Beauty Vs. The Beast

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This is dedicated to Randall Toye with special thanks for his vote of confidence in its concept.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

K.O. (Kay) Kellogg—This attorney’s arguing a dynamite case. With luck it won’t blow up in her face.

Damian Steele—He’s the psychologist who “killed” the nasty personality of a dual-personality patient.

Lee/Roy Nye—Lee is the dual-personality patient; Roy no longer exists. Or does he?

Rodney Croghan—He’s the attorney for the plaintiff, a conniving and ruthless opponent.

Fedora Nye—She’s the woman who’s suing Damian for murdering her husband’s personality.

Tim Haley—He was Damian’s receptionist. Now he’s too angry to work with him.

Priscilla Payton—She’s a lady scorned and maybe a lady out for vengeance.

Larry Nye—He’s the son of the “murdered” man, a chip off the old block.

Bette Boson—She’s another multiple-personality patient with even more severe problems.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Prologue

Angry sounds rumbled through the walls.

The little boy rocked sleepily awake as the thunderous sounds shook his small body. His eyes blinked open to darkness.

He burrowed his head beneath his covers, cupping his ears with his palms, trying to block out the sounds. But the violent, unrelenting blows pounded ever more fiercely against his eardrums, making them feel sore and beaten.

He grabbed the pillow and dragged it beneath the covers. He wrapped it around his head to muffle his ears. If he could no longer hear the sounds, maybe he could make them go away.

Please.

But the angry sounds kept getting louder, closer.

He threw the pillow aside and snatched the covers off his head. He dived for the edge of the mattress. His feet tangled in the sheet and blanket. He fell to the floor, kicking and squirming, clumsily trying to free himself.

Frantically, he fought with the bedding and with the tears of terror beading onto his cheeks as the precious seconds slipped away.

And the angry pounding came closer, ever closer.

His tiny fingers clawed at the wood-slat floor as he inched himself beneath his bed. The bulky bedding got caught on the bed frame. He pulled his feet free of it just as the pounding stopped right outside his bedroom door.

He flattened himself beneath the bed as panic welled sick in his stomach and the rough wooden planks scored his delicate cheek.

The door to his bedroom banged open. The hallway light blinded him. He raised a shaking hand to shade his eyes, peering through the slits between his small fingers.

He could see the hideous dark hump swaying in the doorway, so immense its shadow pressed against the walls and climbed to the very ceiling. It was the demon from hell, its eyes glowing red, its rancid stench of smoke and acrid alcohol burning the little boy’s sensitive nostrils.

He opened his mouth to scream—great, lung-emptying, panic-packed shrieks that tragically could make no sound at all, except in the deepest and darkest recesses of his mind.

For he knew he could not let the demon hear his screams, or the reasons for them would only get so much worse.

The demon bellowed its angry thunder throughout the boy’s small body as it stomped into the room, lifted the empty mattress off the bed and threw it against the wall. This was just the beginning of its search. And the longer it searched and could not find him, the more furious it would get. And the more terrible the punishment would eventually be.

The little boy knew he was worthless and deserved everything he got. He had been told that often enough. He should come out from under the bed now and submit to his punishment.

But the little boy couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t willingly give up to this angry, hurtful demon. He had to try to escape just one more time.

The demon stomped over to the closet and yanked open the door, growling and kicking and slamming its huge fists against the closet wall when it realized its prey was not there.

The little boy knew his chance had come. He slid out from under the bed and quickly scampered over to the bedroom door.

His heart hammered in his chest as he ran down the hallway as fast as his legs could carry him.

He must hide. But where could he go? He’d been found in the living room behind the couch. He’d been found in the kitchen under the table. He’d even been found in the laundry room at the bottom of the hamper beneath a pile of dirty clothes.

Maybe the demon wouldn’t think to look in that old storage shed behind the garage. The little boy jumped uncontrollably as the next angry bellow shook the hallway walls. It was coming out of the bedroom.

He had to get away. He could think of nowhere else to go. He would head for the shed.

The little boy’s bare feet slapped on the floorboards as he ran for the back door. He grasped the knob and pulled it open. The freezing night air hit him like an icy slap. He held tightly to the rickety banister as he scurried down the porch stairs. But in the panic of his headlong rush, he tripped on the steps and fell face first onto the frozen ground.

He landed hard, the breath knocked from his body. He could hear the demon bellowing once more from inside the house. The little boy gasped for air, forcing himself to lie still against the icy ground, against the chilling terror, until his lungs filled again and his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

He began to make out the faint silhouette of the garage. He got to his hands and knees and crawled beside its rough stucco wall until he reached the old, dilapidated shed behind it. He scrambled to his feet.

