Pinch Me

Chapter Nine

Shayla had also brought the promised shortbread cookies, as well as white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookies, and banana nut bread.

The poor woman must have been up all night baking, in addition to making the fresh omelet for her.

“You didn’t need to go through all this trouble.”

“It’s okay. I wanted to.” She shrugged. “If it helps, it’s worth it.”

The shortbread cookies were actually little squares, less than an inch big each. “You told us your mom used to make lots of shapes, but your favorites were rolling out large swaths of dough and then cutting them with a pizza cutter.”

Shayla reached in and took a handful of the cookies despite her full stomach from breakfast.

With a silent prayer, she popped one into her mouth and closed her eyes as she slowly chewed.

Sweet, buttery, and just the right hint of salt. The cookie practically dissolved in her mouth…

And she stood in a bright, sunny kitchen as a girl. Warm, sweet aromas filled the air. She perched on top of a chair next to a counter, a pizza roller in her hand as she carefully made straight cuts in the dough.

“Doing good, Laur,” a woman said.

She looked up at the older woman’s face, a woman in the photo albums.

Her mother.

She smiled down at Laura. “You’re getting so good at making these, honey.”

And then Laura felt ripped out of her body as the scene changed. She stood under a hot sun, sobbing as Rob kept a firm, steadying arm around her shoulders. Next to her, a man she knew was her brother, Bill, had an arm around her waist and his fingers laced through hers.

In front of them, two caskets were being lowered into the ground as the gathered crowd somberly watched.

And she remembered.

She remembered thinking about making cookies with her mom while standing at their graveside.

How she’d never get another chance to do that with her. Or to go fishing again with her dad.

Her eyes flew open and she was staring into Shayla’s alarmed face.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

“Their funeral,” she sobbed. “Mom and Dad, I remember their funeral.”

Shayla wrapped her arms around Laura as she sobbed against her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, thank you.” She couldn’t stop crying. She didn’t care that it was the first firm memory that fitted itself back into its proper place in her mind.

It was solid.

It was real.

That it hurt as badly as it did told her it was the truth. It wasn’t just an idle thought or a false memory planted by something someone said.

And it was hers. Something she could hold on to and hopefully build upon to bring back more. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for giving them back to me.”

It was a bittersweet victory. Laura immediately began pouring through the older photo albums again, focusing on any pictures of her parents, or of her at the approximate age of the cookie-making memory. She discovered as she looked through them, now some memories of the events had returned, as if they’d never left.

It seemed that regaining the traumatic loss of her parents, which Laura discovered also included remembering receiving the news of their death and most of that time period, of dealing with the loss and grief and funeral preparations, triggered something in her brain.

It didn’t, however, include everything. She still couldn’t remember how she met Rob, or where. And more current memories were still a blank.

By lunchtime her small victory had turned into frustration. Shayla ran out to bring them back subs for lunch, and they sat watching the local noon news.

“Can you call those other people for me and ask if they can visit?”

“Which ones?” Shayla asked.

Laura struggled to recall names she’d heard Rob and Shayla mention. “Leah? And her husband.”

“Seth. Leah and Seth Erikkson.”

“Right. Them. There were more though, weren’t there? Tilly?”

Shayla once again had that deer-in-the-headlights look. “Yes, but I think Rob’s right that we shouldn’t overwhelm you right now,” she quickly said. “I’ll call Leah and see when they can come visit. Besides, they live the closest to the hospital. Everyone else is either up in Sarasota, or clear up in Tarpon Springs.”

Laura bumped up against a blank wall, frustrating her. “Where are those?”

Shayla looked up from her phone. “Where’s what?”

The tears fought a valiant battle to break through, but Laura beat them back into submission. “Sarasota. And Tarpon Springs. I heard about Sarasota on the TV. But where are they?”

The look of sympathy on Shayla’s face almost finished Laura off again, but somehow, she held on and didn’t cry.

“Here.” Shayla tapped into her phone and then held it so Laura could see. A map was displayed on it. “We’re right here,” she said as she pinched the screen and zoomed in. “There’s where the hospital is, in Pt. Charlotte.” She flicked the screen with her finger, panning it to the north. “Here’s Sarasota.” She pinched again, zooming in farther. “Here’s my house.”

Once again, she zoomed out and pointed. “Tarpon Springs is way up here. North of St. Petersburg.” More zooming in, south of where Shayla lived, but north of the hospital. “Here’s where Leah and Seth live.”

Laura found the geography lesson helpful, but it didn’t trigger any more memories. “Where do I live?” she quietly asked.

