MELINDA WAS STANDING at the blackboard, writing down the homework assignment, when the spit-wad hit her right between the shoulder blades. She spun around fast, but the ninth graders gave nothing away. They sniggered and snorted and hid their faces, but there wasn’t any one in particular who looked guiltier than the others.
“Who did that?” she asked.
They looked at each other. Several asked, “Did what?” innocently and nearly in unison.
“You know perfectly well what.” She watched their faces, but they gave nothing away. And then the bell rang. They surged to their feet and stampeded toward the door as if it had been a fire alarm. “Wait!” she called. “The assignment’s on the board. It’s due tomorrow! If you didn’t copy it down yet, then—”
They were gone. Just like that. The room was empty. She took a look around and saw a plastic straw on Danny O’Brian’s desk. That little monster was the shooter, then. She should have known. He was usually the instigator of any trouble that erupted in her class, and in several other classes, as well. In fact, the only teacher who hadn’t had trouble with him yet, according to the chatter in the teachers’ lounge, was the gorgeous new math teacher, Mr. MacGuire, and she suspected young Danny was just trying to feel him out first.
Going to the principal would do no good whatsoever because Danny’s father golfed with the man and was on the school board besides. Which was, she imagined, the real source of the problem.
Oh, well. Only another month to go until the end of the semester. Not that the next semester was likely to be any better. Melinda sighed and went to the closet for her jacket and purse, and then she left her classroom, stopping by the office to grab the mail from her in-box on the way.
There was a large yellow envelope that shouldn’t have been there, and when she peered inside, she saw a stack of essays. It was the stack the other ninth grade English teacher, Mary Blesser, was supposed to grade. There was a note on top, no doubt full of reasons why Mary couldn’t get to them. It would include an insincere apology and an even more phony thank you. Mary probably didn’t doubt Melinda would do her share of the work because she’d pulled this before—repeatedly. And Melinda always did Mary’s share of the work. It was one of the things Rodney was constantly riding her about.
Sighing, Melinda tucked the envelope into her bag and headed for the exit. But she was waylaid by a tall male body stepping right into her path.
“Ms. Terwilliger?”
She looked up, and into the rich brown eyes of the handsomest male ever to hold sway over a classroom. Matthew MacGuire—the new guy. He taught algebra and had the female members of the staff acting more like their own students. Giggling and gossiping in the teachers’ lounge, talking about how “hot” he was. While the male teachers sniped and found fault with his teaching style, his obvious lack of experience and, they claimed, skill.
He certainly had set the local grapevine alight. But why was he talking to her?
“You are Melinda Terwilliger, right? I didn’t get the name wrong or—”
“No. I mean, yes. I’m her. Me. Ms. Terwilliger. Melinda.” She bit her lip and lowered her eyes. Great. Impress the hot guy by chattering like a poorly trained spider monkey. Here he was, finally talking to her, and she was—
“I, um—I heard you were mugged last week,” he said, cutting off her self-deprecating thoughts. “Are you all right?”
She had to give his words a moment to sink in, for her brain to translate them. He’d heard about the mugging. He was showing concern. Polite of him. But that was all. Just a colleague doing what he probably figured was expected of him. “I’m fine,” she said. “Thank you for asking.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Did they…get away with much?”
“No, not really. I had thirty or forty in cash, but aside from that, and losing my favorite bag, no harm done. I mean, other than having to spend an entire afternoon canceling credit cards, closing out accounts and opening new ones and retelling the tale to the local police—” She stopped herself there. “But I don’t need to bore you with all of that.”
“You’re not boring me at all. I just thought maybe I could be of some help.”
She lifted her brows. “I don’t know how you could, but thank you for the thought.” She started walking again, but to her surprise, he fell into step beside her.
“I could drive you home,” he offered.
She looked up fast, then looked away just as quickly. Why would he want to drive her home? He was gorgeous and built like an athlete. And she was… Well, Annabelle, next door, called her “Twiggy” instead of Melinda. And it fit. She was skinny and she was plain. Her thick brown hair was usually in a ponytail, and her clothes consisted mostly of knee-length skirts and pastel cardigans. There was nothing special about her at all. Why would he—?
“Melinda?” he prompted.
He called her by her first name, and she felt as if he’d touched her instead. Her blood pressure kicked up several notches and her palms grew damp. “Oh. Sorry, I was…um, no. Actually, I’m meeting my best friend, Rodney, at the train station, so—”
“Oh. Okay. Well, if you’d like a ride tomorrow night, or anytime, just let me know. You live out in Rosewood, don’t you?”
She was stunned. Tongue-tied. He knew where she lived. “Yes.” When he waited for her to elaborate, she tried. “It’s nowhere as nice a neighborhood as this one, but living here costs more than teaching here pays, so—”
“I don’t know, I think Rosewood’s pretty nice.”
He not only knew where she lived, he knew her neighborhood. “It used to be,” she said.
He nodded. “Well, anytime you want a ride home, just say the word, okay?”
She tipped her head to one side, frowning deeply. “Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”
He shrugged, flashing those delicious dimples with his smile. It made her knees go weak. “It’s a chance to get to know you better. I’ve been waiting for one of those. See you tomorrow, Melinda.”
