Secrets Amoung The Shadows (27 page)

"Make a wish, then blow," Mommy said. "But don't tell anybody. If you tell, it won't come true."

They looked at each other and both wished for a puppy. A little fuzzy black one. They took deep breaths and blew at the same time, successfully blowing out the three candles.

"That means your wish will come true," Mommy said, leaning over to start cutting and serving the colorful cake.

Eliot and Edward smiled at each other, deciding in the special way they could talk to each other, to name the puppy Sammie.

The alarm clock buzzed raucously. Without opening his eyes, Eliot slapped the snooze button, still savoring the innocent happiness he felt in the dream. His mind burrowed back down, searching for that happiness again, unwilling to wake up and face reality.

Edward had been with him before his parents were killed. Edward had been kind and loving, more than his best friend. Edward had been a part of himself, a good part. When had it changed, how had it gone wrong?

You know
. The thought came to him from inside his own head and from far away. The thought came from Edward.

I don't know, Edward. Why can't it be like it was before?

You were always the one who wanted to go off with other kids.
The happiness he'd felt radiating from three-year old Edward was gone, replaced by vindictiveness, anger and a little sadness.

We went everywhere together
. Eliot felt a familiarity in his attempts to placate Edward, as if he'd done it many times.

Not after Kay. You left me alone then. You refused to take me along, to even talk to me.
The anger was rising.
I couldn't go anywhere unless you took me, and you shut me out! You left me alone in prison. Well, guess what? I'm not in prison any more.

Eliot's mind cringed, sinking deeper, trying to get away from the hatred of this person who'd once loved him.
I took you to school with me so you could learn what I learned
, he protested.
And I played with you even when Mom and Dad got mad at me.

Don't call those people Mom and Dad!
Edward exploded.
How could they be your Mom and Dad when they weren't mine, too? They hated me. They knew I was in prison, and they didn't care. You were all I had left, and they wanted to take you away from me. And you let them. You deserted me. Now you're going to be the one to find yourself all alone and in prison.
Edward paused, and Eliot could feel him smile, but it wasn't a happy smile.
You're thinking of Leanne. I've always known what you were thinking
.

He was right. Eliot had been thinking of Leanne, that if he had her, he'd never be alone, no matter where he had to go.

You won't have her. You will be alone. She'll be dead.

Chapter 21

"Why?" Eliot woke himself, screaming the single, agonized word in concert with the alarm as it shrieked again.

He slapped the clock, stopping the outside noise as a final thought from Edward floated into his mind:
Because you love her
.

He shot bolt upright in bed, his heard pounding, sweat popping out on his forehead. In his dream he had been carrying on a conversation with Edward, his dissociated personality. His illness must be getting worse.

He reached for the phone to call Leanne then changed his mind. She wasn't his doctor any longer. His relationship with her was purely personal, and he had nothing to tell her that wouldn't upset her.

Emotionally he needed to talk to her, yet the thought of confessing more of his aberration chilled him as much as the dream. Leanne mattered to him—a lot. The voice in his head was right. Under other circumstances, he'd have said he loved her. What she thought about him mattered.

So far she appeared to see him as separate from his problems. She kept a special caring for him in a compartment separate from her hatred for Edward. However, he didn't know how much further he could go without evoking her disgust.

He should call Thurman and get a professional interpretation of this latest development. That was the logical thing to do.

He dialed Thurman's number and told him briefly what had happened.

"Can you come by this morning?" Thurman asked immediately even though it was obvious Eliot's call had awakened him. "I'd like to talk to you while this is still fresh."

"I'll be there in half an hour."

***

Thirty minutes later he sat tensely in Thurman's living room sipping coffee and describing his dreams as well as the events of the night before with Leanne—omitting, of course, their lovemaking. That was private and personal, between the two of them. It had nothing to do with Edward.

"Do you think this birthday party was an actual memory?" Thurman asked.

"Yes," Eliot answered. "I do. Which means Edward's been with me since before the accident that killed my parents."

"A little, but it didn't seem to be a real problem. I preferred to be with him, too." He grinned wryly. "With myself."

"And your mother—your birth mother—didn't have a problem with your having an imaginary friend?"

"I was so young, maybe she didn't know. I didn't talk much until I was older...probably because I communicated mostly with Edward, and that didn't require speech. So maybe my birth parents never knew about Edward."

Thurman nodded slowly. "That's possible. You said Edward told you your adoptive parents weren't your parents because they weren't his, and he uses the name Dalman instead of Kane. Did he seem to accept your real parents as his own?"

Eliot focused, trying to pull more from the dream. "Yes, we both thought of them as Mommy and Daddy. He was as happy as me in the dream. Nothing seemed wrong with any aspect of our lives." He laughed self-consciously. "Of my life, I mean."

"The problems, Edward's personality change, all occurred later, after you became involved in the real world and left your imaginary playmate behind?"

"After I became involved with Kay. Yes, I guess I left him behind then. I didn't want to be humiliated again."

Thurman sat quietly for a few minutes, apparently digesting the information. "For a while it would seem you successfully pushed him to the back of your mind. Then he returned. Why? What happened in your life that made you need him again?"

"Nothing. My life, my career, everything was progressing along right on schedule. Nothing happened, nothing changed before Edward's appearance." He grimaced. "Now a lot of things have changed."

