Maelstroms of the Silent

By Bella Fayre

A brutal murder and a catatonic victim have local law enforcement turning to Dr. Donna DeShayne, an area psychiatrist with a specialty in forensics, for assistance. DeShayne, determined to successfully treat and protect her catatonic patient, helps uncover the victim's secret. Unbeknown to her team members, however, the doctor is harboring a secret of her own! Time will tell if the doctor's silent maelstroms, and that of her patient's, are liberated through the twists and turns of unexpected events.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bella Fayre
• Release date: Nov 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310036156

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The pounding in her head was nearly explosive. Pressure expanded and contracted on both sides of her temples, as if a mallet were beating the walls of her mind. The room was spinning, encasing her in a frozen dizziness, propelling her further into its spiraling, stone-like force. Her body rocked violently in its quest for primitive release.

The storm within grew louder and stronger, thrusting her toward a demanding, coercing darkness. Convulsive screams of panic spilled forth. Did these come from her? How odd.

The darkness stole its way into every crevice of her mind. She understood at some level she was now in the frantic grips of near insanity. So be it. She almost welcomed the darkness closing in. The screams continued to reinforce a turbulence that would eventually strip her of her will, leaving her mind encased in a tomb-like struggle in its quest for humanity.

Suddenly, the force became decidedly stronger, in what was to be a final effort to thrust her into a protective recess that only it understood. The storm continued in intensity until it had its final say, leaving her little choice but to submit.

Finally, all was quiet. The darkness was complete. Her mind grew still. How long she remained like this she did not know. The stillness was penetrating, beckoning her toward remote regions of her mind cruelly devastated by the storm.

Where was she? A calm had enveloped her. How inviting were its clutches. The gremlins of memory were lurking about, however. They beckoned to be heard. Not now.

She needed the quiet, even in the darkness. Not now.

She shivered. It was cold. Despite the calm, it was cold. And, familiar. Had she been here before? An unforgiving chill etched at her thoughts in its overt lust to reconcile her frozen past. Perhaps it was time. Not now. She would return from this emotional tundra when she was ready, when she was stronger. The cold was the least of her concerns. It may even serve as a barrier to the dark remembrance standing guard as a protective sentry at the gate of Memory. Not now. Not now. Not until she was ready.

CHAPTER TWO

Her ringing cell phone fell to the floor in her clumsy attempt to reach it on the nightstand. Heaving herself to the side of the bed, Donna groped around in the semi-darkness until she felt it wedged between the nightstand and bedpost.

Yes! she finally answered with a hint of annoyance.

Dr. DeShayne? Dr. Donna DeShayne? the voice inquired.

This is Dr. DeShayne. Who is this?

This is Detective Kenneth Daniels with the Horry County police department. I apologize for disturbing you at this hour, but we have a situation that requires your attention. I would rather not discuss this matter on the phone. I will have enough on my hands when this hits the news outlets. I have an officer on the way to your home. He has instructions to bring you here.

Where is ‘here’, Detective?

The Horry County Law Enforcement Center Conference Room. Can I expect your cooperation and support?

Yes, by all means, Detective Daniels.

The urgency of our situation calls for an immediate evaluation. Again, my apologies for the early morning call, Kenneth Daniels offered.

I’m sure it can’t be helped. By the way, who is the officer I should be expecting?

That would be Officer Caleb Blackwell.

Very good. I remember Officer Blackwell. He is a good man. Donna offered parting pleasantries before ending the call.

It was 5:00 AM on Sunday morning. Sundays were usually Donna’s no rules day. That was her invitation to sleep in as late as possible, lounge about for most of the day in her pajamas, if she chose, and not make her bed until Monday morning. It was a departure from her usual highly-structured week and her tendency to be a perfectionist.

She made her way to the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth, freshened her face, and pin-clipped her flowing auburn-colored hair away from her face. Removing her nightshirt on her way to the closet, she caught a glimpse of her figure in the full-length mirror on the closet door. Donna was never particularly pleased with her thighs. At the age of thirty-three she wasn’t bad looking. She ate well and religiously exercised, but remained dissatisfied with her legs. Her best friend and colleague, Dr. Carol Tandermann, often said she would give her right arm for Donna’s size-8 figure and the coy sensuality that accompanied it. Donna didn’t see it that way.

