Don't Close Your Eyes (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 1) (8 page)

I’m sure Lido wasn’t expecting me to knock on his door at midnight, but that’s exactly what I did.
“Where’s the pipe? I want to see it … now!” He had that look on his face. You know the one I mean: What the hell are you doing here? There was fire in my eyes and undeniable intent in the way I moved. There was something else in Lido’s expression, that look of astonishment that said, “Are you absolutely crazy?”

I was backing him into his apartment and he was sort of, well, backpedaling as I advanced. “What pipe?” he asked defensively. “I thought you were dropping it off at forensics.”

“No, not that pipe, the other pipe.” I stripped my pocketbook off my shoulder in a purposeful manner and let it thump on the floor.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” He pretended to be puzzled, but only a moron could misinterpret my signals. I was hot and sweaty before I put my hands on him. “Hey, Stephanie, what gives? Really.”
Read between the lines, love boat.

“Call me Chalice.” Time’s up. I didn’t know if he was kidding or confounded, either was unimportant. I couldn’t stand the way those Scores bimbos had looked at him. Even worse was the way he had responded. Gee, I hope he didn’t bring one home with him. “You alone?”

“Yeah, why?” Do you believe this guy? Actually, I couldn’t blame him. My tough-girl veneer had always ridden roughshod over any emotional stirrings that might have existed between us in the past. There was sexual tension between us, but it was always overshadowed with
I’ll cut your balls off if you try
. But so what? I’m a woman and it’s completely within my God-given rights to be fickle. Anyway, I was thinking with my heart and not my head, and I was about to change the nature of our relationship forever. God help the poor man.

I had him backed up against his bed within seconds. Thank God it was only a studio. I put my hands on his shirt and ripped it open. Lido no longer looked puzzled. He was grinning a big shit-eating grin. “Why, Stephanie—”

“Stop talking,” I put my lips on his, kissed him hard, then backed off and pushed him onto the bed.

“Hey, you carrying?” he asked. He was sitting on the end of the bed, looking adorable.

“Yeah and you better be too!” Lido’s white shirt was parted over his tan belly. His stomach wasn’t cut in one of those ice-cube-tray configurations, but he had a deep indentation right down the middle of it, a roadmap to the Promised Land.

I yanked the Guess dress up and over my head. I looked down at Lido through tousled hair. His hair was soft. It had fallen across his forehead, imparting a little-boy look to his rugged features. His beard was a little stubbly.
Yum.
I kicked off my shoes and got on the bed, straddling him. I threw my arms around him and kissed him again, a cop’s kiss, like a French kiss on steroids.

Lido pulled away this time. I knew what he was going to say before he said it. The warning was coming. “Chalice, you sure about this?”

“Thanks for being a gentleman, but I came here because I wanted to.” I looked at him with wanting, hungry insatiable wanting, and unclasped my bra. I studied his reaction. He seemed to be impressed which wasn’t bad considering he’d just interrogated thirty exotic dancers.

“You’re beautiful,” he said. Isn’t it funny? A guy sees your face every day, but doesn’t tell you you’re beautiful until he sees your boobs. I undid his belt and reached down inside his slacks.
Whoopee, who cares?

Lido did a good job. In fact, I was so impressed that I made him stay and put in some overtime. Afterward, I rested in his arms, wondering how we were going to get through the next day. If it wasn’t for the psycho, I think I would have called in sick. Gus was staring at me. His eyes were soft, but thoughtful. He was probably wondering the same thing. I ran my finger over his lip. “You okay?”

Gus smiled, but didn’t answer. I could see that he was thinking. “I never thought this would happen,” he said. He started sliding off the bed. “I’ve got some Sam Adams in the fridge. Thirsty?”

I’m satisfied and thirsty as hell.
“Yeah.” Lido walked into the kitchen area, leaving me to wonder what he was thinking about. What could he be thinking? It wasn’t bad enough that we had a psychopath to apprehend. I had added a whole new set of complications. Where would this lead? How would it affect the job? Maybe I was giving him too much credit. Maybe he was thinking,
wait ‘til I tell the boys.

Lido came back with two cold ones. I took a long sip and he did the same. I caressed his arm.

“You know I’ll never say a word,” he said.

“I know you won’t. I’m a faster draw than you are.”

“Funny.”

