Descent (Steel Brothers Saga #15) - Helen Hardt Page 0,1
“What is the secret, Dad? What is she holding on to?”
“I don’t know, son.”
I honestly didn’t. Daphne never found out what had happened to her before her junior year of high school—how she and her friend Sage had been beaten and raped by three men, which led Sage to end her life. How Daphne had lost a year of her life to other personalities and medication.
For a while, I’d attempted to find the three men who’d violated her so harshly, but they’d covered their tracks well. So I left it alone, buried in the past where it wouldn’t harm the woman I loved most in the world.
Daphne didn’t know. I’d protected her from the truth, and though her therapist at the time had predicted she might dissociate again, it hadn’t happened.
She’d stayed whole.
Until…
Until…
I closed my eyes.
Jonah already knew the rest of the story—how I’d succumbed to Wendy and impregnated her with Ryan.
Again, to protect Daphne and my children.
Again…
And again…I’d failed.
Chapter One
Brad
Forty Years Earlier…
I picked up the phone in my truck when it rang. I didn’t give this number out to just anyone, so I knew the call would be important.
“Steel,” I said.
“Mr. Steel, it’s Dr. Pelletier.”
“What’s the word, Doc?”
“Given your father has held me at gunpoint, I don’t think you should be calling me by a nickname.”
“I’m paying you a shit ton of money, so I’ll call you what I want. I hope you have good news for me. How much longer will Wendy be committed?”
“She won’t be. That hasn’t changed. She’s been a model patient, and she’s getting out sometime next month.”
Fuck. I’d tried everything, and no dice. “What do you want, then?”
“I want to talk to you about your wife.”
My heart softened. Daphne. “I’m sorry. Is she all right?”
“I told you after our first session that she had remembered some of the patients who were with her when she was hospitalized.”
“Yeah.”
“The facility finally got her old records to me. Apparently there was some turnover in the records department that caused the delay.”
Damn. I’d paid that department a lot to get those records unsealed and to Dr. Pelletier. Delay my ass. Good thing I hadn’t gone with my first instinct months ago and had them all destroyed.
“Some heads are going to roll. But at least you have them now. You can review them and help her even more.”
“I have reviewed them, Mr. Steel. That’s the issue.”
“Okay…” My stomach churned. “I assume there’s something in there I should know.”
“There’s a lot in there you should know,” he said, “but the most alarming is that your wife was heavily medicated.”
“I assumed so. That explains why she has such significant memory loss from that time.”
He cleared his throat. “That could be a partial explanation, yes.”
“What other explanation could there be?”
“Her diagnosis.”
“I know what her diagnosis was. Anxiety and depression.”
“Anxiety and depression were some of her symptoms, but her actual diagnosis was dissociative identity disorder.”
“Dissocia— What?”
“It’s also known as multiple personality disorder.”
“What the hell is that?”
“Did you read the book Sybil? It came out a few years ago.”
“I was in college for the last several years. I didn’t have time to read for pleasure, and I doubt I’d read some girlie book. What the hell are you talking about?”
“Dissociative identity disorder is the new name for split personality.”
“I’m still not following.”
“Like I said, she was kept heavily medicated,” he said. “And even when she wasn’t medicated, she had limited interaction with other patients. I always thought it odd that she remembered the patients but not their actual names. Now I have an explanation.”
My gut convulsed. “What’s the explanation, then?”
“The patients are all her. Aspects of her. Different personalities.”
The receiver dropped out of my hand and thudded onto my lap. I quickly picked it up and put it back to my ear.
“Mr. Steel? Are you there?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m here.”
“It’s a classic case. She has memories of these so-called separate people. The memories are becoming more vivid.”
Multiple personalities. My Daphne. My Daphne whose personality was the sweetest in the world. Why hadn’t Jonathan told me?
Jonathan Wade isn’t who you think he is, son. Be careful.
I swallowed. “What does this all mean?”
“It means”—he cleared his throat—“she’s likely to dissociate again.”
I gulped.
She’s likely to dissociate again.
Into what? Or more accurately, who?
“Can you tell me about these personalities?”
“I wish I could. She hasn’t signed a records release, and I’m already skating on thin ice telling you about her diagnosis. I haven’t yet told her. I’m trying to figure out exactly how to tell a young mother such a