The next morning Sam searched her rolodex for the card Doctor Talbot had given her. Over breakfast she had shared her dreams with Jake and Abby. Abby wasn’t concerned but Jake had those worry lines forming between his eyes. He had asked twice if she wanted him to accompany her to the therapist, but she assured him she was a big girl.
After Jake left for work and Abby left for the grocery store with Alex and Dillon, she called Doctor Evan Collier’s office and was lucky he had an opening at ten o’clock. Then again, if he were good she should have had a two-month wait. Dismissing the idea that this therapist graduated at the bottom of his class, Sam confirmed the appointment and soon found herself in a waiting room that looked more like a resale shop. There was pottery in shapes of cups, vases, pumpkins and other seasonal and holiday-type decorations. There were leather belts and wallets stitched and anagrammed by hand. Sam checked the door to make sure she was in the right place.
“It’s part of their therapy,” a woman said as she set a cup of tea on the coffee table. She reminded Sam of Margaret Thatcher on a good hair day. She even had a British accent.
“Hope I’m not that bad off,” Sam whispered but it didn’t go unheard.
“I’m Maggie and you must be Samantha Casey.”
Sam forced an apologetic smile and plopped into the lush leather couch. “Nice purple couch.” She ran her hand across the creamy leather.
“It’s eggplant,” Maggie said. Her eyes settled on the small medicine bundle hanging from Sam’s neck and the third earring of beads and feathers resting against her left shoulder.
If one could dismiss the therapeutic attempts at artwork, one could see that the office and waiting room were prime candidates for a home decorating magazine. There were art deco paintings, dark cherry wood, bronze statues, and collector books. She could swear he had an authentic set of Mark Twains.
“Doctor Collier must have a gay friend. The décor is impressive.”
Maggie’s half glasses slid down her nose. “Doctor Collier did the decorating.”
“Oh, well.” Sam snapped her mouth shut but Maggie wasn’t finished.
“He’s my son.”
Sam nodded toward a picture on the wall of a man wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a bow tie. Threads of gray wove through his hair. “You don’t look old enough to be his mother.”
“That’s my husband…was my husband. Nathan passed away earlier this year. He had always planned for the business to be called Collier and Collier. Unfortunately, Nathan died the day after Evan graduated.”
“The shrink I’m seeing just graduated from college?” Sam couldn’t hide the shock in her voice.
“Yes, I am a baby doc.” The side door closed and Sam stared at an Adonis in a charcoal gray suit that sculpted his body. Shoes were gray animal skin of some type, maybe ostrich. The shirt was pink and the tie a lavender and gray.
“Do you always dress to match your décor?” Sam could feel Maggie shooting her daggers.
He reached out a hand to her. “I’m Doctor Evan Collier and you must be my ten o’clock.” He held the door open and motioned her inside another room that was a centerfold for House Beautiful magazine. Sam took in more eggplant and lemon yellow with a splash of gray in the thin shade screens on the windows.
Maggie set a silver tray with a tea pot and cups on the coffee table. “I selected Li Zhi Hong tea for you today, Doctor Collier.”
“Thanks, Maggie.”
Maggie finished her fawning and gave Sam one final stern look before leaving.
“Listen,” Sam said. “The tea tastes wonderful but I have a feeling you aren’t up to speed on my case. I was supposed…”
“Yes, you were supposed to meet with my father but cancelled your appointment, several times. I have studied your file and spoke personally with Doctor Talbot at Sara Binyon’s.” Evan set his cup on the coffee table, then took a seat in one of the leather chairs. “I graduated first in my class and learned quite a bit from my father.”
“I’m sure you did but I have shoes older than you.”
He smiled revealing dimples and teeth that were blinding. “Why don’t we start.” He pointed toward the couch. “And I doubt you have shoes thirty years old.”
Sam relented and took a seat. “Well, the tea is good. Maggie doesn’t have anything to eat, does she?”
Evan reached over and pushed an intercom button. “Do you have any more of that cake left, Maggie?”
Evan hung up before Maggie could respond. One minute later Maggie returned with another silver tray and set it on the coffee table. A piece of chocolate cake was on each plate along with monogrammed paper napkins and silverware.
“Wow, thanks, Maggie.” Sam grabbed a plate and dug in.
“Are you eating for two?” Maggie asked.
“Actually for three,” Sam mumbled around the frosting.
Maggie was all smiles now. “Well congratulations. Can I get you more tea?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
Evan waited for Maggie to leave, then turned to a fresh page in his notepad. “Yours is an unusual case and it must have been a terrifying experience for a five-year-old.”
Sam remained silent and continued eating. She was hoping she didn’t have to re-tell the story of how she witnessed her father and Melinda being blown to bits in a car bomb, nor how she was catatonic for two years afterward. The case she had worked when she was still a cop involved the man responsible for her father’s death. He tried to kill Sam with a car bomb but instead killed Don Connelley, the chief of police who had been a close friend of the family as well as her godfather. That incident left her catatonic again and was how she ended up at the Sara Binyon Retreat.
