Thunderland Read online

  Warily, she answered. It was only Alice, thank God.

  “Hey, I’ve got a question, Ms. Romance Writer,” Alice said.

  “I’m trying to come up with a good plot twist for my two lead characters, after the scene where they come back from the cruise....”

  Although Linda had housework to do and needed to spend some time on her own book, she was eager to talk to Alice and get her mind off what had happened. Nothing could draw her back to the real world as well as a conversation with her girl. She switched to the cordless phone, walked outdoors, and sat on the front steps, chatting away. Unknowingly, Alice had rescued her again.

  Rows upon rows of data blurred across the monitor in Brains’s study. Jason had filled several pages with notes, and Brains had downloaded more than a dozen documents to his computer’s hard drive. Jason and Brains had a mighty task before them: in less than a day, they had to become experts on hypnotic regression. They had made significant progress since that morning. Jason was confident that, by the evening, someone—most likely, Brains—would be able to successfully lead him through a regression.

  “My head is starting to throb,” Jason said. He leaned back in the chair, rubbed his eyes. The clock on the desk read a quarter to one. “Want to take a break?”

  “No.” Brains’s attention did not leave the screen. “If you want to rest, that’s fine.”

  “Do you want something to eat?”

  “Some chips, maybe. They’re in the pantry.”

  Jason brought back the potato chips and placed them on the desk. Brains did not reach for them. He was so immersed in his research that he probably did not realize that Jason had ever left the room. His concentration was mind-boggling.

  Jason was glad Brains was on his side. As he watched Brains’s fingers fly across the keyboard, optimism filled him. They were going to beat this thing, he believed. They were going to bust the mystery wide open. They were going to put an end to the Stranger’s stupid game, and his life was going to return to normal. He would not be surprised if they resolved everything that night. They were rolling forward quickly.

  Energized by the thought, he pushed aside the chips, grabbed the notebook, and resumed his research.

  A couple of hours later, firmly settled in reality once more, housework complete, Linda settled in front of her computer to work on her novel.

  It didn’t go well. For an agonizing hour, she typed in short bursts, struggling to find her flow. Although her current project was a departure from the category romance novels that she had been writing successfully for years, the book had been proceeding smoothly. Tough days had been rare, and there was usually an underlying cause for her lack of concentration.

  She knew why she couldn’t focus on her book that day. Earlier, while eating a light lunch, she had been reading the current issue of Essence. One of the feature articles was entitled, “Infidelity: What to Do if He’s Cheating on You.” It threw her imagination in gear and made her face up to a suspicion that had plagued her since last night.

  Thomas was hiding something.

  With a sixth sense that all wives developed, she could detect her husband’s moods, and she believed that something distressed Thomas—something he wanted to keep secret. She had questioned him the night before, but he had not opened up, and though she had mentally analyzed their conversation dozens of times, she could not decipher the source of his unease. Her imagination had taken over. Instead of spinning out words for her novel, it weaved a disturbing explanation for Thomas’s odd behavior: he was sleeping with another woman.

  She wondered if she was being too reactive, letting the Essence piece affect her too deeply. But ... the possibility of infidelity was real. Thomas was a successful, attractive man. He would have gotten his share of opportunities to mess around. She did not believe he would stoop that low, but she was getting suspicious. No telltale signs had passed under her nose—lipstick on the collar, a whiff of unfamiliar perfume, credit-card bills for mysterious purchases—but she knew how Thomas acted when he harbored a secret. Evasive, distracted, and tired. The same way he was acting lately.

  Eyes narrowing, she pushed away from her desk.

  If Thomas was seeing another woman, their marriage was finished. Period. She was willing to tolerate almost any mistake Thomas committed. But not an affair. Never.

  At the thought of such a thing, her hands began to sweat.

  Realizing that she was on her way to convicting Thomas before he’d had his day in court, she decided to get out of the house and do something to quell her anxiety. She went shopping.