His small hands stretched above his head to feel for the rusted iron latch. With all his strength, he pulled the heavy wooden door toward him. He slipped inside the shed and closed the door behind him, hearing the latch click into place.

The shed was absolutely black. The hard earth floor was like ice beneath his bare feet. His knees and palms stung from his fall down the stairs.

The little boy paid no heed to these physical discomforts. He felt his way slowly over the rough-hewn, wood-splintered walls until he had reached the farthermost corner. He leaned his back against it and sunk to the ground.

It took a very long time before his heart stopped pounding against his thin ribs, before his breath stopped wheezing through his small lungs. Finally, he drifted into a blessed numbness, a welcome respite from the ripping terror.

He didn’t know how long he huddled there, but gradually he began to feel very cramped and tired and awfully cold. He shifted his position slightly, only to have his bare toes poked by the stiff bristles of a nearby broom. He longed to be stretched out on his bed beneath a warm blanket.

But he knew there were things much worse than being cramped and tired and cold. Much worse.

He could still hear the demon’s distant roar as it continued to search the house for him.

He shivered as the cold night breeze whipped through the wooden slats at his back. He could just make out an old tarp shoved against the shed’s wall a few feet away. He leaned forward and grasped the tarp’s edge and dragged it toward him. He dropped back into his corner and draped the old tarp over his small back and shoulders to keep off the draft.

The tarp was stiff and smelled of paint. He didn’t care. For a few precious moments, he almost felt warm. For a few precious moments, he thought he had escaped this night. For a few precious moments...

The back door to the house suddenly slammed. The heavy boots of the demon crunched over the frozen ground as they made their way to the garage, bringing an abrupt end to all the little boy’s hopes.

He burrowed his head between his knees as terror once again tore through his heart. It would search the garage, and when it didn’t find him there, it would be bound to search the old shed behind it.

He should have known the demon would find him. It always found him.

A sob broke through his small throat. No! No! Not again! He must find a way to escape before it came for him. He must!

Chapter One

Kay knew he was coming. She stood behind her desk and waited impatiently as she wondered why Adam Justice, her senior partner at the law offices of Justice Inc., had been so mysterious about this new client he was sending her.

The stranger stepped through the open doorway of her walnut-paneled office, halting uncertainly the second he saw her.

“You’re K. O. Kellogg?”

Kay nodded mutely, at the same time wincing internally at the surprise stamped on his face and in his deep voice. She should be reconciled to both by now. She wasn’t.

Still, just as she obviously didn’t fit his preconceived idea of a lawyer, he didn’t fit her preconceived idea of a psychologist.

His full, unruly, dark brown hair framed a ruggedly square, sun-darkened face. He looked as if he’d be far more at home at the helm of a ship than anchored to an analyst’s couch. Yet, in contrast to his rough, outdoorsy features, his dark dress slacks, tan cashmere jacket and open-necked, salmon-colored silk shirt bespoke a man thoroughly at ease in more formal, indoor settings.

“Please come in, Dr. Steele. I’ve been expecting you.”

He closed the door behind him and advanced into the room. His stride was long, muscular and powerful. His face was open, fluid and friendly.

Except, that is, for the sharp assessment in his glinting green eyes. Something about that intense, imposing glint belied the casual countenance of the man.

“I’m only Dr. Steele to my patients,” he said. “Call me Damian. And your first name is...?”

Kay leaned across her neat, polished walnut desk to extend her hand. “I’m called Kay.”

“Kay,” he repeated as his much larger hand engulfed hers and lingered, branding her with its gentle insistence. As she looked into those deep green eyes and felt the claim of his hand, a strange, warm sensation streaked down the back of her thighs.

Kay quickly slipped her eyes and her hand from his and sat down. She knew what that strange sensation was, of course. Her new shoes had to be cutting off the circulation in her legs. She had suspected the heels would be too high. Still, the idea of adding a full three inches to her height had been too enticing to resist.

That would teach her to watch those illogical impulses. As soon as this interview was over, she’d slip her feet into the pair of fuzzy slippers she kept in her drawer. Until then, she’d try to remain seated. She motioned toward one of the walnut-armed chairs in front of her desk.

“Were you expecting a man, Dr. Steele?”

He took the offered chair, but sat on its edge. “No. Your senior partner told me you were a woman.”

Kay thought as much. Adam Justice generally cleared that particular obstacle from the start. As for clearing the misleading image of her small size and too youthful face, well, here she was again, beginning the uphill climb. Kay took a deep, resolute breath.

“So, it’s my appearance that has caused your...surprise.”

