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“Well, as soon as you do hear anything, be sure to let us know.”
“I’d appreciate the same,” replied Devine.
They walked off without acknowledging this request.
As soon as they left, Alex came riding up on her bicycle, stopping in front of him.
“Can we talk?” she said.
“Sure. About what?”
“About...me. And Jenny.”
CHAPTER
35
SHE CURLED AND UNCURLED HERfingers around the coffee cup at Maine Brew.
Devine watched those long, lively fingers and judged them to be as artistic in design and function as the mind of the woman who owned them.
“What about you and your sister?” said Devine in a gently prompting manner.
Alex looked up at him, considerable pain in her expression. She fiddled with the colorful scarf tied around her neck. “I...I heard about what happened to you. That you almost died last night. That was why you came to my studio, wasn’t it?”
“Who told you that?”
“Wendy Fuss. She said that you killed three men who had kidnapped you.”
He nodded slowly. “Yes. But we didn’t come here to talk about that, did we?” He took a sip of coffee and glanced out the window as a chilly rain started to fall. When she didn’t say anything he looked back at her. “I heard something about you.”
“What?” she said quickly.
“That you were attacked when you were in high school. And that the person who attacked you got away.”
“I...I...” She looked so distressed that he put his hand out and gripped hers firmly.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, then don’t. It’s up to you. No worries. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing to do.”
He let go of her hand, sat back, and waited.
She took a sip of coffee and then set the cup down and plunged in. “The doctors said that in addition to having physical injuries, I...I suffered a traumatic shock. And that shock caused something called localized or situation-specific dissociative amnesia. Back then I had no idea what that meant, but I’ve come to learn that it means I can’t remember certain specific memories. In my case I can remember what I was doing before it happened, but nothing after that.”
“So you don’t rememberanydetails of the assault?”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t have even known that it happened at all except I woke up in a hospital with a skull fracture and...the police were there.” She touched her scalp in the middle of her head. “They had to shave my head right there to fix it. They also told me I had been—”
“Yes, I know,” said Devine quickly. “Will you ever get the memories back?”
“They don’t know. Apparently, most of the time they do come back, at least to some degree. But...it hasn’t happened with me, and it’s been over fifteen years now.”
“Is there anything they can do to help you get them back?”
“I’ve been to psychotherapy, but it didn’t help. They told me that your mind blocks out something if it’s too painful to...confront. And there’s something called creative therapy that I actually do every day and would have done regardless of whether this had happened to me or not.”
“Your artwork, you mean?”
She smiled, sadly, and nodded. “Yes. It’s my cocoon. My safe space. When I’m doing it, all is right with the world, at leastmyworld.”