Foregoing her bra in favor of a fitted exercise T-shirt, she grabbed a pair of old, but figure-flattering jeans from the closet, along with a sweatshirt for the early morning cold, as well as her favorite leather boots.

Making her way to the kitchen, she found Tucker, her overfed, orange tabby, curled up on a chair in the kitchen, close to the heating vent. She smiled to herself. Cats know how to live, she thought. Tucker wandered into her back door and life four years ago, and brought with him an attitude. She knew he was not going to be owned by anyone. He was going to do all the owning. Tucker was aloof most of the time. Occasionally he coiled about her feet for a scratch behind his ears. Things were definitely on his terms.

Sorry, Old Boy. This is a surprise for me as well, Donna said, while pouring dry food into Tucker’s dish and freshening his water bowl. At least you can go back to sleep after I leave. Tucker stretched lightly as if deciding to eat, changed his mind, and lay back down.

Heading back to the bathroom, she just finished applying mascara to her lashes and a soft lip color when the doorbell rang.

Before opening the door, she peered through the peephole. Caleb, is that you?

Yes, Dr. DeShayne. It’s me.

Donna opened the door with the door chain still fixed in place. After confirming it was Officer Blackwell, she released the chain and opened the door, allowing the officer to step in.

Detective Daniels thought you would be more comfortable if I came for you considering our work together. I kinda volunteered for the job, if the truth be told.

It works for me. What’s this all about, Caleb?

I don’t know myself. I had just arrived on the scene, and was barely out of my car when Detective Daniels asked that I come and get you and bring you to the station immediately. He assured me he would phone ahead. That’s all I know really. I heard rumors, though, that it was a nasty murder scene. Daniels looked very upset. Are you about ready? Daniels said he would meet us there in about half an hour.

Almost. I just need to grab my jacket from the car.

Donna armed the security system and locked the door after they exited her apartment. Officer Blackwell headed for his police cruiser parked in front of the building to report he was on his way, while Donna headed for the covered garage toward the brand new black BMW convertible she purchased with her year-end bonus check. Unlocking the trunk, she reached for the jacket, closed the trunk lid, and walked to the cruiser. Blackwell stood with the passenger-side door opened for her.

Donna had been summoned only one other time to assist county law enforcement as a Forensic Psychiatrist. While the added credentials required extra schooling, it allowed her practice to be more available in a wide range of situations. It was a field of study she held special interest. Donna, with the help of her business partner, Dr. Carole Tandermann, had developed a five-point evaluation exercise to assist law enforcement in recognizing potentially unstable suspects at the time of arrest. The program proved so successful in its initial year that it became a mandatory part of the county’s training program.

How’s it going these days, Caleb? Donna turned her attention to her driver and former client.

Not too bad, thanks to you, and all things considered. The test is coming up again next month. I think I’m ready for it this time, he said, with a knowing glance in her direction.

You’ve been ready all along. I’ll be rooting for you. How long ago was the last one?

Three years.

You’ve done at lot of work in the meantime, Caleb.

With a little help from my friends.

You did the work, Caleb. Don’t forget that.

Every three years the county police department scheduled an officer’s exam. It, along with the officer’s service record, would determine whether he or she would be eligible for promotion. The exam was rigorously technical and few passed it on their first or even second attempt. The names of those few who passed were placed on file for consideration for a few select positions. Since openings in the department were a rarity to begin with, having one’s name on the list was a coveted occurrence.

Three years earlier, Officer Caleb Blackwell took the test and failed. This blow, coupled with a recent divorce after fifteen years of marriage, was more than he could handle. He took his failures hard, both of them. His depression deepened in the weeks and months that followed. Caleb’s supervisor, Detective Ken Daniels, became concerned. He knew Blackwell to be an excellent officer, and his eighteen years on the force were sterling. He allowed time for Blackwell to shake off the disappointments, but too much time had passed, and Daniels noted Blackwell was becoming more isolated in his social interactions with his fellow officers.

Ken Daniels, concerned for Blackwell, asked Dr. Tandermann whether she could see Blackwell professionally. There was no doubt in Daniels’ mind that Blackwell’s deepening depression would eventually affect his job performance. Dr. Tandermann regrettably informed Daniels she was not taking any new patients. She did, however, refer the detective to her new associate, Dr. Donna DeShayne.

