The Door at the Top of the Stairs Page 6

  "They put my hands on either side of the door frame." She looked around at Ryland, her dark brown eyes sunk deep into a grey, bloodless face. “Why do I have to say it? You know what they did."

  Ryland reached up and stroked Jesse's cheek. “Yes, Jesse, I know what they did. You don't have to say it. We're done for today." Ryland felt she'd pushed enough for the first day, and that forcing her to say they'd nailed her wrists to the door post would be a mistake at that point.

  Jesse let herself lean sideways until she was tucked up into the corner of the porch. She brought her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and put her head down, exhausted.

  Ryland took Morgan's arm and motioned for the two of them to go back into the house. When they were inside, Morgan leaned up against the door. “They nailed her wrists to the door post? Jesus Christ, Ry! How can we physically force her into therapy? If she wants to leave, shouldn't we let her leave?"

  Ryland stepped to the window and looked out at Jesse, sitting in an almost textbook upright fetal position. “Morgan, she has one hope for a normal future. We're working outside the confines of a mental hospital, and I have to force her to face her terrors. She'll want to run at every turn, but if I allow that, she'll eventually destroy herself." She turned back to Morgan. "If we were holding her against her will, she wouldn't be sitting out there right now.

  She'd be gone. She knows we're trying to help, and deep down, she desperately needs you to keep her here despite her need to get away from me." She leaned into Morgan and wrapped her arms around her. “Trust me, my love, we can help her, but it's going to be a very bumpy ride."

  Jesse was still there when Morgan came out to start on the late afternoon chores. "C'mon Jesse, we need to feed. I'll help you tonight."

  "I'd rather do it myself." She got to her feet and walked down the path to the barn, Morgan at her side. The leaves completely shaded the walk, and Jesse concentrated on their colors to keep from arguing with Morgan about helping. When Morgan followed her into the barn, Jesse snapped, “I said I'd rather do it myself."

  She picked up a flake of hay and headed for the aisle between the stalls.

  Morgan grabbed a coffee can and measured out some oats.

  "This is still my farm, and I tell you what to do, you don't tell me."

  Jesse's temper flared. “Fine, you feed 'em then!" She threw down the hay and stalked toward her apartment.

  "Get your butt back here, pick up the goddamn hay, and do your job! I'm not paying you to throw temper tantrums or feel sorry for yourself. I still have a farm to run and hounds to train."

  Jesse whirled on Morgan. “Feel sorry for myself? Who the fuck do you think you are? I didn't ask for your help, I don't want your help and I don't goddamn need your help. I quit! You can have your fuckin' job! I quit!"

  Morgan watched her stalk into the apartment and slam the door. She leaned against the feed table, not sure what to do. Life would sure be easier without taking time away from the farm and foxhunting to fix a screwed up ex-cop. In fact, everything had been moving along just fine before Jesse'd ended up on their doorstep.

  Well, she was Ryland's project, not hers. She picked up the barn phone and called the house.

  Ryland picked up on the first ring. “Hi, what's up?"

  "Just thought I'd let you know she's packing her things. She quit a minute ago."

  "She quit or you pushed her?"

  "Don't put this on me. I've got a business to run, and I don't need anybody thinking they can run roughshod over me just because they think I feel sorry for them. She's your experiment, Ryland, not mine."

  Ryland spoke in a clipped, angry tone. "You pushed her! She's a complete emotional mess right now, and you're scared because this looks like more than you bargained for. You pushed her!"

  Morgan responded in kind. "This is my farm, and no employee of mine is going to tell me what I can and cannot do. Damn it, Ryland, I've got a business to run." She knew Ryland was right, and it galled her to have to admit helping Jesse scared her, that it put her on unfamiliar footing when she was used to being the one in control.

  Jesse chose that moment to come out of her apartment carrying her few possessions. Morgan thought about what Ryland had said and knew what she had to do. Growling with frustration, she threw down the phone and stalked over to Jesse. "Put down that shit, pick up that hay, and feed the goddamn horses! I've had it with your bullshit! Get your ass moving. Now!" She stormed back to the table, picked up the coffee can and slammed it down. She measured out the portions, throwing the ingredients into the can while trying to contain her anger.

