The Pieces We Keep (25 page)

I
n the dimly lit office, Audra barricaded her thoughts to keep doubt at bay. She needed this to work. She sat by the desk in the corner to observe the session without interfering. A combination of curtains and darkening blinds eclipsed the Wednesday afternoon light.

Reclined on the whimsical couch, Jack followed each verbal instruction. He breathed in and out while focusing on the floral sticker on the ceiling. Dr. Shaw, on a neighboring chair, guided Jack into a mode of relaxation. The man swore it to be thoroughly safe.

He had further explained: If Jack were younger and his “veil” were more open, he could have regressed with casual prompting. In this case, hypnosis could serve as a nudge. Since children pass through trance-like states on any given day, induction would be relatively simple.

Hypnotherapy.
One more concept Audra had previously scoffed at.

After the officers’ visit four days ago, she was willing to try even this. She had since contacted other apartment tenants, apologizing for the noise from Jack’s dreams. Most residents had been gracious, but a few had skepticism in their eyes.

Russ had assured her not to worry; if the policemen weren’t satisfied by the “welfare check,” Karly’s Law would have required them to arrange an immediate medical exam for Jack. The fact that they’d refrained implied acceptance of Audra’s claims. This, Russ had said, could help her on the custody front. Or, on the flipside, serve as proof that her in-laws weren’t the only ones reporting suspicions.

Dr. Shaw continued, slow and soothing. “Remember now, Jack, you’re the one in complete control of our journey. I’m going to paint you a scene, but it’s up to you to make any choices. Let’s start with a beautiful house. Imagine you’re inside that house, standing at the top of a staircase. The space around you is filled with warm, yellow sunlight. You can feel it on your hair and your face. Everything around you is quiet and peaceful.”

Audra pictured the setting herself. She felt the sun’s warmth, the room’s tranquility. Her tension dissolved as she sank comfortably into her chair.

“At the bottom of the stairs is a door, and beyond that door is another quiet and peaceful place. It’s full of light and love. But to get there, you’ll need to walk down the stairs. With each step, you’re going to become even more relaxed. Would you like to go, Jack? Good, let’s take a step. Ten, that’s the first one. Your body is already getting heavier. Do you feel how heavy you’re getting? In your arms, your hands, your legs, your feet. Now, we’re going to take a second step. Nine....”

Audra’s eyelids started to drop. She strained to keep them open. Jack’s latest night terror hadn’t come until four in the morning, allowing her just enough sleep to leave her too restless to go back to bed.

She straightened her posture. Listening closer, she hoped for any hint of how to bring the pieces together: Jakob, Isaak, Vivian, the FBI and Nazi spies, the reunion of a couple divided.

Dr. Shaw was on the seventh step down ... now the sixth ... every limb growing heavier.

Audra’s eyes continued to fight her, every blink like the fall of velvety drapes. She could no longer hold them open.

Then her head jerked up. Her chin had dipped to her chest and startled her awake.

Dr. Shaw was standing beside her, his hand on her shoulder. He had adjusted the lighting. The room was slightly brighter.

“Mrs. Hughes, we’re all done.” He wore his practiced smile as he released his hold.

“But—we just started.” Across the room Jack sat on the floor, sifting through the bin of mismatched toys. That’s when she realized it was Dr. Shaw’s hand that had woken her. “You’re kidding me. I fell asleep?”

“Not to worry. I’ve recorded the session, so you can play it back at home.”

She rubbed at her eyes to clear her vision. In doing so, her wrist discovered a trail of saliva by her mouth. She swiped the moisture away as Dr. Shaw settled into his desk chair.

“Could you ... tell me what happened?” she asked quietly, conscious of Jack’s presence. “After the stairs and the door.”

Dr. Shaw pleasantly obliged. “When your son was ready, I guided him into a boat that drifted into a fog. As I mentioned before, past life regression isn’t a specialty of mine. But what I’ve found is that patients who did regress well used the mist as a transitioning point. From there they were able to access memories from a past life.”

Audra still couldn’t believe she had dozed through all of this.

“And,” she said, “what did Jack say?”