“This can be as serious or as casual as we want it to be.” I put my bottle down on the end table and stood up. “Really, Gus, I’m okay either way.” Gus looked a little hurt by that, making me sorry I had said it.

“You’re too much, Chalice, you know that? I’ve had this fantasy fifty times. It finally comes true and then you go and crap on it.” I was surprised at Gus’s admission, especially after granting him unconditional absolution. He had always been on the quiet side. I guess what they say is true;
still waters run deep
.

“Hey, Gus, come on . . . I’m not making light of this. I’m just—”

“Giving me a way out if I want it? Well, I don’t.”

It’s funny with cops. In any other profession, careers would come into play. You know the old adage:
Don’t shit where you eat
. It’s different in the police department. Relationships were almost expected; you just had to be discreet enough not to let it screw up your performance.

“We can be cool about this, right?” I asked.

“Ever the career-minded policeman, huh?” Woman, policewoman, surely he noticed.

It was important to me. “Come on, Gus, let’s not ruin the moment.”

We were both still naked. My, but we’d grown familiar in a very short time. I took another hit of the Sam Adams and then got back into bed. I covered myself with the sheet. Lido was still standing there. Christ, he had the body of a Greek God. “Come lie down; let’s talk about it.” Gus brightened and Little Gus rose to attention. It looked like he was preparing for a pole-vault attempt. He was under the covers and next to me in an instant, smiling. “Didn’t expect it, did you?”

“No, these are definitely uncharted waters.”

Hey, what the hell’s wrong with me? Couldn’t I ever be a woman? Did I have to be a cop all the time? I turned to him, snuggling, and drew circles on his chest with my finger. “Hey, this is nice,” I whispered. I kissed his bare shoulder. “Let’s take it a day at a time, all right? Hey, what’s that poking me in the leg?”

“Nothing.” Lido pretended not to know what I was talking about, but he began to blush. The man had reloaded and was ready for action. I grabbed the barrel of his gun and aimed it at the target.

“I think I’m gonna like this arrangement.” I kissed him sweetly. It was tough making the transition from partner to girlfriend, but not one that I was incapable of.

We made love again. It was even better the second time. Most things are after you loosen up a little and let yourself go.

Len Isaacs poured himself a glass of water from a china carafe.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get back to you yesterday. I was away for an extended weekend—professional conference. Can I offer you something to drink?”

“No, thanks.” It was another hot day. I took off my blazer and laid it over the back of the couch. The sky was already dimming and I could see people hurrying home from work through Isaacs’s window.

Isaacs had a little stubble growing on his chin. Being around all his fellow therapists probably put the bug in his head. Have you ever noticed how many shrinks have facial hair? I think it’s a prerequisite for the degree. Somewhere along the line, most of them undergo psychoanalysis and grow a beard. I guess it’s the Freudian thing to do.

“I hope it was nothing serious—”

No, nothing serious, just another session of charred arms and terror, waking up in the middle of the night in a
cold sweat with palpitations.
“No, just more of the same.”

“In any case, I’ll give you my cell number. That way I’ll never be out of reach.” Isaacs smiled reassuringly.

“I’ll have to memorize it.”

“Still worried about being found out by your fellow policemen?”

Uh huh.
“That’s the way it goes.”

“You know, there’s really nothing wrong with seeing a therapist. I’m sure your coworkers would understand.”

“You don’t know the job. If you think New York’s finest are enlightened, you’ve got quite a surprise coming. Tell a cop you’re seeing a shrink and right away he’ll envision you with electrodes taped to your forehead and dribble running down your chin . . . padded cells and men in white coats.”

“That’s ludicrous.”

“No, that’s life.”

“Come on, Stephanie. Aren’t you worrying just a little too much?”

“I’m telling you, they’d have a net over me in five minutes.”

“You would have had my cell number if you had taken one of my cards. You’re not taking advantage of all I can do for you.”

“All right, give me a card. I’ll memorize the number and then I’ll eat it.” A lot had happened since I’d called Isaacs. Last evening with Lido, above all else. There was so much on my mind: Lido, the investigation, my nightmare, and the fear of diabetes. I looked up at Isaacs. At this rate, I’d be seeing him forever.

