Chapter 27: Bomb Squad

"We blew it," Jamie said as Christine and I were having breakfast the next morning.

"How so?" I asked.

"The bubble thing with Samantha."

"What about it?"

"We forgot something," she said.

"What? Jamie, just spit it out, what are you talking about?"

"Hightower's buried kill commands."

Ooops.

"You're right," I said. "We'll have to go back and fix those. Maybe tonight. So what did Allison tell her?" I wasn't concerned about exactly how Allison had gotten the message across; I had a pretty good idea how the general conversation had gone.

"That you wouldn't touch her until after this was all over and she knew that she was completely free to say no. Then, if she still wanted it, you would be happy to be the first lover she'd ever had by choice rather than compulsion. Sam argued that there were a lot of people she chose to do it with – Stephen for instance."

"And how did Allison answer that?"

"She asked her a simple question: 'The first time?' Sam thought about it for a second and realized that even the people she enjoyed it with had not been voluntary the first time, and Allison went on to explain that until she was free to choose, you would feel like just one more person that was taking advantage."

"I'm sure Sam was all over that," I said.

"Oh yeah, big time! She said she knew that you would never do something like that, that you weren't like the others. That was when Allison pointed out that the whole reason Sam wanted you was because of what you were doing. That she felt she owed you and wanted to thank you, but that if you let her do it out of a sense of obligation that it wasn't the same, and that it would leave the door open for the implication that if she stopped doing it, you might actually stop helping her. She was quick to point out that they both knew that wasn't true – which Sam had been about to say anyway – but that if you both waited, no one would ever be able to suggest to her that it had been for any other reason, and therefore she would never doubt herself, or you. Sam had to think about it for a while before it really settled in and she understood that Allison was right. We distracted her and let it work itself out ... She still wants you, but – just like that first time with Angela – she's now willing to wait. There is always the chance she'll change her mind once that is actually an option, but I don't see that happening, so you better be ready when the time comes."

"Yeah," I scoffed. "Like you wouldn't be perfectly happy and willing to take over and cover for me."

I was really surprised when she answered, "No. I'll go along; help out, take turns – whatever – happily, but this is about you and her. It's you she wants; you're the one helping her and Rachel. Yeah, I know I'm part of it, but she'll never know that, and you were doing this long before I came along. So the first time at least, it needs to be you; only you."

It's hard to argue with the truth.

I spent the day digging into every nook and cranny I could legitimately find for information about Phoebe. Since neither of us were relatives, Rivers was having problems convincing the judge to give us access to the CPS files. Since the police weren't pursuing the case any further, he saw no need for private citizens to, either. I offered to see if an appeal from the local FBI would make a difference, and Rivers reluctantly agreed. I made a call to Spencer and got the ball rolling.

Meanwhile, there were two scenarios that concerned us with regards to Hightower's buried compulsions: Someone being arrested or something happening to Hightower personally. Those were the two that we had actual events to point to indicating a subliminal response. We were actually only speculating about something happening to Hightower, but he seemed like the type who would want to take everyone down with him. In either case, whatever it was he had buried would have to be carefully crafted; you wouldn't want it to go off because they got pulled over for speeding or a variety of other charges – only if they were accused of a sex crime. It also had to be both separate and different from the weekly conditioning because this one didn't fade with time.

Again, Samantha was the obvious first choice for where to start, so we started with her, pulling the whole newly made little family into my dreamspace, and then into a bubble.

The scene was from the Hendricks' living room. Stephen was reading one of the medical journals he subscribed to, and Samantha was working on her homework at the dining room table not far away; Kathy and Rachel were watching television. I took Lizzy along so she could watch for changes – it was still hard for her; the first time she saw Sam it was so bad she could hardly look at her. We had assured her that Sam was likely one of the better ones because she at least knew that someone, somewhere, was trying to do something about her situation. She had hope. The recent changes to her and Rachel's living situation, showed that her hopes may finally be realized. Where it may have seemed like a minor change to the rest of us, for Lizzy at least the results were far more dramatic, and it was now possible for her to interact with Samantha without ... I don't know if pain is the right word, but ... well, here we were. Of course, for something this important, Jamie was with me as well.

It was a bubble, of course, we didn't want anyone to remember anything we did, or any trauma that might unfold along the way. We went in dressed as Vegas PD detectives. Stephen answered the door.

"Can I help you?"

"Stephen Hendricks," I said, taking his arm and pulling him toward me. "Detective Barth, Las Vegas PD, I have a warrant for your arrest; please step outside and face the wall..."

"What?" he exclaimed, shocked. "What do you mean? What's this all about?"

About that time Sam showed up and saw me grab Stephen and shove him against the wall.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, starting to come out onto the porch.

Lizzy stepped in front of her, arm extended, "Miss, I'm going to have to ask you to step back and stay in the house.

"Mrs. Hendricks!" Samantha yelled. "It's the police, and they're arresting Stephen!"

I thought it was very interesting that Dr. Hendricks was Stephen, but Mrs. Hendricks wasn't Kathy. I wondered if it was Samantha's choice or if Mrs. Hendricks insisted on it. Either way, she was there in just a few seconds, demanding answers. Rachel was a few feet behind her.

"What's going here? Why are you arresting my husband?"

"Mrs. Hendricks," Lizzy said. "I'm sorry, but your husband has been accused of molesting several young girls."

