Her nails scraped the table.
“The dream,” I said. “Has it changed in any way?”
“No. What are you holding back from me?”
“What makes you think I’m holding back?”
“Please, Dr. Delaware, I know your intentions are good, but I’m tired of being protected.”
I thought of her head in the oven.
“Sometimes there’s nothing wrong with being protected.”
“Please. I’m not crazy—or do you think I am?”
“No,” I said.
“Then what is it? What aren’t you telling me?”
I continued to deliberate. She looked ready to jump out of her skin.
Feeling like a first-time skydiver about to step into space, I said, “Some things have come up. They may be related to your dream, or they may mean nothing. Given all your stress, I’m not comfortable dropping them on you, unless you can promise you’ll take them calmly.”
“What things?”
“Can you promise me?”
“Yes, yes, what?” Her hands were flexing. She stilled them. Forced a smile. Sat.
Waiting, like a child not knowing if candy was coming or the strap.
“You don’t remember any contact with Lowell,” I said. “But Ken says you spent a summer with him at Sanctum. All four of you did: you, Ken, Puck, and Jo.”
“What? When?”
“The summer the retreat opened. You were four years old.”
“How could—when did he tell you this?”
“The night he brought you into the hospital. I asked him not to discuss it with you. I wanted to pace things.”
“Four years old? How can that be? I’d remember that!”
“Your Aunt Kate had just gotten married and gone on her honeymoon. Does the time frame fit?”
She stared at the lawn. Slumped low in her chair.
“I—” she said, very softly. “I still can’t see how I couldn’t remember something like that.”
“Memories from any age can be blocked out.”
“Four … that’s the age I feel in the dream.”
I nodded.
She started to reach for my arm, then stopped herself. Her face had gone gray-white, like skim milk. “You think it could be real?”
“I don’t know, Lucy. That’s what we need to figure out.”
“Four … I’m so confused.”
“Some parts of the dream seem to match reality,” I said. “There was a big party that summer. That could explain the sounds and lights. And the buildings at Sanctum are made of logs.”
Her hands fisted. Her eyes were cold yet electric. “What about the rest of it—what I saw?”
“I don’t know.”
She started to shake, and I held her shoulders till she stopped.
Finally she was able to take a deep breath.
“Calm,” she said to herself. “I can handle this.”
Another breath. She closed her eyes, her shoulders loosened, and I let go. A few more inhalations, and for a moment I thought she’d lapse into the semihypnotic state I’d seen a few days ago. Then her eyes opened. “I don’t feel anything. No big insights … but could it—the girl? What do you think? Do you know anything else that you’re not telling me?”
I studied her face. No muscles moved. Her eyes were still and dry and piercing.
“Yes,” I said. “After Ken told me, Milo and I did some research, looking into crimes in that area. We found no murders or rapes that matched, but we did come across a missing persons case involving a girl who was never found. She did have long dark hair and long legs, but that could apply to lots of girls. So let’s not assume anything for the moment.”
“Oh, God.”
“It may very well mean absolutely nothing, Lucy, and latching on to it may distort your memories. That’s why I didn’t want to rush into it.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I won’t rush into anything either.” Putting her hands in her lap. Smoothing her hair. “What else do you know about this girl?”
“Her name was Karen Best. She disappeared the night before the party—which wouldn’t fit with the dream. She was last seen in Paradise Cove, fifteen miles from Topanga. And there’s no evidence she was ever up at Sanctum. The only thing that does match is her physical description, and there’s nothing very distinctive about it. As I told you before, dreams can be mixtures of reality and fantasy. You were four years old, may very well have seen something a child’s mind couldn’t process.”
“Such as?”
“Something sexual, like you initially assumed. Small children who witness the sexual act often interpret it as an assault.”
“But the scraping sounds—the last couple of times, like last night—it was definitely shovels digging. Burying her.”
Hunching her back, she bit her finger.
“Lucy—”
She removed the finger and rubbed the upper joint. “Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I’m not going to fall apart. I’m just trying to put this into place.”
“Don’t try to do it all at once.”
She nodded. Breathed deeply again, and placed her hands on the table, as if summoning a spirit at a séance.
“Why now?” she said. “If I’ve forgotten it all these years, why now?”
“Perhaps the stress of the trial,” I said. “Hearing about all that sexual violence. Or maybe you’re strong enough to deal with it now.”
She expelled air. “What does Milo think about this?”
“He’s open-minded but skeptical.”
“But he didn’t dismiss it … the girl. Karen. Do you have a picture?”
“Not with me, but I can get one.”
“I want to see her.”
I nodded.
“Does she have a family?”
“A father and a brother.”
“Have you met them?”
“The father. The brother lives back east.”
“Was she originally from back east?”
“Massachusetts.”
“Boston?”
“New Bedford.”
“I’ve been there plenty of times—used to go out there with Ray to buy squid from the Portuguese fishermen. What was she doing in L.A.?”