“I think we’d better get started. I’d like to begin the session by asking you a few questions to see where they take us. About halfway through, I’d like to try some E.M.D.R. Do you remember what that is?” I nodded. I didn’t see any apparatus with flashing lights; maybe it would drop out of the ceiling at the press of a button. “Why did you become a policewoman, Stephanie?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a cop. My dad was. I guess I have this deep sense of morality. I like to see justice served. I guess it’s in my blood.” Why does everyone look at me like I have two heads when I say that? “Any of the above, take your pick.”

Isaacs pressed his pointer finger against his lips. It looked like he was kissing a boo-boo. “So, you have this inbred sense of right and wrong. Is the work gratifying? Do you enjoy what you do?”

“Very much so.”

“And it doesn’t get to you, all these murders? Innocent people shot and stabbed, abused children, beaten wives—”

“It’s not all fun and games. As you pointed out, there are some terrible, horrible things going on in the world. Some are content cultivating flowers. It just doesn’t happen to be the case with me.”

“But it’s worth it? I mean, the sense of reward from a job well done that makes it all worthwhile?”

“Absolutely. Like seeing the resolve in the eyes of a parent after you’ve obtained justice for their child. There’s nothing quite like it.”

“So it’s worth it, is what you’re saying. It’s worth all the terrible things you have to endure. The end justifies the means.”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Do you think your father would be proud of you?”

“I’d like to believe so.”

“Excellent.” Isaacs paused to take a sip of water. “And you’re not doing this for him?”

“Excuse me?”

“I thought I was clear. You’ve chosen police work because it gives you a tremendous sense of self-gratification and not because you’re doing what would please your father. That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

Huh? “That’s correct,” I answered immediately, almost reflexively. But for the first time in my life, I had my doubts. I had never thought of that angle before and right or wrong, it opened a can of worms. I shook my finger at Isaacs. “You, you’re good!”
Why, you crafty old shit.
I felt like DeNiro in Analyze This. Isaacs rubbed his stubble—he looked like Freud at the height of his analytical powers.

“Just making you think.” He appeared to be quite pleased with himself. “Don’t worry, I’m not heading you toward the Electra complex. I don’t think there’s any need to swim in those murky waters.”

“Electra complex?” I turned my head askew. I’d never heard of it. I did date a guy once who was a complete fanatic about his classic Buick Electra. He used to change the oil every fifteen hundred miles, but Isaacs wasn’t talking about a car, now was he?

“The Electra complex,” Isaacs stated in a most matter-of-fact way. He leaned forward. “A daughter’s unconscious libidinal desire for her father. Like the Oedipus complex is for men, so to speak.”

“That’s disgusting!”

“Freud didn’t think so.”

“Yeah, right! Everyone thought J. Edgar Hoover was a goddamn pillar until they saw pictures of him in a dress.”

“I’m not sure I understand the analogy.”

“Let’s just say that Freud was a tad strange. I read a little about him. People with less baggage have been committed to insane asylums.”

“I think we should drop it.”

“Fair enough.”

“Let’s go back to the last constructive point. I opened the door for you, Stephanie. Do a little soul searching. Is there any chance that you became a cop to please your father?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You won’t even concede the possibility?”

“Can you please tell me what this has to do with the nightmares I’ve been having?”

“In due time. I know that you’re impatient, but this isn’t as simple as taking a pill.”
Damn!
“We’ve got to follow the thread and see where it leads us. I’ve got to follow the clues.” Isaacs’ eyes brightened at his own cleverness. All of a sudden, he was a cop too. “Will you accommodate me on this?”

“To a point,” I answered impatiently. “But no more of this Electra bullshit.”

“Forget that I ever mentioned it.”

Sure, that’s easy for you to do. You’re not the one who just went to bed with your father.
“Done. Now, will
you
indulge me?” I asked.

“Of course, Stephanie. What’s on your mind?” Isaacs folded his hands below his stubbly Sigmund Freud chin.

“Well, Len, it’s a little hard to explain, but since the last time we talked, I’ve had somewhat of a revelation. I now have this sense that I’m not the person in my dream. I’m just seeing what they’re seeing.”

Isaacs recoiled. “That’s a bit unusual. What makes you think that?”

“I can’t tell you. It’s just a feeling.”

“So how do you come to see what someone else experienced?”

“That’s going to take some explaining.”

“And who do you think is being rolled into the emergency room?”

“My mother.”

“You think it’s your mother. That’s interesting.”

“That’s right, it’s just my gut feeling. That’s all I can tell you, but I am a detective and my instincts are usually pretty good.”

