The Devil Inside, page 17
‘But Alexandria, you can’t give up. Milla needs her mother. Come with us. We can protect you too.’
‘No. You can’t. You were trained to work together, not with me. I am a liability. You have to take Milla and run. Don’t tell me where you are. Don’t contact me at all. You have to keep her safe. He can never find her.’
‘Okay, Aleksi. But you need to give us a few days. There is planning to do. We will come and get her in a few days.’
‘He is coming. He is coming for me.’
‘Then hide. You know where. We will come for you both, okay?’
Mamochka nodded. ‘Just promise me, Katya, Mikhail … promise me. You will do what you have to, to make her forget.’
Eyes looking down at her, full of tears, words of love …
Hiding in the darkness, trying not to cry.
Screaming, a loud bang. Smoke. Heat. The door opening. Arms reached, picked her up to run past the burning thing on the floor, hand pressed to her face to try to stop her from seeing. But she did! She did.
Waking. Screaming. ‘It’s okay, kukla. Okay, little Millanushka. We will help you to sleep. We will help you to forget.’ A sting in her arm, hypnotic words whispered over and over:
Sleep.
Forget.
Melissa gasped and sat up, her heart pounding loud in her ears as she glanced around, frantically trying to hold onto what she’d just remembered.
For a moment, she was there with those people—Alexandria, Mikhail and Katya—with their fear, their pain. She wasn’t going to forget.
She heard voices outside the closed door. Was it them?
No. Her frantic gaze lit on the green curtains, the colourful cushion on the armchair, the wedding photo on the dresser.
Storm Haven. She was in her room in the Barn House.
What she remembered hadn’t taken place here. It had taken place long ago in a country far from this one.
Russia?
Maybe.
The voices drifting from the hallway broke into her thoughts. They got louder. She tensed. She didn’t want them to know she was awake yet. She had too much to think about.
She lay back down and closed her eyes just as the door opened.
They came in softly, whispering as they stood beside her bed. Phil—she could practically feel his worry—and someone else. Jerry. Not just Jerry. Alan? Why was he here?
Should she pretend to wake up and tell him what she’d remembered?
No. For some reason, she needed to keep it to herself for now. It didn’t feel safe to let anyone know.
But Phil’s worry didn’t allow her to keep up the pretence. She’d hurt him too much already.
She opened her eyes. ‘Phil.’ Her voice was rough.
‘Mel?’ He sat on the bed, took her hand in his, held on as if his life depended on it. She couldn’t bring herself to pull away, his touch needed. Wanted. Even as it made her heart pound in that way that wasn’t simply about attraction.
Alan came up behind Phil, smiling his calm smile. ‘It’s good to see you awake.’
‘What happened?’ she asked.
Jerry rounded the bed. ‘Let me check you out.’ He began to do so as the others silently watched.
Was nobody going to answer her question? ‘What happened to me?’
‘You passed out.’ Phil squeezed her hand, rubbing his thumb over the back, creating little jolting zaps of sensation that skittered through her.
‘I did?’ she said, trying to sound normal.
‘Uh-huh. You were crying and calling out to someone. Jerry said you were talking in Russian.’
‘She was definitely talking in Russian,’ Jerry said as he slipped the blood-oxygen reader onto her finger and looked down at the monitor in his hand. ‘I recognised some of the words, even though she was talking in a kind of baby voice through most of it.’
‘I was?’
He nodded and glanced at Phil for confirmation.
‘It did sound like a toddler’s voice through some of it. But not all.’
‘Maybe it’s time to do the regression therapy I’ve been talking about. Hypnosis could really help with th—’
‘No!’ Melissa tore her hand from Phil’s pushing herself upright, back against the headboard. ‘No. I won’t do that. I don’t want to do that.’ She swallowed hard, shaking her head rapidly, unable to explain how terrified the thought of hypnosis made her. Although, maybe, given what she’d just remembered, perhaps she could explain it. To herself. Not to him. Not to anyone. Not yet until she’d figured if she could trust these memories.
