Selective/Memory: The "Depth of Emotion" Book 2 (The Depth of Emotion) (13 page)

“I’m glad that it’s working for you and that you’re progressing so well.”

With a shrug of her shoulders, Aria indicated that only half of the story had been reported to the doctor.

“I am, but I want to talk to you about remembering the details of the accident.”

“What would you like to talk about?” Dr. Sumner returned to a more serious tone.

“I want you to hypnotize me,” Aria blatantly stated.

“Excuse me?” The doctor had to contain her surprise of Aria’s changed attitude.

“Can’t you do that?” Aria asked. “Can’t you make me remember the details by hypnotizing me? I want to remember—no matter how painful they are. I want to know the
truth
.”

Dr. Sumner was convinced that Aria was serious. Her desperation was evident by the tone of her voice.

Continuing in her calming tone, the doctor eased the atmosphere in the room.

“If that’s truly what you want, Aria—to remember—I think there’s a better option.”

Eager to hear more, Aria sat forward, encouraging the doctor to divulge the details.

“There’s a treatment that’s used with people suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD. It’s called EMDR therapy,” she informed Aria. “It’s an effective form of treatment. Once we identify the most vivid, visual images that you remember of the accident, we can identify something positive as well. You can think about it. I can give you some information, and you can find some on the internet. You don’t have to decide today.”

Aria stood and straightened herself. Sitting back into the chair, posture straight and feet flat on the floor, she appeared ready for a mission.

“Let’s start now,” she said.

That earned her a rare chuckle from the therapist.

“Well, I’m not quite certain that we’d get much accomplished today, but we can certainly get you acclimated with the process—if you think you’d like to try it.”

Aria was prepared for anything and showed her willingness by her body language.

“Okay,” the doctor said, proud of how far her patient had come. “Let’s get you started. First, I’d like you to sit back and relax. We’re going to talk about the accident. What I want you to do is answer the questions I ask you, but I want you to follow my finger with just your eyes. I’ll be moving my finger to the left and right in front of you, slowly. When I stop my finger, an image should be in your head, and we can discuss it. Try to think of it as if you’re watching a movie, frame by frame, or cars on a train as they move on the track; each car is a scene in your mind’s eye. There’s no stress involved with this. I want you to just allow the thoughts to come freely. It may not all come back to you the first time, and that’s okay; don’t try to force it. As you become more and more comfortable with the therapy, your thoughts and memories will return in a more relaxed and less traumatic way.”

As Aria watched the doctor move her finger, unpleasant images flooded her heart and mind, but she was determined to face them…

His appearance neither thrilled nor excited her, but his purpose was his legal expertise. Mr. Dietz graciously greeted Marisol with an outstretched hand the moment she walked through his office door.

Admiring what a beautiful woman she was, he invited her to sit. He then took the chair behind the desk and proceeded to conduct the business at hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Franzi,” he pleasantly said. “You indicated that you need an attorney. I must admit, I expected that you’d be searching for someone to represent you in the entertainment industry. As you must be aware, I’m a business and real estate attorney. How is it that I may be of assistance to you?”

“Well, Mr. Dietz,” she cooed in her familiar style, “you have come highly recommended as a local attorney.”

Marisol then seductively crossed one leg over the other, using her skills of distraction and leaned over just far enough to assure the man the most opportunistic view.

“I need your talents as I wish to venture into the lucrative business of real estate ownership. As I’ve been spending more time in this area, I find that this coast offers several towns that are quite heavily populated by tourists. I wish to purchase properties. Some I will lease and some I will sell, but all that will provide a nice return on my investment.”

Not wanting to mislead a client, especially one of Ms. Franzi’s caliber, Mr. Dietz felt it only fair to advise her of all aspects of her proposal.

“You do realize, Ms. Franzi that purchasing the properties is only part of the equation. You’ll need a company, or companies, to handle the rental and maintenance aspects for you.”

Marisol politely tolerated the man’s litany to her.

“Of course,” she said, humoring him. “This is not an undertaking that I have not given much thought. That is what I will be paying you for—to set up the corporation and to procure the services of the real estate company for me.”

She leaned in toward his desk and smiled seductively. Her tone put Mr. Dietz on guard.

Realizing that she was more than just a beautiful woman, he measured his words carefully.

“Ms. Franzi, do you know
exactly
what it is that you want from me, or were you going to allow me to use my expertise at all?”

She scoffed at his words and toyed with the idea of dismissing him altogether, realizing that he wasn’t as much a fool as she would have played him for. The thought of looking for another attorney would delay any strategy she had made, and she then decided against it as it would only put the timeline of her plan further back.

“Why, I know
exactly
what I want from you, Mr. Dietz,” she said with all the charm she could muster. “I want you to form a corporation for me. I want that corporation to employ the Davis Realty Company for all rentals and Cole Construction for maintenance, remodeling, and repair issues. I want those two companies used exclusively. I will select the properties that I would like to lease and those I would like to purchase for my real estate portfolio, but I will direct
you
to make the purchases for me, again through Davis Realty. There is nothing illegal about what I am proposing, so I see us having no problems. Do you?”