  Jason and Brains had finished their research. Eager to put their plan in gear to end the Stranger’s game, Jason went home to grab some clothes for the night. He would also ask Mom whether he could spend the night at Shorty’s, since Shorty’s place was their next base. He was certain that Mom would agree to let him sleep over. Lately, she was so afraid of denying him whatever he asked for that she would’ve agreed to let him take a trip around the world on his own. He didn’t know whether it was a good thing for her to give him so much freedom. But right then, he needed all the freedom he could get to regain control of his life.

  Surprisingly, Dad was home. When Jason walked through the front door, he discovered Dad sitting on the sofa in the living room, puffing on a cigarette. Weird. He didn’t know that Dad smoked. Well, there was a lot that he didn’t know about Dad. He was hardly ever there.

  “Hey, Jason.” Dad quickly put out the cigarette. ‘What’s up?”

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “Believe it or not, I live here. I like to drop by from time to time, make sure the house is still standing.” He chuckled.

  “Oh. Where’s Mom?”

  “I don’t know. She probably went to the store.”

  “Man. I needed to ask her something.”

  “What’s up? Maybe you can ask me. The last time I checked, I had parental rights.”

  Jason shrugged. “I wanted to spend the night at Shorty’s—I mean, Mike’s—house tonight.”

  Dad pursed his lips. “What are you guys into, Jason? Your mom suspects something.”

  Great. He was sure that Mom had told Dad about finding the bike in the garage. The last thing he needed was for his parents to be dipping into his business. They would only make things more complicated. They wouldn’t believe him, anyway.

  ‘We aren’t into anything. Mom gets carried away.”

  “What’s the deal with you finding that bike in the garage?”

  “I don’t know who put it in there. Don’t have a clue. Do you?”

  Dad looked dumbfounded for a moment. Then he said, “No, I’ve no idea.”

  Jason began to walk toward the stairs. “So can I spend the night at Shorty’s?”

  “That’s fine, son. Does your mother have the number to your friend’s house?”

  “It’s on the board in the kitchen.”

  “Good. Have fun this evening.”

  In his bedroom, Jason packed his clothes in his duffel bag. When he had packed everything he needed and had walked downstairs again, he found Dad still sitting on the couch. Dad had lowered his head as if in prayer. He didn’t seem to hear Jason leaving.

  “Bye.” Jason opened the front door.

  Dad didn’t say anything. He only sat there with his head bowed, as if he were in a trance.

  “Whatever,” Jason said under his breath. Both of his parents were crazy. He wished, not for the first time, that he lived with Granddad, not with these strangers masquerading as his family.

  He shut the door harder than he’d wanted to, but he doubted that Dad had heard the sound.

  * * *

  At Gurnee Mills in Gurnee, one of the largest shopping malls in Illinois, Linda shopped for about two hours. Not a believer in spending money out of sheer boredom, she mostly window-shopped. Between stops at stores, she nibbled at a chocolate-chip cookie, and by the time she was ready to leave, she had bought a shirt for Jason and a set of place mats for
the dining room table. She had also bought some peace of mind; during the drive home, she anticipated getting back to work on her book.

  When she parked in the garage at three-fifteen, she was surprised to find Thomas’s Buick there. Thomas was in the kitchen. Of all things, he was cooking.

  “Someone give me a camera,” she said. “I have to snap a picture of this.”

  He grinned. He wore a dark-gray T-shirt and jeans that fitted him so well Linda wanted to slide up behind him and pinch his butt.

  “You forget, I run a restaurant,” he said. “I can throw down when I want to.”

  She inhaled deeply. “You’re cooking fish? It smells great. But isn’t it early for dinner?”

  “It’s better to eat now.” He opened the refrigerator and removed a block of cheddar cheese. “Then we won’t have to stop till much later.”

  “Won’t have to stop what?”

  Standing at the counter, he grated the cheese. “I’ve planned a light meal. Tossed salad, blackened salmon, pasta, and a bottle of Chardonnay. Easy to digest, won’t slow us down.”