Under strict orders from his boss, Officer Caleb Blackwell presented himself weekly at the psychiatric offices of Tandermann and DeShayne. It was obvious from the outset he was coming to these sessions under extreme protest, despite the fact the department picked up the tab. Over time, however, Donna’s resourcefulness, patience, and soothing manner eventually broke Caleb’s icy reception. She was pleased to note he was gradually becoming more engaged, open, and willing to share his fears and perceived limitations. He became a less angry man.

Before long, it became apparent to Donna that Caleb no longer needed weekly sessions, and they pared them down over time to once a month. It was his eventual decision to end their sessions completely. Donna agreed and telephoned Detective Daniels her opinion that Caleb Blackwell would be navigating on his own from that point on. Blackwell would often telephone Donna with a casual hello, suggesting a dinner or a movie. Donna surmised Caleb wanted to further their relationship, but Donna wasn’t ready for entanglements or attachments, just yet. It wasn’t Caleb. He was witty and charming, quick on his feet and well respected in the community. A generous allotment of sandy blond hair, a mustache that curled at the ends, and a very well-built physique complimented his six-foot frame. At the age of thirty-nine, Caleb still exuded a youthful blush. Donna was aware she had own emotional work to do. It wasn’t something she would share with anyone, except her good friend, Dr. Carole Tandermann.

After not having seen Caleb for two years, Donna was immensely pleased to see how well he looked. Are you pulling time this weekend for the biker rally? Donna asked, referring to the Harley Davidson Bike Rally that took place each year in their coastal community.

You bet! Every cop is on duty this weekend. Myrtle Beach was another place when I was growing up. Who would have thought we would be visited by hundreds of bikers roaring in on motorcycles each year? Caleb said. You never did say, Donna, but what brought you here from the North?

Donna hesitated before she spoke. I was ready for a change and received an offer from Dr. Tandermann I just couldn’t pass up. So here I am, was all she said. She was relieved they had arrived at the law enforcement complex when they had.

Exiting from the cruiser, she followed Officer Blackwell into the building. He introduced her to several associates while escorting her down a hallway before eventually opening the door to a large conference room. Nicely carpeted and equipped with rows of long, oak tables and chairs, photographs of buildings and scenes along the Grand Strand, a reference to the sixty miles of South Carolina coastline, lined the walls. She noted a high-tech projector on the ceiling, as well as a speaker’s podium. On one side of the room, large windows captured the light of day, allowing the carpet to show off its brightly patterned design. Off to the side was another, much smaller conference room. The tables were set up in a U-shape. This neutral-colored room was well furnished and comfortable with brightly-colored wall accessories. It was to this smaller room that Caleb directed her.

I understand Detective Daniels just arrived. Make yourself comfortable. It shouldn’t be too long, he said, gesturing toward a chair at the table.

Donna took a seat and waited, checking her cell phone messages in the meantime. Twenty minutes later, a tall, lean man, in his late-forties, with thick, dark, wavy hair entered the room.

Dr. DeShayne? I’m Detective Kenneth Daniels, he announced, reaching out to shake her hand. She stood to return his handshake. We finally meet, he said, referring to their earlier conversations over the phone several years ago related to Caleb Blackwell. Up until now, they had not formally met. My apologies for interrupting your weekend.

Anything I can do to help, Detective. What seems to be the problem?

Detective Daniels motioned for Donna to sit down. He took a seat directly across from her. "Let me give you what we know so far. At about three-forty-five this morning, Dispatch received a hysterical call from a young Black man. It was difficult to understand him at first. Shortly, however, it became clear he had come across some sort of accident out at a farm in an isolated part of the county. It took some time to calm the fellow down enough to give us a location. When the police arrived, the caller was at the end of the driveway, waving the officers in his direction. He led them to the barn, but refused to enter himself. Once inside, they discovered the body of a white male, approximately thirty years old. He was dead, and it was very clear it wasn’t an accident—shot to death, three bullets to the body.

While waiting for backup, the officers secured the crime scene. I arrived approximately twenty minutes later. The barn was a scene I will never forget. Apparently, the horses were slaughtered. Three beautiful horses from what I could tell. The carnage was everywhere. The rage that must have triggered that kind of rampage had to border on demonic, that is all I can say, Daniels offered. He appeared upset in the recounting of events.