‘But what if this keeps happening?’ Phil asked, fingers clenched on his legs.
‘Phil’s right,’ Jerry said. ‘What if you pass out when nobody is there? You could hurt yourself—hit your head on something. Or what if you fall down the stairs? I’m not with you twenty-four-seven. Neither is Phil. If there’s a faster way to help you get your memories back, Melissa, you should try it.’
‘I don’t want to do hypnosis.’ She shook her head again. ‘I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. And you can’t make me.’
Alan gestured for him to back off. ‘It’s okay. I understand. Regaining memories can be a rough process for some. And it’s not a hard and fast science. There is no one right way. We need to be guided in this by Melissa.’ He turned to her. ‘You say no, it’s no. We’ll just keep going as we have.’
She nodded, desperately grateful. ‘That sounds good.’
Phil squeezed her hand. ‘I just want you to get better, Mel.’
‘I want that too,’ she whispered, turning her hand over in his to squeeze back. ‘But I can’t … I just can’t do hypnosis, okay?’
He stared at her for long seconds and then nodded, dropping his gaze. ‘Okay.’
Alan sat on the end of the bed. ‘You saw a rush of images when you passed out. Can you tell us about them?’
‘They’re a jumble in my head.’ Flashes of what she remembered swam in her mind, bringing nausea and a dull throb. ‘They’re making my head ache.’
‘Do you need me to get you some painkillers?’ Jerry asked.
She shook her head, suddenly guilty that he was here to have afternoon tea with her on his day off and he was doing this instead. ‘If I can just lie here for a while in peace and quiet, and get some rest, then I know it will settle.’
Alan nodded and patted the bed next to her leg. ‘That sounds like a good idea. And when you feel rested enough, perhaps we’ll be able to talk through what you remembered this afternoon.’
‘But …’ she glanced at Phil. ‘You can’t hang around all afternoon waiting for me.’
‘No. I do have some other patients to see at the hospital. But I will come back.’ He glanced at Phil. ‘Just give me a call when she’s up and about and I’ll head right back.’
‘Sure.’
‘Great. I’ll just run through the obs with Jerry to make sure there’s nothing physically wrong, then I’ll head off.’ He turned to leave, stopped at the door. ‘Oh, I keep forgetting to ask if you’ve found the sketch book from the hospital yet? I still think that the memory in the dark room is key.’
‘I have no idea where it’s gone. I thought it was here in my room but I was obviously wrong.’ She laughed a little. ‘It’s like it’s disappeared.’
‘That’s a pity. Well, I’m sure it will turn up. Maybe you didn’t bring it home from the hospital.’
‘Maybe.’ Although, she knew she had. She’d spent the first few nights here staring at the drawings of Phil and Arwen she’d drawn in the hospital. ‘If I find it, I’ll let you know.’
‘Great. Well, see you later. Jerry?’
‘I’ll check on you later, okay?’
‘I’m sorry about missing afternoon tea.’
‘It’s fine. Raincheck?’
She nodded and he followed Alan out the door.
She sighed and looked up at Phil. ‘Sorry for giving you such a fright.’
He pressed a kiss to her forehead before pulling back a little. She expected him to say, ‘As long as you don’t do it again,’ or something like it, but he didn’t. Instead, he just stared into her eyes for long, silent seconds. ‘You can trust me, you know.’
She stared back at him, her throat dry, emotion heavy in her chest, her throat.
His gaze ran over her face, back to her eyes. His lips flickered into a crooked, sad smile, almost self-deprecatory, then he let go of her shoulders and left.
She touched the spot where he’d kissed her on the brow.
She wanted to go after him, to tell him that she trusted him—because she did. She was certain of it. Just like she was now certain of the fact Claire and Calvin Linklater had kept secrets from her. Bad secrets.
Secrets they’d somehow made her forget. Not once but over and over.