“She came out to be an actress and ended up waiting tables.”
“Poor thing,” she said. “Poor, poor thing.… Does her family know about me?”
“I told the father someone had a distant memory of a girl who resembled his daughter being abducted.”
“How did he take that?”
“He hopes something will come of it.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’s a minister. Seems nice.”
“Does he want to meet me?”
“At some point,” I said. “If we learn more.”
“So he hasn’t given up on finding her?”
“He’s not doing anything active anymore.”
“No, of course not—all these years. What about right after it happened?”
“He mounted an intensive search.”
“He loves her,” she said flatly. “A minister. Which church?”
“It’s a group that feeds the poor.”
“A good man—maybe I can help him. Can you hypnotize me or something? I’ve heard that can unlock memories. I’m sure I’d be an easy subject. Sometimes I feel as if I’m walking around in a trance anyway.”
She gave an angry, nervous laugh.
“When I hooked for Raymond, I used to trance out all the time—see how tough I am? I haven’t repressed any of that. I even told Milo. The slate is clear. So let’s get into my head. I want to get rid of all the garbage.”
“Hypnosis isn’t just something you jump into, Lucy.”
“It’s dangerous?”
“Not when done with a properly prepared patient.”
“You’re worried about my mental stability?”
“I’m concerned about your stress level.”
She sat back
, as if studying me. “Tell me honestly. Do you think I tried to kill myself?”
“I really don’t know, Lucy. Ken saw you with your head in that oven.”
“Okay, it was there,” she said. “I’m not going to deny reality. But the phone calls, the undies, the note—I know it sounds paranoid, but all that happened. I didn’t put those horrible rat things there. Tell me you believe that.”
I nodded.
She said, “Maybe one of those crazy girls is out to get me. Or some other nut, who knows? I’m even willing to consider the possibility that I did it while I was sleepwalking—like the first time I ended up on the kitchen floor. But I wouldn’t willfully try to kill myself. Life means too much to me, and killing myself would be giving in to him. Confirming his preconception that we’re all weak and useless. That’s what he told Puck every time Puck came to him. We were weak, spineless, useless. Banal. I’d never do myself in, give him the satisfaction. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
A distant look came into her eyes. “Sleepwalking. The more I think about it, the more I’m sure that has to be the key. From the beginning. I must have gotten up in the middle of the night and left that cabin and seen something … sex and violence, just like you said. I can’t put it in words, but that feels right—there’s an internal logic.” She smiled and exhaled. “It’s good you told me about all this. I won’t disappoint you and misuse it. You’ve really helped me today, Dr. Delaware.”
I nodded.
“Not that it’s easy,” she went on. “I’m still shaking inside.” Touching her belly. “But things are finally starting to make sense. Viscerally.”
She touched my arm.
“Keep helping me. Please. Help me get into my head and find out the truth. Help me get back in control.”
CHAPTER
21
A hummingbird shot up in the air, a tiny rocket. A gardener’s air gun blasted from somewhere down the block.
Her eyes were fixed on me.
“I’ll help you any way I can, Lucy.”
“What about hypnosis?”
“Right now?”
“Yes. I feel ready. I don’t even care if it works, just that I tried my best. If I don’t do something, I’ll just sit around here feeling helpless. So much has come down on me.”
“That’s exactly why I don’t want to jump into anything.”
“I understand,” she said. “But if hypnosis could help clarify things, wouldn’t that help unload me?”
“What do you know about hypnosis?”
“Not much—I mean, I saw stage shows in college but they were rather silly, people quacking like ducks. I have heard that when you go under in therapy sometimes you can unlock memories.”
“That’s true,” I said, “but any time you work with the unconscious, there’s a risk of unleashing unpredictable things.”
“I’m a veteran of that already, wouldn’t you say?”
“All the more reason,” I said.
“Okay,” she said. “You’re the expert. But I also know that what’s stressing me is carrying around all this stuff and not understanding it.”
I looked at her, trying not to appear coldly clinical.
Her posture was loose, receptive. She seemed calmer than ever before. Purposeful.
I gave her my preinduction lecture, explaining that hypnosis was deep relaxation combined with focused concentration, nothing magical. How it didn’t weaken the patient’s control but was merely the harnessing of a process that occurred naturally for most people. That all hypnosis was self-hypnosis, and the more she did it the better she’d get.
As I spoke, her body pitched progressively forward and her lips parted.
When I finished, she said, “I understand.”
Her fingertips were inches from mine, her face close enough for me to see my reflection in her pupils. I looked worried.
“I want to help someone else,” she said.
“All right, we’ll start out with some simple muscle relaxation exercises. But we may not go any further today.”
“Whatever you say.”
I had her tense and loosen muscle groups, moving from her head to her toes. She closed her eyes and her body swayed in time with my voice. I was sure she’d go under quickly.
Instead, she fell asleep.