What was the Black man doing there that early in the morning? Donna asked.

He shoes horses, and since he works full time at another job, he would often schedule his appointments in the early hours before reporting to work. We’re doing a background check on him to be sure where he was at the time of the murder, the Detective shared.

Just then, there was a subtle knock on the door. A tall, blond-haired man in jeans and dark T-shirt filled the doorway. He was a strikingly handsome man, his manner, warm and relaxed.

Come in, Jim, Daniels directed.

The man did so, taking a chair at the head of the table.

Jim, this is Dr. Donna DeShayne, the Forensic Psychiatrist I was telling you about. Dr. DeShayne will be assisting in our assessment. Dr. DeShayne, this is Detective Jim Callahan. Jim and I will be working together in this investigation. So feel free to consult with either one of us should the need arise. I’ve asked Jim to join us to share additional details. What’s the latest? Ken Daniels asked, glancing at his fellow officer.

The doctor says it may be quite some time before we can speak to the woman we have now identified as Lacy Sue Sellers, Callahan shared. The deceased is her husband, Joshua Aaron Sellers. Detective Callahan looked at his boss. How far have you gotten?

Donna was confused by the turn in the conversation.

Just to what was discovered in the barn. I haven’t gotten to the house yet, Daniels clarified. How about you share that part with Dr. DeShayne, Ken suggested.

Donna spoke up. As long as we’re working together, I see no need to be formal. Call me Donna. Both officers nodded.

Jim looked down at his notes before speaking. We made a thorough search of the property before entering the house. The home is small, and hasn’t seen a paintbrush in a good many years, but the place was clean and orderly. We were just finishing up the bedrooms and moving into the kitchen. At first glance, everything seemed to be in order, and then I sensed a presence, turned around, and behind me found a woman huddled in a small space between the refrigerator and the counter.

Dead? Donna asked.

No, but in bad shape. God only knows how she wedged herself in that tiny space. We almost missed her. I called out to the paramedics who were finishing up in the barn. She needed immediate medical attention, but it was no small task, Callahan explained.

What do you mean? Donna inquired.

Jim looked at his boss. Daniels nodded. Show her the video, he said.

With that, Callahan took out his iPhone.

I decided to make a video at the time, mostly because I was still trying to figure out how she had squeezed herself into such a small space. As the paramedics were attempting to move her, this is what we witnessed, Jim said, as he offered Donna his iPhone so she could review the video.

The opening scene took in the paramedics kneeling in front of the woman, speaking softly to her. There was no response. Donna noted the blood about the woman’s face and body. Her grossly swollen nose and dark, ugly circles under her eyes and around her cheeks indicated severe blows to her face. Her lips were split, swollen, and bloody as well. The woman just stared off and quivered. Donna observed the woman to be small-boned, and yet even so, the space in which she had found refuge seemed impossible for an adult to occupy.

The paramedics, getting no response from the woman after repeated attempts to console and reassure her, eventually extend their hands to transfer her to the waiting stretcher. It was at that moment that piercing, hysterical screams of panic greeted them. The woman managed to land a punch squarely on the side of the head of one of the paramedics, nearly knocking him off balance. The hysterical outcry continued. So ungodly was the sound the paramedics immediately backed off, shaken by the outburst. Not clear as to the extent of injuries, they radioed the hospital to which they intended to transport for permission from the medical control doctor to sedate the woman. Getting permission to do so, they waited until the medication took the desired effect. With the woman now largely sedated, the first responders gingerly took hold of her shoulders and her legs, transferring her to a waiting stretcher. Donna returned the iPhone to Detective Callahan, and sat back to gather herself.

Sorry you had to see that, Dr…Donna, he corrected himself.

My God! I wouldn’t have believed it otherwise. That poor woman, was all Donna could say.

I suggest we take a break, get a cup of coffee, and then regroup for further discussion, Daniels said.

They left the room without another word. Donna was grateful for the break. The video had unnerved her more than she cared to admit.

Gathered around the table minutes later, each of them nursing their coffee, the doctor was the first to speak. Where is Mrs. Sellers now? she asked both detectives.

River Towne Hospital,