His eyebrows raised slightly. He obviously had not expected her to address the issue so candidly. The upturn to the corners of his mouth hinted at a small amusement.

“Yes, Kay. You could say your appearance came as somewhat of a surprise.”

Well, at least he was open about it.

She felt the frown line forming between her eyebrows. “I hope you’re not the kind of man to be unduly influenced by appearances.”

He smiled directly at her frown. “I think you’d be safe in assuming I’m not.”

He had an inviting, disarming smile—the kind that made one instinctively trust him. Kay did not allow herself to succumb to any such instinct. She rested her hands on her desk and launched into the well-rehearsed litany of her professional credits.

“I’ve been a practicing attorney for six years, the last five at this firm. I was made a full partner fifteen months ago. Mr. Justice told me that your case involves an unusual civil matter. I’ve handled many civil matters for this firm, some of which have been most unusual. I’ve gone to trial on thirty cases and won twenty-nine.”

“Adam mentioned you had an impressive trial record.”

Kay’s forward momentum immediately swerved to this interesting side road. “Adam? I didn’t realize you were on a first-name basis with our firm’s senior partner. How do you know Adam?”

“We met a few years back.”

“Where?”

“Around.”

“You’re friends?”

“We know each other.”

His sentence dropped into a definite and deliberate period. Kay’s brief hope of finding out something more personal about Adam Justice took a nosedive. It seemed Dr. Damian Steele was as good at playing mysterious as her firm’s senior partner. Yes, that impenetrable glint in those deep green eyes was undoubtedly a warning—this was a man who kept secrets and kept them well.

“I’m glad Adam told you about my trial record. However, he may not have mentioned that I’ve also negotiated equitable settlements on as many cases that never went to tri—”

“I’m not interested in settling.”

The easy smile had quickly left Damian Steele’s face. His smooth, deep voice had developed a rough, sharp edge. There was a menacing feel to the glint that now flashed in his eyes. And that’s when Kay knew that, charming smile and civilized dress notwithstanding, this man could be dangerous. A half chill, half thrill shot up her spine.

“All right, Dr. Steele, I hear you. You don’t want to settle your case.”

“Damian, remember?”

The smile was suddenly back, as charming as ever.

“Of course, Damian,” she repeated casually. But the sound of his first name passing between her lips set off a warm hum inside her mouth that made her curiously self-conscious.

There was certainly an intriguing mercurial quality to Dr. Damian Steele—open and thoroughly enticing one instant, mysteriously closed and darkly dangerous the next.

Kay cleared her throat and gave herself a moment to whisk away her strangely contrasting and singularly unsettling reactions to this man. She steadied her hands on her desk as she determinedly brought her attention back to the issue at hand.

“Why don’t you tell me about your situation? From the beginning, if you please.”

He watched her a long moment before leaning back in his chair. Despite his initial surprise at her appearance, he wasn’t running for the door. Yet. She followed his lead and relaxed in her chair.

“I’m a psychologist in private practice. Five and a half years ago, a man named Lee Nye came to me plagued by troubling blackouts. In the course of my therapy with Lee, I discovered that living inside him, he had another separate and distinct personality named Roy.”

Kay instantly shot forward in her chair. “You mean he’s one of those multiple-personality people?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t he just tell you that?”

“He didn’t know. Neither of his personalities was aware of the other.”

Kay leaned back again, taking a moment to consider his words. Multiple personalities were the latest of the legal hot spots. She’d followed several recent cases with interest.

In those cases, defendants with the disorder claimed that since only one of their multiple personalities committed a crime, their other personalities were blameless and shouldn’t be punished. It had become a very sticky legal issue, no doubt about it.

Kay believed that most of these defendants were only doing what defendants had done since the beginning of the trial-by-jury system—latching on to the newest legal loophole that would allow them to get out of taking responsibility for their actions.

She carefully kept the cynicism out of her tone.

“I confess I know very little about this condition. How is it possible for a man to possess two personalities inside him and not know it?”

Damian Steele had been watching her intently with that open face and those secretive eyes. She knew it was impossible, but she had the uncanny feeling that he had been reading her thoughts as easily as a highway sign warning of a divided road ahead.

He raised his hands off the arms of his chair and slowly brought them together. His fingers moved as though to interlace, but instead butted up against one another.

“The two Nye personalities had been living separate mental lives and saw themselves as separate identities. When each personality started to seek control over the consciousness, their identities began to clash.”

She leaned forward slightly. “You describe these personalities as having separate identities. Is this multiple-personality phenomenon an intense, extended form of role playing? Like an actor throwing himself into a part so thoroughly, he forgets he’s acting?”

