Behind Shadows: A Psychological Mystery Thriller (The Adam Stanley Series Book 1) by Netta Newbound Page B

In fact, I had all of these symptoms bar depression.
    “You had a lot of these symptoms in your past. There's also your reaction to catching Michael with his pants down, pardon the pun. Not to mention Emma going missing, and finding the brooch."
    "You think that was me?" I was horrified. How could she think I would do that? My blood pumped noisily in my ears.
    "Maybe, maybe not, but we can't rule it out. Also, blackouts—do you ever lose time?"
    I shook my head.
    "You need to be aware of the symptoms, and make a note of any unexplained or blank moments."
    My mind flitted to the messages on the computer screen and the tidied up drawer. There had been lots of unexplained occurrences over the past few weeks when I thought about it, but I wasn’t ready to share this information with her.
    I took my shoes off and placed my feet on the seat in front of me, my arms wrapped around my knees.
    “What are you thinking about?” she asked.
    "Just thinking about the time I did black out years ago—remember? Do you think that was connected?"
    She nodded. "Possibly."
    "So what can I do? Take medication?"
    She shook her head. "There is no medication, except for treatment of some of the symptoms—for instance depression and things like that. But accepting you have a problem is the first step and working closely with me. I can help you train yourself to understand and recognise the symptoms, and how to deal with them. They may never get any worse than these mild symptoms."
    "I'm not depressed though," I said, shaking my head.
    "No, and that's good." She looked at her watch. "Can I see you again next week, Amanda? I've got another client due, but I know you still have a lot of questions."
    My heart jumped in my chest. She was dead right, I had questions. Shocked that my session had finished already, I put my shoes back on and numbly walked to the door.
    "Goodbye, Amanda. Book your next appointment with Monika on your way out. Oh, and by the way, that was a good session. Well done."
    I wanted to scream, you cold bitch ! But I didn't.
     
    ***
     
    Once home I typed Dissociative Identity Disorder into Google again. The first time Freda had suggested it, I'd been horrified. We'd been talking about Sandra and Peter at the time, my foster parents, and the reason I'd removed myself from their lives. To my mind I was protecting myself. I needed to avoid risking their rejection.
    Another classic symptom, Dr Freda had said.
    In my last internet search, I hadn't been able to get past the multiple personalities. Reading it now, I was surprised how many of the symptoms I had. I knew I had better not tell Michael. In his perfect world, mental illness was not acceptable. He'd have me locked up in a nuthouse if it was up to him.
    My foster mother, Sandra, had been on my mind a lot recently. I'd lived with her and Peter for three and a half years—the only normal school-aged years of my life. Peter died when I was away in Italy.
    I kept in touch with Sandra for a while. She always treated me as her long-lost daughter when I made an effort to visit. But I hadn't been able to handle the feelings she evoked in me. My own mother had never cared enough, yet this woman couldn't care more if she tried.
    Maybe it was self-preservation—if I kept my distance, I wouldn't be let down. Anyway, for whatever reason, I stopped visiting. I hadn't seen her since I was pregnant with Jacob. I wasn't even sure if she'd want to hear from me after all this time.
    I needed to think about things a while longer.
     
    ***
     
    I stared at the TV screen, numb with shock. I couldn't get the image of that woman's face out of my head. Reaching for the phone, I dialled Michael's number, but it went straight to voicemail.
    "Michael," I said calmly. "You need to come home as soon as possible. I need to go somewhere urgently—please call."
    I ran upstairs and changed from my nightdress back into my jeans and T-shirt, still reeling from what I'd seen on the ten o'clock news. I knew I