  Jesse's emotions had cooled somewhat, and she realized she didn't know where she'd go if she left. She'd given Ryland her one chance, and she hadn't failed. There’d been a kidnapping. She had been kidnapped. She just didn’t know why she hadn't she remembered it before and why she couldn't remember anything else.

  She threw her bag back into her room and started carrying hay to the horses. The two of them glared at each other each time they passed in the aisle, and there was a lot of banging of stall doors and coffee cans while they finished their work.

  Chapter Nine

  Morgan's anger hadn't cooled by the time one o'clock rolled around the next day. When she walked in the house, Ryland was sitting in her armchair reading a book.

  Ryland set her glasses on the coffee table and moved to the couch. "Morgan, can we talk? You came in so angry last night....You just went in and went to bed, and you left today without having our morning coffee. Talk to me, please."

  Morgan stepped into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of milk and came out to sit next to Ryland. Dust from the morning's work covered her hair, and when she rubbed her head, some of it drifted down onto her clothes. She fell back into the couch with a sigh. “I don't know what's wrong. I guess I just liked the way things were before she came. Everything was perfect: the farm is in the black, the club and the hounds are doing great, I have a great hunt staff." She set the glass on the table and leaned back again.

  "I've been on edge since the first day she came. I want her gone and everything back to normal."

  Ryland moved close enough for their knees to touch and put her hand on Morgan's leg. “You might be surprised by this, but I wouldn't mind if she left either. I want to help her, and I know how to help her, but I retired for a reason. I haven't done a minute's work on my book since that day Jesse fainted behind the barn. I've done nothing but pore over these books, trying to convince myself I'm doing the right thing." She leaned into Morgan, resting her head on her shoulder. "You know, I need to apologize to you. I never did ask whether you would help. I just threw you into the therapy because I knew you were what she needed.”

  "If we stop now, what happens?"

  Ryland curled her arm around Morgan's, enjoying the familiar warmth she felt there. “You know I'm not about guilt trips, my love. If we stop, we stop. She goes on with her life, and she'll follow whatever path she can. We have our life, you and I, and that's more important to me than helping Jesse. If you want to stop, then I want to stop too." They sat quietly for a while, neither wanting to make the final decision.

  "Ryland, if we stop, what happens to her? No guilt. I just want to know the facts from someone who's dealt with this before."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I'm sure. What happens?"

  "She'll continue to decompensate."

  Morgan smiled. “Let's try the Psychology for Dummies explanation."

  Ryland chuckled. “Okay. She won't be able to maintain the personal defense mechanisms she's built up. She'll become more and more angry. She might get into more and more fights, in which case she'll end up in jail—a lot. She’s basically a sane person who's been pushed into a psychological imbalance, and that imbalance will only get worse. The headaches will increase to an intolerable level, and she'll get rid of them in whatever way she can."

  "You mean she'll put a gun to her head."

  "Possibly."

 
"Great." Morgan rubbed her face, then let her hands drop into her lap. "I couldn't live with myself knowing I could have helped her and didn't because she was an inconvenience to my perfect way of life. So at least tell me what we're in for if we help her."

  Ryland shook her head. "I'm not sure. I don't know the extent of the abuse, so we're groping in the dark. She'll continue to have angry outbursts, that's a given. She'll continue to push you right to the edge, because she's reassuring herself that you're still in control. She'll start hating me, maybe even want to hurt me to get me out of her life."

  "Whoa, stop right there.” Morgan sat up and glared at Ryland.

  “Not gonna happen."

  "You asked what might happen. I'm just giving you all the possibilities. We're dealing with panic, terror. Who knows what she'll do? I do know she doesn't want to hurt anyone—that's obvious to me—and I think if we can distract her if she starts to get violent, just enough to bring her back to the present, she'll stop. I never said this would be a walk in the park. It'll be hell for all three of us. And I guarantee, it won't take a week or a month for all this to start. It's already here and it will only get worse before it gets better."

