I heard the sound of an animal whimpering; it wasn’t until he slapped me across the face that I realized it was coming from me. “Shut up,” he hissed, his face almost touching mine. My stomach turned as I smelled his foul breath. And then his mouth was on mine, his tongue pushing my lips apart. The rank taste of tobacco burned. I pushed my hands against his chest in a vain effort to shove him away. He took a step back and pushed me to the ground. “No,” I cried, my voice rising hysterically. “Please let me up.”
As I frantically felt around in the dirt with my free hand, it hit upon a rock. Mustering all my strength, I swung my arm and smashed it against his face. He howled in pain and rolled off me, grabbing at his cheek. I jumped up and ran blindly, not daring to look back, hearing the thud of his footsteps behind me, briars and branches tearing at my skin and clothes. Finally I heard him yell, “You ain’t worth it, bitch!” The sound of his footsteps receded.
I knew he wasn’t close, but I couldn’t stop running. The last thing I remembered was a low-hanging branch bashing into my forehead. I have no idea how long it was before I came to, but when I did, he was gone. Now I understand why I was wandering on the highway, clothes torn and dirty, with no identification on me. The doctors tell me that the shock caused me to go into a fugue state. That and the combination of drugs, hypnosis, and psychological abuse I suffered at the hands of Julian Hunter have kept my past elusive to me. I know my name now, thanks to Blythe’s detective, but I can’t connect Amelia Foster, the woman in the newspaper article, with myself.
I’m thankful every day that I’m working with a therapist I can trust now, a woman who’s helping me to put the jigsaw-puzzle pieces of my past back together. Dr. Pearlson is hopeful that over time I’ll recover most, if not all, of my memories. Knowing that the horrific discovery of my murdered family resides somewhere in my mind terrifies me to the core. But I’m through running. No matter what, I have to connect with the past so that I can make a new future.
??64??
Amelia
“Are you ready?” Dr. Pearlson asks.
“Yes,” I say, nodding vigorously.
I feel stronger than I have in a long time. I finally know who I am. My name is Amelia Foster, and I grew up in Orlando, Florida. I had a twin sister, Shannon, a mother I loved, and a father I feared. I left Florida after high school for college in Boston, where I earned a bachelor of fine arts in photography from the Massachusetts College of Art and Design.
My world came crashing to an end on Christmas Day, the year I was twenty-three. Today I am going to relive that event, and I take a deep breath as I prepare to be hypnotized.
“All right, Amelia, close your eyes and relax. Breathe in slowly and deeply. And now exhale. I am going to count backward from ten. On each count you will go deeper.”
I feel my muscles relax as I listen to her voice and begin going into a hypnotic state.
“It’s December 23. You are alone in your apartment. What are you doing?”
“I just hung up with my mother. I told her I’m not coming home until the morning of the twenty-fifth. I don’t want to be there any longer than I have to. I lied and told her I have a work obligation.”
“Look around your apartment. What do you see?”
“Presents I still have to wrap. A pair of size-six Lucky Brand jeans for my twin sister, Shannon. Pearl earrings for my mom, a scarf for my grandmother, and a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses for my father that I saved up for six months to buy. He doesn’t deserve them, but maybe he’ll be nicer to everyone if he gets the best present.”
“What do you do next?”
“I call Shannon. She’s disappointed that I won’t be there early, but she understands. I’m worried about her, though. She tried college but fell in with a partying crowd and flunked out her first semester. She lives in Fort Lauderdale now, and tells us she’s a waitress, but I heard from a friend that she’s really an exotic dancer at some bar. I tell her I want her to come back to Boston with me after Christmas, and she tells me she’ll think about it.”
“Christmas morning, you fly to Florida. What happens when you get there?”
“I take a cab from the airport to my parents’ house. I’m standing outside, steeling myself before ringing the bell. My father says that since my sister and I no longer live at home, we’ve lost the privilege of entering without knocking. There’s no answer, and I ring again. I’m starting to sweat, and I take off the heavy coat I wore on the plane. Still no answer. I rap loudly on the door, and finally I punch in the key code, hoping he hasn’t updated it since the last time I was there. I hear the familiar turning sound, and the blue access light comes on. I turn the knob and slowly open the door. Something’s wrong. It smells terrible, like rotting meat and shit. I bend over, gagging, my hand over my nose. I step over the threshold and enter the house.”