That apparently did it, as Lizzy spoke to me silently, "Jimmy, freeze them."

The scene froze, and I turned to her. "What did you see?"

"As soon as I said it, something happened to everyone but Rachel. I think you can send her back to bed while we figure out how to handle this."

The bubble was set up so they wouldn't remember anything once they left, so I sent Rachel off to the beach to play with the memory of her real mother.

"Can you show me what you saw?"

She didn't answer, but my vision changed, and now I saw them as Lizzy saw them. I wasn't sharing her gift – we still had no idea how to do that – but she was projecting what she saw onto the dreamspace.

"This is what they looked like before," she said. "You can see Stephen's confusion and Samantha's fear right away. Kathy's general anger overshadows most everything else, but as soon as I mentioned the charge..."

The images were suddenly wrapped in a thin black shadow – not as dark and pervasive as the one that had taken over Samantha the night she had tried to kill me, but it was still obvious.

"Jamie?" I asked out loud.

She stepped out to answer.

"Piece of cake," she said. "Did you still want to talk to him about it or just deal with it and move on?"

"No, I want to see if he's aware of it, now that it's triggered."

I released him and turned him around so we could talk.

"Stephen," I said. "Something happened just now when my partner told your wife what you were being charged with. Do you feel any different?"

"No," he answered. "What do you mean something happened? Why are they just standing like that?"

I changed back to my normal dream persona.

"You!" he exclaimed. "I know you! At least... , I think ... Have we met before?"

"Yes, we have." I changed the scene around us, and suddenly we were surrounded by life-sized broken dolls. "We met here."

"That's right! I remember now. You asked me to identify the people who were hurting the girls."

"Right," I said. "I told you I was going to put a stop to all this, and I am. But I'm trying to do it in such a way that the people who were being coerced – like you – don't get screwed. But it's more complicated than just keeping you out of jail. Do you know who Lord Hightower is?"

"No," he answered. "I know the name; I know he's the one behind it all, but I don't know who he is."

"That's okay; most of you don't know who he is. Even the girls, like Samantha, that he's been screwing on a regular basis don't know who he is."

"What?" He asked, confusion clear on his face. "How is that possible?"

"Hypnotic compulsion," I said. "He has a ... gift I guess you'd call it, one he's been abusing to create and control this whole situation. I could explain it, but you're going to forget all of this again anyway. All that matters is that the reason you don't remember him is that he told you not to. He told you other things as well. For instance, just now, when I told you that you were being arrested, nothing happened, but as soon as Lizzy told your wife why you were being arrested, a buried compulsive command surfaced. Lizzy?"

She recreated the scene and let him watch as the shroud of compulsion surfaced.

"This is amazing!" Stephen said, fascinated at the vision Lizzy provided. "How do you do this? How can you see something like this happen?"

"It's a long story," Lizzy said, "and like he said, you're going to forget it anyway. Stephen, I need you to concentrate, think about how you feel about the future. Look at your wife, look at Samantha, and tell me how you feel."

Hendricks looked at Samantha, and you could see the love in his face. If this is what he looked like day to day, it was no wonder Kathy hated the younger woman. I doubt he ever looked at her that way anymore.

"You love her, don't you?" Lizzy asked. "Just like you loved her sister?"

"Yes," Stephen answered sadly. "I do."

"Then why are you sad?"

"Because... ," he hesitated, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Because she's going to die?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered, eyes darting to meet mine. "How did you know that's what I was thinking?"

"Because that is the nature of the compulsion," I said. "In the event that you or your wife are discovered, your thoughts are directed down the path where the only option that makes any sense to you is to kill yourself and the girls to eliminate the chance you may be connected to the group. That's not what you'll actually be thinking, of course; you'll be thinking of what will happen to them, the damage to their lives and reputations when everyone discovers what's been going on. It's a very subtle compulsion; in your case it has to be – because you seem to have a natural defense against the kind of manipulation he normally uses. That's the reason they had to drug you the night they shot the video of you with those three young girls. Hightower can't control you the way he can others, or he wouldn't have needed to blackmail you in the first place.

"We know the compulsion works because it's already happened a couple times before. One family went to the police and was placed in protective custody. The father killed the rest of the family and then hanged himself. There was also a girl that went to the police and told them her father was molesting her. He was arrested, of course, but that same night he was murdered in jail by another inmate. While that was happening – not at the same time but close enough that they hadn't even gone to give her the news that he was dead yet – the wife let a man into her home so that he could kill her and her two daughters. She actually went to bed while he crept into the girls' rooms and slit their throats and waited there until he came for her. The whole thing was done so that it would look like she was overcome with guilt at what had happened, killed the daughters, and then committed suicide."

"I already knew about both of those, but I didn't know it was the father that actually did the killing. They used them as examples to show that there was no place you could go, and no one you could go to, that could protect you; not even the police. How do you know that's what really happened?"

I just looked at him.

"Right," he said. "And you say that's what I'm feeling now?"

"Yes. I suspect there is another compulsion as well, but we'll deal with it later. Right now I want to see if I can deal with this one. Close your eyes and try to relax."

"Why do I need my eyes closed?" he asked. He closed them anyway, but he still asked.

"Why do you have a child look at something else when you give him a shot?"

"Ah," he said. "So it's just a distraction?"

"More to keep you from being distracted," I said. "Jamie, he's all yours."