PROLOGUE
Atlanta, Georgia
November 22, 1963
He didn’t feel safe until he entered the house, securely locking and bolting the door behind him. As he poured himself a stiff drink of straight scotch, he shuddered to think how close he had come to being exposed. But it was all behind him now. The final threat to his future had died with that nosy nurse in the small, cramped apartment on West Lake Avenue.
He sipped his drink, a sardonic smile spreading across his face. He had done it. It was finally finished. He could safely begin a new life, rid of any ghosts from his shadowy past. The day’s events had been easier than he ever could have imagined. After parking his car in an all-day parking lot downtown, he took the bus to Simpson Street and walked several blocks to the apartment, arriving as the woman’s boyfriend was leaving for work.
After the boyfriend drove away, he quietly slipped into the building, took care of business and was out in less than fifteen minutes. Not bad for an amateur, he thought. No one had seen him. He could never, ever possibly be connected to this place – or the woman.
He laughed out loud, then gulped the last of his scotch. After pouring himself another drink, he turned on the television to watch the evening news. To his tremendous shock, all the news reports were the same. His beloved President John F. Kennedy had been assassinated in Dallas, Texas earlier that day. As he sank back in his favorite chair, his mind now consumed with this national tragedy, it never even occurred to him that someone else had been in the woman’s West Lake apartment.
********************
Why are they talking so loud? Why is Auntie so afraid? She thought as she came from her secret place, rubbing her eyes into focus. As the voices grew louder, she quietly moved to the bedroom door and peered out through the narrow opening.
I know him, she thought. He’s a nice man. He’s always nice to me. But now he doesn’t look so nice. He is talking loud, and he looks real mean. Why is the man so mad at Auntie? Why is he shaking the knife at her?
She wanted to sneak up and surprise them but remembered her mommie and grannie saying, "Unless it’s an emergency, don’t interrupt grown-ups when they’re talking."
Still very sleepy, she returned to her secret place in the closet, pretending she was in a dark, deserted cave.
When she awakened hours later, the apartment was quiet, and it was dark. She didn’t hear Auntie, and it frightened her. She ran out to find her auntie and ask about the man with the knife. In the living room, she tripped over something big and tumbled awkwardly to the floor. Suddenly, her hands were wet and sticky. At that moment, a key turned in the front door lock. The door opened, and she heard her mother’s voice calling her name. When the lights came on, she gasped in horror. She was staring into the lifeless eyes of her auntie, who was lying in a pool of blood already beginning to dry on the hardwood floor.
25 years later
"How old are you?" Matt asked in a quiet voice.
"I’m five years old?"
"Where are you now?"
"I’m under the pine tree in the front yard. It’s summer, and I’m playing with my dolls in the shade."
"Are you at home alone? he asked.
"No. Grannie is in the kitchen making sandwiches. We are going to have a picnic in the park down the street."
Matt continued. "You told me that you are an only child. You spend a lot of time alone. What do you think about?"
She was quiet a moment.
He asked her again. "What do you think about?"
She became a little nervous. "I . . . I have bad dreams," she said beginning to frown.
"You have bad dreams? What do you dream about?"
"Scary things."
"What scary things?"
She did not answer. Matt continued. "What are you doing now?"
"It’s dark, and I’m afraid," she answered. A light perspiration had broken on her forehead.
"Are you dreaming that it’s dark?"
"No. I’m awake. It’s dark, and I’m afraid," she repeated.
"Why are you afraid?" he asked.
"They are talking loud. They woke me up." She was twisting her hands nervously.
Matt could sense she was getting more agitated so he changed his questions a little.
"Where are you? Are you in the house near the park?"
"No," she answered.
"Is your mother home?"
"No," she said again.
"Who is with you in this dark place?"
"I am with Auntie," she said, her frown intensifying.
"What is Auntie doing?"
"No! No! No!" she blurted.
Matt observed her for a moment. She was obviously repressing something very distressing in her memory, something that happened when she was very young. He gave her a few minutes to calm down.
"Tell me more about your dreams," he asked.
"I’m tired now, I want to go to my secret place," she said yawning.
He could see she was closing up now. There was no need to go any further today. He would have other chances to talk with her and perform other sessions of regression hypnosis.
Matt had experienced cases like this in the past. She was hiding something in her memory – something too traumatic for her to reveal all at once. And because it happened when she was so young, Matt wondered whether the incident was the result of a dream or reality. Sometimes, in order to easily get rid of a negative experience, a child will attribute it to a fairy tale or bad dream. He would find out definitely during her next session.
As Matt brought Doreen back to consciousness, one observer in the faculty gathering was deep in thought. Grannie, Auntie? Where have I heard those words before?