  “Are we going to be running a marathon?”

  “I talked to Jason, too. I really don’t think anything’s going on with him, baby. If there is, he sure didn’t give any clues. But he does want to sleep at a friend’s house tonight. I told him it was okay. He’s already picked up his things. We can reach him at his buddy’s place if we need to.”

  “Thomas, are you listening to me?”

  He added the grated cheese to a huge bowl of salad. “Go ahead and wash up, Linda. Dinner’ll be ready any second.”

  She started to speak, knew it would be useless, and decided to keep quiet. When she returned downstairs after freshening up, Thomas had finished setting the table. The food looked delicious.

  She sat down. He poured wine for both of them. He filled her plate with salad, then filled his own.

  “All right,” she said, “stop avoiding the issue. Why’re you doing this? What’s the special occasion?” He smiled. “There’s no special occasion, baby. I love you. That’s all the occasion I need.”

  She would have needed steel wool to wipe the smile off her face. Apparently, he had dealt with whatever secret he’d been guarding. Or maybe he’d never had a secret. It must have been the cynic in her, restlessly probing for nonexistent problems. Shame on her for doubting him. To think that she’d suspected another woman!

  They fell easily into conversation, and the talk was better than the food. It had been months since they sat down and talked without conflict. They talked about good times, friends and family, places they had been and places they wished to go. She became so engrossed in their discussion that her plate seemed to clean itself.

  “Hey, you look ready for dessert,” Thomas said.

  “You made dessert, too?”

  “Of course, I did. I think you’ll enjoy it more than dinner.”

  ‘What is it?”

  He smiled. “Close your eyes.”

  She shut them. She heard plates and silverware being conveyed from the table to the sink. Then silence.

  “Okay, you can open them.” Thomas was standing beside her chair. He had stripped down to a pair of low-rise red silk briefs.

  She sucked in a deep breath.

  “I didn’t give the dessert a taste test,” he said. “You’re gonna have to tell me if it’s sweet enough.”

  She tore her gaze away from his beautiful body and looked into his eyes. “You think you’re slick. ‘Easy to digest, won’t slow us down.’ ” She giggled. “Baby, even if you weren’t as sexy as you are, you’re sweeter than any dessert could ever be.”

  He smiled, came to her. She rose out of her chair to meet him.

  “But I’d still like a taste test,” she said.

  Go through the physical motions, and the mind will follow, Thomas thought as he stood in the kitchen wearing only silk briefs, watching Linda rise to embrace him. Good sexual performance relied on state of mind as much as it did on health, and since he was in excellent shape, his guilt presented the only obstacle to his satisfying Linda. He had gone through the motions of being an exciting lover: preparing a delicious meal, being a good conversationalist, and then stripping and presenting himself as dessert. He did those things not only to romance Linda, but, just as important, to put himself in the mood. To rise above his pangs of conscience and attain that crucial level at which instinct took over. A level he had been unable to reach the night before.

  Linda slipped her arms around his waist. They kissed deeply.

  “I want you so much, it’s killing me,” he said, praying his body would cooperate with his words. He kissed her neck, explored her marvelous shape with his hands. Although he felt a growing desire, he did not feel that irrepressible sexual drive he needed in order to give Linda what she deserved.

  After all, that was all he wanted to do: give his wife what she deserved. Finally resolving that Linda’s contentment was more important than his self-esteem, he no longer considered telling her of his adultery. Why make her suffer for his mistake? The cliché was true: what she did not know could not hurt her. The truth would hurt him, maybe for a long time. He would have to live with it. He would simply have to focus on being the loving husband that this fine woman in his arms deserved.

  They kissed and touched for what seemed like forever; then, by unspoken mutual agreement, he carried her to the bedroom.

  He placed her on the bed and undressed her. When she was nude, he stood back and regarded her. Prolonging the sweet tension. Building up his own excitement.