Dr. Shaw sighed, shook his head. “I’m afraid he didn’t see anything. That’s not to say those lives didn’t exist. It could simply mean that for one reason or another he wasn’t willing to revisit them. At least not today.”

Discouraged, she sat back. She didn’t have the luxury of unlimited time and money. There had to be a solution they just weren’t seeing. She gazed over at Jack. He pushed a button on a robot, triggering its deep automated voice: “Together, we shall use our secret weapons to defeat Veter Man once and for all.”

Dr. Shaw said to her, “During the next session we could certainly try again. We might have more success with a second attempt.”

Audra nodded, though her thoughts had already seized another option. Specifically, another person. And that person was hiding something. Audra realized this now, looking back. She had missed the connection before today’s mentions of boats, the past, and secrets. Most of all, one’s willingness to access memories.

Now, she just had to figure out which button to press to obtain the information needed.

I
t was a place where people didn’t ask questions.

Vivian perceived this the instant she entered the hotel. Stacked chairs and an old mattress lined the walls, creating nooks and crannies to shelter guests’ secrets. Down the stairway, a suited man escorted the type of female who provided company by the hour.

An orange sunset spilled muted hues through the lobby windows. It was too dark for the sunglasses over Vivian’s eyes, too warm for the scarf enwrapping her hair and neck. Yet for now, she would retain her semi-disguise.

As she crossed the chipped tiles to reach the caged elevator, the grizzled man behind the counter never once glanced up from his newspaper. In fact, he appeared to deliberately drop his head. No wonder Isaak had chosen this place as his hideout for the duration. With the funds he had been given, he could have stayed at the Martinique or the Hotel Governor Clinton, but here, tucked away on a side street in Queens, he had optimized discretion while minimizing use of dirty Nazi money.

She rode the creaky lift alone, glad for the uninterrupted transport to the fourth floor. So close now to voicing her declaration, she could barely contain her smile.

In the vacant hallway, she gave the area a quick scan before knocking at 42. “Isaak,” she said quietly, “it’s me.”

Seconds later came the rattle of a chain sliding and screech of a bolt turning, and the door opened halfway. Isaak stood with his shirt unbuttoned, tossed on haphazardly, as if he had been undressed only a moment ago.

She slipped past him, concentrating on her news. The air held a musky scent, corralled in the room by the closed curtains. Food wrappers, empty Coke bottles, and half a loaf of bread crowded a table in the corner.

The instant Isaak finished resealing the door, she announced: “Everything is done.”

He turned to face her.

“It wasn’t easy, but Agent Gerard pulled it off. Somehow he did it. Documents, travel arrangements, IDs. All of it in just two days. Your family should be crossing the border into Switzerland within hours.”

Isaak responded with only a nod. No trace of the elation she had envisioned since her latest stop at the FBI office. Perhaps relief was overwhelming him.

She removed her sunglasses to connect with his eyes. “Isaak. Did you hear what I said?”

“The Gestapo would’ve been watching them. Now more than ever.”

“Well, yes. Likely so. But the FBI took this into account. That’s why they’ve taken precautions. Their contacts there–”

“Which ones?”

“I’m ... not sure who they are exactly.”

“Which
precautions?”
His sudden impatience caused her to draw back. Her impetus to smile had fallen away. But so had Isaak’s, she reminded herself, long before today, his worries justifiable.

She sat on the foot of the bed with purse and glasses on her lap. “What I’ve been told is, they’ve created a fake order from German Intelligence. It calls for your family’s relocation to Berlin as a reward for your service. And for their loyalty to the Third Reich.”

“Berlin?”

“This is only to get them on the first train. Once they’re in transit, someone will guide them to switch routes to travel south, using other papers. Their new identities.”

“Nazi officers will be patrolling every stop. Where will they be detouring?”

She shook her head. “Agent Gerard couldn’t tell me. He said it’s best that we not know all the specifics.”

“Of course it is-for him.” He huffed a dark laugh. Then he rubbed his hair and started to pace back and forth over the threadbare carpet.

