Secrets Amoung The Shadows Read Online Free PDF Page B

her."
    "Why did the man in your dream kill her?"
    "He wanted to."
    "Was the person who came to my house the same man who killed Kay Palmer?"
    "Yes."
    "Was the man who choked me in your dream the same man who killed Kay Palmer?"
    "Yes."
    "You said that killing her made him feel free. What did you mean by that?"
    "I don't know."
    "Was she threatening him in some way?"
    "I don't know."
    "Was she blackmailing him?"
    "I don't know."
    "But killing her made him feel free?"
    "Yes."
    She continued to ask questions but received only the same indefinite, circuitous answers.
    "I'm going to count to three," she finally told him, "and you'll be wide awake. You'll remember everything we talked about. One...coming to the surface, waking up. Two...almost there, almost fully awake. Three."
    He opened his eyes, sat erect in the chair, compressed his lips and squared his jaw, actions that belied the torment in his gaze.
    She should be frightened of this man. He could be a murderer, could be lying to her, could be planning her murder. Yet in spite of that, his sturdy determination against overwhelming odds touched something deep inside her, made her heart ache for him, made her want desperately to help him.
    He shook his head slowly and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't understand what's going on. I've always been in complete control of my life. I've always known exactly who I am, where I'm going, what I'm going to do, what I did yesterday and the day before that and the year before that. How could something like this happen?"
    "We don't really know what's happening at this point," she temporized.
    "I couldn't have murdered that woman." He straightened his shoulders and met her gaze dead on. "If there's a part of me that's capable of murder, that actually did what I saw in my dream, I want rid of it. That's why I'm here. Tell me what I need to do next."
    She liked that, liked his obstinacy, his positive attitude.
    "There are a lot of things we can do next," she answered. "If—and I emphasize the word if because we have a lot further to go before we make a definite diagnosis of multiple personality disorder. If we want to investigate that possibility, the first thing we do is search for the source. When a personality splits off, the split usually occurs in childhood as a result of abuse or some traumatic incident. The person can't stand the pain, so he or she dissociates into another self."
    He waved a hand impatiently. "I understand the basic premise. The only traumatic incident I can think of was the automobile accident that killed both my parents and injured me when I was three. But that was over thirty years ago, and these problems only began recently."
    "The personalities can remain dormant for years, until they're needed again. That could also be the source of your claustrophobia. Were you trapped inside the car for a long time?"
    "I was too young to remember, but according to Mom—my adopted mother—I was in the car several hours before somebody driving by saw us and stopped to help. Yeah," he admitted, "I guess that could be the source of my claustrophobia."
    As well as the source of a personality fragmentation. But she didn't express her thought aloud. They had a lot more work to do before she could make even that tentative diagnosis.
    "Has anything upsetting happened to you recently, anything that might dredge up the feelings of being trapped inside that car with your parents dying?"
    He shook his head, one side of his mouth quirking up in an expression that was more a grimace than a smile. "My life was completely normal and uneventful until all this started."
    Though she suspected he could—and would—have blocked any such recent trauma from his conscious memory, Leanne didn't press him. "Okay, so what do you remember about your parents' accident?"
    "Nothing," he admitted reluctantly, confirming her suspicions of his ability to block distressing events. "In fact, I have only hazy memories of my mother and father, and some of