The Cry Beyond the Door Page 2

  A new wave of confusion replaced the panic that had swept over me. It was the man who had cried for help that needed to be saved, not me. How could I feel safe when he still needed my help?

  As if to disregard my dilemma, the soft female voice continued. “I want you to slow your breathing now. Take deep breaths in through your nose, then exhale through your mouth. You are feeling much more relaxed. When I count to three, you will awaken with a sense of calm, yet remember everything. One, two, three.”

  My breathing slowed to the pace of a gentle breeze as my entire body slumped in a relaxed state. When my eyes fluttered open, the fingers on my right hand were moving rapidly, and I hurried to cover them with my left hand. Dr. Jodie Sanderson was leaning forward, facing me. The middle-aged woman’s warm smile greeted me as I tried to get my bearings. I glanced around the familiar office. I had been in one place, yet now was in another.

  Dr. Sanderson leaned back in her chair, pushed her dark glasses to their proper position on the bridge of her slender nose, and tucked a wisp of gray hair that had fallen precariously close to one of her hazel eyes, behind one ear.

  “I think I remember everything now,” I said.

  “Okay, Dar, that’s good, but let’s start with how you’re feeling,” Dr. Sanderson said.

  Dr. Sanderson’s voice was smooth as silk, with the effect of a warm blanket. I rested my eyes first on the framed degree in psychiatry from Indiana University mounted on the wall, then on the photos of three teenage boys acting goofy for the photographer. It sat prominently on Dr. Sanderson’s desk, next to the smiling picture of her husband. The family photos made my heart ache, so I turned my focus back to Dr. Sanderson and considered how to answer her question.

  “I’m not sure. I guess I have so many feelings right now. It’s a little overwhelming.” I chewed on a fingernail as I thought how “overwhelming” didn’t even come close to describing it. This was the first time I had been able to recall the dream. No, that was wrong. It was more like a nightmare.

  “I’m guessing from your nail-biting that your anxiety has returned,” Dr. Sanderson stated. “Either that or you like to save money on nail clippers.”

  I smiled, appreciating the levity, though in reality, I felt a weight I couldn’t explain. My life had just begun to have a sense of normalcy; I had started a business, reconnected with my best friend, and made so many new friends. It was as though the Band-Aid covering my grief and trauma was finally off, and a healing scab had begun to form.

  Then I began waking in the middle of the night, screaming and in a cold sweat. Try as I might, the dream had continued to elude me. Only my feelings of fear and frustration remained upon waking. Old memories that were real nightmares I preferred to forget were resurfacing, and all the healing I’d done seemed to have disappeared. But Dr. Sanderson knew all about those past haunts, as well as my progress, which is why I had agreed to hypnosis to discover the contents of the dream. I sighed.

  “Why do you think I’m having these recurring dreams? Until now, I couldn’t remember the dream, but I’d wake up in a sweat feeling afraid and anxious every night. Now I think I understand why. I just don’t know what it means, or why this is happening now when my life is starting to go so well.”

  “The good news is you described your dream vividly while under hypnosis,” Dr. Sanderson said. “That means we can talk about it now.”

  “Great. Now we can both have nightmares,” I said.

  Dr. Sanderson’s hazel eyes crinkled as she laughed. “I’m happy to see you still have a sense of humor.”

  “You seem to be the only one who appreciates it. My friends usually moan at my attempts at humor, and my dog, Merlin, just hides under the bed.”

  “I’d like to meet Merlin sometime. He sounds like a very wise dog. You must be very fond of him.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without him,” I said.

  Dr. Sanderson smiled. “Let’s talk about your dream. I’d like to begin with your own interpretation of it. Don’t think too hard about it, but instead, tell me what meaning immediately strikes you as a possibility. Can you do that?”

  “I’ll try,” I said, then took a deep breath.

  “Good. Start with the voice calling for help. Whose voice could it be?” Dr. Sanderson asked.

  “My first thought is that it’s my dad’s voice, because I couldn’t help him. He was murdered and I wasn’t there to prevent it from happening. Maybe it was symbolic of me not being able to reach him when he needed me the most.”

