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Whispers in the Night
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ISBN-10: 1-89484-110-7
Genre: Romance
eBook Length: 290 Pages
Published: February 2002

From inside the flap

At night Sandi's perfect life seems less than perfect. The only child of a well-to-do family that runs an art gallery, in the light of day she's beautiful (although she doesn't think so), and engaged to a successful stockbroker. But at night, there are the whispers? Are the whispers trying to say something, or is she simply insane? Sandi doesn't understand, and is sure her family and fianc? won't either. She changes her major from art history to psychology to look for answers. Then, one evening in class, the professor tries an experiment in self-hypnosis and, the whispers get a voice, her voice.

Whispers in the Night (Excerpt)


Santa Ana winds, streaming from the Mojave Desert down through the passes in the Santa Monica Mountains, plucked at the old bricks of UCLA's Haines Hall, filling the classroom with a softly chilling moan. Sandi Boeckel hated the sound. It interfered with her concentration as she sat in the last row of the tiered classroom listening to the voice of Dr. Daniel Bradon.

"Self hypnosis. It's a technique you can use when you feel tense or tired. And it's one you can use with clients to help them relax."

His voice was strong and resonant but, because of the moaning wind, Sandi had trouble understanding him.

It was her own fault. The first night in class seven weeks ago she had deliberately chosen to sit near the back. She made believe it was so she could observe the other students, but she knew it was so she herself would not be noticed. Usually, the only drawback to sitting in a back row was difficulty in seeing the professor. Even though she was 5'9" herself, the heads of taller students often cut into her line of view. In most classes, it made no difference. Professors were not known for their good looks. How was she to know that Dr. Bradon would fascinated her from the very first night?

She had expected that the instructor of UCLA's PSYCHOLOGY II University Extension Course would be a wizened professor with the scruffy beard that seemed to be de rigueur for every male psychologist or psychiatrist since Sigmund Freud. But Dr. Daniel Bradon proved to be a surprise.

At the first class session when he strode into the room and placed his briefcase on the table near the podium, she could practically feel his radiated energy. Not her idea at all of someone who had a doctorate in psychology.

For one thing, he was young, probably in his early 30s. True, he had the stereotypical beard, but his was a close-cropped and precisely-cut Van Dyke that suited his broad forehead. His eyes, when they were not sparkling with humor, appeared dark, brooding. His unruly tangle of dark brown hair, trimmed away from his ears, was worn low on his neck. And, although slender, he was far from wizen. When he had taken off his leather bomber jacket and hung if over the back of a chair, it revealed good shoulders. He'd rolled his shirt sleeves up a couple of turns, and Sandi noticed that his forearms and wrists were corded with muscles. He had the flat stomach and slender hips of someone who spent time in a gym or on a track.

He turned to face the thirty students and folded his arms. He said nothing, but before his piercing gaze, chatter quickly died.

Then he smiled, and it was as though sunlight had burst through ice. "Good evening," he said. His voice was soft and warm, but it filled the room. "Welcome to Psychology Two."

Sandi felt a tingle of anticipation. It should be a very interesting class. There was still one vacant chair near the front and she considered moving. It was only her reluctance to draw attention to herself that had kept in the last row.

Now, she again regretted her stupid shyness. During his lectures Dr. Bradon encouraged questions but, although this was the next to last meeting of the nine week course, she had yet to ask a single question. She had formulated several in her mind, but had never actually put them into action. She had convinced herself each time that someone else would ask the same question and she would get her answer. By remaining silent, she could watch and listen without having to expose herself to the danger of ridicule if she asked a stupid question or put forth an opinion that sounded absurd.

At the moment, she was safe from any such faux pas. She had only to listen while Dr. Bradon continued, "Okay. I'll lead you through a session so you can get the hang of it." He began pacing in front of the room, watching as he moved like a hungry tiger. "The first thing is to relax. Start with your forehead. Feel the tension disappear. Now your eyes. Close your eyes. Look into the darkness. Look deep into the darkness." As he spoke the timber of his voice changed from one of authority to a soporific urging. "Just let the tension drain out of your body like water running in a stream. Let your shoulders slump. Let the tension drain from your arms, down through your hands. Look deep into the darkness. Let your mind drift. Let it go."

Obeying Dr. Bradon's gentle commands, Sandi stared into the darkness in front of her closed eyes and concentrated on releasing tension from her body. That's it. Relax. Concentrate on his soft, compelling voice.

"Drain all anxieties, all thoughts from your mind. Let your mind go. Let it drift. Let it seek its own path."

Bradon's soothing voice flowed through her like warm wine. Her mind was a void, dark, except for the balm of his voice. A spurious thought intruded: Nature abhorred a vacuum. If she made her mind a vacuum, something would have to pour in. What would it be? Images of her childhood?

No! She quickly shut out the unwanted intrusion. This was supposed to be a pleasant experience not a reason to dig up painful memories.

Relax. Relax. Let the darkness spread and become all enveloping. All enveloping---

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