At first I didn’t realize it and kept talking. Then I saw her head tilt back and her mouth open, letting out soft, delicate snores.
No more body sway.
No movement at all but the heave of her chest.
“Lucy, if you can hear me, lift your right index finger.”
Nothing.
I picked up her hand. Limp.
I flexed her head. No tension.
“Lucy?”
Silence.
Her eyes moved rapidly behind their lids, then stopped.
Sleep. The ultimate resistance.
I put her hand down and made sure she didn’t slip off the chair. The air gun had stopped. The yard was too quiet.
She dozed for a while; then suddenly her body began jerking and twitching.
Crunching her facial features.
Grunting.
Fragmented REM, the kind associated with nightmares.
I stroked her hand, told her everything was okay. She fell asleep.
A moment later, the same pattern.
After two more episodes, I said, “Wake up, Lucy.” She didn’t till a minute later, and I wasn’t sure it was in response to my voice.
Sitting up, she opened her eyes. Looking at me but not seeing me.
She closed them and went slack.
Oblivious, once more.
I tried to shake her awake, gently.
Each time I got her to open her eyes, she rolled them drowsily and the lids closed.
Finally, I managed to bring her out. She blinked and stared and muttered something and rubbed her eyes.
“What’s that, Lucy?”
“What happened?”
“You fell asleep.”
“I did?” Yawn.
“You’ve been sleeping almost half an hour.”
“I—we—we were doing hypnosis, weren’t we? I wasn’t dreaming about that, was I?”
“No, we were doing hypnosis.”
“Was I hypnotized?”
“Yes. You were right about being good at it.”
“Did I do—say anything?”
“No, you fell asleep.”
She stretched. “I feel refreshed. Was that supposed to happen—falling asleep?”
“It needed to happen.”
“I didn’t say anything at all?”
“No, but we’re just starting out. You did great.”
“But I’m a good subject?”
“You’re an excellent subject.”
She smiled. “Okay, I guess I’d better just let it play itself out—but I do feel good. Hypnosis is great. You should do it with Ken.”
“Why’s that?”
“He’s going through some very tough times. His ex-wife is really vindictive, out to take him to the cleaners, doesn’t let him see his kids. He has visitation, and the court keeps ordering her to comply. But when she doesn’t, they don’t enforce it.”
“When did they get divorced?”
“A year ago. He didn’t come out and actually say so, but I get the feeling she had an affair. He’s real cheerful all the time for my sake, but he’s feeling it—very restless at night. I heard him go downstairs twice. This morning I got up at five-thirty and he was dressed and doing paperwork.”
“Sounds like a hard worker.”
“Very. He got into real estate right out of college. Started off as a clerk and worked himself up. But it’s taken a toll. He’s got a bottle of Maalox in his briefcase.”
She was silent for a moment. “One big happy family, huh?”
Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back again.
“You know, it’s strange, but as we talk right now I’m starting to get in touch with bits a
nd pieces of memory—about being sent to California that summer.”
“In touch how?”
“Like bits of—light. Poking through a piece of fabric. I can’t really explain it … it doesn’t feel bad.”
“What do you remember?”
“Nothing specific, just the bits and pieces—like something on the tip of your tongue? It’s almost as if the corners of my mind are being pulled back and I’m peeking through but I can’t see clearly.…”
She frowned. Her forehead knitted.
“Nothing more,” she said, opening her eyes. “But it doesn’t seem weird anymore—being up there and not remembering. It’s as if I’m getting in touch with my own history.”
I thought of the nanny Ken had mentioned. Enough for one day.
“When can we do this again?” she said.
“I can see you tomorrow. Two o’clock at my house.”
“Great.”
“In the meantime, I assume you want me to ignore Lowell’s invitation.”
I expected a quick reaction, but she put her finger to her lip and thought. “I guess the only reason to talk to him would be to find out what he’s up to. And maybe I should do that myself.”
“That’s a lot to bite off, right now,” I said. “If you want to scope him out, I could listen to what he has to say and report back to you.”
“Believe me, I’m not rushing off to have a tête-à-tête with him. But if I send you to represent me, that’ll just show him I’m weak.”
“He already knows you’re seeing me. And why should we care what he thinks?”
“True,” she said. “But I don’t want anything to do with him, directly or indirectly. I’d rather put my head in the oven—just kidding.”
We went back into the house.
“You know,” she said, “maybe I’m being too rigid. I guess it would be okay for you to meet with him if you think it could do any good.”
“I can’t promise you it would.”
“Are you interested in meeting the Great Man?”
“I’m interested in meeting someone so destructive.”
“A psychological specimen, huh?”
That wasn’t what I’d meant, but she went on.
“Putting him under the microscope—okay, go ahead. Meanwhile, I’ll concentrate on relaxing. Getting comfortable with my unconscious.”
I was surprised to find Robin and Spike home.
“The electricians didn’t show up,” she said. “The truck broke down.”
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