  Recalling the memory, I chewed on the end of another fingernail as bile rose in my throat. I had thought Dad had drowned accidentally, but discovered much later it’d been no accident.

  “But that doesn’t seem right for some reason. I can’t explain why, though,” I said. The fingers on my right hand began to move rapidly again, their movements appearing to take on some type of pattern. I sat my purse in my lap, hiding my hand behind it.

  Dr. Sanderson tilted her head. “I think you’ve had enough for one session. Hypnosis can be an emotional process, so I don’t want to press you any more today. Although I felt it was important to get your first impression, we can talk more about it next time. Bring Merlin, if you like. I’m thrilled you’re training him to be a therapy dog. How’s that going?”

  “Merlin’s a natural therapy dog. That part’s going just fine. It’s training him not to eat my shoes or hide things at home that I wish he could magically learn. Maybe you can help him, too,” I said, grinning and raising an eyebrow.

  Dr. Sanderson held up both hands in protest. “I’ll let you solve that problem on your own. And thanks for the heads up. I’ll be sure to hide my work slippers before Merlin visits.”

  After thanking Dr. Sanderson, I headed outside. Rush hour traffic downtown had now cleared, so I hoped for an easy commute back to work. I needed to get back to the kennel. Maybe work would help relieve the stress that could be causing the nightmares.

  As I stepped into the parking lot, my spine tingled. Fear skittered through my body, and I glanced around for any signs of danger. Three rows of cars were parked in the small lot with no one around. I shook my head at the ridiculous feeling. Pretending it never happened, I unlocked my Kia and climbed in. As I started the engine, the man’s voice from my dream reverberated in my ear, “Help me.”

  Adrenaline pumping, I looked into the back seat and then around the car’s perimeter in one fluid motion. There was no one. I sat for a moment, trembling, fearing for my sanity. My fingers seemed to move of their own accord again as they had in Dr. Sanderson’s office, and I rubbed them until they hurt, trying to make them stop. Though it was a warm day, I shivered. Suddenly I needed to be back at the kennel doing something routine. Something that made me feel like I was in control. When at last I got my shaking to subside, I put the Kia into gear and pulled onto the street. I threw my favorite CD in the player and cranked up the music, hoping it would be enough to drown out the desperate voice I’d heard.

  Chapter Four

  Detective Shafer stood outside John Doe’s room, listening intently to the grim report from Dr. Han. Nurses and aides scurried past, ducking in and out of rooms, then back to the nurses’ station. The cacophony of alarms from various machines, a code blue announced over the P.A. system for a different floor, and a patient calling for a nurse rather than using her call button, all made it difficult for Mike to hear the doctor’s assessment.

  “John Doe has numerous medical concerns beginning with significant brain swelling that has left him in a coma,” Dr. Han said. “The large gash on the back of his head is most likely the cause. He also has several broken ribs, a broken nose, and severe contusions all over his body, especially his abdomen and back. I am concerned about possible internal injuries as well, but we will need to do more tests to determine that for sure.”

  “Damn. Someone meant to kill this guy, not just beat him up,” M
ike said. “Can you tell me the names of the EMTs who brought him in? I’d like to speak with them, see if they saw or heard anything that might help us find out John Doe’s true identity.”

  Dr. Han skimmed the chart he was holding. “Their names are Sam and Yolanda. According to the report, they responded to a call of a man unresponsive in an alley near the Mission Shelter. You might be able to catch them in the ER, or at least speak with the nurse at the ER desk. She can tell you how to contact them.”

  At that moment, Dr. Han’s pager went off. He paused to check it.

  “I’ve got to go,” Dr. Han said. “Good luck and let me know if you learn anything about our patient. A medical history would be helpful.”

  “Oh, is that all? Maybe his shoe, pants, or shirt size? How about his favorite color?” Mike hated that people thought he could wave some magic wand to get answers in an instant. All he had was his badge, and more often than not, it only got doors slammed in his face. He took a deep breath. It must have helped because his brain was working again. Shit. Doctors probably got the same expectations from people wanting to know what’s wrong with their loved one. He felt like a heel.

