Mind Games - Page 206
He saw the pain even before she sucked in her breath, and rubbed at her hand.
“What the hell’s wrong with your hand?” He pushed up, reached for it, but she snatched it away.
“Nothing. Nothing. It’s not my hand, it’s my head. He’s pushing, pushing. It hurts. It’s harder to keep him out when I’m upset, and it hurts.”
“Who?”
“Riggs! Ray Riggs, the bastard who murdered my parents. He can get into my head; I can get into his. I don’t know why. God, he’s loving this. He loves to see me suffer. I sent him to prison, and he needs me to pay. I saw him. I was there when he killed them.”
Not just pale now, he thought, but almost translucent. And breathing too fast. “Sit down. Let’s sit down. You said you were here when it happened, with Lucy.”
“I was here, I was there.” She tried to resist, but he pulled her over to the couch. “It was a dream, it wasn’t a dream. I was there, but I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t do anything but watch. Watch him break into the house by the back sliders. He hated them for having a big house. Should’ve been his, everything should be his. He’d take it. The watch, he wanted her watch.”
“Slow down.”
But she couldn’t.
“He’d seen her, dressed for a meeting. Professional Woman, she called it. Dressed so nice, wearing the watch Dad gave her for their anniversary. I knew because he knew, because he thought it. The gallery wall. My picture. He knew something when he saw my picture. He wanted to kill me. Rem, too, but me more than anything.”
“Slow down, Thea. Come on now, slow your breathing down. Look at me.”
But she couldn’t, not when she was back in the house, seeing it all again. He could almost see it himself, in eyes brilliantly blue.
“He has a gun, and I can’t stop him. Upstairs, looking at everything, hating them just for being, for having. He doesn’t even know them, but hates them. They’re sleeping, and he takes one of the pillows, the pretty pillows Mom likes to put on the bed. He puts it over my father’s face and he—he—he shoots him through it.
“I’m screaming, screaming, but it’s only in my head.” Clamping her hands on her head, she rocked. “Mom wakes up, and calls for Dad. John, John. But Riggs puts the gun to her head. Shut the fuck up, bitch. But she can’t stop. Crying, calling, and he hits her, he makes her tell him where to find the safe, the combination. She’s holding my father’s hand, crying, and he puts a pillow over her face and shoots her.”
Somewhere in the story, he’d actually felt his own color drain. “You saw that?”
“I saw, I saw. He takes Dad’s good watch and the earrings and more from the safe. And I see, I see when he goes to the dresser for Mom’s watch. I see his face in the mirror. I see him, and he feels me, looks behind him, but he can’t see me. Not then. But part of him knows, and when he goes downstairs, he takes my picture off the wall. He takes it with him. One day he’ll kill me, too.
“He’s killing me now. I can’t breathe.”
“Yes, you can. Look at me now. Damn it, look at me. Slow it down, slow it all down. Long, slow, easy now. That’s the way.”
“It hurts.”
“I know. It’s going to be better in a minute. Long, slow, easy breaths. I’m going to get you some water. Tell me why you’re rubbing your hand that way.”
“Acupressure. Headache. Helps.”
“Keep that up then.” Her color seeped back; her breathing slowed. “Scott, back at the beginning, had panic attacks before a gig.”
“I don’t have panic attacks.”
“You just did. I’m going to get you some water.”
When he left, she, mortified, exhausted, let her head fall back. She’d fallen apart. What good did it do to fall apart? She’d let Riggs break her to pieces because she’d let herself fall apart.
When Ty came back, she took the glass. “Thank you. I’m fine now. I’d like you to go.”
“Not a chance.” He sat, and though she stiffened, took her hand to rub where she had. “Has this been going on all this time?”
“On and off, but not like this. Not this bad. I can handle it.”
“Can you?”
“I handled it before you got here, and I’ll handle it after you leave.”