Anne lay on the sofa, her hands resting at her sides, a white cotton blanket covering her. Dr. Weiss sat in a chair a few feet away, a legal pad and pen at the ready and her recorder lying on the broad arm of the chair.
“Now, Anne, I want you to focus on your breathing. Just watch the breath come in and out, in and out. Feel the comfort and support of the breath and, as you do so, say to yourself, relax.”
Anne obeyed.
Dr. Weiss continued. “Now, I want you to inhale deep, and breathe out long. Repeat that four times and, as you exhale, I want you to say to yourself: Body, relax.”
Anne readjusted herself and inhaled her first breath.
“Feel your silky breath come and go, and allow every muscle to soften as you breathe out.”
Anne listened and tried to follow Dr. Weiss’ instructions, but stress pooled in her stomach, and her mind was alive with racing thoughts and fleeting images.
“Just relax, Anne. Everything is fine. Breathe easy and relax.”
Minutes later, Dr. Weiss leaned in, lowering her voice. “Now, Anne, I want you to focus only on the sound of my voice. Nothing else. No sounds other than my voice. Okay?”
“Yes… okay.”
Dr. Weiss guided Anne into deeper states of relaxation, until the doctor observed that Anne’s face muscles were relaxed, and her breathing was even and calm.
“Anne, I want you to feel as though you’re floating. In your imagination, float up and up into a pristine, warm, deep blue sky and merge with the soft, white, puffy clouds. Do that now.”
Dr. Weiss waited, alert. “Are you floating, Anne?”
“Yes…”
“Good. Just drift with those clouds for a while as you relax and go even deeper.”
Anne did go deeper, allowing herself to float and drift in and out of clouds. When she spoke, her voice was a whisper. “The white clouds above are floating pillows and I’m moving in and out of them, riding a gentle breeze.”
“That’s very good, Anne… Now, listen very carefully. I want you to let yourself go and travel anywhere that pleases you. Let go and fly off to any place you wish. Anywhere at all. Do that now.”
It was a command that appealed to Anne. It was permission to escape, and she longed to escape from her lost, confused and bizarre world of shadows.
In a quiet, timeless state, Anne felt as though she were under water, and yet airy and light like a moving cloud.
“Where are you, Anne?”
Anne didn’t seem to have a body and, instead of this scaring her, she found it amusing. She was a feather, a floating yellow balloon, a soaring bird.
“Anne? Do you hear my voice?”
Anne didn’t want to talk. She was peaceful, warm and light.
Dr. Weiss continued. “Anne, tell me, where are you? What are you feeling? What are you seeing?”
At first, everything was a blur, like an abstract painting, with merging colors, odd shapes and shifting designs. But then, slowly, a picture began to take shape. Anne saw flickering lights circling her, filling the sky and the earth, washing across the sea. The colored lights were so beautiful and cheerful.
“What are you seeing, Anne? Tell me. Where are you right now?”
Anne cleared her throat, her voice barely audible. “I see… lights… Yes, moving, swirling lights.”
“Good. What is the source of the lights? Can you see the source of the lights?”
“I don’t know… Wait. I… Yes. Wait…”
“Take your time, Anne. What is the source of the lights?”
Anne’s voice grew soft with wonder. “Oh look… I’m at a dance. I’m looking up and I see a mirror ball suspended from the ceiling.”
“A mirror ball? What is that?”
“You know, a mirror ball. There’s a large revolving ball on the ceiling, covered with small pieces of mirror that reflect the light, and the patterns keep changing.” Anne smiled happily. “Oh, yes. It’s lit up, and tiny circles of light are floating all around. Oh, it’s so magical and romantic. There’s a crowd of people on the dance floor and… Yes, and I hear music now. I know that music… It’s a big band playing swing music.”
“Swing music?”
“Yes, swing music. I love this song.”
“What is the song, Anne? What is the name of the song?”
Anne didn’t speak. Her eyes fluttered.
“What’s the song, Anne?”
“I remember this song… Yes. I…” Anne’s voice faded, leaving a pleasant smile.