Without replying, Laura zoomed in more and showed her. “Englewood. There’s where your condo complex is.” She panned a little to the west and south. “There’s the house.” A little more panning, onto a peninsula on the other side of Charlotte Harbor from Pt. Charlotte. “And there’s where your shop is.”

Nothing.

From elation to frustration, the ebbs and flows of emotion wore at her energy levels. After lunch, she lay back to watch TV with Shayla and found herself dozing off.

She awoke to Shayla gently touching her shoulder. “Laura? The psychiatrist is here to see you.”

She rubbed her eyes and sat up. An older, matronly woman with a warm smile stood just inside the closed door. “Hi. I’m Dr. Katherine Simpson. Pastor Ben Pelletier suggested I come see you.”

“Do you want me to wait outside?” Shayla asked.

“No, please stay.” She waved Dr. Simpson in as Shayla pulled another chair over to Laura’s bedside.

The psychiatrist began by going over Laura’s recent ordeal, taking notes as they talked and putting her at ease. Dr. Simpson agreed recovering the memory of her parents’ funeral was a good step.

“It’s also encouraging that you had a chain of memories recovered as a result, especially interconnected like that.”

“But you can’t tell me if or when they’ll all come back.”

“I’m afraid not.” They talked for over an hour before Dr. Simpson gently confronted Laura. “You realize there is a lot more at stake here than just recovering your memories, don’t you?”

“What do you mean? What could be more important than getting my life back? Well, other than catching the guy who did this to me.”

“You might never regain your memories of the attack. However, as Ben told you, there is every real possibility of developing post-traumatic stress disorder. It can manifest itself in very odd and unexpected ways.”

“If it does, it does. Frankly, I don’t care if I get it or not if I can get my memories back.”

“You might find yourself very jumpy, startling easy. You might have panic attacks. You might have bad dreams.”

“I haven’t had any bad ones yet. Just what I told you. And I don’t know if they’re dreams or memories.”

“Well, you should pay attention to your dreams. They may hold answers.”

“Calling Dr. Freud.” Laura laughed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

The doctor smiled. “That’s okay. Believe me, next to lawyers, shrinks hear a lot of jokes.”

“I bet you do. What else can I do to help bring back my memories?”

“You need to keep talking to people. Talk about pictures, feelings, whatever hints of memories that come back. And I suggest, if you’re open to it, seeing a hypnotherapist.”

Laura looked at Shayla. “We’ve been doing a lot of that. Talking. And photo albums.”

“That’s good. Exactly what you should be doing.”

“It was the shortbread cookies this morning that triggered all those memories,” Laura said.

The doctor smiled. “It doesn’t matter what triggered them, if it helped.”

“If it’ll help, I’ll try anything. One of my doctors mentioned using medicine?”

“Yes, but that’s not something I want to mess with except as a last resort.” She stood. “And there’s a hypnotherapist who works in my office. She’s very good, if you decide to go that route.”

“Thank you.”

She handed Laura a card. “I’ll tell my office to make sure they fit you in as soon as possible when you call for an appointment.”

Laura looked at the card. The address might as well have been in Greek to her for all the recognition she had. “Thanks. I might go home Monday.”

“I’m going to talk to your doctor first, but I’ll leave a prescription for some anti-anxiety medicine for you in case you need it. Nothing strong, just something that if you start feeling too overwhelmed, you can take it to help calm you.”

When Laura was alone with Shayla again, she felt exhaustion wash over her. “I want my life back,” she said, her head on the pillows. “I want whatever was normal for me. I’d give anything to have it back. I don’t even care if I thought it was crummy.” She turned to Shayla. “I didn’t think my life was crummy, did I?”

“No, you didn’t. You were very happy.”

Somehow, that almost made it worse.

Rob showed up a little after eight that evening, just as he’d promised. Laura wasn’t happy to see Shayla go, but she did want the alone time with Rob. And Shayla promised to return—once again bearing an omelet—first thing in the morning.

Once Laura was alone with Rob, she closed her eyes and happily pressed her face against his chest as she filled him in on her day.

“That’s great that you remembered the funeral. Well, you know what I mean.”

She smiled, but didn’t want to lose her contact with him. “I know what you meant. Dr. Simpson said it was good because it was a connected chain of memories.”

He gently stroked her back, mindful of her sore ribs. “Little by little, you’ll get it back. I know you will.”

“But what if I don’t?”

“You will.”

She wished she felt as confident as Rob sounded.

