Spooked. Part 11

He lowered his head, shame pulling the corners of his mouth down as he thought of his secret...

...of being molested by an uncle, Barry, from the time he was nine years old until he was fourteen. The boy's name was Tim. His mother was raising him alone since she and his father split two years ago. She appreciated her brother taking such an interest in Tim. One day it all changed.

And eventually Tim formulated a plan. During the ride on one of their many trips to Barry's isolated cabin on the river, Tim suggested a ride in Barry's speedboat.

"Wouldn't it be cool in the boat?" he'd said to him in the truck on the way to the cabin. "We never did that."

Barry glanced at him, surprised and grinning. They never talked about it. "Risky."

Tim pasted a grin on his face. "That's part of the fun. We can pull it off."

"You're a crazy kid, Timmy."

To this day he hated being called Timmy.

"Can we bring some beers on the boat?"

Barry chuckled. "Sure."

"We can pour them into thermoses so n.o.body will notice. We won't attract attention."

Barry nodded. "You're smart, you know it?"

Tim shrugged, faking pride. "I have my moments."

The thing about going to Barry's cabin was that he always acted as if they were just two guys hanging out, until he'd had a few too many and got his courage up. The first time, Tim thought that Barry had been drunk out of his skull and that it would never happen again. But then it did happen again. And again. And again.

And it was still happening. All pretenses about it being the alcohol were long gone. But Barry still needed the drink to shed his inhibitions. Apparently, he did realize what a sc.u.mbag he was. He just needed the booze to make it so he didn't care.

When they got to the cabin Tim poured beer into two thermoses. When Barry went into the bathroom to "shake the dew off his lily pad," Tim opened the small pill bottle which held ground sleeping pills-four of them. The pill bottle was swiped from one of the many in his mother's purse. The sleeping pills he'd swiped from Barry's medicine cabinet. In addition to feeding his raging addiction to prescription drugs, the pills were how he got Tim to "loosen up" when Tim argued with him about doing the things that Barry wanted him to do.

Recently, Barry had been talking to Tim about bringing a friend along. Someone a little younger, like Tim's eleven-year-old next-door neighbor, who liked to hang out with Tim sometimes and shoot hoops in the driveway. Barry had been watching the kid pretty closely lately. Tim hadn't liked the look in his eye.

He poured the powder into Barry's blue thermos. His was red. Didn't want to mix them up. h.e.l.ls, no.

They went out onto the boat and when they got to a nice, quiet area, Tim handed Barry the blue thermos.

"Thanks, Timmy."

Tim nodded, looking out at the water and taking a long slug off his beer. He tried not to watch as Barry sucked down a good part of the beer in his thermos. To hide his grin, he wiped a hand over his mouth and coughed.

"Getting a cold, Timmy?"

"Not sure. My throat's a bit sore. Maybe."

"That sucks, buddy." Barry finished the beer.

"Let me give you a refill, buddy," Timmy said, reaching over and taking the container from him.

"Thanks Timmy. You're a really good kid, you know it?"

"Thanks, Uncle Barry."

Barry gave a satisfied nod and scanned the water-there was n.o.body around. The booze was making him feel h.o.r.n.y already. It usually didn't take long.

Tim handed him a newly filled thermos.

"Thanks Timmy." He tipped his head back and swallowed half the beer, his eyes not moving from Tim's face as he drank. "Nice out here today."

Tim nodded, looking over the horizon at the sinking sun, which left orange and pink streaks in the sky. Tim would never forget the way the sky looked that day as he prepared to kill Uncle Barry. "Going to be a nice day tomorrow."

"Sailor's delight," Barry said, still watching Tim.

Tim put the top on his thermos and watched as Barry's eyes drooped. He giggled.

Barry lifted his eyebrows. "What's funny, kiddo?"

"You look like you're about to pa.s.s out, Uncle Barry."

"Little tired, but I won't fall asleep on you. Don't worry. Come on over here, buddy."

Tim felt the smile spread on his face. "You want a little sailor's delight, good buddy?"

Barry sat back, spreading his legs. He unzipped his jeans and leaned back, the smile on his face obscene. "What do you think?"

"'Nuff said." Tim moved to him. "Stand up so I can get these down."

"You can do it like this. We don't need to pull them down."

"Come on, buddy. I can't really delight you like a sailor should be delighted with your jeans still up like that. Stand up for just a second for me." Tim tugged Barry's arms.

"Okay." Barry careened upward, trying not to stagger. "If you-"

Tim shoved Barry in the chest, putting his weight behind it.

Barry's arms pin-wheeled and he went in backwards, reaching and grasping for Tim.

Tim almost fell forward but caught himself, falling backward into the boat.

He turned away, listening to the splashing and the sputters, and the cries for help and the gasps for breath, and thought of all the times Barry made him do things to him that had made him gag, unable to breathe.

Barry hadn't cared about his cries, before he'd stopped bothering to cry.

Then the splashing just stopped.

Tim called the police on his cell and told him that his uncle had fallen into the river, and he hadn't jumped in after him because he couldn't swim, and besides that Uncle Barry had given him a lot of beer to drink and he was feeling pretty tipsy.