  “Sorry,” Mike apologized. “I know you’re trying to save this guy. I’ll do the best I can and let you know.”

  Dr. Han offered Mike a handshake, then nodded and ran toward the elevator. A man of few words. Mike liked that. Too often Mike’s few words were choice ones, but he’d been working on it.

  Stepping into the room, Mike walked quietly to John Doe’s bed. A battered young man lay motionless, with tape across his nose and a face so swollen, Mike doubted the guy’s own mother would recognize him.

  He pulled his cell phone out and took a picture. Facial recognition was doubtful with that battered face, but it was a possibility. Although the guy’s wallet was missing, he found it hard to believe anyone would beat someone up this badly over a wallet. But Mike knew from his experience on the police force, all too often neither logic nor reason were motives for such senseless attacks.

  He picked up the bag containing John Doe’s clothes. Examining the torn and bloodied jeans and shirt, Mike noted they also appeared to be fairly new with higher-end labels. He doubted John Doe was homeless, but he would talk to the director at the Mission Shelter after he caught up with the EMTs who brought him in.

  Mike left the room and headed for the ER. After enquiring with the nurse behind the desk, she told him she expected Sam and Yolanda to be coming in soon with their ambulance and another patient. True to her word, within four minutes Mike heard the sirens as the emergency vehicle approached the hospital.

  A short, muscle-bound white guy with jet-black hair, who appeared to be in his late twenties, threw open the rear door of the truck. Inside was a petite dark-skinned young lady with dreadlocks pulled to the nape of her neck. She was bent over the patient, offering reassurance. Mike guessed she was in her mid-twenties as well. Together they pulled the gurney backwards, dropping the wheels down in one smooth movement so as not to jostle the patient. They worked flawlessly as a team, one constantly speaking to the patient while moving the gurney forward, the other giving stats to hospital staff who had run out to meet them. He hoped their memories of the previous night’s run were as fine-tuned.

  It wasn’t long before the two were coming back out of an ER room, and he was ready with two cups of coffee for their troubles.

  “Excuse me, Sam, Yolanda, I’m Detective Mike Shafer. I’d like to ask you a few questions about the John Doe you picked up last night.” He offered a steaming cup to each, then motioned to a relatively quiet corner of the waiting area.

  “What would you like to know?” Yolanda asked.

  “Any detail you can tell me from getting the call to bringing him here.” Mike noticed Sam glancing at his wrist watch. “I realize you may get another call and have to run, so I appreciate anything you can tell me.”

  The two glanced at one another, seeming to read each other’s minds as to who would begin, leaving Mike guessing until Sam spoke.

  “It was around ten o’clock when we got the 911 dispatch call. We were told there was a man unconscious in the alley near the Mission Shelter. I think it was the director who placed the call, but I don’t think she was the one who found him. You’ll have to ask her.”

  Mike nodded. He planned on speaking with her anyway, so this was good. Yolanda spoke next.

  “When we arrived on scene, it was so dark in the alley we had to get our flashlights out to assess the victim. Sam moved the ambulance so the headlights could shine in the alley. The victim’s pulse was thready, and I guessed from all the bruising, he might have broken ribs and possible internal injuries. The police showed up about then, so we got John Doe onto a gurney as gently as we could, got him into the ambulance, and brought him here.”

  “Did you notice anyone in the vicinity as you approached, or anything that could have been used as a weapon?” Mike knew the police hadn’t found anything, but it never hurt to ask.

  “No to both,” Sam said. “Again, you’ll have to talk to the shelter director to find out who found him. That person might know more.”

  “Thank you. I’ll do that.” Mike handed them his business card. “Please call me if you remember anything else.”

  They nodded in sync, then rushed back to their vehicle. A well-oiled machine, with few answers for him. Shit. This was going to take longer than he’d expected. Where was that damn magic wand?

