truth. I killed Mitch.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
PHEE
Phee stares at Braden, stricken. This is not at all what she had in mind when she planned this intervention. She’d fully believed, curse or no curse, that there would at least be healing here. A new connection between Braden and Allie. Forgiveness. Hope.
Braden’s eyes meet hers, and his lips twist in a half smile. “Sorry, Phee. There’s no magic fairy-tale ending. No reversible curse. Everything that has happened to me happened because I deserved it.”
He shifts his attention to his daughter, who is weeping silently. “Allie, honey, I would give anything to undo all of this . . .”
She makes an inarticulate sound, then gets up and climbs the stairs, head bent, not looking back.
“I’ll watch her,” Steph says, following.
Braden drops his head into his hands.
All of them sit in a shocked, awkward silence. Phee can’t stand to watch Braden’s suffering, her eyes wandering out over the expanse of the lake.
“This story isn’t over,” her grandfather’s voice says.
Phee takes a breath. “There are flaws in your logic,” she says. “He died here, that’s clear. But when the ambulance came, he was up at the cabin.”
“You had severe hypothermia,” Jo adds. “You were cut and bruised. Frostbite to your hands and feet. How did that happen?”
“I don’t remember.”
Phee hears music. The cello has been blessedly silent since they arrived, but now a melody drifts into her ears. Braden hears it, too. His head comes up. And then she realizes it’s not in her head, not this time. Every head turns toward the cabin.
“What is it?” Dennis asks.
Braden closes his eyes. “The last song I ever played.”
Katie, uncharacteristically silent, gets up and climbs the stairs toward the cabin. By unspoken agreement, the rest of the Angels follow. Then Jo. Braden stays where he is, and Phee holds out a hand to him.
“Come on.”
“I don’t want—”
“I’m not leaving you here alone.”
He laughs, short and harsh. “You think I’ll, what, kill myself? Add that to Allie’s burden?”
“She’s playing for you,” Phee says. “You need to let her know you hear her.” Her hand remains outstretched. Finally, he accepts what she is offering, lets her tug him up to standing. Together they climb the stairs, side by side.
Allie, playing the cello, looks whole for the first time since Phee has met her. Her eyes focus immediately on her father, who drops Phee’s hand and stands immobile, as if he’s been flash frozen, an ice sculpture of a once living man.
“Phee said it might help you to remember,” Allie says, her bow arm slowing, then coming to rest.
“Phee has said a lot of things.” Braden takes one step forward. “There’s no magic key, little bird. But I’m so glad to hear you play.”
“I want you to remember.” Her voice breaks. “I don’t believe you killed him.”
“Suppose I remember and I did kill him?”
“Well, then we’d know. Please,” she says.
Braden shrugs, helplessly. “I can’t. Even here. Even with that music. There’s nothing beyond what I told you.”
“We could try hypnosis,” Phee says, lighting the fuse on the dynamite.
All eyes focus on her. Stunned silence.
“No,” Len says. “This whole harebrained scheme of yours is unethical. I don’t even have a license to practice anymore.”
“Well, then, you have no risk of losing it.”
“That may be the most outrageous thing to ever come out of your mouth. That’s saying something.”
“Would it help?” Braden interrupts. “Would that unlock my memory?”
“It can,” Len says reluctantly. “Hypnosis bypasses the logical mind and the defense mechanisms. But—”
“Can we do it here? Now?”
“Hypnosis is not an exact science. It’s helpful for many things, but memory recovery is controversial. It’s not like the movies.”
“But it might work.”
“What good will it do?”
“I’ll know,” Braden says. “If it works. On some level, I’ve always believed that I was responsible for Mitch’s death, but I still don’t know. Not for sure. You can’t face up to something you don’t know. It’s always lurking, always insinuating.”
“Look,” Len says, his voice falling into professional, soothing tones. “Why don’t I set you up with a psychologist I know when we get back? He’s also skilled with hypnotherapy and—”
“No. If anybody’s going to do this, it will be you.”
“Please,” Allie says.
“Come on, Len,” Phee says. “What are the risks?”
“The risk is that he remembers killing Mitch because he thinks that’s what he’s going to remember. Even if he didn’t.”
“In which case, we’re no worse off than we are already,” Braden says.
“Not like any of this is admissible in court,” Dennis adds. “There’s no evidence. A good lawyer could