Thomas didn’t expect to have any trouble with Rob’s friends, but he still left word with dispatch where he was going before he drove north to Sarasota Friday evening. Fortunately, the worst of his headache had popped after lunch, leaving him with a nagging ache that he could ignore and live with.

Tony and Shayla Daniels lived in a rural neighborhood of larger, expensive houses sitting in the middle of lots ranging from one to ten acres. Many of the properties also had barns, with horses or cows milling in the pastures around them.

Daniels didn’t have either, but several cars were parked in the driveway of his house. When he walked up, a man opened the front door.

“Det. Thomas?”

He held out his hand. “Mr. Daniels?”

“Tony.” They shook. “Look, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot this morning. This has been hard on all of us.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

Tony led him into the living room, where several women and men were gathered. Other than unusual necklaces or bracelets on several of the women and two of the men, any of them could have been upper-middle-class people indistinguishable from any other average citizen.

Tony started the introductions. “This is Det. Thomas. Can I get you anything to drink? Tea, water, coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’m good.” He looked at the assembled group after Tony had introduced everyone to him. “As I told both Rob and Tony, I’m not here to out anyone. I don’t care what you all do in your bedrooms, or who you do it with as long as they’re consenting adults. All I’m interested in is any information that might possibly lead to us figuring out who this guy is.”

One of the men, Sullivan Nicoletto, raised his hand. “Has FDLE got back to you with the DNA results yet?”

That must be the former cop. “Not yet.”

“Do you want to speak to everyone together, or individually?” Tony asked.

“Since you’ve already had time to compare notes, I guess it really doesn’t matter.” He turned to Nicoletto. “Let’s start with you.” He jotted down the man’s full name, address, and other information. Yes, he was the former cop, now a writer and lecturer. “Your thoughts on this?”

The man, who’d said to call him Sully, grimly shook his head. “Based on what Rob told me, I’m guessing she opened her door for whoever it was. Meaning either she didn’t feel threatened, or somehow knew the person. But I don’t know anyone who’d want to do something like that to Laura. She’s a good person, has a lot of friends in the community. Between all of us, we know a lot of people in this area in the lifestyle.”

Everyone nodded in somber agreement as Sully continued. “We’re a pretty tight-knit group. We look out for each other. I haven’t heard any rumbles of anyone so much as speaking badly about her. I’m guessing you already went through her emails and FetLife account?”

“Done. Any theories?”

Sully met his gaze. “My gut tells me it’s someone she came into contact with at her dive shop, or there in Englewood locally. While out shopping, eating, something. Maybe someone Rob knows who met her. She’s a member of the Chamber of Commerce. She’s spoken publicly at state and county meetings about fish and game laws.”

His heart sank a little as he noted all of that. Yes, they’d had some pretty contentious hearings over the years about fishing regulations and restrictions, the latest one just a few weeks earlier. That was one thing Rob hadn’t mentioned when they talked, although he didn’t blame the man for forgetting it.

He’d have to talk to Rob again about his coworkers, if she’d had contact with any of them.

If any of them had started acting odd following the attack.

And they were already slowly working their way through interviewing customers and students at the shop, a very painstaking process considering just how many customers passed through her establishment on a daily basis.

Not to mention many of their customers were tourists, or part-time residents.

He went around the room, taking everyone’s name and information and getting nearly the same answers from them with few new insights. Leah Erikkson mentioned that Laura had helped her, Tilly, and Loren with a Christmas charity drive in Sarasota. Loren offered up their regular “girls day” outings to get their nails done together and eat. Tilly’s husband, Landry, mentioned that they all attended a Mote Marine charity event a month earlier, a dinner and special marine documentary film screening.

Shayla Daniels arrived straight from the hospital a little before ten, apologizing for being late and offering no new insights beyond what everyone else had already said. She did relate Laura had a few more recollections, but nothing relating to the attack.

Until he had the DNA results, any and every option still lay on the table, frustrating him. Once Laura Spaulding went home, very likely on Monday, she’d be vulnerable to further attack. He was already stretching his superiors’ patience as it was by authorizing overtime for the deputies standing guard at her hospital room.

He closed his notepad and looked at everyone. “I appreciate you all coming here tonight to talk to me. Like I said, I’m not out to conduct a witch hunt. I just want to put this guy away for good before he hurts anyone else.”

“You realize Rob loves her, right?” Shayla quietly asked. “And before this, she really loved him. She was looking forward to their wedding.” Her husband draped his arm around her shoulders and she snuggled close to his side. “They were happy. I hope you’ve completely eliminated him as a suspect.”