“No, Kay. There is no conscious intent to role-play. The divergent and distinct personalities are absolutely real to that person. That’s why a clash resulted when these two both sought control over the consciousness.”

“How were these personalities able to coexist before without a clash?”

“Lee—the personality I treated—had been submerged for many years while Roy held control over the consciousness. Then Lee began to lay claim to the consciousness approximately six years ago. Lee’s emergence caused each of the separate personalities to experience memory blackouts during the time the other took control. After one of these blackouts, Lee would suddenly come to awareness and find himself in a place he didn’t recognize, with people he didn’t know and with absolutely no memory of the intervening hours, days or maybe even longer periods of time.”

“A kind of recurring amnesia.”

“Yes.”

“And you say the clash between the two personalities began about six years ago because this Lee personality that was subordinated started to come out?”

“Yes.”

“Why did Lee start to come out?”

“Because the previously dominant personality—Roy—had been steadily getting weaker over the years, and Lee had been steadily getting stronger.”

“Ah, it was like a tug-of-war between them.”

“In a manner of speaking. Only, since neither knew about the other, each was tugging, as you put it, against an unknown.”

“Tugging against an unknown,” Kay repeated, trying out the words in an attempt to better grasp the elusive concept. “I’m striving to relate this to something familiar in my own personal experience, but I confess I’m having trouble finding anything.”

“I doubt you ever will. This phenomenon is hard to relate to normal experience. The individual I treated was born LeRoy Lyle Nye on August 20, 1952. That means his body is in its forties. But Lee, the man who came to me for treatment, can remember very little personal history before six years ago.”

“Because he only came to life six years ago?”

“In some respects, yes, but he is an adult. He views himself as a man in his early thirties and behaves consistent with that view.”

“Surely this Lee personality must have suspected something was amiss when he could only remember back such a short time.”

“He thought very little of his past. The present and future claimed his primary focus. His blackout episodes were far more disturbing to him than his lack of earlier personal memories. The latter he accepted as a mere inconvenience.”

“He only felt inconvenienced? I would think a normal person would be frantic.”

“Because a normal person would feel the loss. But when Lee thought about his lack of memories, which wasn’t often, he merely assumed others had the same difficulties remembering as he did.”

“Is Lee’s reaction typical for someone with his disorder?”

“There is very little that is ‘typical’ in a multiple-personality case. Each is as individual as the mind from which it evolves. These cases were once thought to be rare. Now, most in the field believe they are far more common than any of us imagined. The literature is growing on the subject, but we still have much to learn about diagnosis and treatment.”

“You realize, I expect, that the concept of two separate and distinct personalities existing in the same mind is rather an unusual one for the layperson to envision, much less accept.”

His left hand swept across the thick, unruly hair at the side of his head. It was a rough, square hand, a tool for the impatience that she sensed had set it into motion. But it was also a servant to the disciplined mind that returned it to the arm of his chair. As she had earlier sensed, this psychologist could be just as complicated as his subject.

“Kay, multiple personality disorder or MPD still seems like science fiction to many people, even many psychologists. Some postulate that the affected individuals possess not many personalities, but many fragments of one personality.”

“Which approach do you consider more accurate?”

“I’m a pragmatist. I don’t fixate on disputing or embracing labels or adhering to hard-and-fast data.”

“So how do you approach treatment?”

Damian rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, the heels of his shoes disappearing into the thick mustard-colored carpet, his long, lean legs crossing at the ankles.

“I believe achieving results is what is important, not how the results are achieved. Patients come to me or any psychologist because they want to eliminate their disruptive feelings or behavior, sometimes both. I try what I believe will work, and if my method doesn’t work, I drop it and try something else until I find what does work.”

“What did you try with Lee when he came to you?”

“Lee wanted to eliminate his disruptive blackouts. Nothing in his present life appeared to be causing them. His lack of memories strongly pointed to the possibility of past trauma. I hypnotized him to discover what that past trauma might be. It was under hypnosis that Roy emerged.”

“So up until the time you hypnotized Lee, you didn’t know Roy, the second personality, existed?”

“That’s correct. Actually, Roy never came out in my sessions with Lee unless Lee was under hypnosis.”

“Are you saying he had to be hypnotized into being Roy?”

“No. What I’m saying is that under hypnosis, the control Lee exerted over the shared mind was relaxed sufficiently to allow Roy to be called out at will.”

“At your will, as opposed to Lee’s or Roy’s.”

“Yes. The first time it happened was quite unexpected. I had hypnotized Lee and asked him to tell me about his blackout periods, reasoning that an unconscious part of his mind must know. And it did. That unconscious part was Roy.”

“He popped up and introduced himself?”

Damian smiled. “Not exactly.”