  Chapter Five

  Halfway back to work, I finally stopped chewing on what little was left of my fingernail. I had shoved the incident with the voice into a remote compartment of my brain and was ready to spend the remainder of my day with the dogs and the business. I shook off the slight tremor in my hand before entering the building. Once inside, I spotted a bright red tin sitting on my desk. Lifting the lid to take a peek at its contents, I was rewarded with the heavenly aroma of chocolate chip cookies. The smell caused my stomach to rumble, reminding me that I’d foregone breakfast in order to make my appointment with Dr. Sanderson.

  “Mmmmm,” I said as I closed my eyes and inhaled the inviting smell once again. I felt better already.

  “Hey, no eating without me!”

  I looked up. LaVon was wearing a brown and white spotted dog costume, complete with a huge head, highlighted by a floppy red tongue hanging out of its mouth.

  “What are you doing in that ridiculous costume?” I asked.

  “I’ll have you know, this is our new mascot for The Contented Canine,” LaVon said.

  “Uh huh, and where do you plan on wearing it? First, take off that head. I can’t talk to you when you’re wearing it.”

  LaVon removed the dog’s head portion of the costume, her long dark braids spilling out. She spun around for effect. “See, you can even make the tail wag from inside. Genius, huh?” The tail swiped back and forth across the floor.

  “Would you like a doggie treat, genius?”

  “Only if it comes in the form of a chocolate chip cookie. Oh, and I picked us up two coffees when I got the costume,” LaVon said.

  “You went to the coffee shop in that?” I didn’t know whether to be impressed or appalled.

  “Of course! I even got one of the coffees for free when I made the tail wag.”

  I rolled my eyes at the image.

  “Let me get out of this, and then I want to hear how your morning went with Dr. Sanderson.”

  I swallowed hard, not wanting to rehash the events.

  LaVon was too busy trying to squirm and wiggle her way out of the costume to notice my reaction. When she turned her back to me in the process, the tail wagged back and forth with each movement. Finally, LaVon stumbled out of the heavy costume, and we both sat down to our coffee and cookies.

  “So, did the hypnosis work?” LaVon asked.

  “Yes, but I’m not sure that’s a good thing. It was awful. It
seemed so real,” I said.

  I filled her in on everything except the incident in the parking lot. I couldn’t help but believe that even my best friend was apt to think I was crazy if I told her about hearing a voice when there was no one around. Then there was the matter of my fingers moving, as though trying to tell me something, probably that I needed more therapy. My private doubts were bad enough. Telling LaVon would only make it seem all too real. As if reading my mind, LaVon’s mocha-colored hand covered my shaking pale one, giving me reassurance.

  “You know I’m here for you, and so is Shawn. He stopped by this morning before leaving for the hospital. He wanted to see if you were back yet, and dropped off the cookies that his grandmother sent with him. I’m telling you, Shawn and his grandma are the best combo package ever. If you don’t go for them, I will. Besides that, I think he truly cares about you.”

  A knot of guilt tightened inside me. Shawn had been so patient with me the past year, trying not to push our relationship. I honestly didn’t know why he cared about someone so broken. But he couldn’t heal me, despite the fact that he was a great doctor. It was something I had to work through on my own.

  Realizing I’d been lost in thought, I looked up into LaVon’s warm eyes. When we were kids, we’d each envied the other’s eye color. I longed to have those deep chocolate-colored eyes, and she thought it’d be cool to have blue eyes like mine. It seemed silly now. Though, instead of the color of her eyes, I’d grown to envy her confidence. Not only was LaVon an amazing accountant and business partner, but she was also the voice of reason whenever I found myself on shaky ground.

  When Mom had died unexpectedly, LaVon had invited me up to her treehouse. After climbing the ladder to our favorite hideout, I found it filled with every stuffed animal she owned, and probably a couple she had “borrowed” from her sisters. Though few words were spoken between us, she sat with me while I squeezed the plush toys to my chest and cried, something I hadn’t been able to do around the adults, not even my dad. She’d simply been present, allowing me to grieve. At the age of nine, LaVon had been able to provide me with comfort that no one else could. I stood and gave her a quick hug.