Saturday, June 23rd, 2018
Kate began the day like she did every twenty-third of June since 1996. Lying in bed with her eyes closed, thinking about her dead parents and baby brother. And about how lucky she was to still be alive.
She normally took the day off to head out of state, but she couldn’t afford that luxury this year. Not with the murder of Lori Davis weighing heavily on her shoulders. Whoever her killer was, he or she was still out there. Since they hadn’t found a single believable motive or a real suspect among her friends and relatives, Kate feared the worst: maybe Lori’s killing had been random. Or part of a deranged person’s larger plan.
Exhaling loudly, Kate forced herself out of bed, eager to do something else. To think of anything else but her family’s cold case or Lori’s murder.
After peering outside the bedroom window and seeing the sun shine, she decided to don her running gear and head out.
Pounding the pavement could lead to an unexpected stroke of genius. She could sure use one of those right now.
Her earbuds in and favorite selection of tunes lined up, she walked downstairs and stopped by the kitchen to greet Luke and his mom briefly before heading to the entrance to lace up her shoes and finally breathe in some fresh air.
The morning air was unseasonably crisp, but Kate hoped the temperature would soar by the time the midday sun shone above the city, as it sometimes did this time of year when the air was clear. Dodging a dog walker and her five four-legged friends, Kate weaved her way around the pedestrians until she reached the closest park. She much preferred running in parks over the streets, even though she’d been badly beat up once, a few years ago.
But that was then. And this was now.
Her head was clear. The park was safe in the daytime and she was paying attention to her surroundings, even though music faintly reached her ears through her headphones. The sounds that surrounded her were much, much louder. She’d learned her lesson.
She ran loops around the small park, running on grass to take it easy on her joints, careful to avoid rocks and the treasures left behind by animals. By the time she finished her third loop, she realized no epiphany was coming.
The only thing that her gut told her was that she had to call the hypnotherapist and schedule another appointment. The doctor had been kind enough to offer some after-hour openings for her, considering the type of work she did. Of course, those slots came at a premium price, but her detective salary was enough to cover it and she’d have extra money coming in whenever she sold Kenny’s house.
What better day than the anniversary of their death to go deep and figure this out?
She took out her phone and called the therapist, leaving her a message asking if she could fit her in later today, then headed back home to take a shower.
“…and one,” the hypnotherapist said to Kate. “You’re at home, talking to your mom on the morning of June 23rd, 1995. Tell me what you see.”
“I don’t see anything, except for what I remember from my dreams.”
“Forget about your dreams. Focus on what feels real right now. Maybe you smell something. Maybe you hear—”
“The mobile! I can hear the mobile over his crib.”
“Good. Listen to it.”
Kate hummed the melody. She tried to ignore the part of her mind that didn’t understand how she could—clear as day—hear a melody she hadn’t heard in decades. But the more she thought about it, the faster the notes faded, as though taken away from her.
“It’s gone.”
“That’s fine. Try to listen to other noises. Perhaps your father is watching a game in the distance. Or listening to the radio.”
“I hear the floor creaking.” Kate focused on its sounds, half expecting the cadence to follow what she normally heard in her dreams, but it wasn’t the repetitive cycle of creaks she’d associated with the rocking chair in her brother’s bedroom. No. The creaks were uneven. Associated with someone pacing the floor. They weren’t her footsteps. They weren’t coming from behind her or downstairs. The noises echoed from the back of the room, where the window overlooked the street. Then she heard her mom’s soft voice humming the melody of Bobby’s mobile.
“She’s holding him in her arms, pacing the floor next to the window.”
“Good. What else can you sense?”
“I’m not sure, but something feels off. I can sense her fear. Or maybe it’s my fear. I know what happens next.”
“Don’t read into what you’re feeling. Just let yourself experience it, without judgment.”
“No, no!” Kate shook her head. “Something’s off. Really off. I… I can’t…”
The therapist snapped her fingers and brought Kate to the here and now.
Kate inhaled, counting up to four, then pausing for two, and then counting back to four as she exhaled. She repeated the process several times, until she felt comfortable enough to open her eyes.
“Tell me. What was wrong?” the therapist asked, her inquisitive brown eyes staring at Kate.
At first unable to put words together to explain why it had felt wrong, Kate shook her head. She sat up and glanced at the therapist, then she moved her eyes to Luke, who’d attended the session in the room this time, sitting in a spare chair along the back wall.
“It was all wrong,” Kate said.
“Be more specific,” the therapist prompted.
“If there’s one thing I know it’s what happened that day. For decades, I’ve had recurring nightmares. I see myself talking to my mom that morning, before heading out of the house to play. She rocks Bobby to sleep. I know that moment like the back of my hand.”
“And?”
“And what I saw just now was all wrong!”
“Kate, you strike me as a smart person. There’s no way you wouldn’t be, considering your job. So what I’m about to say should, under no circumstances, be taken like a personal insult or anything like that.”
Kate tilted her head, her curiosity piqued by the teaser. “Go on.”
“You’re probably aware of it as a police officer. Memories are unreliable. Testimonies from visual witnesses can often be proven wrong.”
“Of course. The same event witnessed by ten people will result in ten slightly different stories. I know that. But I was there. I know what I saw.”
“Maybe you do. Maybe you don’t. Are you a gambling woman, Kate?” she asked as she put down her pen.
“Can’t say that I am.”
“Well, I like to indulge every now and then. And I’d be willing to bet that your subconscious has been so traumatized by what you witnessed over twenty years ago that it has filled in some of the gaps or replaced some of the painful details with other real memories as a way to ease the pain.”
“What?”
“I’m saying that the recurring nightmare you’ve been having, the one where you see your mother rock your brother in her arms, could very well be a real memory—”
“It is a real memory!”
“Let me finish. A real memory, but from a different time. A different day. I’m sure you could have seen your mother rocking your brother to sleep several times before that fateful day. If you witnessed something odd that particular day, it’s very plausible that your subconscious could have kept those ‘real memories,’” she said with air quotes, “hidden from you. As protection to help you maintain your sanity. As a survival mechanism, if you wish.”
Kate looked at Luke who shrugged, appearing puzzled. She’d taken a few psychology classes over the years. The idea didn’t seem so far-fetched after all.
“Okay. Let’s assume I buy that theory. You’re telling me that, on that fateful morning, I saw my mother acting weird. She wasn’t rocking Bobby to sleep, she was pacing the floor, worried.”
“If that’s what you saw or felt just now, then yes.”
Kate looked down, staring mindlessly at the pattern in the carpet. “That could change everything.”
A bell rang behind the therapist, indicating the end of their session.
“Well, I think it means you’re making great progress. When do you want to meet next?”
“Hmm. It’s tough for me to say. I could get called in anytime. Weekends are probably easier. Do you have time tomorrow?”
“I can fit you in at four o’clock. Would that work?”
After looking at Luke, who was nodding, she confirmed the appointment.
“You’re doing great, Kate. But better come in prepared. We’ll revisit your most painful memory tomorrow.”