Mr. Dietz was suddenly dumbfounded. He had certainly underestimated this woman. She clearly had an agenda and a solid, legal business proposal—and he’d gladly take her money.

“I have one question, Ms. Franzi, if I may,” he asked as he reached for a legal pad. He looked up at the beautiful woman and presented her with
his
most gratuitous smile. “Exactly what would you like the name of your company to be?”

Her face lit up like sunshine, and her tongue slithered over her lips as the words slipped out like poison.

“Why, Mr. Dietz. I believe this will be a winning arrangement for us both. I’ve chosen something that has personal meaning to me…
The Vencedor Corporation
…”

The throbbing began around the same time every day, relentless in reinforcing that he was no longer the same man. The pain was a bitter reminder in the message it delivered to his brain—loss.

The effects of the whiskey continued to accelerate the medication’s mission, and the dark questions began to eat at his brain as they tortured him with the pain.

What was harder to lose? The love of a lifetime, or the use of a limb?

The question whipped his brain as effectively as the slicing sting of leather, inflicting pain with no constructive redemption. Day after day, he attempted eviscerating the pain of letting go of the woman he loved, but the void she left in his heart persisted and grew.

As time carried on, he continued to make physical progress, returning to normal business activities. Photo shoots were offered, and he gratefully took the work—more as a diversion than for the income as The Studio was doing well financially. Clients did note that his
look
had changed. He was no longer the carefree poster child of the rich and famous. Not giving the appearance of a carefree summer in the Hamptons, he now wore the mask of a hardened, ruthless son of a bitch. It worked to his advantage, for as in the beginning of his career, the industry was seeking a look that was
different
. More and more physically impaired men were showing up in the pages of magazines, and the popularity of men such as Alex Minsky, made his job easier. At least he could be thankful that times had changed and people wanted variety in their advertising. If Aria hadn’t pushed him into making his dream, The Studio, a reality—
well…what would he have done if he hadn’t met Aria
—the thought was almost laughable. He’d still be a self-absorbed, narcissistic playboy in New York screwing every woman he wanted, and he’d never have been in an accident…
and he’d never have known the truth of what it felt like to have someone who truly, wholly loved you.

Closing his eyes afforded him the luxury of seeing her in his head, and the images arrived like a special gift as he ingested more of the hot liquid. It eroded his resistance as his beautiful girl came rushing into his mind’s eye like crashing waves. The sense of emptiness he felt without her was more overwhelming than he had originally anticipated. Thinking it would be easier for them both, he cut her out of his life. Now, all he felt was the vindictive repercussion of vulnerability.

As Marisol fed more fabricated lies throughout his recovery, he foolishly thought he could live without Aria, yet the more his own memories returned, he realized that, for him, living without Aria was becoming as painful as living without air. With each day that passed, the desperation he felt threatened to engulf him, but he was a helpless victim of his own circumstance. He was the one who sent her away, and suffering was the price he was paying for it.

As he downed another burning shot, his office door opened. Shoving the bottle and glass into the small drawer of the desk beside him, he reached for the tin of Altoids, popping two in his mouth. He raked his hands through his hair to compose himself, and turned with evil eyes to see who had intruded on his pleasant visualization.

“You couldn’t knock?” he said harshly to his brother.

The concern surfaced in Carter immediately upon seeing his brother. Carter could tell he’d been drinking.

“Are you all right?” Carter asked.

“I’m fine!” Declan barked at him. “My leg’s being a pain in the ass today, that’s all. What do you want?”

Carter took a seat in front of the desk and dismissed Declan’s ill humor, becoming engrossed in his own thoughts. Right now, he was in need of a bit of support.

“You got a few minutes? I really need to bounce something off of you…”

NEED.

His brother
needed
him…

Immediately, something snapped inside of Declan. No one had
needed
him for months, and a memory resurfaced of the relationship he and Carter shared. The fundamental act of being
useful
sparked a chord, and it instantly stroked his faltering ego. He was subconsciously sick of the coddling. The protector in him jumped front and center, and it instantaneously changed his demeanor. If Carter would have been looking up, he would even have noticed a slight change in his brother’s posture as his dignity forged his spine into a more upright position.

“Yeah, I got a few minutes,” he said, completely softening his tone at the opportunity to be useful. “What’s up?”

Leaning back in the chair, Carter sucked in a labored deep breath. Not knowing exactly where to start, he took his rough hand and ran it over his face, pushing at the invisible distress.

Finally, after a few minutes, he set an anxiously confused look toward Declan, trying to put his comments in order.

“I’m going to have a benefit thing in Lacey’s memory. You know, to memorialize her. It’ll be for a scholarship fund. It’s something I want to do every year.”

At the invocation of Lacey’s name, Declan softened even more. It was the common ground where both men had a tender spot. The lines around his mouth eased, and as the headache faded away with his sour attitude, so did the tension he had held in his eyes.

“Tell me why you want to do this,” he prodded.