Iris Johansen - Pandora's Daughter

"You were lonely. But she did what she thought best for you. She was torn between wanting you to have a normal life and trying to protect you." He paused. "Because neither one of you was quite normal. You both were a little… different."

Megan could feel her every muscle, stiffening, locking. "No, that's a lie."

"That's what Sarah told you to say. You were to deny it to anyone who asked. It was the only way she could guard you. She even lied to you and told you that the voices you heard were caused by a mental problem, didn't she?"

"I'm not listening to you."

"Yes, you are. Sarah had a powerful psychic gift and she passed it on to you. But she never regarded it as a gift but a curse. She didn't want it tainting your life so she ignored it existed."

Panic was soaring through her. "It's a lie."

"You don't have to protect yourself from me." He shook his head. "Or maybe you do. But not from this particular truth. No one is more aware of that gift than I am."

She shook her head. "I don't know anything about any psychic bullshit."

"Then it's good that I know a good deal about it, isn't it? There are all kinds of psychic talents out there. Mind reading, healing, precognition."

"Charlatans."

"Some of them. Others are quite genuine."

She moistened her lips. "Not me. I'm none of those things."

"No. So far you've only exhibited one talent. You're a Listener."

"What?"

"You hear echoes. Put you in a place or situation where something highly stressful or tragic occurred and you can hear the scene play out." He added quietly, "Only there are too many tragedies, too many human beings in pain or distress. The echoes bombard you, push against each other until they're one long scream."

He was wrong, she thought. Each scream was individual and defined and the pain was incredibly personal.

"And your mother never taught you how to suppress them. Maybe she didn't know how to teach it. She had to learn how to manage her own gift, but she wasn't around any other psychics. She was pure, raw talent when I first met her. A huge talent that was like none I'd ever run across. It was all trial and error and terribly traumatic for her. I tried to help her but I was too damn young and still struggling with my own problems."

"This is crazy," Megan said unsteadily. "There was nothing wrong with my mother. I was the only one with-"

"She heard the voices too. She just pretended she didn't."

"She wouldn't lie to me."

"She wasn't a strong Listener and there may have been times when she didn't hear what you heard. But she knew what they were. When she found out that you had the same gift, she was able to control your mind enough to keep the echoes at bay. She never tried to go that extra step and help you to take charge. She desperately wanted you to have an ordinary life. She was probably going to do it later."

We'll just forget about it, baby. Come to me if you have that trouble again.

"She loved you, Megan," he said quietly. "She was confused and made huge mistakes, but she always loved you."

"You don't have to tell me that," she said jerkily. "You were with us for one summer. You don't know anything about us."

"I know that when she gave up and let you go, I had to step in and clamp a control on you. Otherwise you would have gone with her." He paused. "But the only way I could keep you on an even keel was to change a few of your memories."

"What memories?" She ran her hand through her hair. "Lord, I can't believe I asked that. It gives credence to all this nonsense."

"Because deep within you know the truth. I could only put on a Band-Aid but self-preservation did the rest. Are you sure you want to know what those Band-Aids covered? I can wait."

She was silent a moment, fighting to resist the temptation. Why not? She wouldn't permit herself to believe it, but she might as well see how far he'd go with this story. "What memories?"

"It was best that you didn't remember me or that last night with your mother. If you were going to have a normal life, it was better that you didn't remember your voices or your mother's interpretation of them. It would have only made you doubt your sanity."

"Like I'm doubting your sanity right now."

He smiled. "Self-preservation again. You're beginning to remember… and believe."

"Bull. I'm a doctor. I believe that I should go to a reputable psychiatrist and discuss buried and suppressed memories. There are logical and scientific reasons that don't have anything to do with psychics and… echoes." It had been hard to say that last word. Echoes and screams and voices. Just the thought was causing the panic to start. She tried to make her tone mocking. "And I gather from what you've said that you're supposed to be one of these voodoo psychics too?"

"I wouldn't have been able to help you if I hadn't possessed a talent of my own. But you probably have the potential for being much stronger and multifaceted. That's why I'm going to need your help."

"Then you're knocking on the wrong door." She hesitated before she had to ask the question, "Why didn't you want me to remember what happened that night?"

His gaze narrowed on her face. "Suppose we leave that for another time."

Fear sleeted through her. "No, why, dammit?"

He didn't answer for a moment. "Because you would have had to deal with your mother's murder."

"Murder?" She tried to laugh but her throat was tight and closed. "Now I know you're nuts. My mother tumbled down an incline and broke her neck. It was an accident."

"Her neck was broken by the man you saw at the bottom of the hill that night. And when she died you knew she'd been murdered. I could sense it in you as if it were written in neon."

"No, it didn't happen. No one would have wanted to kill my mother." The tears were trickling down her cheeks. "Dear God, how ugly can you get?"

"Pretty damn ugly." He stood up. "I think I'd better go away and give you a chance to absorb all of this. You're in denial and it will take a while for you to adjust your thinking. One thing you should know is that you don't have to be afraid of me relaxing control again. No more voices. I had to make you listen to me and that was the quickest way to illustrate the point."

"Quickest and most brutal," she said unsteadily.

"Yes, I'll send in Phillip and let him comfort you and hold your hand. He's very good at that."

"Don't you make fun of Phillip," she said fiercely. "He's a finer man than you'll ever be."

"I wouldn't think of it. You're probably right. I wouldn't have chosen him if I hadn't the utmost respect for him."

She frowned. "Chosen?"

"You had to have someone to give you stability and Lord knows I can't give anyone that. I sent Phillip to do the job."

Her eyes widened in shock. "That can't be true. He's my mother's half brother. He's my uncle."

"No, Phillip Blair never met your mother. He wasn't her half brother. That was a necessary falsehood I was forced to fabricate." He turned to the door. "I paid him for the job, but he would have done it for nothing. Phillip's an idealist and he has a very warm heart. I told him of the need and he volunteered to fill it."

"That can't be true," she whispered again. "He wouldn't lie to me."

"Ask him."

The door closed behind him.

Mama. Phillip. Of all the shocking and painful words he'd uttered those last sentences had been the hardest to bear.

She closed her eyes. She felt as if she'd been beaten. Crazy. It was all crazy.

People won't understand, Megan. They'd say you're crazy. We both know that's not true, baby. We'll just keep it between ourselves.

Her mother had never said anything about psychics or talents or any of that crap. She had let Megan think those voices were caused by an illness that shouldn't be talked about. From the time she was seven she had heard the voices, but then they had been faint and far away. It was only after she had reached puberty that they had attacked like sharks. But Mama had been there to comfort and soon the voices were silent.