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My phone pinged as he air-dropped it and I hit the button to accept it. I’d analyze it later. Right now I had a class to teach, and that bitch had just derailed it.
“So, let’s talk about some of the moves that Shelly just used,” Reagan said, and she segued into an analysis of my techniques, using the Reeds to recreate the moves.
I took a quick break and got a drink of water, and then I got back to work, but in the back of my mind, I was trying to figure it out.
After the class was done and the Reeds had finished signing autographs, I showered, got dressed in my pencil skirt, a nice top, and my pearls, and then I went straight to Clark’s office. I let myself into the outer area, and then into his private office.
He looked up and froze. “What the fuck happened to your eye?” he asked as he shot to his feet.
I glared at him. “Megan happened.”
“Megan?” His eyes grew wide.
“Megan,” I clarified.
“Ah, fuck,” he said, then he sank into his chair with a weary sigh. He sagged against the back of the chair for an extended moment, breathing heavily as he stared toward the window. “Was she all right?” he finally asked, his voice quavering.
Chapter 14
Clark
She was alive. I’d known she was, because I’d caught glimpses of her here and there. I’d smelled her perfume in my office, and in my car. But it wasn’t her perfume. Not really. It was Megan’s. Marley had been gone for years, along with her scent, her never-ending kindness, and her love for me. She wasn’t dead. I knew that deep inside. But she hadn’t made an appearance in a very long time.
“You took my sister’s case because the woman you love has dissociative identity disorder,” Shelly said, breaking me out of my mental fog.
“What?” I asked, still reeling from the idea of someone encountering Megan out in public. Megan was a recluse. She traveled in the shadows. She moved at night, in the dark, in secret. She didn’t show herself, generally. She was stealthy, like a cat.
“You got involved in Lynn and Mason’s case because you could identify with the pain that Mason felt when Lynn was gone.” She didn’t pose it as a question. Instead, she made the statement.
My neck hurt when I bobbed my head in a quick nod. I unclenched my jaw. “Tell me exactly what happened,” I said.
“You first,” she replied, her face stony.
“Shelly, I don’t want to do this right now.” I jumped up from my chair and went to the coffeemaker.
“I don’t give a fuck what you want,” Shelly said from behind me.
I sucked in a breath and held it for a moment, trying to calm my racing heart.
“I already knew about Marley,” Shelly suddenly called out.
I spun to face her. “How?”
“The false bottom in your lower drawer,” she said, arching a brow at me.
“You broke into my drawer and read my private files?” Of course she did. She was Shelly.
“I knew when she walked into the gym today that she wasn’t Marley.” Her gaze softened almost imperceptibly. “But I wasn’t sure who she was until she introduced herself.”
“They’re very different, Marley and Megan.”
“So were Lynn and her other personalities.”
For the second time ever—the first being when I met Mason—I felt a kinship with someone who could understand what my life with Megan was like. It’s why I signed on to help Mason Peterson when Lynn was missing. I understood the utter devastation that came with loving someone with DID, or MPD as some people still called it. I understood—and so did Shelly.
“She had more than one, right?” I asked, because it was easier to talk about Lynn’s personalities than it was to talk about Marley.
“She had several.” She nodded her head while staring at me. Shelly had this way of staring so deeply that I felt like she was peeling back layers.