  Morgan reached over and turned Ryland's arm so she could read her watch. “Where is she anyway? It's already one-thirty. My vote is to do it, and if we're gonna do this, let's get it done so I can get back to work." She smiled at Ryland, who took her hand and walked with her to the door.

  It never ceased to amaze Ryland how quickly Morgan came to decisions and how quickly she wanted to get things done once she’d decided to do something. She put her hand on the door before Morgan could open it. "Morgan, I'll tell you what I told her.

  We have to see this to the end or we'll be doing more harm than good."

  Morgan nodded and pulled open the door. “Let's go find our powder keg, shall we?" They walked to the barn together and found Jesse cleaning out one of the stalls. Morgan got right to the point. “Where have you been? You think we've got all day to just sit around and wait for you?"

  "I'm done. I'm not coming anymore." Jesse walked out of the stall, grabbed some straw and carried it back to Barney's pen.

  Ryland shot a glance at Morgan, then slowly followed Jesse down the aisle. "We've just begun, Kiddo. We’re not even close to done."

  Jesse pushed past her on the way to get another armload of straw to spread on the stall floor. "I said I'm done. I know I was kidnapped. That's enough; I don't want to know anymore."

  "Jess, you're not done, and if you remember when we began, I told you once we start there's no turning back. We've opened Pandora's box, and we need to close it one way or the other. If you don't work on it here, I'll have to call Sheriff Carlson and have you involuntarily committed to St. Andrew's hospital where I can work with you there."

  Jesse stopped dead in her tracks.

  Morgan took down the notebook and started leafing through the pages, watching the two of them out of the corner of her eye.

  She concentrated on Ryland, trying to take her cue from her, not sure whether she was part of this battle. She reminded herself that her role was to allow Jesse to ground herself. Ryland's was playing God. She turned her attention to Jesse, whose face had gone beet red, her muscles taut. Oh shit, she thought as she slowly put down the notebook. Here we go.

  Ryland had her in a trap. Red appeared in front of Jesse's eyes and her pulse pounded in her head harder and harder until she growled and lunged, intending to get her out of her life once and for all.

  "Hey!" Morgan grabbed the back of Jesse's shirt and pulled her back. "What the hell do you think you’re doing? You think you can just throw that crap all over the barn and leave it like that?"

  She roughly turned Jesse around and pointed to the mess strewn across the otherwise spotless barn floor.

  Jesse blinked and focused on Morgan's face. She was surprised at what she'd just done and shifted her gaze to the straw on the floor.

  "Don’t just stand there. Get the wheelbarrow and broom and clean that shit up. What's the matter with you?" Morgan pushed her toward the cleaning supplies and went back to the oat bins. She held Ryland's eyes a minute, needing to know Ryland was still sure about what she was doing. When Ryland nodded, Morgan said,

  “This is going to take a while. You go on up to the house. We'll be up when we're done."

  Ryland calmly walked out of the barn, heading for the house.

  When she was out of earshot, she let out a shaky breath. “Why are we doing this, Morgan? What exactly have we gotten ourselves into?" The hardest part in dealing with repressed memories was that neither she nor Jesse knew exactly what had happened, so they were just groping in the dark. When she reached the house, she sat on the sofa and picked up the latest book she'd been studying.

  This particular book dealt primarily with a patient releasing a traumatic memory and actually experiencing the pain of the torture during therapy. Ryland had a feeling Jesse's memories were buried so deep that once they surfaced the pain would be excruciating.

  Other patients she'd treated had gone through similar experiences, and she wanted to brush up on techniques that would help Jesse remember what had caused the pain and relegate those memories to the past where they could do no further harm. She opened the book and leafed through it for the fifth time that day.

  An hour later, Morgan and Jesse walked into the house. Jesse's face was set in an angry mask, and she refused to look at Ryland or even acknowledge she was in the room. Ryland sat in a chair facing the sofa. Morgan put her hand on Jesse's shoulder and pointed to where she wanted her to sit. Jesse sat on the sofa, still refusing to meet Ryland's eyes. Morgan made herself comfortable and forced herself to relax.

