Page 106 of The House Beyond the Dunes

“What isall? Can you explain?”

“The sacrifices I made. For her,” I say honestly. I’m not bitter, but that realization doesn’t always ease the memories. I crush the end of the cigarette into the white marble ashtray, painting the center with black ash.

“How did your mother behave after your father left?” he asks.

My brow cocks. “Three guesses and the first two don’t count.”

He sits back, lays knitted fingers over his chest. “Tell me.”

“She left us alone a lot. The parade of boyfriends began.” I sniff. “And then other things happened.”

“Other things?”

My chest is tight with anger when I glance at the picture of the beach cottage. I don’t want to do this, but I need to show him some of me before he’ll reveal his true self. “I don’t know you well enough to get into that.”

“Did any of these boyfriends hurt you or your sister?”

“Not her. Just me. I made sure of it.” Pride and sadness drift under the last words. “Whenever a boyfriend had my sister in his sights, Ifound a way to get his attention. It always worked. I’m good at getting attention.”

His gaze hasn’t strayed. “You have my attention.”

“Good.”

“How old were you?”

“I was three when my parents divorced.” A moody silence is oozing through me. I’m sailing into dangerous territory. And in this moment, Kyle Iverson is not the threat. I am. I’m convinced there’s a darkness in him, and he’s hurt Nikki, maybe even me. Am I transferring my rape onto him? I’ve done it with other men before. Still, with him the feeling is so strong, and I fantasize about picking up the ashtray and bashing in the side of his head.

“When did the assaults stop?” he asks.

I shove out a breath and any violent thoughts as I meet his gaze. “The last happened when I was fifteen. A couple of guys picked me up, took me to a house, and, well, fill in the blanks. But I survived.”

His breathing slows as he stares at me. He flexes his fingers and grips a pencil so tightly, I think it’s going to snap. Somehow, I doubt this is righteous indignation for my suffering. My story has triggered something in him, but I can’t tell if it’s fear, worry, or excitement.

He clears his throat. “Do you want to talk about that last incident?”

I’m watching him closely now. I first saw him in Joey’s Bar, which is less than twenty feet from where I’d been taken. Like I’ve said, predators, like the rest of the world, love the familiar. We are all creatures of habit.

“It’s a hard time to forget.” My voice sounds shaky as I scramble through old memories I’ve locked tightly in my brain. The men who took me were young. They had thick beards and were dressed like they worked construction. Shit. After all these years of returning to Nags Head ...

I drop my gaze and regroup. “It happened right outside Joey’s.”

He stills. “And yet you take a job within feet of where you were taken.”

“Maybe I get a little thrill when I relive the trauma.”

“That’s not too far off the mark. Reexperiencing a trauma and walking away from it reinforces that you’re a survivor. Overcoming fear is an accomplishment, and successes trigger dopamine hits.”

“Is that why criminals return to the scene of the crime?”

“Yes. Reliving the moment is also a thrill for them.”

Is that what we’re both doing in Joey’s Bar? Is he remembering a young girl he and his buddy took? Does that make him excited or horny? It makes me angry, and I carry a baseball bat. “We’re all trying to find the magic in that moment.” Anger drips from my words.

“What do you want from me?” he asks. “What do you need?”

“That’s a good question, Dr.Iverson.” I think about the baseball bat in my car. “As soon as I’ve figured it out, I’ll let you know.”

“What’s prompted this session, Stevie?”

---