What I've Done (Morgan Dane #4)(63)

“What’s wrong?”

“I try not to cry in front of my mom, but I can’t hold it inside.” Haley covered her face with both hands and sobbed.

Morgan rubbed her shoulder. “What is it? You can tell me.”

She inhaled sharply, lowered her hands, and hiccupped. “I had a dream last night.” Haley’s voice dropped. “It happened the other night too.”

Morgan had to lean closer to hear the soft words.

Haley’s eyes filled with tears and lost focus, as if she were looking inward—and seeing something horrific. “There was blood all over me. Noah was on the floor. Dying. He whispered that I killed him.” Her brows lowered. “Or at least I think it was him. His lips weren’t moving, but he seemed to say, ‘You killed me.’”

Sharp had theorized that someone else was in Noah’s house Friday night. That the unknown visitor had killed Noah and very carefully framed Haley for the crime. Given the amount of blood, it wouldn’t have been easy. But then, he had all night to do it. And if the physical evidence against Haley was strong enough, the police were unlikely to look for other suspects.

But Haley’s nightmare put a new perspective on the crime.

“The voice was male?” Morgan asked.

“I don’t know. I think so.” Haley changed her tone, as if to mimic the voice. “‘What have you done to me?’” Haley shuddered and then turned dark, lost eyes on Morgan. “It was a whisper, so I can’t identify the voice.”

Pity welled up in Morgan’s throat. Haley must be overwhelmed thinking she might have committed a violent crime. The ugly question reared in Morgan’s head again. Should she pursue an insanity defense?

“This must all be so shocking for you,” Morgan said.

A tear rolled down Haley’s cheek.

“What did the psychiatrist say this afternoon?” Morgan wrapped an arm around the girl’s shoulders. The psychiatrist would issue an official report for Haley’s defense, but that would take time. Morgan wanted to know the gist of the diagnosis now.

Haley’s slight frame quivered as she inhaled. “She said that my symptoms are consistent with post-traumatic stress disorder. But I could also have been drugged. The holes in my memory are similar to those of drug-facilitated rape victims. Many date-rape drugs cause amnesia. My imagination can make even more frightening assumptions because I don’t know what actually happened to me.”

Frustration filled Morgan. If only Haley had gotten medical treatment last Saturday. They wouldn’t be left guessing if she had or hadn’t been given a drug.

“The doctor also said,” Haley continued, “that emotionally traumatic events can trigger dissociative amnesia without the addition of any drug. Whatever happened to me could have been traumatic enough that my brain could be suppressing the event until I can handle the reality. Unfortunately, there is no way to predict whether or not that will ever happen. The memory loss could be temporary or permanent. With either scenario, the nightmares could be dreams or flashbacks or some combination of both.”

“We shouldn’t rely on the nightmares as truth.” Not that Morgan would have done so.

“Right. Since I know what happened to Noah, my imagination could be filling in the details.” Haley reached for her paintbrush. “She wants to see me twice a week. She says therapy can help.”

“What about your insomnia?” Morgan asked. Lack of sleep could exacerbate symptoms. In turn, Haley’s sleep would be even more disturbed. It was a dangerous loop that needed to be broken.

“She gave me medication to help me sleep. It’s supposed to suppress nightmares.” But Haley looked doubtful. “I’m still afraid to close my eyes. The nightmares seem so real. I don’t want to sleep.”

“I know.” Morgan didn’t discuss their theories on the case. She didn’t want to do anything that might interfere with Haley’s true memories or trigger her imagination to work overtime.

Haley leaned on Morgan’s shoulder. “But I’m so tired.”

“Haley, the doctor is right. You need sleep.”

“But I can’t control what I see when I’m asleep.” Pulling away, Haley put the paintbrush down again and sat on a stool, hugging her knees to her chest. “It’s like Friday night is happening all over again.”

“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” Morgan said. Was Haley remembering more details? Or was she slipping farther away from sanity? “But the doctor said the medication would suppress nightmares, so I think you should try it.”

Haley sighed with her whole body. “I know.”

“Have you eaten dinner?” Morgan asked.

Haley shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“But you still need to eat.” Morgan worried about the haunted look in the girl’s eyes. “Why don’t we go upstairs?”

“OK.” Haley slid off the stool and followed Morgan up the steps.

In the kitchen, Eliza pasted a fake smile on her face. “Would you like some mac and cheese?”

Haley settled at the island. “Yes, please.”

Lance introduced them to a burly armed man in black cargos and a plain black polo shirt. Eric’s replacement. Haley paid him little attention. She didn’t seem interested in anything, not even food.