“Where is this dance? Look around and see if you can see a name.”
“I don’t know. Such fun… and…” Her voice trailed off once more.
“What’s the name of the song, Anne?”
“The song? Oh, it’s That Old Black Magic… That’s it… Glenn Miller… I heard it on the radio. I was… we danced…”
“Are you with anyone, Anne? Do you see yourself with anyone?”
Anne’s eyelids twitched. She lifted a weak hand. “With… anyone?”
“Yes, at the dance. Are you standing next to anyone?”
Anne was silent, her eyes continuing to flutter, her mouth to twitch.
Dr. Weiss reached for a tissue and blotted her lower lip, steadying herself with an effort. She wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. Was Anne dreaming, hallucinating, remembering a childhood memory? Dr. Weiss needed confirmation of time and place.
“Anne… How are the people dressed? Is it a formal dance?”
“Uniforms… Mostly all in uniforms.”
“What kind of uniforms?”
“You must know… Why are you asking me? There is a war going on, you know.”
Dr. Weiss sat back. “A war? What kind of war… I mean, what war is it?”
Anne moved her head slightly. “It’s another world war, of course, like the Great War.”
Dr. Weiss stiffened. “What?”
Anne’s voice saddened. “Yes… and it’s so dreadful.”
“A world war, did you say?”
“Everyone is braving it, bucking up, showing the old British stiff upper lip.”
Dr. Weiss’ voice was tight in her throat. “Anne, what year is it? Please tell me the year.”
“What a thing to ask… Everyone knows that,” Anne said, with some irritation.
“Well, I don’t know it. Please tell me. What is the year?”
Anne’s voice fell into a hollow sadness. “Oh, God. Captain Raffety has just told us the terrible news…”
“What news, Anne? Tell me what the news is, now.”
“The German Luftwaffe came again, and they devastated Birkenhead and Liverpool. The docks and shipyards have been ravaged, along with several hospitals. Oh, it’s so awful. Many hundreds of civilians were killed, and thousands are homeless.”
Tears leaked from Anne’s eyes and raced down her cheeks. “When will this terrible war end?”
Dr. Weiss’ hands began to tremble, her voice shaky. “Anne… Tell me where you are, and what year it is. Tell me, now.”
Anne struggled to get the words out. “I’m in England, at a dance near Oxford. It’s October 1942.”
Dr. Weiss looked stricken.
CHAPTER 8
“I don’t know what to make of it,” Dr. Weiss said, pacing the living room, a glass of wine in her hand.
Constance sat on the sofa, her eyes fixed on the doctor, who was noticeably upset.
“You must have some idea, Doctor.”
Dr. Weiss stopped. “Oh, I have some idea, alright, but I don’t like it and I don’t believe in it. It’s all the rage. Regression therapy, past lives and reincarnation.”
“But did you find out Anne’s full name?”
Dr. Weiss looked down and away, as if ashamed. “Well… No. I was going to, but…”
Constance cut her off. “… I’d think that would be the first thing you’d ask.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Dr. Weiss snapped.
The silence stretched out until the quiet began to hurt.
Dr. Weiss swallowed the rest of her wine and set the empty glass down on the coffee table. “I meant to ask her. It’s just that I was, well, I was startled by the bizarre direction of the session. I’d expected her to talk about her childhood or a vivid memory from her past. I just didn’t know what to make of it. And Anne went under so easily. The next thing I knew, she was talking about World War Two… and in detail. It unnerved me. I’m a traditional psychotherapist, and entirely skeptical of therapists who claim that, under hypnosis, their clients recall past lives and past-life traumas. To me, that falls under the category of pseudo-science, fantasy, wishful thinking or, I don’t know, wild imagination.”
Constance rose and strolled toward the bank of windows that looked out onto the gray Manhattan skyline, the towers obscured by low clouds. Dr. Weiss stood in a subdued awkwardness, eyeing the bottle of wine still chilling in the bucket.
