Edge of Midnight. Leslie Tentler

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       Mia had expected a high-rise building comprised of steel and glass. Sterile, isolated corridors. High-tech fingerprint scans required to open solid metal doors. But Dr. Günter Wilhelm’s office was located in an unassuming, one-story brick office complex inside the Jacksonville Naval Air Station base. She sat on a hunter-green-striped couch across from the psychiatrist’s desk while Eric had taken the matching side chair. To her right, a large picture window provided a view of the adjacent naval hospital. The room was tastefully decorated and held the faint scent of pipe tobacco and citrus potpourri.

       “Agent Macfarlane has apprised me of the investigation as well as your role in it, Mia,” Dr. Wilhelm stated in a slight German accent. He was a fatherly looking man, with graying hair and a starched white lab coat. “You must understand there are no guarantees. The therapy has worked for only about thirty percent of the participants, and to varying degrees. A few of those have remembered large amounts of detail, but for most others it is far less.”

       Mia tried to wrench any anxiety from her voice. “If it’s successful, what kind of things might I remember?”

       “Possibly a visual image—a face or a location, a shred of dialog. It’s difficult to say since every case is different. You’d also be the first patient I’ve worked with whose memory loss was induced by a chemical substance. I’m unsure of how it will affect the outcomes.”

       Nervous butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She tried to imagine what it might be like to actually see or hear something from those lost hours.

       “What about the risks?” Eric asked. He was dressed in dark suit pants, a white shirt and tie, his suit jacket left behind in the car in deference to the heat.

       “There can be physical side effects, although they’re typically short-term. Some patients have reported a headache or dizziness for an hour or two after our sessions. In a few extreme cases, an elevation in blood pressure.”

       Mia toyed with her bandaged fingers. “What kind of drug is it, exactly?”

       “In layman’s terms, it’s known as a mental catalyst. When used in combination with the right hypnotherapy, it makes it more possible to delve into untapped channels within the mind.” Dr. Wilhelm smiled, a benevolent look on his face as he explained. “These channels hold memories we may not even be aware of. For example, a repressed childhood memory or something that might have happened when one was injured and unconscious, supposedly unable to hear or process thought. We’ve been able to prove the mind is capable of capturing event fragments even in such situations. The memories are there. Tapping into them and bringing them to the surface is the real feat.”

       Mia said half-jokingly, “I’m guessing this catalyst isn’t FDA-approved.”

       “You needn’t worry overly—the drug is nonaddictive and has been tested in military clinical trials.” He paused, clearing his throat. “However, its effect when used with hypnotherapy has proved to be potent, when it works. The memory captures can be quite vivid, which may be unsettling considering your circumstances, Mia. Not to mention, even once the drug has left your system there is a possibility of memory flashes.”

       “Memory flashes?” Eric asked.

       “She may recall certain things outside of the session itself.” The psychiatrist tapped his right temple. “Once the window is opened…”

      There’s no closing it. Mia looked at Eric and found his gaze on her. She hoped the tightness she felt in her lungs wasn’t communicated on her features. It would be so easy to change her mind and retreat. But she thought of the rotting corpse that had been pulled from the water. She also thought of Rebecca Macfarlane. Whatever she remembered couldn’t be worse than what those poor women had gone through. Sounding much braver than she felt, she asked, “How do we start?”

       Dr. Wilhelm indicated a folder on his desk. “I received your medical records from your physician. You had a recent examination while you were hospitalized earlier this week and appear to be in excellent health. You’ve also signed the necessary waivers. Considering the urgency of Agent Macfarlane’s investigation, there’s no reason we can’t start now.”

       “Let’s do it,” Mia said firmly, tamping down her anxiety.

       He stood from behind his desk. “I’ll go prepare the syringe. I’m going to try a relatively light dosage today and gauge its effect.”

       Once the psychiatrist had left the office, Mia stood and wandered over to the picture window. Jets taking off from the naval base were visible in the hazy afternoon sky, and she could hear their thunderlike roar. She felt Eric’s presence behind her.

       “Are you all right?” he asked.

       She turned to face him, her heart skipping a beat as she realized his closeness. Mia smiled weakly up at him. “I guess I hadn’t anticipated needles.”

       Despite her attempt at humor, he remained serious. “You don’t have to do this—”

      “I do,” she replied. “And you need me to.”

       He stared at her, his intense, moss-green eyes searching hers.

       “Thank you,” he said, touching her upper arm. His fingers on her bare skin sent a tingle racing through her. He dropped his hand as they heard Dr. Wilhelm return.

       “Once the drug is administered, we’ll give it a little time to take effect and then we’ll begin with some mind relaxation techniques,” he said as he indicated the couch. Mia blanched at the small hypodermic needle he held. She’d never quite gotten past her childish fear of them.

       She returned to where she’d been seated. Looking purposely away, she felt him tie the rubber tubing around her right biceps and then the sharp prick of the needle in the inside of her forearm.

       “Why don’t you lie down and close your eyes? Focus on slow, deep breathing.” Dr. Wilhelm dimmed the lights in the room, then went over to lower the window blinds, choking out the bright afternoon sunlight. “Imagine you’re sitting in a theater, all alone, facing a blank, white screen.”

       Smoothing down her sleeveless linen blouse over her cropped khakis, Mia settled herself on the couch. She felt a little foolish. Eric stood silently with his arms crossed over his chest, his features strained.

       She gave him a final look, took a breath and closed her eyes.

       “I’m sorry.”

       Eric glanced at her from behind the steering wheel. “Don’t be. Dr. Wilhelm said it could take a few sessions to know if it’s going to work. The good news is that you responded to the hypnosis. Not everyone does.”

       It was true; she had fallen under the psychiatrist’s hypnotic suggestions. Mia had felt herself relaxing, being slowly drawn backward to the moment of her disappearance. It had all seemed so real. She recalled hearing the echo of her own footsteps on the concrete floor of the parking garage, the cheerful chirp of her car’s key fob as she unlocked the door. She had been hungry and thinking about what to have for dinner as she slid into the driver’s seat. But at that precise moment, the screen inside her head went blank. Dr. Wilhelm had taken her through that critical time span using various approaches, hoping she might recall seeing her abductor. None of them had worked. Her memory seemed to stop at the moment she closed the car door. He had mentioned the possibility of using a higher concentration of the drug during СКАЧАТЬ