He shoved the wistful pang away. Daniels and his wife looked happy, in love. As did the other couples and triads. He nodded. “I do, and I have.”

“He wouldn’t be doing his job if he didn’t ask us all this,” Sully said, nodding his head toward Thomas. “He has to go through all leads.”

“Thank you, Sully.”

Sully was the first to stand, albeit slowly and with some obvious pain. He limped over to Thomas and extended his hand. “I wish I was still on the job so I could help out more.”

Thomas shook with him. “So do I. I suspect we’re going to need all the help, and luck, we can get catching this guy.”

He said his good-byes and headed back to Charlotte County, calling dispatch to let them know he was off the clock and on his way home.

As he drove I-75 south, heading into the dark and desolate section south of the Clark Road exit, his thoughts returned to the night of the attack exactly a week earlier. The sight of fresh blood smeared on the wall, and all over the carpet and runner. The pictures knocked off the wall.

The shaken neighbor.

The door had been unlocked when the neighbor burst in after pounding on it. He tried the knob, found it open, and entered. He didn’t pursue the attacker, who apparently knew about the back door and fled through it.

Now he understood the neighbor’s stumbling over some of his answers when he’d interviewed him. It hadn’t been simple shock, but an attempt to protect Rob and Laura’s privacy.

I need to talk to him again. Tell him I know about the BDSM and see if he’s got any other information that might be helpful.

But it would have to wait until tomorrow. For tonight he simply wanted to go home, get a hot shower, and attempt to fall asleep in his empty bed before his memories of Ella began to eat him alive once more.

Despite his exhaustion, physically and mentally, Rob’s spirits soared a little when Laura carefully made room for him in the bed and patted the mattress next to her.

“Are you sure?”

She smiled. “I’m sure. And you look exhausted. Rest for a few minutes.”

He didn’t argue, carefully squeezing himself against the edge of the bed, trying not to crowd her.

Before, it would have been irrelevant. The way they usually slept closely twined together, they could have been comfortable together in a twin bed.

Mindful of both her physical injuries and her lack of memories, he waited until she snuggled against him to fully relax.

“Don’t let me fall asleep,” he said.

“Why? I think you need to fall asleep for awhile.”

“I have to be at work at six.”

She pressed her face against his side before tentatively resting her hand on his chest. “Just a short nap. Please?”

He closed his eyes. Despite wanting to stay awake to talk to her, he couldn’t help it. The afternoon had been one call after another, exhausting mentally and emotionally, including an accident victim who’d died en route to the hospital in Punta Gorda.

The suddenness of the dream might have shocked him awake had he not been so worn out. He relived the first night they’d spent in the house together, just a couple of months earlier.

He’d surprised her by borrowing one of Tony’s smaller spanking benches and setting it up in the living room. She’d come home from teaching an evening class at the shop to find candles lit, music softly playing, and him sitting on the couch waiting for her.

He pointed at the floor in front of his feet.

With a sexy smile on her face, she left her purse by the door and stripped all the way across the living room, leaving a trail of discarded clothes behind her until she dropped to her knees in front of him, naked.

He stroked her hair. “Such a good girl,” he whispered. He’d laid out her cuffs and play collar and quickly buckled them on her. “Ready to break in our new home, baby girl?”

In the dim, flickering light, her eyes appeared closer to sapphire blue, full of passion and longing as she stared up at him. “Yes, Sir.”

Taking her by the hand, he helped her to her feet. “You’re not going out on the boat tomorrow, are you?”

She grinned, knowing what that meant. “No, Sir.” He didn’t like to mark her up, regardless of her feelings on the matter, if she’d be taking a class out within a couple of days. A bathing suit didn’t do much to conceal marks. And, unfortunately, he had to work the next day. They still had a lot of work to do in the house before they could live there full-time, but for tonight…

Tonight, they’d start making more memories and finally be able to enjoy letting loose in their own space.

He held her close, his hands stroking her back, down to her ass, where he grabbed her flesh and squeezed hard.

She draped her arms around his neck, nearly melting against him with a happy moan as his fingers dug in. He’d always had fantasies about tying up his partners and spanking them, but not until he’d met Laura had any of those fantasies—and more—come true.

Anything he’d wanted to do to her she’d met head-on and even improved upon. She’d talked him into trying knife play, wanting the sensation, not bloodletting, and even arranged for them to take a class on it at a club up in Tampa.

His trepidation had soon turned into sadistic glee as he watched her reaction to the feel of the blade smoothly sliding across her skin, the way lightly tracing patterns with the point of the knife raised gooseflesh on her.