“Uh…yeah. See you.” He was gone by the time she completed her rapier-sharp reply. God, she was a lost cause, wasn’t she? Why would he want to get to know her? Was he blind?
Sighing, she puzzled over this odd turn of events all the way to the train. She spotted an empty seat and headed for it. She was just about to sit down when an overweight college kid with a serious acne problem beat her to the spot. He slid into the seat so suddenly that Melinda nearly sat on his lap. Then he smiled at her when she shot him a look of surprise.
Creep.
The ride went on and on. He got off two stops before she did, and she was able, finally, to get off her feet. Her legs hadn’t even had a chance to stop aching, though, when her stop was announced. She hefted the heavy shoulder bag once more, and wondered if she would be brave enough to walk home alone ever again.
Maybe she would take Mr. MacGuire up on his offer. Tonight, at least, it wasn’t necessary. Rodney was waiting at her stop.
She smiled her relief at the sight of him. “You didn’t have to do this,” she said. “But I’m really glad you did. Did you bring your car, or are we walking back to my place?”
“We’re going to my place,” he said. “We have a date, remember?”
“For you to tinker with my brain, right?”
“For me to help you get in touch with your own inner strength,” he said. “You’ll thank me later. Come on, my car’s in the parking lot.”
An hour later, Melinda was ensconced in Rodney’s comfortable duplex, five blocks from her own place. His neighborhood was a hotbed of liberal-minded, starving artists, most of whom were gay, bi, transgendered or experimenting. She loved it there, but found it slightly too urban feeling. Her own little community had an ever so slightly more suburban feel. Or at least, it used to.
“Are you comfortable?” Rodney asked.
“Very.” She was sitting on a giant-sized pillow on the floor. It was stuffed with rice and lavender, he’d told her, and it felt as good as it smelled. Her eyes were closed, and her mind, very relaxed. The tea he’d given her had helped with that. And so had the Xanax she’d taken just before. Her doctor had given her a very small supply, to help her deal with post-traumatic stress right after the mugging. But she wasn’t going to tell Rodney that. Let him think he was responsible for the mellow state of mind.
“Good. Are you relaxed?”
“Utterly.”
He moved, and she felt something on her shoulders. Oh, it was heavy and warm, a pillow stuffed with more herbs that he must have heated up in the microwave.
“Now listen,” he said softly. “Here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to talk you into a deeper and deeper state of relaxation. And then I’m going to help you to realize what a strong, powerful woman you are. You’re going to go back in your mind, and you’re going to remember why and when you let your power be taken from you. You’ll remember exactly when you started letting people take advantage of you and, more important, you’ll know why it happened. While you’re under, we’re going to take that power back, and when you wake up, you’ll feel amazing.”
“But different, right?” She thinned her lips, unsure how comfortable she was letting him play around with her mind.
“Not different so much as better. This won’t change your personality, honey, it’ll just restore the part you lost along the way. You’ll see. It’ll be fine.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay.”
“Good. Then let’s begin.”
And Rodney began talking. She didn’t really recall all of what he said, because the Xanax was kicking in and she was really relaxed. But soon she felt just as if she were floating on a soft, dark cloud, and she followed her friend’s voice back, back into her past, to find the confident, sure-of-herself Melinda she used to be, according to Rodney, although she personally didn’t ever remember being more than just a doormat. After a while, she wasn’t aware of much of anything. She knew he was still talking to her, and that she was responding, but she felt as if someone else was speaking for her, while the real her had retreated so far away that she could barely hear the conversation anymore.
After a while, Rodney said, “Perfect.”
“Perfect,” she repeated softly.
Then there was a loud ringing sound that jarred her, and Rodney moved quickly into another room to make it stop. Vaguely she knew it was a phone. From far, far away she knew he had bolted to get it, so it wouldn’t interrupt their session. Her ears heard him knock something to the floor in his haste, and then she felt that she was utterly alone.
Only, she wasn’t. There were voices. And those voices were telling her about her past. The past she had forgotten. Sinking deeper once again, she listened.
“It’s all true,” a man was telling her. “Your memory of your work, your true calling, was erased when you left our organization—we couldn’t let you quit, knowing the things you knew. You understand, don’t you?”
“No,” she whispered.
“You were a spy, a deep-cover Federal agent. You knew twenty-five ways to kill a man without a weapon.”
“I did?”
“You were one of the best we ever trained. A black belt in five of the martial arts. An expert with any firearm we put in your hands. You know how to kill a man with a ballpoint pen, baby. You are the toughest, most fearless woman I’ve ever known. I was devastated when you decided to resign. But it was what you wanted to do. So…we did what we needed to do. We erased your past.”
“Erased my past,” she repeated softly.
“We took away your memory of your work for us. And since no one else ever knew your true identity anyway, no one thought too much about it. You stepped into the role that was originally just your cover. That of a docile, soft-spoken, mild-mannered journalist.”
“A schoolteacher, you mean.” Was her speech slightly slurred?
