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An undercover officer is kidnapped and tortured, then thrown away by her department as damaged goods. One choice, one gamble, and two determined women who must risk everything to save one lost soul.

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Chapter Five

The first day of cubbing arrived with hectic, last-minute details and frenzied questions from her hunt staff. Morgan loved every minute of it. Cubbing was a time to introduce the younger hounds and foxes to hunting, and it took several outings to iron out the details after a long summer break.

Once all the initial problems had been seen to and she was ready to call for the hounds, she looked up to see Jesse helping one of the club members into his saddle. Bear, one of the dogs who hung around the barn, stood next to Jesse, and Morgan realized she’d forgotten to tell her to kennel him. “Jesse, would you come here a minute, please?”

Jesse finished helping the man adjust his saddle before starting over. While she waited, Morgan tucked her hunting whip under her arm and ran her fingers through Aristotle’s coarse mane. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jesse start her way, then stop abruptly. Morgan looked down to see what was wrong.

Jesse’s face went from tan to pale to ghost white in a matter of seconds. She stared at Morgan’s whip and backed up, finally turning as if to run. Directly behind her, Andy, one of the whippers-in, had just let down his whip and was recoiling it into a tighter loop. Jesse started back again, tripped over Bear and fell backward into the dirt. She scrambled up and pushed through the horses before disappearing around the side of the barn. Morgan saw Ryland dismount and quickly followed suit, catching up to her just as she reached the corner of the barn.

Ryland stopped her before they went any further. “I don’t know what happened, but leave your whip here. I think that’s what set her off.”

Morgan dropped the whip onto a bale of hay and climbed over the bale, Ryland close on her heels. They found Jesse squatting with her back up against the barn, her head on her knees. Ryland knelt beside her. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

When Jesse looked up, Ryland was startled to see sweat beading her forehead.

“Nothing. I…I just needed some fresh air, that’s all. Too many people.”

Ryland didn’t buy that for a second. “Jesse, what happened back there? Why did you run away?”

“I didn’t run away. Get the fuck away from me!” She pushed herself to a standing position, shoved past Morgan and hopped onto the bale of hay to get away. The second she saw the whip coiled between her feet, an electric shock surged from her head straight down through her heart and everything went black. Morgan grabbed her before she hit the ground. She’d fallen face first, and when Morgan moved to turn her over, she felt Ryland’s hand on her shoulder.

“Wait.” Ryland stared at the lower part of Jesse’s back where her t-shirt had come un-tucked.

Morgan followed her gaze and saw a strange pattern of scars crisscrossing the exposed skin on the girl’s back. She lowered her the rest of the way to the ground and watched as Ryland checked to make sure she was still unconscious and that no one else was around. When Ryland reached over and gently lifted the shirt, Morgan felt her skin go cold. “Holy Mother of Jesus.”

Deep scars and patterns of burn marks covered every inch of Jesse’s back. Ryland softly traced one of the scars before lowering the t-shirt. The two women stared at each other, too horrified at what they’d seen to speak. The sound of an excited hound jerked Morgan out of her trance and she called for Rico to come carry Jesse into her room.

Rico hopped the bale and stared at Jesse lying on the ground. He knelt beside her and looked up at Morgan. “She okay? Good?” He normally spoke Spanish, and his English often came out in halting, broken sentences. His gentle face betrayed his frustration at not knowing how to ask what had happened.

Some of the staff stuck their heads around the corner while Morgan ran her forearm under one of Jesse’s shoulders. Rico did the same, and as they pulled her to her feet, Rico swept her legs onto his other arm. Morgan said, “I hope she’s okay, Rico. We’ll know more in a little while. Could you take her to her bed, please?”

Rico carried her past the curious onlookers and into her apartment, with Morgan and Ryland following close behind. Jesse kept the bed pushed into the corner of the little room. Rico walked over and gently laid her on top of the covers. Before he left, he pointed to himself. “You call, I help.” He raised his eyebrows and Ryland nodded before pulling a chair close to the bed. Rico left the room as Jesse started to wake up.

Ryland sat back, her brows lowered into a thoughtful expression. She looked at Morgan, “You go on with the hunt. I’ll stay here with her.”

Morgan hesitated before realizing Ryland knew exactly what she was doing. She put her hand on Ryland’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze before she turned and headed out to call for the hounds.

When Jesse sat up, confusion and distrust tightened her muscles. She glanced around the room, looking for Morgan. “How did I get in here?”

Ryland remained quiet for a time. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I was leaning up against the barn.”

“Why were you behind the barn?”

Jesse thought a minute, red coloring her face as she realized Ryland knew she had no idea what had happened to her. “I don’t know.”

Ryland crossed her legs. “Jesse, I’m curious…have you always been an itinerant worker, or did you do something else?”

