The Deal

Twelve-Bernadette

"Listen to the sound of my voice as you look into the flashlight," Thabo says in a cool, dozy tone.

My back stuffed into the soft, foamy couch, hands folding each other, I can't stop beaming at my husband. This man, who is only nothing but a blurry, faceless figure of a faded memory in my head, has shown me nothing but compassion and security. He wants to help me. He's even changed the appointment time for a client in his schedule just to have this private session with me. As a man, to sacrifice your work for the wife can be burdensome. But not for Thabo.

As I'm getting to know Thabo all over again, I can say I have met no one quite like my husband.

"Okay, Nettie. What exactly is your fear? Are you panicking? Do you feel like your stalker is watching you right now?"

Nettie. I just love the casual way he calls my name. Since the coma, Thabo hasn't called me by my full name. He only uses 'Nettie.' The flickering flashlight in the dimly lit room snaps me from the train of thought.

I finally decide to tell him. "At J's Bar. The night of the crash. I encountered a lady. I think she spoke to me about a deal. She was offering some sort of deal. That's the last thing I remember, besides being slammed headfirst into a pole."

Thabo keeps quiet for a second as though processing the words. "That's all?"

"She said the words; 'let's make a deal'. Every time I'm alone, I hear the words whispered in my ear. Just like she whispered them to me when we sat next to each other at the counter. When Yvonne and I went there, I saw the lady. I believe it was her."

Thabo blinks rapidly. "How long have you been aware of this?" His tone sounds a bit on edge. Is he angry I withheld this from him? "You said every time you're alone."

I've given myself away without even being aware. How brilliantly clever, Bernadette.

"Uh, for quite a while." I drop my gaze to the floor. "Ever since the coma." I rub a long-braided strand of my hair.

He furrows his brows. "Why did you keep this from me all this time?"

"I'm so sorry, dear," I say. "I... I thought it was worthless. I thought I was probably fabricating a false memory, or I feared you'd just dismiss me." Oh, Sweet Virgin Mary, what the hell am I trying to point out?

"What?" Thabo takes off his glasses. I'm making it worse for myself.

"I thought you wouldn't believe me," I reply, shrugging one shoulder.

"Nettie, I'm sorry, but you're being ridiculous. Of all the things you've told me during our sessions, what have I doubted? Is.... is this how you think I am?"

Oh, God, just strike me with lightning. "I'm sorry, Thabo. But I hardly knew you when I got out of the coma. The truth is, I didn't know anyone. I didn't know who to trust."

He arcs an eyebrow. "You should say you hardly remembered me when you got out of the coma. It's a better way to phrase your statement." He dons his glasses again and eases back.

Regret floods my chest and causes it to ache with guilt. "I'm sorry," I repeat. "I wish I never doubted you."

Thabo sighs, frustration so imminent in his face. "Wait. So, tell me the truth here, Nettie. What do you really need out of this session? You want to overcome the fear of Bill? Or are you looking for a way to remember who you met on the night of the crash?"

I pause for a moment. "I want both. No wait, I... I want to remember that night. I want to know who the lady was. Do you think this hypnotherapy thing can help me? If it's possible, could you take me back to the event subconsciously, so I could identify her? Probably find out what we spoke about or if she's connected to Bill. This could be our only chance to get him out of our lives."

He sighs. "What you're asking for is not in my field. You'd need a forensic hypnotist for this kind of work. They specialize in hypnotizing witnesses to a crime scene so they can assist in a police investigation. And I wouldn't recommend trying to go through it. It's very triggering. Considering the stage of trauma you're in right now, remembering the events before the accident will worsen your condition. We'd be battling a bigger trauma, and who knows? I might not handle it, or you could end up becoming unhinged."

When he ends up disappointing me, I do nothing but force myself to accept the harsh fact. Accept the fact that I'll have to find answers myself.