Also not something they tended to do at the club or crowded parties, his professional safety concerns keeping it limited to at-home or small, private parties, where he didn’t have to worry about someone bumping into him while he was doing it.

Limited to times like tonight, where, after he secured her to the bench with rope and then inserted a vibrating egg into her, he showed her the knife.

He didn’t blindfold or gag her, wanting to look into her eyes and hear every sound she made.

When he held up the knife she let out a soft moan that had nothing to do with the vibrating egg inside her pussy.

He brought the blade close to her lips. “Kiss it, baby girl. Show it respect.”

She did, licking her lips as she looked up at him.

Already his cock throbbed. Play sessions at home or a private party always ended in sex for them. They built up a head of passionate steam during a scene.

“Hold very, very still.” He grinned and thumbed the remote control for the egg. It sped up, now slightly audible despite its location.

Moaning, Laura dropped her head back to the bench and squirmed a little despite herself. But when she felt the cool steel of the blade against her flesh, she fell completely still.

He knew she could be experiencing a wave of orgasms and still she’d force her body to remain completely motionless for knife play.

It also meant she’d practically tackle him in bed later if he didn’t wear her out. Not that he minded in the least. It was one of the things he loved about her, that she didn’t mind being aggressive with him when the mood struck her.

With his left hand he fisted her hair, ensuring she held absolutely still. With his right he slowly began tracing shapes across her back, down her spine, the tip of the blade not cutting but leaving faint red lines in its wake. He took his time, refusing to rush, stepping back when he finished to admire his work.

The words PROPERTY OF ROB could be clearly read in the temporary welts he’d left with the knife tip. Grinning, he snapped several pictures, walking around to show her.

Despite her glazed, subspacey expression, she finally managed to focus long enough to smile. “Yes, I am,” she softly said.

He thumbed the egg’s remote control again, bumping it higher. “You certainly are.” While she rocked her hips against the bench, he picked up a cane. “Going straight to the hard stuff tonight,” he warned. “Early morning tomorrow, and I want to fuck your brains out.”

He started off with light strokes, to get her used to it before he increased the force. As pink welts began rising in the flesh of her ass and thighs, he felt his cock throb even more.

His. She belonged to him, and he’d be damned if he’d do anything to fuck it up. She was perfect for him, the love of his life.

Her fingers curled around the edges of the spanking bench. Tears trickled down her cheeks but she didn’t safeword, didn’t beg for mercy.

In fact, she arched her back to meet each stroke.

He couldn’t stand it any longer. With marks crisscrossing her flesh, he put the cane down and untied her. Before she could reach for his zipper, he grabbed her by the hair and led her over to the couch. There, he put her on her hands and knees.

“Stay.”

She froze.

He grinned, knowing she’d stay like that as long as he told her to. That didn’t stop her from letting out a little noise when he fished the vibrating egg out of her pussy and shut it off.

“Don’t worry. You won’t be empty for long.”

He quickly stripped and knelt between her legs. Lining up his cock with her cunt, he grabbed her hips. Then he sank his cock hard and deep inside her. “Come fast, baby. I won’t last long.”

Neither did she. Her fists clenched, her body meeting every hard and fast stroke when her first climax broke loose. He knew the feel of his thighs slapping against her stinging ass only served to make her orgasm that much harder.

She was happiest and came hardest when her orgasms were mixed with pain. He gave up counting at three and quit holding back. His release built, a tsunami of energy and need rapidly building inside him until the world shrank and focused on the feel of his cock fucking her cunt.

The explosion as his balls emptied his cum into her nearly took his breath away. He finished up by giving her several hard bare-handed slaps to her ass, across the cane marks. That pulled one last climax from her.

Winded, they collapsed onto the couch together.

His eyes snapped open at the sound of her voice. “Rob? It’s almost midnight.”

He looked around, disoriented, and realized where he was at. Not cuddled up with her on their couch.

In the hospital room.

She stared up at him. “I’m sorry,” she softly said. “I shouldn’t have let you sleep so long, but you looked so peaceful I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

He sat up carefully, not wanting to hurt her. “It’s okay, sweetie.”

He also hoped she couldn’t feel the erection pressing against the front of his pants. The dream had been a blissful diversion, a short trip into the past.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?”

Shocked, he stared down at her. “No. Why would I be mad?”

“For letting you sleep.”

He pulled her close, burying his face in her hair. “Sweetheart, I love you. I’ll never get mad at you for having a chance to sleep next to you.”