Richard Mabry - Diagnosis Death

She thought of her midnight caller, the mysterious Karri. When she'd first seen the name on Will's note, Elena couldn't place Karri Lawson, but soon the picture came clear. Karri, the attractive brunette nurse who'd cared for Mark during his terminal stay in the ICU. Karri, who was so attentive. Karri, who always seemed to be around Mark. Could they have been having an affair before Mark was stricken? Was Karri the reason for Mark's note? Was it jealousy that drove Karri to torment Elena with the cards and midnight calls? But did it go even further? Had Karri somehow managed to arrange for Charlie Lambert to die under circumstances that would cast suspicion on Elena?

What about Mark's sister, Natalie? Elena had no idea the woman even existed until the name appeared in Lillian's obituary. Had Natalie come out of the shadows to carry on the vendetta against Elena that her mother had started? Could she have had a hand in Lambert's death? Was it possible that she was in Dainger even now? Perhaps under an assumed name?

A loud honk from behind her brought Elena's attention back to the road. A glance at her speedometer told her she'd slowed to forty miles an hour. Ahead of her a solid double line divided the highway as far as she could see, while behind her was a string of cars almost a half mile long. She waved an apology and pulled onto the shoulder. She sat there, her emergency flashers going, while car after car passed. As the slipstream from each passing car rocked her little Ford, Elena fought back the tears.

The last car passed, but she didn't pull out. Instead, she did something she hadn't done in months. She'd read somewhere that the two most fervent prayers anyone could utter were "Please, please, please" and "Thank you, thank you, thank you." Before Elena turned the wheel and pulled back onto the road, her lips formed the words: "Please. Please. Please."

Every step from the parking garage to the elevator to Josh Samuels's office was like moving through a field of tar. To dredge up the events of five months ago was more than Elena could contemplate. Yet she trudged on.

Once she stopped in her tracks, frozen, until words began playing in her head like an endless loop: "Investigate my life, O God… See for yourself whether I've done anything wrong." Surely God already knew whether she'd done anything wrong. Now it was time for it all to be brought into the light. It would either help… or hurt. But it was time.

The waiting room was small, neat, and empty of patients. Elena took a seat in the farthest corner and picked up a magazine, hiding behind it as though it could shield her from unseen eyes.

"Elena?"

She hadn't heard the inner door open. Now Josh Samuels filled it, a look of genuine welcome on his face. Knowing gray eyes stared out from a craggy face with a distinct five o'clock shadow. Ridges marked his shaved head like a relief map. Samuels wore a starched white dress shirt, open at the collar, the cuffs laid back two neat turns. Creased Dockers and white Reeboks completed his outfit. Not exactly what she expected a psychologist to wear. But, according to Cathy, Samuels wasn't a typical psychologist.

She followed him into an office that was just as small and cozy as the waiting room. A desk sat butted against the far wall, facing a landscape Elena thought was by Monet.

Samuels led Elena to the corner of the room where a group of three armchairs formed a semicircle around a coffee table. He motioned her to take one of the chairs. A number of certificates and plaques hung on the wall nearby, and she tried to sneak a look as she was seated.

"Perfectly normal to be curious about the credentials of someone to whom you're about to pour out your secrets," Samuels said. "Let me save you the trouble of straining your eyes." He pointed to two certificates in the center of the grouping. "Undergraduate work at USC. Graduate degree from Stanford. Stayed on the faculty for a couple of years. Married a Texas girl and moved here." He crossed his legs, revealing white crew socks. "Now, how can I help you?"

Once Elena started, the words tumbled out one after the other with hardly a pause for breath. Samuels didn't move, didn't ask a question, didn't take a note. He spoke only when it was obvious she had finished.

"You want me to see if I can regress you to those times in the ICU when your husband and Mr. Pulliam died. Is that right?"

It seemed to Elena that she had no more words, might never speak again. She nodded.

"You realize that I have no legal privilege. If I find that you committed a crime, I have to report it."

"Both Mark and Chester Pulliam were essentially…" She swallowed hard and forced out the hated word. "They were brain-dead. I'd already given permission to withdraw Mark's life support. Mrs. Pulliam was reaching the same conclusion. My attorney tells me that the worst thing I could be guilty of was going outside ethical boundaries. If something else comes up, and you think there's a crime involved, I'd ask that you discuss it with an attorney before proceeding."

Samuels was silent for several minutes, his gaze fixed on the painting across the room. Finally, he nodded. "Fair enough. I'll hypnotize you, and we'll see where it takes us."

Elena looked around. "Do you want me to lie down on a couch or something?"

A ghost of a grin flitted across Samuels's face. "You're fine right where you are. Are you comfortable?"

Elena nodded.

"There's a lot of misinformation about hypnosis. Some psychiatrists use a drug like amytal to induce a hypnotic state. I'm not an MD, so that's not an option. However, I've found that it's easy to hypnotize a cooperative subject. If we had time, I could teach you self-hypnosis. I've helped people lose weight and stop smoking that way."

"I just want you to get that information. Please."

"I'll do my best. Now lean back. Close your eyes. Concentrate on the sound of my voice."

Elena recalled having her tonsils removed in childhood. As she came out of the anesthetic, she heard the voice of her mother as though it were issuing from a tunnel, echoing and hollow but still recognizable. She remembered the pleasant feeling as though she were emerging from a deep and restful sleep into a day full of promise. Of course, then the pleasant feeling gave way to a terrible burning in her throat and things went downhill from there.

This time she was experiencing the pleasure without the pain. The voice that echoed through the tunnel of her mind wasn't that of her mother. Nevertheless, it was associated with a feeling of comfort, of security. "Elena, wake up. You're coming awake now. Can you open your eyes?"

She did, and saw Josh Samuels sitting in his chair opposite her. "Did… did you get what we wanted?"

"Yes. I took you back to the day of Mark's death. Then we went forward to Mr. Pulliam's death. You were a very easy subject."

"Did… did I do anything bad?"

Samuels pointed to a small tape recorder on the table. "I took the liberty of recording the session. You can listen if you wish. If not, I'll let you erase the recording."

Elena was already shaking her head. "No, I can't relive those times. Will you just tell me what you learned?"

"Very well. Would you like some water? A soft drink?"

Her throat was parched as the Sahara, but she couldn't wait even another minute. "After we finish. Tell me, please."

"Let's start with Pulliam. You spoke with Mrs. Pulliam. When she left the room, you spent five minutes considering all the ways you could put an end to his life-your words were 'give him a death with dignity'-but you didn't act on those impulses."

Elena felt tears forming in her eyes. "Thank God."

"That's another interesting thing. Before you walked out of the room, you paused at his bedside, took his hand, and prayed. For him, and for you."