  “You have a beautiful body,” he said, and it was true. They had been married for years, of course, but it had been ages since they had been nude in front of each other. In the past, on those rare occasions when they’d had sex, they had performed in darkness, neither of them undressing completely. He was pleasantly surprised at how well she had maintained her figure. As he took in her gorgeous body and imagined how she would feel against him, he felt himself becoming harder than ever before. He rolled down his briefs.

  “My goodness,” she said, apparently experiencing a similar surprise. “You look like a chocolate Adonis. If you don’t get on this bed with me right now, I’m going to scream.”

  He stroked himself a little, teasing her. “Do you really want it?”

  She laughed. “Come here!”

  He stretched out beside her on the bed. She pressed onto him, enveloped him in her body heat. He kissed her lips, her neck, her breasts. He slid his fingers across her legs, traced circles on her firm hips. He had forgotten the pleasures of her body, and rediscovering her silken skin, sleek legs, lovely hips, and warm, full breasts thrilled him. He could get used to making love to her again. Her body was a hammock, and now that he had immersed himself in it, he only wanted to stay there, close his eyes, and rock, and rock, and rock. ...

  By eight o’clock in the evening, they were ready to hypnotize Jason.

  Shorty’s house was their base for the night, and they elected to perform the regression in his bedroom. They placed a recliner in a corner and put a padded chair a couple of feet in front of it. They positioned two nightstands on opposite sides of the chairs and planted a brass lamp on each.

  To record the event, Shorty had borrowed his parents’ compact camcorder. Shorty would film the proceedings. Brains would be the hypnotist.

  Shorty gave the room a once-over. “Looks like everything’s set. Are you ready, fellas?”

  Brains cracked his knuckles and sat in the padded chair. “I’m ready.”

  Jason eased into the recliner. His heart beat way too fast; Granddad’s warnings echoed in his thoughts. But he said, “I’m ready, too.”

  Shorty switched on the lamps. He shut off the ceiling light.

  He turned on the camcorder and focused the lens on Brains and Jason. “Showtime,” Shorty said.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Brains had never been so nervous. Although they had prepared as much as they could that day, he felt i
ncompetent, the way he might have felt in a chess match against a grand master. He was supposed to be Jason’s rock, the one upon which Jason could depend to guide him through this session safely. But he needed someone to guide him. Studying hypnosis on the Internet was not enough.

  But he could not express his anxiety. Both Shorty and Jason thought he was brilliant, the one with all the poise and knowledge. Sometimes he disliked wearing the “whiz kid” label, but he mostly enjoyed the respect his supposed intelligence accorded him. Perhaps his desire to maintain the fellas’ admiration was the kind of motivation he needed to keep himself together and do a good job tonight.

  More important, he wanted to unravel the mystery of the Stranger. The Stranger was, to Brains, like a perplexing mathematical theorem that begged for a solution. Brains would not rest until he had discovered the answer.

  “Okay, Jason,” Brains said, “lean back in the chair and relax. Rest your hands in your lap, palms up. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Let it out slowly.”

  Jason obeyed his directions. Brains waited a few seconds, allowing Jason to get comfortable.

  “Now, Jason, I want you to imagine a blue balloon. Imagine it floating just in front of your feet. Can you see it?”

  “Yes.” Jason kept his eyes closed.

  “Good. Now the balloon is starting to float up and over your body. As it passes over you, your tension and anxiety drain away. The balloon floats over your calves, and your calves relax. It drifts over your knees, and your knees relax. It floats over your thighs, and your thighs relax. It passes over your stomach, and your stomach relaxes. It floats over your chest, and your chest relaxes. It drifts over your neck, and your neck relaxes. It passes over your face, and your face relaxes. It floats over your scalp, and your scalp relaxes. And now it’s hovering above your head. It starts to sail upward, higher and higher into the sky, and as it drifts away, so does all of your tension and anxiety. Soon the balloon is out of sight, and you are completely relaxed.”

  Jason was slumped in the recliner, breathing softly.