I headed upstairs to change into dry clothes.
Cole was just coming out of Finley’s room. “She’s all right now. I’m sure you can go in.”
“I’m just going to change,” I said. The tremble in my hands had subsided, but my nerves were still on edge. The adept way in which both of Finley’s brothers had sprung into action made it obvious that these episodes happened frequently, and I had the sinking feeling that this had been only a minor incident. We’d resolved the problem quickly by producing her source for the panic attack. Jude had gotten to her so fast, I hadn’t even seen him race over from the pool house. I wasn’t completely sure that I would have been able to help her at all. Finley seemed to only respond to Jude at the time. That made the prospect of him leaving somewhat daunting. In fact, once he left and Cole returned to work, it would be completely up to me to take care of Finley. I hated to admit it, but that thought terrified me some.
Chapter 8
I pulled my hair up into a ponytail, changed into some shorts, and walked over to Finley’s room. My knuckles tapped the door lightly. “It’s me.”
“Come on in, Eden.”
Finley was sitting on the floor sliding off Some Pig’s Hawaiian print shirt. “I think we’ve both had enough of the pool scene today. He wants to spend the rest of the day in the raw.”
I sat down across from them and glanced around. Every wall was covered with a mosaic of old movie posters, pictures, and paintings. There was a long shelf filled with tennis trophies.
“Did you win all those trophies?”
“Yeah, I was a pretty good tennis player at one time. But my anxiety issues got in the way, and I lost my edge in competition.” There was sadness in her chuckle. “Now I can’t even walk out to the tennis courts my dad had built for me. It’s like there’s an invisible perimeter around this house, around my world, and I can’t cross it because I will freak out. My issues control every aspect of my life.” She lifted her round blue eyes and looked at me. “I hope you don’t leave, Eden. I really like having you here.”
“I’m not planning to leave, if that’s all right with you.”
She reached over and hugged me. “It’s definitely all right with me.” I got up and walked over to the paintings. One was a portrait of Finley sitting next to one of the dogs. Another was a portrait of her father from his younger days in the band. I leaned closer but could not make out the signature. “These are amazing. Who painted them?”
“Jude. He’s pretty good.”
“Your brother, Jude?”
“I know. He’s such an ass, it’s hard to believe.”
I smiled to myself. “He’s actually really good. That would explain the chemical smell. Does he work with paint thinner a lot?”
Finley walked over to a closet and opened the door. “Yeah. Sometimes it smells like he bathes in the stuff.” She walked inside the closet, which was bigger than my parent’s bedroom, and reappeared with a large box. She dropped it on her bed, and I plopped down next to it. “I promised to show you my collection of voodoo dolls. I made them myself, and I have to say they’re pretty cool.” She opened the box, reached inside, and plucked out a tiny hand-sewn doll with yarn hair and small blue t-shirt with the words bad pet owner embroidered in black thread. She held it up and reached inside the box. This time she pulled out what appeared to be a fake piece of dog poop, like a prank you’d get from the joke shop.
“I’m not following,” I admitted.
“A couple years ago, Dr. Houston, one of the many silly shrinks my dad hired to listen to my problems, advised me to find an outlet for my frustrations.” She crinkled her nose. “The man always smelled like peppermint, and he was constantly smoothing down the ends of his moustache. Anyhow, he told me to sketch things that angered me, so I could deal with all my problems. I wasn’t really into drawing but I loved to sew. I got out my sewing machine and started making voodoo dolls. But instead of the dolls representing one person, they represented certain human traits that I really despised. Like this one.” She held up the doll again. “This doll represents all those awful people who don’t take decent care of their pets, people who leave their dogs out in the rain, or people who forget to feed their hamsters. It represents all the people who are selfish enough to have a pet but not decent enough to care for them.” She lifted the piece of plastic poop. “Instead of pins in the doll, I decided to be more creative with my hexes. All bad pet owners are cursed so that unless they change their ways, everything they eat smells like dog poop.”
“Okay, that is clever but also very twisted.”
She tossed the doll back into the box. “They deserve it. And strangely enough it made me feel better after I’d created the doll. Of course, when I showed it to Dr. Houston, he told my dad that he wasn’t sure how to proceed with my treatment.” She laughed. “I guess he thought I was too nuts to be saved.”
“Obviously the man had no imagination. Or maybe he was a bad pet owner.” I reached into the box and pulled out another doll. This one wore a t-shirt that read ignoramus. I held it up. “Let me guess. Ignorant people?”
“Yep. Can’t stand close-minded, stupid people, like Dr. Houston,” she added. “Anyhow, I’ve cursed them all to a never-ending ride on a roller coaster.”
I reached in and plucked out another doll. “You really are great at sewing. The stitching on these dolls looks professional.” I rubbed my thumb over the embroidered letters that spelled out the word virus. “I see your anger moved on from humans and on to microscopic organisms.”
She nodded but didn’t elaborate at first. I sensed a mood change and wondered what had triggered it. I was definitely going to have to learn which subjects to avoid. She’d brought out the voodoo dolls, so I’d assumed they were harmless. She scooped up the dolls and took the one I was holding from my hand and dropped them in the box.
“It was a silly exercise, and in the end, it was worthless, just like Dr. Houston and all the other psychiatrists.”
Her expression grew grim as she carried the box back to the closet. “Your sister died of a virus, didn’t she?” I asked the question knowing full well it might be a grave mistake. But at the same time, I sensed that she wanted to talk about it.
Finley shut the closet door and stared at it for a moment. She still faced the door as she spoke. “I came home with the flu one day. It was a bad one, but I got over it in a few days. Chloe had been born prematurely like me. My mom’s doctor had told her she cooked babies too fast.” She turned around and faced me. “Chloe caught the flu from me, but she just couldn’t seem to kick it. She ended up in the hospital. Dad took me to see her, but she didn’t even look like my sister. There were all kinds of tubes coming out of her.” Finley sat on the bed, and Some Pig trotted over as if he sensed her distress. She played absently with the pig’s ear as she continued. “She didn’t make it. I brought the flu home, and my sister died from it.”
I reached down to touch the pig. “And that’s what all this is about. Your anxiety all has to do with the fact that you think you caused your sister’s death.”
She scooted back and flopped against her pillows. I joined her.
“Yep. Nothing too deep or complex in my psyche. Just major guilt. And by the way, it took Dr. Houston eight two-hour sessions to figure out that little plain as day mystery.”
“I suppose he was the inspiration for the ignoramus doll?”
“You got it.”
Some Pig snorted mildly as he rooted around in Finley’s shoes. I stared at the long shelf of trophies for a moment. “Have you ever tried walking past it?” I asked.
“Past what?”