Vivian wondered how much of the floor’s wear had been caused by his shoes alone.

“How do we know this agent of yours isn’t a spy for the Nazis? They could have infiltrated the FBI. That’s how the arrangements could have been made so quickly.”

“That’s absurd. Agent Gerard is not a German spy.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because he’s not,” she said. “He was handling a case of a missing child before this. Isaak, please. Come sit down.”

He continued his laps, not hearing her. The bedside lamp flickered its amber glow, as if tension in the room carried an electrical current. “So, my family’s documents,” he said, “how much proof did he show you?”

Timid but honest, she answered, “He ... couldn’t exactly.”

Isaak stopped. His eyes darted to her face.

“But the man did give me his word.”

“His word?”
Isaak said. “What the hell were you thinking?” She felt like a gullible child who had squandered the rent money. She began to second-guess her actions, of where she had gone wrong-but no. No, that was nonsense. She didn’t deserve a scolding of any kind. She had done her best with what she was given. What more did he expect of her? Did he really believe he could have done better?

She shot to her feet. “If I had demanded proof, Agent Gerard could have easily created false evidence. Either way, I wouldn’t have known the difference. And neither would you.”

He paused, his shoulders lowering. “Vivian–”

“I never asked to be pulled into the godforsaken mess. I’ve risked everything-endangering my parents, people I care about-in order to help you.” Pressure from all the lies, the anxiety, the flip-flopping emotions, at last reached a tipping point. “So, no, Isaak. There is no proof. There is no guarantee. But I have faith Agent Gerard is telling the truth,” she said. “Just as I had faith in you.”

He said nothing as she collected her purse and glasses from where they had fallen to the floor.

Moisture rushed to her eyes. She kept them down, unwilling to satisfy him with a show of caring. “By tomorrow morning, they should have confirmation of your family’s safety. Once they do, you’re to report to Agent Gerard’s office.”

“Vivian,” he said again. When he reached for her, she angled away. She was hanging over a chasm with a fraying rope in her hands. His touch was a blade that would send her plummeting.

She stated her final message: “I’ll send word to you through the front desk.”

With that, she headed for the door, where she briskly released the bolt. The chain caught halfway. She was struggling to slide it free when Isaak’s arm reached past her. He braced his hand against the door to prevent her escape.

“Forgive me,” he rasped. “It’s my fault, all of it. Darling, please don’t leave.”

She told herself not to listen. But his chest brushed her back, and as always, the warmth of his skin, the feel of his breath, weakened her resolve.

“Look at me,” he told her. “Please.”

She did not fight him as he guided her around, though she managed to avert her gaze. He loosened the scarf from her head, threading his fingers through her hair, and she cursed the tingling of her skin. Soon he leaned forward. She prepared to defy a kiss. Instead, his forehead gingerly rested on hers. He closed his eyes and whispered, “Vivian, I’m scared.”

It wasn’t just the words that captured her but the ache in his tone, a helplessness she, too, had once endured. His soul lay before her, raw and open like a wound. She could not bring herself to walk away.

“Everything will be all right,” she told him. “You’ll see.”

He tilted his head and smoothly, slowly nuzzled her cheek. A familiar but foreign sensation. “I love you so very much,” he said. “All this time, I always have.” He covered her lips with his before she even noticed their approach. What started out brief and tender-an apology, a token of gratitude-gained the charge of something greater.

It was a yearning, deep and buried. A grieving for years past. It was for every touch and smile and kiss they were promised, stolen by the grips of war. It was a need, for even a moment, to be in control yet swept away by an emotion too vast to describe.

Above all, it was freedom. And like a plucked string, that feeling reverberated to Vivian’s core as Isaak laid her on the bed. His hands and mouth rushed over her, fulfilling wants of their own. A distant voice whispered in her mind, a reminder that no freedom came without a price. But that voice swiftly faded at the sound of Isaak’s breathing, the clank of his loosened belt. Flames chased his fingers as he moved under her dress and a moan slipped from her throat.

The last sight Vivian caught before closing her eyes were wiry cracks on the ceiling, the markings of a structure on the verge of crumbling.