Two Feet Below

She was right, I thought, settling back into the sofa. I wanted the nightmare over with. She took a moment to collect her thoughts and began again.

"Clearly," she said, "he had a lot more money than I'd ever imagined. It's all in offshore tax-free accounts. The bulk of it, according to these papers, is yours... well, yours and Rebecca's if you stay with her, and raise Trinity together.

"There's also money from an account with a large monthly stipend... like child support, I guess, in case Trinity is his child. There's also a college fund and a trust that becomes available to her at age twenty-six. And lastly, aside from all that, there's another offshore account with one million dollars - five hundred grand each - for you and Rebecca, if you stay together - which matures on Trinity's eighteenth birthday. He's organized a rather intricate campaign to keep you and your family together."

"Yeah, more like force me into being a willing cuckold." I spat. Margaret looked at me quizzically.

"I don't understand," she said. "He's dead, and the money isn't meant for humiliation."

"Of course it is," I replied emphatically. "It's intended for a lifetime of humiliation. He wants to force money on me, to force me to raise his kid. That's over and above everything he's already done. Can't you see? It's another method of control. He wants me to remember every day that he's won; that he's the better man."

"Okay, I suppose I can see what you're saying," she said, sadly. "But that's more a point of view than a fact. One could easily counter that what's in this document is an evil man, trying to make amends in the end. I think you making it a competition, especially now and into the future, is counterproductive to your healing, not to mention, Rebecca and your daughter.

"If you feel that way now," she answered less confidently, "I'm worried about how you get through this.

How you help your family get through it."

I'd had enough of this.

She was a woman, who could never understand the brevity that had been heaped upon me these past few days, regardless of whatever degree she held. I needed to go lie down and try to rest, but I needed a few answers to things first.

"Doc," I called her for the first time, "You could never understand how I feel, how most men would feel in these circumstances. That's why you won't be able to help me, and I'd never be your patient. That -and the fact that the perp is your flesh and blood. But I have a few questions, and I want honest answers. Can you at least do that?"

She looked like she wanted to defend that statement but then thought better of it. She nodded and sat back down. I did the same.

"What I need to know, Margaret," I began, "is in your professional opinion, what are the chances that Rebecca was not in a hypnotized state during any of this? What percentage? And then specifically, the percentages surrounding her drugging my food, and having his child?"

"I was planning on having this very discussion tomorrow," Margaret steadied herself, "after you had rest and time to... digest it all. But, I can answer you now.

"The percentage of people," she took in a heavy breath. "Who can be hypnotized is still under debate.

Each new study provides a new outcome.

Some studies show eight in ten.

Others suggest it's less, as in half of the test subjects. So in addition to my brother, and what he's done, you may have another issue. That's the reason I kept my conversation with your wife so vague.

"Then," she continued, "to your second question. Only ten percent of all people are highly receptive to hypnosis. Rebecca would have to be one of those ten percent to have been that easily controlled on the many levels that she was."

"Thank you, for your honesty," I replied.

"I'm not finished," she went on. "I was planning to spend tomorrow with you. To help sort out your emotions - which then lead you toward a decision. Then Saturday, I was going to visit Rebecca at your sister's house.

Try to understand how she fell so deeply under Ted's spell. Ask the questions that could help us learn if she was truly under his spell.

I personally believe she was under his influence, subconsciously, which is very close to hypnosis. But for your sake, I want to find out for sure."

"I want to talk to her," I suddenly demanded. "I want to talk to her now. But, I'm also not sure that you interviewing her would be any better than me doing it. I know her every move. Or at least I thought I did."

"I get it," she added. "But as you just realized, she may have been fooling you for a long time. You may not know her at all. She certainly wasn't honest with you when my brother moved into your neighborhood - at least by omission. Please let me handle those questions, as an interview.

If you want me to record it, I will, with her permission of course."

There wasn't any more fight in me - at least for that night. I went to bed. I thought about Rebecca for a long time. My Becca.

The woman I fell in love with.

Then I thought about just how right Margaret could be. Instantly, I became saddened at the thought of how long it might be before regaining trust in the woman I loved.

I couldn't help but think about Theodore, and some of what he said. He'd seemed hesitant to show the video of how he took control of my wife.

I grabbed my phone and searched 'meanings for "two feet below." The only thing other than the obvious was regarding the floor or ceiling grade and pitch of a building, and most referenced the crawl space under a dwelling. Was there a cryptic meaning he left there? Who knew?

And then there was Trinity.

On the bright side, she wasn't really old enough that I'd become emotionally invested, other than in the ways all fathers feel about a baby girl. I didn't think Theo was right about planting a suggestion so we couldn't bond. I saw myself outside of his reach, and if anything, the fact that he had had my wife drugging me, gave me confidence in that assertion.

It took a long time to fall asleep. In the morning I sat at breakfast with Margaret. I apologized for going at her, and she told me that she expected far worse. We discussed how I felt, but I was pretty numb. I had her re-summarize all this money her brother offered. I needed to poke holes in his sudden change of heart and goodwill. By the end of the day, I was still of the mind that I wouldn't ever take a dime of that dirty fortune.

Saturday, Amy brought Trinity to our house, so I could spend time while Margaret went to discuss everything with my wife. It was a welcome distraction from my shit life. As it turned out, I spent the entire day with Trinity, until Amy came to get her around eight at night. She was still too young to spend the night without her mom.

I lay in bed alone that night. The house seemed cold and empty - just like my life. I had no idea what I was going to do. If Becca was lying, that would be the end of us. But what if she wasn't? What if she was one of those ten percent? Doubt kept creeping into my mind. I wasn't sure I was strong enough to make it through.

I felt it reasonable to end here. I'm sure many will not like that, and its fine to say so in the comments.

I have a part II - a continuation - would be a more accurate way to put it, as opposed to another chapter. If any other authors would like to take a run at it, please feel free. Just PM me when you submit so I can read it. My own continuation will need to wait for at least a while, as I'm in post-edit on a new book, among other things.