Constance clasped her hands behind her back and made a small frown of concentration. “Dr. Weiss, when I took Anne to her room after the session, she was pale, she was crying, and she wouldn’t talk to me. She dropped onto the bed and instantly fell to sleep.”
Constance turned. “Something happened to Anne and I think it’s obvious that, whatever it was, it was not average or ordinary. Why was she wearing those 1940s clothes? Why hasn’t anyone come forward to identify her? Why doesn’t she have any identification or even one photograph that can be traced by the latest technology?”
Constance’s gaze wandered. “When you brought Anne out of hypnosis, did she remember anything she’d told you? Anything at all?”
“I told you. She wouldn’t speak to me. I asked her several times if she was all right and if she remembered, but she just sat on that sofa, staring blankly ahead.”
“You must have another session with her,” Constance said, directly. “And you must ask her her name and who her family is and where she was born. All of those things.”
Dr. Weiss looked at Constance disapprovingly. “I do not appreciate being ordered about and told what I must do, Mrs. Crowne. Frankly, I am not comfortable working with this young woman, and going forward, I advise you to find another therapist.”
Constance was incredulous. “You must be joking.”
“I am not joking. Not in the least.”
Dr. Weiss turned and picked up her bag. “I wish you a good afternoon.”
Constance watched Dr. Weiss march out of the living room and down the hallway toward the front door. After she was gone, Constance remained standing, considering everything that had occurred, every stray detail. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that Dr. Weiss’ abrupt decision to suspend Anne’s treatment was a blessing. The woman was obviously deficient and simply not up to the job.
Constance would find a doctor who was up to the challenge, and she’d get to the bottom of Anne’s story, if it was the last thing she ever did.
But as soon as that thought had arisen and fallen, and just as she was about to pick up the phone to call a doctor friend, another thought, sharper and illuminating, struck. She did not reach for her cell phone. Instead, she stood very still, her calculating eyes not moving.
“I don’t need to know what happened,” Constance said aloud. Then she thought, It doesn’t matter. Whatever happened to Anne under regression, it had been traumatic.
Constance eased down on the sofa, resisting the urge to pour another glass of wine. She needed a clear head to think. The more Anne remembered who she was and where she’d come from, the sooner she’d leave. Of course she would. She’d return to her family and friends, to her old life. But if she didn’t recall, perhaps, yes, just perhaps, she never would remember, and the old memories would eventually disappear like a rock dropped into deep water. Constance found the thought guiltily appealing. Anne not remembering her past could turn out to be a blessing. Anne could build a new and wonderfully fulfilling life, with Constance at the center of it.
Constance rose to her feet and wandered the room. Her thoughts ignited with plans and possibilities. Instead of hypnosis and doctors and the strain of remembering, it would be better for Anne, and for Constance, if Anne didn’t recall—and never recalled—anything from her past.
If Constance could help Anne build a new life from the ground up, become imbedded and involved in life in the present, surely Anne would soon lose her desire to remember. Constance would ensure that Anne was completely and utterly happy in her new life, not wanting for anything.
Constance absently ran a hand through her hair, pleased with her new strain of thought, galvanized by the potential. There would be no more solitary nights or days seeking a reason to exist, batting away bitterness and rage at God, or whoever controls mortals and the universe or, more accurately, doesn’t control them; lets them run wild is more like it. Why would any kind of compassionate God let a beautiful girl like Ashley die in such a brutal way?
Anne had already given Constance a reason to breathe, and smile, and hum a no-tune song. Constance had not prayed in a very long time, but whenever she thought of Anne, she involuntarily fell into a prayer of thanksgiving, grateful that Anne had miraculously appeared in her life.
Her burst of happiness vanished when she acknowledged that she was in emotional danger. She knew she’d become inextricably attached to Anne; attached and in love, like a mother finding a brand-new daughter who needed guidance, support, and a mother’s love. She heaved in a breath and blew it out, as if to blow out the burning candle of her emotions. She did it twice more, until her mind had cooled.
Then she calmly and stoically reversed her thinking about Dr. Jon Miles. He could be the perfect distraction for Anne—a romantic encounter that would help anchor her in the present.