“You’ve lived that life for so long by now that it’s easy for you to believe it’s your real life, your real personality. Not just a cover anymore. But now—well, now you need to know the truth.”
“Why?” She wanted to know.
“Why now?” someone else, not her, asked.
“Because now there’s trouble, and you’re the only one who can stop it. We need you to remember who you really are again. But you must tell no one. No one. Do you understand?”
“No,” she said. “I don’t understand at all.”
“Don’t understand what?” Rodney asked. She felt him leaning close to her. “Melinda?” He paused, and then he spoke softly to her. “Melinda, I need you to return now. You’re climbing up a staircase, and with each step you take, you become more grounded in your own body, more awake, more alert. Take the first step and feel your head clearing. Take the second step and a deep breath with it.”
He kept going, coaching her up seven steps, and then telling her to open her eyes.
She blinked, looked past him, saw a car commercial on the television screen and frowned hard at it.
Rodney turned, following her gaze. “Who turned that on?” Then he saw the remote, bent to pick it up off the floor. “Hell, I must have knocked it down when I ran to get the phone.” He picked up the remote, clicked it and turned off the TV. Then he turned to her again. “I’m sorry, hon. It was my mother. She’s really hard to get off the phone with. Do you want to start over?”
She blinked and looked at him. “What?”
“Do you want to start over?” He frowned. “Are you okay? You still look dazed. I would have thought between the phone ringing and the TV blaring you’d have lost your relaxed state entirely, but I think you’re still a little blissed out.”
She gave her head a shake. “I took a Xanax before we started. That’s all. I’m fine.”
He tipped his head to one side. “You sure?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Well, we were about finished anyway.”
“We were?”
“Yeah. You should be finding yourself feeling more confident in no time. But don’t push it. Just wait, feel your way, see what happens.”
She nodded again. “All right. I—um—I have to go home, though. I have—a lot of work to do.”
“Yeah.” He was still studying her. “I think you should have a bite to eat with me first. It’ll ground you back in the real world faster than anything. How about a turkey on rye?”
She met his eyes as she got to her feet. “I want ham. On wheat. You have that?”
He frowned a little. “Hey, see that? Usually you’d have said whatever I was having was fine, whether it was what you wanted or not. That’s good, Melinda!”
It was good. She rolled her eyes. “I must be a pretty lost cause if ordering a sandwich is some kind of a breakthrough.”
“You are where you are.” He went to the kitchen, leaving her alone again, and she stood there, reeling over what had just happened. Not that she’d managed to state her preference in sandwich meat. But what she had heard in her mind while she was under. God, could she really have a secret past she’d known nothing about? Still knew nothing about? Or almost nothing.
“Rodney?” she called.
“Mmm?” He remained in the kitchen. She heard him moving around, rattling plates and pouring something fizzy.
“When someone is hypnotized, is it possible for…repressed memories to come flooding back?”
Dead silence was her reply. And then he was in the doorway, staring at her. “Sure.” He moved closer to her, stood in front of her. “People come out of hypnosis and suddenly know where they left their car keys. Crime victims sometimes recall details about the—hey, is that what happened? Did you remember something about the mugger?”
She lifted her eyes, met his. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s what happened.”
He nodded. “Then you should call the cops, that lieutenant who came out and investigated. He left you his card, didn’t he? What was his name?”
“Conlan. And yeah, I have his number somewhere.”
“You should call, let him know right away.”
“So you think I should trust the memory, then? It couldn’t be a false one?”
“No reason to think it would be,” he told her, seemingly relieved. He moved back into the kitchen, still talking. “There was no one feeding you anything, so whatever rose to the surface came from within your mind. I’d trust it.”
He returned a second later, bearing a tray with sandwiches and soft drinks on ice. She smiled and thanked him and did all the right things, but inside, her mind was whirling. She was some kind of covert operative. She was some kind of kick-ass chick—the kind she’d always so admired and secretly believed she could never, ever be.
But now that the doors of her memory had opened, even just that little crack, it seemed a whole lot more was flooding into her. No details, no memories. But feelings. Feelings she’d seldom had. She felt her chest expand and her spine straighten as it occurred to her that she probably could have put that mugger into the hospital, had she wanted to. She probably could have killed him.
He was very lucky she hadn’t realized it at the time, then, wasn’t he?
“You’re awfully quiet,” Rodney said softly. “Are you okay?”
“It’s the Xanax. I’m fine. I just need to get home and get a good night’s sleep, that’s all.”
“I’ll drive you as soon as we finish our snack.”
She tilted her head to one side as it hit her that she would prefer to walk. Odd, wasn’t it? Only a few hours ago the thought of walking home in the dark would have terrified her. Now she felt almost…eager to test herself and find out if this new thing bubbling up inside of her was real. Like trying on a new outfit to see how it fit. She wanted to try this on. This person she had been.
Really? Was she really believing this?
Yes, she realized. Yes, she was. It was real. She had lived it. She felt it right to her toes. “Thank you, Rodney,” she whispered. “God, I think you were right. I think this session is going to change my life.”
He smiled, but behind it, she thought he looked just the slightest bit worried.