Janice was sitting in a soft
chair. Her eyes were closed, and she smelled Dr. Benson’s sandalwood
aftershave. She frowned. She could still feel the burn in her calves from
running. Her fingers twitched. Her hands were empty. Where was—
“Janice? Are you with me?” She
heard a faint tremor in Dr. Benson’s calm, deep voice that hadn’t been there
when they started. She opened her eyes and looked at him. He drew back, then
covered it by settling in his own chair opposite her. She narrowed her eyes as
she studied him. His close-cropped hair was ruffled. She glanced down at the
table between them. Where were the tissues and magazines that had been there?
There was a trio of blown glass balls that she had admired. He had made them at
a workshop in Jamestown, he said.
She looked up at him again. His
eyes shifted left, and she knew it had really happened. Their hypnosis session
had triggered her memories. Oh God. All
of them. Why was he pretending?
Standing, she tried not notice his
flinching away from her, shrinking back in the chair a little before he sat
straighter and tugged at his tie.
“How do you feel?” He asked. So normal.
She frowned again. Why? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him glance at his
watch. Delay.
She had to get out of there. She
started for the door, reaching for her purse on the shelf by the light switch. “Doc,
I feel fine, thanks. I have to get going. I’ll call Mary to schedule my next—”
He was behind her, reaching for
her. She didn’t think, wasn’t conscious of her movements. She kicked backwards,
low and hard. Connected with his shin. He cried out and grabbed her shoulder,
her waist. She wrapped her fingers around the hand on her waist and spun,
swinging his arm up and turning him around, kicking his lower back so that he
arched and screamed as his shoulder dislocated. She shoved him away and pulled
the door open before he hit the floor.
Mary was aiming a pistol at her chest.
Janice dropped at the waist and cartwheeled with a roundhouse kick to Mary’s
head. She grabbed the pistol as Mary collapsed and tucked it in her waistband,
pulling her sweater over it. She didn’t pause on her way out the door. There
was no one in the hall. She knew, even if she didn’t know how she knew. Or why.
She clicked her car door open,
then walked past without pausing. Don’t
be stupid. She had to move, and fast. She had to think. Why didn’t she have
an escape plan in place? Her feet stumbled as her mind split into two voices,
arguing.
Didn’t know. Didn’t remember.
Okay, okay. Think fast. On the move.
Where to?
Johanson.
Hell no.
Yes. We need answers.
He won’t help.
Just because you tried to kill him last time
doesn’t mean he won’t help you now.
Were you always such an optimist?
Just get to Johanson.
“Where?”
“Scuse me, miss?” The man at the
bus stop looked askance, and Janice shook her head. She glanced at the map
posted on the shelter. Yes, this would work.
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Dogs in house
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Houdini, Brindle
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Time writing:
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~30 minutes
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July word
count:
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5,859
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