Bound by Suggestion by L.L. Bartlett Read Free Book Online Page A

chin gave the impression of many sharp angles. Short-cropped dark hair framed her acne-scarred face, but there was a brightness in her eyes that invited compassion. The more I thought about her, the more I anticipated her aura. Like a child, she’d enjoy playing the card game, which would help to break the ice.
    “Okay,” I muttered. “I’ll meet her.”
    Krista’s smile was enigmatic. “Thank you.”
    I handed back the photo.
    Krista picked up her glass and sipped her wine. “So, tell me more about yourself.”
    “I’d rather hear about you.”
    “Personal or professional?”
    “Both.”
    “I’ll show you my diplomas on Tuesday. They impress the hell out my patients.”
    “How’d you end up in Buffalo?” I asked.
    “Kismet. I also have relatives in the city. When the opportunity arose I thought, why not relocate.”
    “You an only child?”
    “Yes,” she leaned forward, giving me an excellent view of her décolletage. “The center of my parents’ universe.”
    I’d never been the center of anyone’s universe.
    “Who’s the center of your universe?” she asked.
    I looked away. Now that Maggie was gone . . . .
    “Richard, I guess. For most of my life, I’ve been—” An ironic smile tugged at my lips. “A satellite in his universe. He’s a dynamic individual.”
    “Yes. He is. You admire him, don’t you?”
    “Who wouldn’t?”
    “But you’ve never measured up to him.”
    Her cool, assessing stare bothered me.
    “He’s a doctor. I’m a bartender.”
    “You’re letting your occupation define who you are.”
    “What’s wrong with that?”
    She blinked, startled. “With what you can do, there’s obviously a lot more to you than pouring beers and mixing drinks.”
    “Not to society at large.”
    “How about to yourself?”
    I thought about it for a moment. “Maybe I’m a victim of circumstance, but victimhood leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”
    “Then do something about it. Take charge of your life.”
    “How? My headaches leave me useless a couple of days a week.”
    “A negative attitude can be just as crippling.”
    “You ever have a migraine?”
    “All through college.”
    Bluff called.
    She leaned forward. “Has it occurred to you that your pain could be psychosomatic?”
    “It’s real.”
    “What triggers it?”
    “Usually flashes of insight.”
    “But not always?”
    “No.”
    “Have you charted it? Tried to figure out?”
    “Richard and I have been through this so many times—”
    “Richard isn’t a psychiatrist.”
    I took a breath, trying to squelch another burst of anger. “My problem is not psychological in origin. I had my head caved in with a baseball bat.”
    “The medication doesn’t help much, does it?”
    “No.”
    “Richard said you’ve had some relief through hypnosis.”
    “At first. It hasn’t done much lately.”
    “What about the rest of your physical health? Were you always this trim?”
    “I lost weight back in the hospital. I never gained it back.”
    “How do you feel most of the time?”
    “Lousy.”
    “Physically or mentally?”
    “I can’t tell anymore.”
    “Depression?”
    I met her gaze. “You’re treading dangerously close to playing therapist. And I already told you, I don’t want one.”
    “An occupational hazard.” She sat back, took another sip of her wine. “But I think I can help you.”
    “How?”
    “I’ve had some luck treating patients with chronic pain using a combination of biofeedback and hypnotism. You game to try?”
    “Been there, done that. Usually it’s only time that helps those skullpounders fade.”
    “Are you willing to try?” she asked again.
    I felt cornered, but tempted. “My health insurance won’t cover—”
    “You don’t need a therapist, remember.”
    “Then you’d be doing this as—”
    “A friend.”
    I felt a cautious smile tug at my lips. “I’m game to try friendship.”

Chapter 4
     
    Krista Marsh’s newly opened practice occupied the front of her frame