When Constance reached for her cell phone to call Jon, expectation hung in the air. The expectation that she and Anne could enjoy a long, loving and rewarding life together surged from deep within her soul.
“Hello, Jon… It’s Constance.”
“Constance. What’s happened? Is Anne all right?”
“Yes, quite all right. She’s resting.”
“How was the session? Did she reveal anything about her past?”
“Not much. I’ll tell you all about it later. Look, forgive me today for my rudeness. I’ve been under stress and not myself. I apologize for my behavior.”
“I understand. You were abrupt, and I got the message. I’ll stay away from Anne until she’s stronger.”
“On the contrary, Jon. I think what Anne needs is an adventure. It would do her a world of good.”
There was silence on the other end.
“Jon, are you there?”
“I am. What has caused this sudden change of mind, Constance?”
“I told you. I’ve been thinking about it. Anne needs to get out of her frightened, protective shell and have some fun. I know it’s just what she needs, and you’re the right person to show her a good time. I know you’re fond of her.”
“Yes, Constance, I am. All right. When do you suggest I ask Anne out on a formal date?”
“The sooner the better. Why don’t you call her tonight, say around eight o’clock? Ask her out to dinner for tomorrow night.”
“Are you going to be our chaperon, Constance?” Jon asked, lightly.
“Don’t be sarcastic, Jon. It doesn’t suit you. You have a good bedside manner because you are dedicated and true. Stay with that. All your women patients fall for you and, who knows, in time, Anne might fall for you too.”
“And a matchmaker, too?” Jon said, surprise in his voice.
“I can be whatever I need to be, Jon, and right now I want Anne to be healthy and happy. So, we’ll be expecting your call. Good bye now.”
Constance hung up, her smile inwardly triumphant. She started for Anne’s bedroom, holding the smile, feeling more invigorated and optimistic than she had in years. Anne was going to have a good life—the life of a princess—filled with love and opportunity. Constance would shower her with jewels, with clothes and exoti
c journeys. Perhaps Anne would find Jon attractive, and they would get involved in a relationship. That would be all right, too, as long as they didn’t take the relationship too far. At least not for a few years.
When Constance opened Anne’s bedroom door to check on her, she was giddy with plans and satisfaction. Constance peered in. Anne wasn’t in her bed.
Concerned, Constance entered, casting her eyes about the dimly lit room. When she saw Anne, she screamed. “Anne!”
Anne was standing outside the window on the broad window ledge, staring down from the twenty-second floor, her silk, diaphanous gown billowing in the wind.
With her face contorted in horror, Constance tore off across the room toward the window.
CHAPTER 9
Anne was in bed, the quilt drawn up to her chin, her cheeks flushed red from standing outside on the window ledge in the cold, blustery wind.
“I wasn’t going to jump,” Anne said. “I only wanted to feel the wind and see the wide expanse of the city. I thought it might help me to remember; to put all the pieces together.”
Constance knelt at her bedside, her pulse still racing. When she’d seen Anne standing outside on the window ledge, she’d made a mad dash across the room, seized Anne’s left wrist and tugged her back into the room. Both women went tumbling, sprawling onto the carpet, Anne breathless, Constance trying to recover her wits.
“Don’t do that again, Anne,” Constance scolded. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. A gust of wind could have sent you plummeting to your death.”
Anne looked at Constance tenderly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you a fright.” She turned her head away and seemed to go to a small, sad place.
“Was the session that disturbing, Anne?”
Anne didn’t look at her. “I feel shattered and groping—even more now. That session with Dr. Weiss scared me and confused me. The faces, the sounds, and the music all seemed to be trapped in a mirror and, as I watched, I wanted to reach out; I wanted to step inside that mirror and join in. I felt a part of that world, but I couldn’t break through.”
Anne heaved out a deep sigh. “Oh, I know I’m not making any sense,” she said, cushioning her head into the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. “What is the matter with me? Why can’t I remember my past and who I am?”
Time Stranger Page 4
