Rizzoli & Isles 8-Book Set

Polochek.
    “I’m holding a paper sack. Picking berries and putting them in the sack.”
    “And do you eat them as you pick?”
    A smile on her face, soft and dreamy. “Oh, yes. They’re sweet. And warm from the sun.”
    Moore frowned. This was unexpected. She was experiencing taste and touch, which meant she was reliving the moment. She was not just watching it on a movie screen; she was
in
the scene. He saw Polochek glance at the window with a look of concern. He had chosen the movie screen imagery as a device to detach her from the trauma of her experience. But she was not detached. Now Polochek hesitated, considering what to do next.
    “Catherine,” he said, “I want you to concentrate on the cushion you are sitting on. You are in the chair, in the room, watching the movie screen. Notice how soft the cushion is. How the chair hugs your back. Do you feel it?”
    A pause. “Yes.”
    “Okay. Okay, now you’re going to stay in that chair. You are not going to leave it. And we’re going to use the magic screen to watch a different scene in your life. You will still be in the chair. You will still be feeling that soft cushion against your back. And what you’re going to see is just a movie on the screen. All right?”
    “All right.”
    “Now.” Polochek took a deep breath. “We’re going to go back to the night of June fifteenth, in Savannah. The night Andrew Capra knocked on your front door. Tell me what is happening on the screen.”
    Moore watched, scarcely daring to breathe.
    “He is standing on my front porch,” said Catherine. “He says he needs to speak to me.”
    “About what?”
    “About the mistakes he made. In the hospital.”
    What she said next was no different from the statement she had given to Detective Singer in Savannah. Reluctantly she invited Capra into her home. It was a hot night, and he said he was thirsty, so she offered him a beer. She opened a beer for herself as well. He was agitated, worried about his future. Yes, he had made mistakes. But didn’t every doctor? It was a waste of his talent, to cut him from the program. He knew a medical student at Emory, a brilliant young man who’d made just one mistake, and it had ended that student’s career. It wasn’t right that Catherine should have the power to make or break a career. People should get second chances.
    Though she tried to reason with him, she heard his mounting anger, saw how his hands shook. At last she left to use the bathroom, to give him time to calm down.
    “And when you returned from the bathroom?” asked Polochek. “What happens in the movie? What do you see?”
    “Andrew is quieter. Not so angry. He says he understands my position. He smiles at me when I finish my beer.”
    “Smiles?”
    “Strange. A very strange smile. Like the one he gave me in the hospital …”
    Moore could hear her breathing begin to quicken. Even as a detached observer, watching the scene in an imaginary movie, she was not immune to the approaching horror.
    “What happens next?”
    “I’m falling asleep.”
    “Do you see this on the movie screen?”
    “Yes.”
    “And then?”
    “I don’t see anything. The screen is black.”
    The Rohypnol. She has no memory of this part.
    “All right,” said Polochek. “Let’s fast-forward through the black part. Move ahead, to the next part of the movie. To the next image you see on the screen.”
    Catherine’s breathing grew agitated.
    “What do you see?”
    “I—I’m lying in my bed. In my room. I can’t move my arms or my legs.”
    “Why not?”
    “I’m tied to the bed. My clothes are gone, and he’s lying on top of me. He’s inside me. Moving inside me …”
    “Andrew Capra?”
    “Yes. Yes.…” Her breathing was erratic now, the sound of fear catching in her throat.
    Moore’s fists clenched and his own breathing accelerated. He fought the urge to pound on the window and put an immediate halt to the proceedings. He could barely stand to listen to this. They must not force her to relive the rape.
    But Polochek was already aware of the danger, and he quickly guided her away from the painful memory of that ordeal.
    “You are still in your chair,” said Polochek. “Safe in that room with the movie screen. It’s only a movie, Catherine. Happening to someone else. You are safe. Secure. Confident.”
    Her breathing calmed again, slowing into a steady rhythm. So did Moore’s.
    “All right. Let’s watch the movie. Pay attention to what
you
are doing. Not