Her certainty was completely crazy—she didn’t even know if she could trust the memories. But then, why had they kept things hidden in a hole in the wall in their bedroom? That’s where Phil had found all that stuff downstairs, right? Did they hold their secrets?
And were those secrets the reasons they’d practically pushed her out the door with their smothering, paranoid mistrust of anywhere other than their farm? She’d thought leaving had been her choice, but had it? She rubbed her forehead, the thoughts like daggers. Her parents had loved her—she knew they did—but at the same time, she’d always felt like a stranger in her own home. Like it wasn’t where she belonged.
Why had they made her feel like that?
Who were they?
Who was she?
Did she even want to know? She had no idea.
But the only way she could get answers was in the trunk, suitcase and boxes downstairs. The ones that had filled her with such fear even to look at. Had her parents done that to her too, the way they’d made her forget about those other things she now remembered?
Could she trust anything she remembered?
Possibly not, but she needed to tell someone what was happening in her mind.
She thought she could tell Jerry, but it wasn’t Jerry she wanted to tell. It was Phil.
She got up and padded out to the downstairs lounge room. She could hear his voice upstairs. Was he with someone? She listened closely. No. He was talking to the baby. She stayed there a moment longer, making certain she couldn’t hear signs of anyone else. When she was certain, she climbed the stairs.
He sat in the armchair, the baby in his arms, rocking slightly, his lips moving in what she thought might be a song.
She cleared her throat. He looked up, surprise in his eyes. ‘Mel?’
‘Phil. I want to tell you what I remembered.’
‘You do?’ Such hope in his eyes. But he didn’t push. Just waited.
She twisted her hands in front of her. It was so hard to say the words. She began to pace. ‘My parents. I don’t think they were who they said they were. I don’t think I am who they said I am. I think they made me forget things.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I don’t either, but I need to. I remember catching my parents talking in Russian, doing strange things, being secretive. So many secrets.’
He sat forward. ‘What secrets?’
He didn’t try to make it seem like she was confused or talking nonsense or pass it off as part of the amnesia. He listened. Just like she knew he would. Just like he’d done every time something strange had happened and others questioned whether it was real or not. He believed her.
She shrugged jerkily. ‘I’m not sure. I know they were hiding something. I remember panic and running and hiding. They spoke Russian.’ She met his gaze.
He nodded. ‘Say something in Russian.’
She closed her eyes and said the first thing that came to mind. ‘Ya khochu vspomnit’ tebya.’
‘What does it mean?’
She swallowed hard. ‘I want to remember you.’
His eyes brightened and he smiled a wobbly smile. ‘Good. Great.’ He took in a deep breath. ‘So, what do you want to do?’
‘I need to find out. I need to find out what they were hiding. I need to find out why we were running. Why I can speak Russian. Why I remember someone calling me Milla and Millanushka and Milessa. Calling me their little sunshine, moye malen’koye solnyshkuh.’ She touched her head, closing her eyes, taking a deep breath. ‘I remember it so clearly. More clearly than I remember so much else. It’s like a light has shone on those snippets and now I see it, I can’t unsee it.’
‘How can I help?’
She opened her eyes. ‘I need to go through their things. The things you brought from the farm. They’re downstairs in the storeroom, right?’
‘You recognised them?’
He got to his feet, came over to her, held out his hand. She took it even though she was shaking. She couldn’t seem to stop shaking. ‘That suitcase … I remember Papa hiding it. And the trunk, the one that matches the one in my room. He told me there was nothing in it—’
Phil shook his head. ‘It’s not empty. It’s too heavy to be empty.’
She nodded. ‘It has to hold their secrets. Things about my past.’ She looked up at him. ‘I want to face it, but I’m scared.’ She swallowed hard and stood up. ‘Will you help me?’
Phil put his arm around her. ‘Of course. Just say when.’
‘Now?’
‘I’ll call Bev to come and look after Arwen.’
