Carol Ericson - Circumstantial Memories

When she returned to the room, Ryder had scrunched down farther on the bed, his long legs crossed at the ankles and his feet nearly reaching the foot of the mattress.

“Any blood yet?” She bounced next to him on the bed.

“Not yet, but it’s looking pretty good.”

She snuggled next to him, her cheek brushing his shoulder. If he took her in his arms right now, if he kissed her…well, she wouldn’t be responsible for her actions.

Instead he rubbed the top of her foot with his, and her toes curled again. If she couldn’t have the kiss, this was almost as good.

Warm, safe, secure. She remembered these feelings with this man. When would Ryder McClintock finally tell her what they had meant to each other in her past life? Maybe if she had a spine like the old Julia, she’d ask him.

SHE GRIPPED the handle of the car door and tugged at it, peering over her left shoulder at the man charging out the front door of the house.

“Julia!”

The explosion ripped through the little stucco house, a ball of orange flames ringed in black smoke huffing out to encompass the angry man shouting her name.

Now screaming her name.

“Julia!”

Her cheekbone throbbed where he’d punched her, and the heat from the inferno scorched her back. She had to get away. She had to protect her baby.

“Julia!”

The fire alarm cut through the smoke and flames, an insistent blaring sound that mixed with the man yelling her name.

“Julia!”

She jerked awake to find herself in a sitting position, clasped in Ryder’s arms.

“Julia, wake up.”

Her nostrils flared at the acrid smell of smoke and she thrashed her legs, kicking Ryder’s shin.

“We have to get out.” Ryder pushed up from the bed, his arm wrapped around her waist. He stuffed her shoes inside his boots and yanked them from the floor with one hand. “Let’s go.”

He half dragged her out of the room, while she rubbed her eyes. “What is it? What’s happening?”

Ryder grabbed her hand and pulled her down the staircase leading to the lobby.

“The hotel’s on fire.”

Julia hugged her denim jacket to her chest. The daytime temperatures reached a comfortable seventy-two degrees today, but the nights dropped to the forties…and she hadn’t planned on being outside during the night.

The red lights from the fire engines played across the hotel guests’ shocked faces. People in various stages of undress scattered along the sidewalk across the street from the hotel, which had black smoke billowing out of one side.

The side where she and Ryder had their rooms.

Ryder snaked an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him for warmth. She said, “I’m glad you woke up. I was sound asleep. I didn’t even hear the fire alarm.”

She covered her mouth. She did hear the fire alarm, but she’d incorporated it into her dream. The dream of a small house exploding and a man rushing out of that house to drag her back inside. Jeremy. She couldn’t see his face in the dream, either. Under hypnosis she’d recalled a fight. Was that fight between her and Jeremy? She shivered, but not from the cold this time.

“Are you all right?” Ryder squeezed her closer. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Since Ryder couldn’t be thinking about her dream, she shook her head. “What do you mean?”

“That we’ll have to find another place to sleep tonight.” He patted the back pocket of his jeans. “At least I had time to grab my wallet and ID.”

Clutching Ryder’s arm, she coughed at the smoky air filling her lungs. “That’s not what you meant. You think someone set this fire on purpose. The same someone who slashed your tires.”

“The thought crossed my mind when I heard one of the firemen mention arson. The fire started in the laundry room, which was beneath our room. Dr. Brody knew we were spending the night. Maybe he followed us here.”

“That’s crazy.” She shrugged out of the arm encircling her. “Jim might have a small crush on me, but he’s not a lunatic.”

“Julia, psychologists are not supposed to have crushes on their patients, small or otherwise. How come the guy hasn’t been able to help you recover one memory in over three years? Think about it.”

“Do you think he’s running over to Silverhill to leave me flowers and paw through my underwear, too?”

“Maybe.”

“Okay, that’s enough. No more talk about Jim being a crazed stalker. I’m cold, I’m tired and I want to go home.” She clenched her jaw to stop the flow of childish complaints. Ryder had suffered as much as she.

And she hadn’t wanted to go home as long as she’d snuggled next to him on the bed scarfing up jelly beans and laughing at silly pratfalls. She hadn’t wanted to move one inch until this latest catastrophe.

Did her secret admirer plan to pull her and Ryder apart with this fire? She hugged herself. Secret admirers didn’t slash tires or set fires. His actions today catapulted him from secret admirer to scary stalker. How much farther would he go?

“I’m sorry.” Ryder took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “I’m not here to try and convict Brody, and the fire could be a coincidence. Let’s check in with the desk clerk. He’s on his cell phone finding rooms for all the guests.”

Julia stood close to Ryder as the clerk made arrangements to book them into two rooms a mile away. She surveyed the people on the sidewalk, faces distorted by the revolving red and blue lights, gathered to watch the firemen extinguish the last of the flames.

Was one of them responsible for the fire? Did the crowd conceal her stalker? She curled her fingers around Ryder’s belt loop as a scary thought flashed through her mind, giving her goose bumps.

What if she didn’t even know her stalker?

What if he was a stranger?

“I GOT SOMETHING for you on Dr. James Brody.”

Ryder gripped the cell phone, his pulse quickening. “Hold on just a minute, Wade.”

The din of his father and older brother, Rod, arguing in the kitchen assaulted his ears, and his stepmother’s voice on the phone arguing with a member of her charitable committee made him cringe. So much for a relaxing leave in the bosom of his family.

Ryder pushed up from the sofa and headed outside so he could hear what Wade Parker, his FBI buddy, had to say about Dr. Jim Brody.

He leaned against the front porch railing, hitching his boot up on the ledge. “Whaddya got? Does he have a record?”

“No, he has a censure.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“The American Board of Professional Psychologists censured Dr. Brody for exhibiting inappropriate behavior with a patient.”

“What did he do?” Ryder clenched his jaw. If Brody turned out to be Julia’s tormenter, he’d personally make sure he couldn’t practice his “talking profession” for a long time.

“He allowed a patient to spend the night at his house when she left her husband.”

Ryder exhaled. Brody may be unethical, but that didn’t mean he sliced up women’s panties for kicks. “Did he advise his patient to leave her husband? No conflict of interest there.”

“I don’t know anything else, man. Those psychologists have a lot of rules governing them, and Brody broke this particular rule. I don’t know if he went on to have a relationship with this woman or not.”

“Okay, I appreciate it, Wade.”

“I can tell by your voice you expected deeper, darker deeds from this guy, but that’s all he’s got on his record. Is he someone we need to watch?”

No, Brody was someone he needed to watch. “I was just curious. He’s my…friend’s therapist and seems a little too invested in her welfare.”