d asked. It wouldn’t work, but . . . .

Here’s to hoping.

Damn it, why did he even
care
?

§          §          §

Eden opened her eyes, the weight of her relaxation still gently molding her body to the couch. Mitch was staring at her, his eyes soft. A wave of connection passed between them. Like a warm bath after a winter rainstorm. She soaked in it, gaining the strength he offered.