“You promised Doctor Talbot that you would continue your therapy when you returned home.”
“If I needed it. I didn’t need it.”
“Until,” Evan prompted.
Sam took her time finishing the cake, savored the fluffy frosting, then wiped her mouth and took a sip of tea. Her obvious attempt at stalling wasn’t lost on him. He started tapping his pen.
“The dreams started up again, but they are different.”
“How so?”
Sam described the slow motion images and after everything was obliterated it all reversed, again in agonizing slow motion.
“How often do you have them?”
“First it was once every couple weeks but lately a few times a week.”
“What do you think triggered it?”
“I’m looking to you for that answer.”
“Has anything happened in your life, any changes?”
“Other than job, marriage and a baby, soon to be plural?”
Evan flashed his pearly whites again and scratched something on his notepad. “What about people connected to the case that started the dreams in the first place? Have you encountered any of them?” Sam shook her head no. “Can you remember when they started?”
Sam thought about the first time the new dream version began. Was it before or after Dillon was born? For lack of an answer she let her eyes crawl over the artwork on the walls. There was a picture on the back credenza of Evan and another man in a canoe. The man was also an Adonis but with surfer blonde hair and biceps the size of her thigh. She could feel Evan’s gaze delving into her psyche. The aroma from the tea was intoxicating so she refilled her cup from the tea pot.
“Are you avoiding the questions or you just don’t know?”
“Why don’t you tell me exactly how much you know about my case?”
Evan stood and stripped out of his suit jacket. He walked over to a panel and slid it open to reveal a closet. “You were five years old when your mother took you to your father’s office so you could say goodbye before he left on a trip.” Evan paused with the jacket in his hand. “Who exactly was Melinda Casey?”
“Abby was a surrogate. Melinda couldn’t have children and Abby had been living with them since she was a teen. There were problems on the reservation.” Problems Sam preferred not to go into so she ended her response at that point.
“Nuff said. Anyway.” He hung up the jacket on a satin hanger, taking time to button the buttons. Then he slid the closet door shut. “Your father was a reporter working on a story on a prominent state representative. You were waving from the window when the car exploded. You watched everything. Very traumatic for an adult, let alone a child. It’s no wonder when someone tried to kill you in the same manner that you would be traumatized again.”
Sam realized he had memorized her case but just hearing it was making her relive it again. It didn’t seem to bother her as much as she had thought. She had heard it often enough while in therapy at Sara Binyon’s.
“I’m impressed. You’re not just another pretty face.”
This brought a tinge of blush to Evan’s cheeks. “I have an eidetic memory. But memorizing words isn’t enough. I have to try to look behind the words for the meanings, to understand the cause and the reaction. Have you read anything in the newspapers or perhaps a similar occurrence that might have been reported in the papers?”
Sam had thought about it extensively, tried to think back to the first time she had the dream, but not one thing came to mind. “There hasn’t been anything on the news or in the papers. And I haven’t seen anything in the police logs.”
“What about Preston Hilliard? Has there been any reports on him?” Representative Preston Hilliard had been behind the death of Samuel and Melinda Casey and was currently behind bars.
Sam shook her head. “Nothing, and believe me, I make sure I’m updated on his condition and if he’s moved to another prison.”
“How do you feel after the dream? Anxious, fearful, unable to cope?”
“No. Not even a twinge. It’s just not a pleasant sight to see body parts flying around in slow motion and then, like a broken toy, everything reassembling…the car, the people. I sometimes feel like it’s a message.”
“What kind of message?”
Sam took another sip of tea and studied the tiny crumbs of cake left on the plate. Would it be uncouth for her to lick the plate clean? “Very subtle since I can’t seem to grasp its meaning.”
“Think back to when you first had the dream so we might be able to determine a timeframe. Had Dillon been born then?”
“Yes.”
“Had you just finished a case?”
Sam remembered it had been summer because they had slept with the patio door open and the birds were shrieking at four in the morning. The temperature hadn’t dipped below eighty during the night but there had been a breeze that sifted through the patio window and up to the opened skylight. “I remember walking down the stairs a bit groggy and seeing Alex in the foyer. He had brought in the flag. Yes. It was the day after the Fourth of July and we had left the flag out overnight.”
“So the first week of July. Maybe what you can do before our next session…”
“Next?” Sam had hoped this would be a one day deal. “You can’t fix things in one session?”
“Did it get broken in one session?” Evan scratched more notes. Sam tried to read upside down but Evan stopped scratching and stared at her. “What day is best for you?”
“How much notice do you need of a cancellation? I’m working a case.”
“I can always come to you. I’m not tethered to this office, you know. We can meet in the park, maybe for lunch. I find that clients are more relaxed in their own comfort zone. Now what I was saying before you interrupted was I would like you to go through the newspapers one week before July fourth and see if anything jogs your memory. Do you think you can handle that?”