“Let me see if I have this right. You think your mother is on a stretcher being rolled into the hospital’s emergency room and you’re seeing everything she’s seeing. Is that about the size of it?”

“There’s more.”

“Yes?”

This was really tough to admit but I knew I had to be forthcoming if I wanted to get better. “I told you at our first session that I thought the woman on the stretcher was pregnant. Remember?”

“Yes?”

“Well, I think I’m the baby my mother is pregnant with.”
How’s that for dropping a bomb?

Isaacs took off his glasses. Sweat had broken out across his temples and upper lip. Without his glasses his pupils looked extremely small, like two BBs. He wiped his glasses clean with a tissue before replacing them. “Well, I must say this puts an entirely new spin on things. Frankly, I’m a bit stymied.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, Stephanie, I am not.”

“You’ve never worked with someone who believed that they saw what was happening to someone else?” Never for a moment did I think he had. I was, after all, a detective—I had my rod out and I was fishing.

“No, I’m sorry. I never have. Honestly, I don’t run across a lot of this in my practice.”

“Holy cow.” I pinned him with my eyes. “You’re telling me that I’m describing something so unusual that you’ve never come across it in all your years of training?”

“Well, let’s talk this through. Perhaps we’ll find something that will help me focus. In hypnoanalysis, it’s fairly common to go into the womb and even beyond. The subconscious likes to play these games and will try to please the hypnotist. Total baloney, all pretend. I don’t believe it for one moment and neither should you. Besides which, you’re not under hypnosis. Are you sure that your mother has never been in an emergency room?”

“Not that I know of.”

“But you’re not sure?”

“No.”

“That’s something we’ll have to look into. Do you fear for your mother’s life?”

I thought for a moment. The obvious answer was yes. “My mother has severe diabetes and refuses to take care of it in a responsible fashion. I’m always catching her with a stash of chocolate bars.”

“I see. All right, perhaps we’re getting somewhere.”

Isaacs continued to interrogate me about my mother’s condition and my concern for her life. I understood the direction he was taking, but he still wasn’t getting the point. He had never worked with anyone who believed they had seen through someone else’s eyes, or uterus, for that matter. Perhaps this was why I had come to him in the first place. Maybe I really feared that I was out of my mind. I had been apprehensive about telling him, but as the man had said on day one, I had to be completely open with him.

“I’m afraid we won’t be able to get into any E.M.D.R. today. At the moment, I’m not prepared to guide you through it. Can you give me a day or so to think it through?”

“Let’s face it, Len, this is not your area.” Why beat around the bush? “Perhaps you can refer me to someone who specializes in this sort of work.”

“Well, Stephanie.” He sounded a bit pissed. I guess I had been a little too direct. I should have couched my request in terms that would have softened the blow a little. “I’m afraid that I can’t just list four or five good specialists off the top of my head.” I could tell that he was making every effort to remain professional. “About the only name I have for you is Dr. Nigel Twain and frankly . . . well, I’m afraid you’d have to put him in the same odd closet with Freud and J. Edgar Hoover.”

“Why?”

“Well, he’s considered a bit of an oddity. I don’t mind telling you that my peers do not hold his kind of psychology in high regard. To be honest, I think they’re a little crazy, and this Twain fellow admits to having used LSD and other hallucinogens. Going to him is akin to a cancer patient running to Mexico for enema therapy.

“He used LSD personally?”

“So I’ve been told. If my information is correct, he’s also used it in the treatment of patients.”

“Wow. That sounds absolutely bizarre.”

“I can’t say he’s the first and only practicing psychiatrist to attempt rehabilitative LSD therapy, but—”

“I take it you’re not a fan.”

“I don’t even consider it a legitimate approach.”

I pondered Isaacs’s remark. As I mulled it over, I began to speak. I felt like I was a puppet and someone was working my strings. “Where can I find him?”

“You’re not serious?”

“Deadly serious. Where can I find him?”

“In the Village somewhere. He runs a facility called the Center for Transpersonal Psychology. Stephanie, this is really scary stuff. I hope you’ll think long and hard about this before getting involved with the likes of Nigel Twain, or any other paranormalist, for that matter.”

“Paranormalist, isn’t that the term they use to refer to gypsies and fortune-tellers?”

Isaacs grinned. “Exactly.”