Rachel Goddard 01 - The Heat of the Moon

the sound of her voice every inch of my body snapped taut.
    “Rachel, I don’t like to interrupt whatever you’re doing, but I was wondering if you’ll be home for dinner.”
    “No,” I said.
    She was silent, probably waiting for an explanation. I didn’t offer one.
    “Rachel, where—” 
    “I’m with some friends. I’ll get something to eat.”
    “Are you all right? You don’t sound like yourself.”
    No, I didn’t. I felt oddly dissociated from my own voice. “I’ll see you later, Mother.” I switched off the phone. For a moment I sat with it in my hand, once more fighting the urge to cry. I’d never been a crier, and I couldn’t get used to these sieges of tears.
    When I glanced at Luke, I saw he was watching me closely, a crease cut between his brows. I remembered what he’d said the day we talked in the staff lounge: You’re a different person around her.
    “You didn’t want to tell her you were with me,” he said now.
    “No.”
    “Is it just me she despises,” he asked with a sour smile, “or would she do that number on anybody you brought home?”
    “She’s never thought anybody was good enough for me or Michelle. She puts a lot of emotional energy into worrying about us.”
    “Trying to protect you from the big bad world.”
    His tone was sarcastic but what he said was true. I nodded. A feeling had always existed, unspoken, that our little family was somehow damaged and not yet out of danger. We had to huddle together against a threat that was never identified.
    What came into my mind then was one of the paintings I’d seen in the Picasso exhibit at the National Gallery. “The Mother.” A thin dark-haired woman in motion, head thrust forward; a white-swaddled infant in her arms; an older child, a girl, clutching her hand. The mother was tense with urgency and purpose. Fleeing from something, taking her children to safety. The way Mother had fled with us.
    Fled from what?
    I got rid of the painting with a shake of my head. “If Mrs. Coleman hadn’t brought her little girl with her the day Maude was hurt, none of this would be happening to me.”
    “It probably would have surfaced some other way,” Luke said. “Rachel, you’ll never get answers if you don’t confront your mother. Whatever the truth is, you’ve got a right to hear it.”
    “You don’t know—” I broke off, pulling back inside myself, reluctant to go on.
    “I don’t know what?”
    “I haven’t told you what happened today. I went to Theo Antanopoulos—I told you about him—”
    “I remember. Go on.”
    “I wanted him to hypnotize me to see if I could get back some memories. And he tried. But when he was putting me under I panicked, I just lost it completely.”
    Luke rubbed my shoulder. “Why? Were you afraid of what you might remember?”
    “Yes, I was. But I’d made up my mind to face it. It was the induction itself that scared me the most.” I paused, recalling the rising tide of panic that had overwhelmed me. “I felt like I was doing something terribly wrong. Something I’d been forbidden to do. I think Mother’s conditioned me not to let anyone except her hypnotize me.”
    “What? You mean she’s hypnotized you?”
    “Lots of times. Michelle too.”
    “What for?” 
    “To help me get over my father’s death. According to Theo. Then for other things later on. I used to get jittery before important exams at school, but after Mother hypnotized me I’d calm down. Michelle used to be afraid of thunderstorms, and dental work, anything involving a needle in the mouth, but Mother used hypnosis to—”
    “Hold on,” Luke said. “I want to hear what happened after your father died. You were just a little kid. She was using hypnosis on you?”
    “Theo said she used hypnotherapy to help me deal with my father’s death.” I looked at Luke. “But I didn’t deal with it. I forgot it completely. I forgot him.”
    He stared at me for a long moment, understanding growing in his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”
    “I heard her voice when I was with Theo. I remembered her telling me never to let anybody else hypnotize me.”
    My mind circled, closing in on the unspeakable thought. A vulnerable child, a child in pain who longed for comfort and approval. A powerful adult who knew how to burrow deep into the minds of others. So many things I’d never asked about. Things I should have wondered about and didn’t. My natural curiosity had been stamped down and silenced. Until now.
    Luke was