She looked down at the precious baby in his arms. Reached out and touched the soft hair, then bent down and kissed her. When she looked up, she met Phil’s surprised gaze. ‘I want to remember. I want to sort this out. But in my own way.’
He nodded. ‘Okay.’
Just like that, once again, he accepted her decisions. He accepted her. Maybe it wasn’t such a mystery as to why she’d fallen in love with him in the first place.
She took a deep shuddering breath and waited where she was while he called Bev. She came right down and took the baby back up to the main house—she’d just put scones in the oven.
They watched as Bev left with the baby and then she turned to Phil. She held out her hand. ‘Let’s go.’
He nodded and led her down the stairs.
Chapter 16
Phil followed Mel, watching her closely as she made her way down the stairs.
Shit, she’d given him such a scare in the garden, but curiously she seemed so much … stronger now. Which was kind of a weird thing to think because she was incredibly pale again, her eyes shadowed with nightmares. But she wanted to do this. Said she needed to do it. And she’d asked him for help. That fact made his heart sing.
He put out a hand to steady her as they took the last step into the garage. She hesitated and he waved his arm. The lights flickered on.
He glanced down at her.
Fear. Panic. They filled her eyes, tightened her expression.
And yet, she took a deep breath and made her way doggedly to the storeroom.
She was so stubborn. So strong. Why she needed him, he had no idea, but he was just thankful she did. His mouth twisted wryly. Perhaps he wasn’t quite the useless shit he’d begun to think himself after talking with his parents that day in the hospital.
She turned to look at him as they reached the door, her face as pale as one of his mother’s scary China dolls.
‘Do you want me to open the door?’
‘No. I can do it.’
It was agonising to watch her. Hand trembling—shit, her whole body trembled—she reached for the handle, but then seemed unable to push it down to open the door.
He put his hand over hers, the other on the curve of her back. She looked up at him, nodded.
He pushed the handle down with her.
The door swung open to the black cavern that was the storage room.
It felt more ominous, more unwelcoming than he remembered it being from when he and the boys had unpacked their stuff from the van. Mel’s nostrils flared, her lips trembling as she stared into the dark, taking a step back.
She so hated the dark. He’d never found out why.
Perhaps he was about to.
He stepped past her and into the room. Lights flickered on inside.
Mel took a cautious step in after him, staring blindly around before her gaze landed on the pile of their stuff next to the packing cases they used to transport their equipment.
‘What’s in those?’ She pointed at the unlabelled boxes that sat on top of the chest.
He shrugged. ‘Clothes and things, I think. Your Aunt Grace packed most of them.’
‘They should be labelled.’ She looked askance at him. ‘I still label things, right?’
‘Do you label things? I had to buy you a new labelling machine when the old one died the day it died.’ It had been a fancy one small enough to fit into most of her handbags so she could take it with her and had different fonts and even coloured ink. ‘You fell in love with it. Called him Oscar. You used him all the time, taking him everywhere with you. I caught you talking to him and patting him. I asked you if I needed to be jealous.’
She snorted, then her face fell back into serious lines as she looked at the unlabelled boxes. ‘Then why didn’t I label these?’
‘I didn’t tell you I had them—you were so upset and negative about anything to do with your parents. So … I didn’t like hiding them from you, but I was waiting for you to be ready.’
‘Thank the lord you did.’
‘Took my life in my hands.’
She chuckled, the sound echoing around the room before dying away. Slowly, she walked over to the pile of her parents’ things. She ran her finger over the packing tape on the top box. ‘I didn’t bring a knife or scissors.’
‘I’ve got it.’ He went straight to the box labelled ‘Craig’s kitchen equipment’—he and Dae usually gave their mate shit about his chefing pretensions, but he could kiss him right now—and pulled out the leather satchel that carried Craig’s most precious knives. The budding chef had only taken a couple knives from the roll to the kitchen when they’d arrived, so there was sure to be a sharp knife to use to cut the sticky tape—he’d apologise to Craig later for the sacrilege of using his precious knives to do such a thing.