All this I saw in mere seconds. I sucked in his secret, pulling it out of him and into me in long, black, sinewy swirls, and fell back on the sofa with the weight of it.

When I opened my eyes he was watching me, his green eyes wide with wonder. "Thank G.o.d," he said. "Thank G.o.d."

I sat up, breathless. "There are others here with various talents. There may be someone who can clear your memory of your uncle completely."

He shook his head. "I don't think it's right to forget it. But I think I can carry it now. Thank you."

I thought of asking him to help me, but I knew there were cameras all over that room. "You're welcome."

In minutes the door opened again and a tall, black-haired boy of about seventeen came into the room with another man. The man was balding and roundish, and wore thick gla.s.ses, which he seemed to push up his nose as a nervous habit. The boy held the door open with one long-fingered hand as the man entered.

Morgan came through the door after them, moving in the same languid, long-limbed way. "Lorelei, this is Jude. You'll be working together to help this gentleman today."

Jude nodded at me, the locks of his long s.h.a.g falling over his forehead in choppy pieces. Either he hadn't been here long or they allowed him to maintain his hairstyle. "Hey."

I nodded back. "Hi."

Morgan led the man to the chair Tim had been sitting in while I'd relieved him of his worst secret.

The man pushed his gla.s.ses up his nose again as he sat in front of me.

Jude sat next to me. The heat of his body was surprising. I felt cold, and wanted to sidle up to him and steal some of his heat.

As if sensing this, he moved closer to me. For a quick second, his gaze held mine from under dark strands of hair and he grinned ever so slightly.

I liked him from that moment on. He'd bonded with me in that second, and I no longer felt so alone. We were in this together.

Morgan stood close to the man, and as she looked down at him a mean spirited smile played on her lips before she got hold of herself and acted the professional again. "This is Spence. His reason for being here is two-fold. He would like to be free of a secret, which you, Lorelei, will help him with."

I nodded, watching Spence fidget in the chair.

"Jude, you'll then relieve him of the memory of his visit here. This is for his protection as well as for ours."

Jude nodded. "Gotcha."

"Excellent," Morgan said. "Spence, are you ready to begin?"

Spence bobbed his head, his myopic gaze flicking from Jude to me and back again. "Yes."

"Okay," Morgan said. "Lorelei, you're on."

I sat forward, speaking in a soft, gentle voice. "Spence, all you need to do is think of the secret you want to be free of, and I'll take it from you. You won't be bothered by it again and you'll feel noticeably better afterward. Okay?"

He nodded again. "Now?"

"Whenever you're ready, yes," I said.

"Okay." He looked into my eyes, which was difficult for him, because the sense of shame radiating from him was thick. He didn't want me to know what he'd done. "You won't ever tell anyone, will you?"

I shook my head. "No. I give you my promise." And I meant it.

I felt him reach out to me, as if he were holding the secret in psychic hands. I reached out with my mind and grabbed it.

Spence had been skimming money from the large company he worked for. He was the operations manager, and he had an addiction to high-priced call girls. He believed he could never have a gorgeous, intelligent woman like the ones he paid a thousand dollars a pop for unless he paid for them.

But the addiction was catching up to him, because he needed dates with his favorites at least twice a week, and his wife was close to finding out what was up. Their bank account was shrinking quickly, and the college fund for their teenage daughter, who was already looking at universities, was close to being depleted.

I pulled the secret from him, breathing through my mouth and nose as the black/gray substance swirled through the air and moved into me. His secret smelled and tasted of burnt tar, and had been festering inside him for two years.

Spence fell backward in his chair, momentarily pa.s.sing out.

Morgan bent over and lightly patted him on his fat cheeks with her delicate hands. "Spence. Wake up."

His eyes opened and he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. The stress lines around his mouth and eyes had smoothed and he looked at least a decade younger. "Wow. I feel great. Thank you."

I nodded, blinking my eyes against an enormous headache forming behind them.

"Now the second part of the process. Jude, your turn," Morgan said.

Jude leaned forward. "Look at me, Spence."

I was struck by how soft-spoken Jude was. His voice was deep but low, and had the calming quality of a lullaby.

Spence lifted his face to look at Jude.

"Listen to the sound of my voice, Spence. You're comfortable in that chair. So comfortable that you feel like you're melting right into it."

Spence's eyes began to droop as he watched Jude. His facial muscles were relaxed and his mouth opened imperceptibly.

"The leather is cradling you. You are safe and warm, and there is no place else on earth you would rather be right now. Isn't that right, Spence?"

"Right," Spence said, sounding drugged and sleepy.

"Spence, you're among friends here. We want only the best for you. We wouldn't lead you astray or harm you in any way. Do you believe that?"

"Yes," Spence said, drawing the word out, almost under his breath, like a sleeper would.

"Spence, I am going to ask you something very important and you need to answer me truthfully."

Spence nodded slightly.

"What is the pa.s.sword for your computer at work? The one that gives you access to all the bank information for the company and your customers?"

I turned to look at Jude, my mouth falling open.

One of his hands lightly tapped the side of my thigh, as if to warn me.

I looked at Morgan, who glared at me through narrowed eyes.