  Ryland studied Jesse a second, taking in the crossed arms and the angry mask. "You know, you never did tell me yesterday why they paid money to kidnap you. What were you to them?"

  Jesse shrugged. “I killed the man's younger brother. He tried to rip me on a drug deal. He pulled a gun on me and I shot him."

  "Why just you? Why didn't they want Pete too?"

  Jesse looked at Ryland as though the answer should have been obvious to her. She shook her head. "Pete wasn't there. He was in a different hotel room. He was one of the back-up officers."

  "But if he was your partner, why wouldn't he have been in the room with you?" Ryland smiled at the comical expression on Jesse's face. Obviously she thought any fool would know why Pete hadn't been in the room. "You have to remember, Jess, I don't have a clue about how undercover officers work. Help me out here."

  "Well—" Jesse looked around the room, trying to think of a way to explain. "You can't just walk into a drug deal and bring a friend along. They'd know you were a cop and know your friend was your back up. These guys are paranoid. They see two people, it's either a rip off or you’re a cop. Either way, they clam up."

  Ryland nodded. "So, you killed his brother. How did he find out it was you?"

  Jesse shrugged. "It was in all the papers. The media doesn't care if they blow your cover. All they care about is their story."

  Ryland decided to move on since that particular memory didn't seem to bother Jesse at all. "Yesterday you remembered being nailed to the door post by your wrists. How long did they leave you there?" Ryland saw the tell-tale glance up and to the left.

  At least Jesse was trying. They sat in silence, waiting.

  Jesse flashed back, a quick picture of a dark hallway leading to stairs leading into the light.

  Ryland was getting more adept at reading her and knew when she'd remembered something. "What are you seeing?"

  "A dark hallway...and at the end of the hall, some stairs going up." Jesse quickly focused on Ryland, then immediately looked away. There was no way she was going to make a fool of herself again today. She'd answer questions and be done.

  "Are you hanging in the doorway?"

  "I'm standing."

  "Where are your hands?"

  Jesse looked at Ryland. “What?"

&nb
sp; Ryland didn't answer, just raised her eyebrows. She watched as Jesse processed the question. When Jesse made eye contact with Morgan, Ryland was pleased Morgan mimicked her own response and simply raised her eyebrows. She'd never used a second person to help with therapy, but if she had, Morgan would have been the perfect partner; she was smart, quick, and tough, but more importantly, she was stubborn. More stubborn than Jesse, and luckily, Jesse believed in Morgan's strength.

  Jesse held Morgan's eyes. “Are you sure you can do this?"

  Ryland repeated her question. “Where are your hands, Jesse?"

  She watched Jesse close her eyes and do the abbreviated head shake Ryland now knew meant memories were trying to push out and Jesse was trying to push them back in. "Open your eyes, Jess."

  Jesse opened them and growled, “Leave me alone."

  Ryland leaned forward. “Look at Morgan, and tell me where your hands are."

  Morgan sat at the end of the couch, angled against the padded arm, facing Jesse. She put her elbow on the armrest and leaned her head on her fingers while she calmly let Jesse focus on her eyes.

  Ryland had explained the need for a focal point, a place where Jesse could go to borrow strength she thought she didn't have, and Morgan concentrated on projecting her confidence onto Jesse.

  "You know where they are... I—" She couldn't allow the picture to come, she wanted to see the picture in Morgan's eyes, not her own. She stole a quick look. There. A hammer struck and a spike slid through her wrist like butter, pinning her hand to the door post. Her eyes unfocused and she was back in the room. She'd been there a night, another day? How long? She couldn't breathe.

  Her lungs filled with water instead of air as lightning bolts shot down her arms and constricted her heart.

  Morgan looked at Ryland, who motioned for her to touch Jesse. She reached out and gently took Jesse's arm and squeezed.

  Jesse eyes focused again and she struggled for air. “I can't breathe."

  Ryland said again. “Tell me where your hands are."

  Jesse looked down at the scars on her wrists, and said between breaths. “They're nailed to the posts."