Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

"That's exactly what I'm trying to explain to you, you great git. Check your fax machine. I've sent you the form. Fill it out, send it back, and we'll teach her to handle dog. He'll protect her and help her feel safe."

Samuel could imagine the veins pulsing in Troy's forehead as he ranted over the phone.

"It's not that simple, Troy."

"It's not that hard either. Fine, just promise me you'll think about it." With that, the boy rang off. Good work. Now you're fighting 'long distance'.

With a sigh, he closed his office door for the evening as Amanda breezed past him with her stack of bloody papers. Watching her shuffle down the hall and into the den, he changed his plans and by-passed that room for the kitchen.

John looked up from chopping carrots. "I thought you wanted to read over some articles."

"I needed a break."

"From Potions articles?"

"From Lady Macbeth." As he spat the words, he heard a keening sob behind him. Merlin, help me and my bloody stupid mouth.

Her voice was shrill as she ranted back at him. "Do you really believe I want to act crazy like this? Maybe you think I've forgotten that I had a life lived without stupid little lines marked all over the page. Or that I actually enjoy living in fear of what's behind the shower curtain!" Sobbing, she crushed the pages with both hands and tore the stack in half. Horror immediately filled her eyes. "Oh, God. I've ruined it." She turned and bolted down the hall.

At least the chair held his weight as he sank into it. Professional distance, sure. Of course it was important, no, critical, to allow the client a certain amount of privacy and to allow the therapist a life separate of his patient's pathology. Jack was right. Keeping her in his home had been arrogant. Bloody stupid.

"Samuel, if you don't go find her, I will."

"Wait, John. Just give me a moment to figure out what I should say."

"Maybe you should have taken that time up front to think about all the things you shouldn't say." John's eyes were dark, disappointed. Time's up, Samuel.

She had the pages spread across the floor like a puzzle and was applying tape to join them into a single, giant sheet. Samuel squinted at the lines that zigged and zagged upward, gathering and combining near the center and branching back out toward the top. A giant maze? Only when she had secured each edge did she look up at Samuel.

"You could move me, you know, over to the clinic. Then you wouldn't have to watch me fall apart every day. Troy says you're keeping me so close to feed your guilt complex." He was surprised by the challenge in her eyes.

"Troy has yet to attend medical school, let alone to study psychiatry." That's rich, Mr. Kettle. He held the mug of chamomile tea in offering. "You may not drink tea while sitting on the floor." She shrugged and moved to the couch. Samuel sat beside her before surrendering the tea.

She stared into the cup, then sniffed the tea. Samuel scowled at her before declaring, "I haven't put anything in your tea." ... Today. She glared back before sipping. "Tell me about the shower curtain."

She spoke quietly of not liking closed doors, turns in the hallway, even latched trunks. Her fear of things hidden might herald a surfacing of her memories. Seeing her shoulders relax, Samuel decided the chamomile was working and took a risk. "And the nightmares? What wakes you in the night?"

"It's always dark. I can hear them, close by, whispering. There's a faint light ahead of me at the base of a tree..." She let her voice drift off.

So close, but Samuel needed to hear more. He kept his voice to calm, hypnotic tones. "A tree?"

She stared through the carpet for a moment before she made eye contact. "Right, a giant tree, and there's a dragon and a squirrel..." Her trance was definitely broken and defense strategies were coming into play.

Don't yell at the girl. "I've read a myth or two myself. You'll tell me when you're ready, I suppose."

"I'm not doing this on purpose."

"I never claimed you were."

"It's right there, but when I try to think about it, I feel it slipping through my hands. If I close my eyes and look at it, I'm terrified, have to look away. I hate knowing how helpless I've always been."

Samuel, this cannot stand unchallenged. "Elaborate. Now."

"If Harry hadn't found me, I'd still be in their basement, waiting for someone to rescue me." She planted the mug on the coffee table with a loud 'thunk' and stared at him, daring him to refute her claim.

Samuel allowed a small amount of his ire to leak out. "You will stop that foolishness right now. Those are some of the most ruthless men I've ever known. Aurors have been hunting them for years to no avail, but I think I understand your concerns." If she can't name it, help her. He softened his tone. "You want to feel safe again, walking down the street, sleeping in your bed. They took that, and now you doubt you'll ever get it back." She nodded. "Perhaps I can help."

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It wasn't the largest dog Samuel had ever seen, but Reggie was large enough that Samuel felt the need to ask Troy some pointed questions. With Amanda and John putting away their suitcases, he pounced.

Troy rolled his eyes at Samuel's concerns. "He's a Belgian Sheepdog. He's been trained and waiting for the right match for six months. That's a long time with Sam's dogs. She has a two year waiting list." Samuel glared at Troy. How had the boy acquired the dog within a week? How, indeed. Suddenly it didn't seem so odd that Troy was more relaxed around Amanda.

"Troy, thank you--"

"Look, I still don't approve of you treating John, but I suppose you're doing the best you can in a difficult situation. I need to get back. I might not need to hide things from Sam, but that also takes away the 'long flight' assertions."

"Wait, Reggie--"

"... Is just a dog, Samuel, and Amanda has become a good handler." Then Troy was gone.

He found Amanda in the den. Her arms were wrapped around the dog, and her face was buried in Reggie's fur. Intelligence shone out through dark brown eyes as he looked up at Samuel.

"Do not shed on my furniture."

Reggie stared back evenly.

"Call him." Seeing his confusion, Amanda continued. "I'm introducing Reggie to our 'family'." She stood up and took a step back from the canine.

It would not be productive to scare her dog, so he chose a light tone of voice. "Come over here, dog." Reggie looked at Amanda, then walked three circles before laying down. "What is so difficult about 'come here'?"

Amanda giggled. "He doesn't speak English." She took several steps away from Reggie. "Like this. Reggie. Come." Her tone was light, but firm. Reggie stood and trotted to her feet where he turned sharply and sat at attention, bright eyes scanning the room for danger. "Start with his name. Then give one word commands. Correct him with a simple 'Nooo'. Ready to try again?"

Certainly not. Her shoulders dropped. Oh, bugger! "All right," he conceded. This was meant to help her after all. "Reggie. Come." The dog looked at Amanda before trotting three paces toward Samuel. He turned back to Amanda, who glared a warning. Reggie responded by stalking slowly toward Samuel's legs. The glossy black fur on his back raised slightly as he reached his destination. He did not sit at Samuel's feet, however, and lowered his head as he sniffed.

Samuel heard a snort from over his shoulder, followed by John's firm voice correcting the dog. "Noooo." Then John's tone brightened. "Reggie. Sit." The dog snapped into a sharp sit with his ears up and eyes glued to John. "Use a bit more imperative in your tone, and keep your words crisp. Step away and try again."

"I think not." Samuel, at least, did not jump at John's command.

"Fine. Reggie. Come." The dog skidded into a sit position at John's feet. Bloody stupid dog. "Good boy. Do you want to release him?" he asked Amanda.

She obliged with a firm, "Break," and Reggie threw himself on his back at John's feet, exposing his belly and neck. Samuel was certainly no dog trainer, but the devoted submission was hard to miss.

"I see he knows who's Alpha." Samuel turned and stalked from the room.

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A/N: I'd like to take a moment to offer my heartfelt thanks to Brinian for her beta reading and dog handling expertise. Any errors that remain are entirely my own. Reggie was inspired by an article I read about service dogs being made available to survivors of torture. I have taken artistic liberties with the training program for these dogs. If you're interested in knowing more, here's the link that got me started, http://www.dogsaver.org/sdva/sdva_training01.html.