"Maybe you wanted things to change."

Eliot shook his head firmly. "I see where you're heading, but you're wrong. If I'd wanted any changes in my life, I'd have made them. Things were going just the way I wanted."

Thurman nodded slowly, and Eliot could tell the man was unconvinced. "So your first indications of Edward's return were things being done by you that you didn't remember. Those events were a complete blank. Then the dreams began, events in Edward's life. But you only saw the things he wanted you to see. Next, he talked directly to you in the dreams. Last night you established a closer contact with him, tuning in to his actions when he was with Leanne, when he didn't want you to. Now this morning you're able to have a coherent conversation with him." He stroked his mustache thoughtfully.

"So what does all that mean?"

"I'm not sure. Since you've gotten so much closer to Edward, I'd like to try another session of hypnosis with the idea of contacting him. If we can talk to him, we can try to solve his problems and work toward getting you back together as a complete whole."

Eliot nodded reluctantly. He still felt an aversion to merging this psychotic personality with his own, even if the other personality were
cured
. For one thing, he was still uncertain if Edward had killed Kay Palmer. If he found that to be true, he would certainly end up in prison, just as Edward predicted.

As he left Thurman's house, he wasn't surprised to see Leanne across the street, clad in a sedate cream colored suit and pale pink blouse, walking across her yard to her garage. Her dark hair and fair skin gleamed in the early morning sunlight. The sight brought an involuntary smile to his lips...and took it away just as fast. The sight of her drew him. He wanted to go to her, run his fingers through her hair, hold her against him...and he didn't dare do that, especially after Edward's last threat.

"Good morning," she called, lifting an arm to wave.

"Good morning," he answered, and somehow he found himself moving toward her. He hadn't noticed before the brightness of the morning sunshine or the cool, clean smell of autumn in the air, but now he was acutely aware of his surroundings, of every red leaf on the maple tree in her yard, of the dull gray concrete of the street he was crossing, of Leanne waiting for him.

"You're here awfully early," she said as he approached. "Has something happened?"

A gray pall settled over everything as though a cloud had just passed in front of the sun. He frowned. He didn't want to tell her. He didn't want her to know that his problems were getting deeper, more complicated. Edward had accused him of loving her.

Whatever he felt, he wanted her to return the feeling. Even if nothing could ever come of their relationship, he didn't want her to find him disgusting—or, worse yet, pitiful. He didn't want her to know the extent of this damned sickness.

"Nothing worth talking about," he said with a shrug, forcing a smile.

She studied him intently, her expression dubious and a little hurt.

Damn! He certainly hadn't meant to hurt her. But she wasn't his psychiatrist any longer. She was his lover. She shouldn't expect him to confess everything about his mental illness to her.

"Well," she finally said, giving him a tentative smile, "I guess I'd better get to work. I have an early appointment."

"Yeah, me, too." He turned away, going back to the street where he'd parked. Behind him, he heard her garage door open.

He slid into his car and sat watching while she backed out of the garage and drove away.
Smooth move
, Kane, he thought sarcastically. He hadn't wanted to put any more distance between them with his latest craziness, but he'd done it anyway by refusing to tell her. This was a no-win situation. And he'd always known that. So how come he felt like he'd just lost something really important?

***

That afternoon Eliot hung up the phone after a lengthy conversation with a client. He was finding it more and more difficult to keep his mind on business, to listen to what other people were saying. He constantly searched his mind for any intrusion of Edward, wanting to identify and block it before the creature could take possession of him.

Ms. Greer walked into his office and handed him a pink message slip. "This call came in while you were on the phone."

"Thank you." He accepted the piece of paper and glanced at the words.
Detective Claude Stockton of the Dallas Police Department called. Please call back ASAP.
He could almost feel the ominous vibrations from the words, neatly written in Ms. Greer's immaculate handwriting.

He found himself wishing he'd been more personal with her through the years, inquired about her family, given her something more intimate than a gift certificate for Christmas. After seven years, they should have achieved some sort of friendship, some sort of trust. He wished they were close enough that he could tell her what was going on and she, knowing him well, would be shocked and deny that he could possibly do any such thing.

But she knew nothing about him. She'd probably wondered what his life was like outside the office and, with no information to guide her, could believe he was a murderer.

"I'm sorry he's been bothering you, Ms. Greer," he said. "I'm sure everything will be cleared up soon."

She nodded, accepting that, as always, he would allow her no entrance into his life.

For several minutes after she left, he sat staring at the message, paralyzed by fear. His last conversation with Stockton had not been friendly. Did the police have more evidence? Would they ask him to turn himself in voluntarily, to submit to imprisonment?

As he waited, Eliot found himself unable to concentrate on his work. His mind replayed over and over the events of the last couple of months, especially his conversation with Edward that morning while he'd still been half asleep.

Thurman was trying to help him find when his personality had split, what had caused it, then they'd try to put it back together. And that, he knew, was the right way to handle this.

But it made him feel so helpless.

There had to be something he could do. If this all went back to his childhood, maybe he ought to talk to his parents. It was after he went to live with them that Edward changed. They had strenuously objected to his imaginary friend, possibly more strenuously than would be expected under the circumstances. After all, most children went through a phase involving imaginary friends, brothers, sisters, even animals.