In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

Barney’s voice softened a little. “But we know what your worries are, don't we, sweetheart? If the fellow could give you a pill to cheer you up again, I'd be all for it. But if he hypnotizes you, I'm afraid of what he might unleash.”


“You're just afraid the truth will come out,” Theresa said. She turned on her heel and strode in the direction of the dining room, leaving me feeling embarrassed halfway down the stairs. I would have crept back to my room again, but Bamey looked up as he headed for his study and saw me.

“Ah, Molly, you are on your feet again. That is good news! Theresa was insisting I write to your family about you—thought you were wasting away, I gather.” He laughed. “We Flynns are made of sterner stuff, aren't we?” He came up the stairs toward me. “This alienist fellow,” he whispered, “did you get a chance to meet him yesterday? What did you think of him?”

“I'm in no position to judge a doctor’s qualifications,” I said. “If he helps Theresa, what harm can he do?”

That’s just it,” he said. “I'm scared he might push her over the edge. She’s so fragile. Still, I suppose it can't hurt to let her talk to the man. I'm just not going to allow the hypnotism.”

Having made up his mind to his own satisfaction, he ran down the stairs again in the direction of his study. I joined the others at breakfast and Clara kept commenting on my miraculous recovery.

“I thought you were for the churchyard, Molly. That terrible sunken look to your eyes—and now look at you, well on the road to recovery again. Did you pray to a particular saint? They say St. Jude can work miracles in the case of lost causes, but then St. Luke was the physician.”

“No, I can't say it occurred to me to pray to a saint,” I confessed. “I was feeling too sick to think of such things.”

“Next time it recurs try St. Jude then,” Clara suggested.

“I hope it won't recur,” I said. “If it was food poisoning, as Dr. Chambers suggested, then hopefully it is now out of my system.”

I ate sparingly at breakfast, not wanting to tempt fate, and sparingly again at lunch. Theresa had herfirstsession with Dr. Bimbaum and apparently it went well.

“It is more complicated than I thought,” he reported to us as Theresa went to lie down in her room. “She brings a lot of hurt and anger from her childhood—a father who could never show affection, a mother who was jealous of her beauty. Yes, I would say that the anger she keeps bottled up inside her is greater even than her grief.”

“And how will you be able to release this anger?” Bamey asked, and there was a tightness to his voice.

“I will strip away the layers, like an onion,” Dr. Bimbaum said. “Then, when all the anger and hurts are brought out into the open, we will put her into a hypnotic trance to find if there are any angers and hurts that even she is afraid to admittor She will awake like a newborn baby, with heart and soul pure and cleansed. You will have your wife back, Mr. Flynn.”

“I just hope you know what you're doing, Bimbaum,” Bamey growled. ‘You're to keep me consulted at every step of the way, and you are not to attempt to hypnotize her without my permission.’

“Naturally, Mr. Flynn. Your full cooperation will be needed for Mrs. Flynn’s full recovery.” He put out his hand to prevent Bamey from walking past him up the stairs. “She is resting at present. I suggest we let her recover in peace until she is ready to get up.”

Theresa stayed in bed until teatime. When she joined us, I was shocked at her appearance. I thought she looked paler and sicklier than ever before, with hollow eyes and ashen complexion. So did Bamey.

“You call yourself a doctor, man?” he demanded. “Look at her. That’s not getting better.”

Dr. Bimbaum rose to his feet. “I assure you, sir, that the treatments will help Mrs. Flynn, but patience will be required. It will be painful to peel away the layers of this onion, as I described it. She may well suffer until she realizes that by speaking the words she fears most out loud, she will be free.”

“I am feeling a little better, honestly, I am,” Theresa said. “I know Dr. Bimbaum will be able to help me.”

“I'm still far from convinced that this is a good idea,” Bamey said. “I'm sitting in on the next session whether you like it or not. I won't have my wife bullied and intimidated.” He glanced across at Joe Rimes, who was standing in the doorway. “What do you think, Joe?”

“If you really want my opinion,” Joe Rimes said slowly, “I think there are clinics that specialize in this sort of thing. I think what Theresa really needs is to get away from this place and all its memories. Send her to Switzerland for a few months. A healing process like this can't be rushed.”

“I quite agree with you, sir,” Dr. Bimbaum said. “A clinic in Switzerland would be ideal. I myself have been consulting physician at afineclinic on Lake Geneva. I could write a letter of recommendation for you if you wished to pursue this.”

Barney looked from Theresa to Joe Rimes and back again. “It might be worth considering,” he said.