“I did something else.”

“Do you mind telling me what you did?”

Jesse wasn’t sure why Ryland wanted to know, and she answered, warily. “I was a cop. I’m a retired cop.”

Ryland raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You’re not old enough to have a retirement. How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

“How many years did you work?”

“Five.”

“They gave you a retirement after five years? Why?”

Jesse blushed even more because the answer confused her as much as the question. “I don’t know why…they just did.” She thought about the day she’d left the department. The chief had called her into his office, and the department psychologist had been there. They’d told her she wasn’t fit for duty anymore, that she was too traumatized to be a cop. But there hadn’t been any trauma. She’d argued with them for more than an hour before they told her the decision was final.

Her eyes had lost focus as she remembered that day, and she jumped when Ryland asked, “Did anything happen where you had to retire? Maybe an injury or an illness?”

Jesse shook her head.

“What department did you retire from?” Ryland wanted to call and make a few inquiries to find out why they’d retired her after only five years.

That was out of bounds for Jesse, who wanted nothing to do with her old department and didn’t want anyone from there knowing where she was. “I don’t mean any disrespect Dr. Caldwell, but that’s none of your business.” As the sounds of the horses and hounds moved away, Jesse got up to leave.

“Jesse, just one more question. How did you get that scar on your back?”

Jesse reached over her shoulder and rubbed the upper part of her back. “I don’t know…I didn’t know I had a scar there. Look, I’ve got work to do.” With that, she turned and headed out the door.

Ryland sat quietly, her professional curiosity aroused. She guessed Jesse was experiencing some form of dissociative amnesia, where a person doesn’t recall certain traumatic events in their lives. The incidents are stored in their long-term memory, but can usually only be accessed with professional help. It explained Jesse’s anger. Many of her previous patients had reported personality changes they had no control over, and anger was at the top of the list.

As she got up and left the apartment she wondered why Jesse had stumbled into their lives, and what, if anything, she could do to help.

Chapter Six

Ryland was at the house when Morgan finished with the hunt. She sat on the couch, surrounded by books on post-traumatic stress disorder and dissociative amnesia. Morgan walked through the door, pulled off her grey hunting jacket and reached into the hall closet to hang it up. “I saw Jesse after the hunt. She acts as though nothing happened.”

Ryland put down the book and took off her glasses. She rubbed the bridge of her nose where the glasses had left an indentation. “As far as she knows, nothing did happen. The last thing she remembers is leaning up against the barn. And she doesn’t remember why she was behind the barn, either.”

Morgan sat next to Ryland who took a sip of wine then offered her the glass. Morgan took it, turned sideways and rested her arm on the back of the couch. She reached down to pick up the book from Ryland’s lap. “Obviously, whatever happened to her back has caused some major emotional issues, right?”

“Morgan, she’s not even aware she has scars on her back.”

Morgan studied her friend’s face, took a sip of wine, and leaned back into the couch. “Wow.”

Amusement tinged Ryland’s voice. “Wow is right.”

“If only we could find someone who knows something about post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Ryland playfully hit Morgan on the head with a pillow. Morgan chuckled, then turned serious again. “So what are you going to do?”

“I’ve been thinking about that while you’ve been gone, and unfortunately, it’s a little more complicated than ‘what am I going to do.’ I’m afraid because of some complicated bonding issues that have been happening between you two the last several weeks, it has to be more like ‘what are we going to do’ if we decide to be the ones who help her.”

Morgan sat forward to set her glass on the table. “Oh no…I am not getting involved in that. I do animals, not people. You’re on your own on this one.”

Ryland reached over and rubbed Morgan’s back. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. Do you remember our discussion several weeks ago about how Jesse needed your strength somehow? That she was pushing you to reassure herself that you were still in control? It’s obvious to me now what’s been going on. If I had understood it earlier, I might have been able to transfer that process to another object, maybe even to me, but I doubt it. It’s your strength her subconscious is grabbing, Morg, because I think she’s probably pretty close to a psychotic break. Her fainting and memory loss point that way. She needs the control you provide her.”

“Ryland, I’m not a psychologist; I’m a farmer.”

“I know that. I’ll do the psychology. You’ll be more of a tool for me to use, a way to ground her when her subconscious begins to lose control.” She leaned forward and took Morgan’s hands in hers. “Let me explain it to you this way: if we decide to help her, and if she accepts our help, she and I are going to be walking along the edge of a cliff blindfolded, and sometimes we’ll be running flat-out. You’re going to be the one who keeps her from falling off the edge.”

“Why can’t you keep her from falling off the edge?”

Ryland sat back. “Because I’ll be the one pushing her over.”

Read more about The Door at the Top of the Stairs and Alison Holt HERE.

Copyright 2010 Alison Holt. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.