Chapter 146: Selective Amnesia

IVY

Gideon.

I would know that voice anywhere. That deep, low rumble that had once whispered my name against my ear, ordered me to my knees and murmured good girl while I shattered in his arms.

My heart slammed so hard I could feel it in my throat.

Don’t turn. Maybe if you don’t turn, he won’t see you. Maybe if you stand very still, he’ll just leave and you can pretend you never saw...

"Officer Tanya." He was walking toward the desk! I hadn’t seen him in a month and he was right here, so close. "Is all the paperwork complete?"

"Y... yes, Mr. Knight," the officer stammered, straightening up. "We’re just finishing up. We have the release forms here, we just need your signature."

Gideon produced a pen from his pocket and scrawled his signature across the page smoothly. His scent teased my nose from being so close. I swallowed, unable to hold back, and turned to look up at him.

And there he was. Oh god.

He looked the same. How could he look so blindingly good? Tall, dark, tailored and gorgeous, his shoulders broad enough to blot out the doorway. His dark hair was swept back and exposed his sharp jaw.

Those blue eyes that had looked at me like I was the only thing worth seeing in the world were colder than the Arctic.

And he didn’t spare me so much as a glance. He just tucked the pen back in his pocket, took his copy of the paperwork and turned to go.

He was going to leave. He was going to walk out of this room and leave me standing here.

He was the one who had claimed Ivy Thompson’s body? Why would he do that?

"Gideon."

His name slipped out of my lips before I could stop it. It was so small and tiny that he stopped for just a second, and then he kept walking.

My throat tightened. I watched the back of his shoulders fill the doorframe and disappear into the corridor beyond.

Something in my chest broke into splinters. I deserved that. I had no right to be hurt, but it stung so badly. Was I nothing to him? What happened to the man who had yearned to see me at Extasim?

I raced after him without a thought, out of the coroner’s office, down the hallway, past the front desk and through the heavy double doors into the parking lot, where the afternoon sun hit me in the face.

A black car sat at the curb with a driver holding the back door open. I scanned for any sight of Roman and Malachi, just a glimpse, just one, but it was only Gideon and his driver.

He reached the car, ducked his head and slid into the back seat without so much as a look back at me. Then he was gone.

I stood on the sidewalk and watched them go, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip to hold back the sob building in my throat.

He hadn’t even said my name or looked at me.

I found a bench and dropped onto it, too tired and drained to go on. I had cried every night for the past month. I should have been dry by now, and yet my eyes burned.

"Oh, come on, Ivy. You did this to yourself," I chuckled derisively, dropping my head back on the bench.

Was I expecting him to acknowledge me? How fucking stupid. I didn’t have time for this. It was over, but I had to fix things, and I knew where to start.

From the very beginning.

** ** ** **

"What do you remember?"

The therapist’s office was warm and quiet.

There was a couch and a chair across from it, and beside the couch sat a little side table with a box of tissues I had already used twice. I lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

"Take your time," Dr. Diane urged. "Close your eyes if it helps. What do you remember about that day?"

The room was quiet as I tried to think. It was fourteen years ago and so far away.

"...Nothing," I sighed. "That’s the thing. I remember the fall. I remember my father shouting at me to hide before the police came, and then the ambulance and the hospital. But before the fall? Nothing." I opened my eyes, and the therapist’s ceiling stared back at me, pale and blank.

"Did you have any ill feelings toward your mother?"

"No way," I replied quickly. "I loved her. That’s why it’s so confusing. I loved her more than anything, and then she was dead, and I was the one who... I think I was the one."

"You think?"

"I don’t know." I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes. "I have this theory that I was sleepwalking and nearly went down the stairs. Mom grabbed me just in time and she fell instead."

"And do you have doubts about that theory?"

My hands dropped. "...Yes."

"What kind of doubts?"

"My dreams." I whispered, wringing my hands together. "When I dream about that night, it’s usually me pushing her. But lately the dreams have changed."

"How have they changed?"

"I’m in the hallway and my mom is... falling by herself. Like I’m watching her fall." I turned my head toward Dr. Diane. "If I’m watching her fall, then I’m not the one who pushed her, right?"

She nodded and scribbled something down.

"Selective amnesia," she explained. "The brain does that. When a memory is too much to hold, it seals it off, or a different manufactured memory shields it. It’s very likely that what you saw that night was more traumatic than you think."

"What could be more traumatic than killing my mom?" I rasped dryly.

"I’m saying there’s likely something you’re not remembering, and your brain has been protecting you from it." She set her pen down.

"Are you sure you want to remember? Your mother is gone. The statute of limitations has long passed. Nobody is going to punish you for whatever happened on those stairs. So why?"

"Because..." I sat up and cracked my fingers. "Something tells me that if I remember what happened that night, everything else will make sense. Everything that has happened to me. My father’s actions will make more sense. I just know it."

Dr. Diane watched me for a long moment before nodding. "Then we’ll work on it. There’s medication that can help. You’ll take it for a few weeks, and we’ll see if it does anything. It won’t be comfortable, Harper."

I went still. Three years of pills that weren’t what the label said had taught me never to trust a bottle again. "I’d like it tested first," I said. "At an independent pharmacy, before I take a single tablet."

Dr. Diane’s pen paused. Then she nodded slowly, and something like respect crossed her face. "That’s wise. I’ll write the prescription to Adele’s pharmacy, and I’ll mark it for verification."

A sad smile tugged at my lips. "I haven’t been comfortable for fourteen years. Might as well nip this in the bud."

If I went down this road, I thought, my heart beating frantically, what would I find? And just how much of a monster was my father?