Mesmerist

by Pam McCutcheon

  “We can work on that,” Drake agreed. “But her primary problem is the first one you mentioned—convincing her she isn’t as worthless as he makes her out to be.”

  Gina nodded, then said tentatively, “Maybe you could share Charlotte’s experience with her . . . ?”

  Rage erupted within him once more. “I told you never to mention my sister’s name again.”

  She looked hurt at his outburst and Drake steeled himself against the pain in her eyes. He had no reason to feel guilty—Gina deserved anything he could heap upon her. In fact, he ought to be congratulated for being so forbearing as to speak to her at all.

  He rose, preparing to leave. “Now, if there is nothing else?”

  An answering spark of anger appeared in her eyes as she rose as well. “Oh, but there is. You may not want to hear this, but I’m telling you again that I had nothing to do with your sister’s ghost appearing onstage.”

  “You’re quite right. I don’t want to hear it.”

  “But it’s the truth!”

  “The truth?” He sneered. “I doubt you have even a passing acquaintance with the truth.”

  Gina’s fists clenched and she looked as if she would like to hit him, but refrained. “That was a nasty thing to say.”

  “But not undeserved.”

  “Yes, it was,” she shouted back, her chest heaving with emotion. “And I’ll prove it.”

  “Really?” he drawled. “How?”

  “What would it take to convince you that I am who I say I am, that I didn’t tell Madame Rulanka about Charlotte?”

  He flicked a speck of dust from his sleeve. “I doubt you could provide any proof I would believe.”

  “Oh, yeah? How about if you mesmerize me? Would you believe me then?”

  He froze. Why was Gina finally agreeing to let him mesmerize her? She must think she could fool him somehow. Well, he had ways of ascertaining if a person was truly mesmerized. And once he had her under his spell, he could learn once and for all the real reason why she was so eager to get him out of the resort.

  He kept his voice even as he said, “I might . . . if I believe you are well and truly mesmerized.”

  “Then meet me here tonight after dinner,” she snapped. “If you think you can handle the truth.”

  “Oh, I can handle it,” he drawled. And he dearly wanted to know exactly what it was.

  Chapter 14

  Eager to learn the truth about Gina’s background and reasons for urging him to leave the resort, Drake arrived early to their meeting. As he played idly with the spinning disk, he wondered if he would finally get to the truth . . . and if he wanted to.

  He had started out thinking of Gina as an impertinent servant, then was gradually charmed by that impertinence and captivated by her unreserved love-making to the point where he had been considering making her his wife. That, of course, was followed by her betrayal and his realization that she was nothing but a traitor.

  The many faces of Gina. . . . What face would she display now?

  She arrived and slipped in the door, closing it behind her. He held a chair for her, and once she was seated, she looked so nervous that his mesmerist instincts kicked in. “Don’t worry—this won’t hurt a bit.”

  She gave him a wary glance. “So you say.”

  Seating himself, he asked, “What is it you’re so worried about?”

  “I don’t know what you’re going to find when you go poking around in my mind.”

  That conjured up an interesting image, but he hurried to reassure her. “I simply want to learn the truth.”

  “But what if you ask questions that aren’t related to it?”

  How curious. What did she have to hide? “What are you afraid of?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know.” She paused, then added, “It’s hard to explain, but the main thing is, my thoughts and feelings are private. I don’t want them laid out for just anyone to see.”

  By anyone, of course, she meant him, since no one else would be present. He had run into this sort of resistance before, but he hadn’t expected it with Gina who was so open and frank in other ways. “What can I do to help you relax?” he asked softly.

  “Give up your idea of mesmerizing me?” she asked hopefully.

  “No, I don’t think so. Not if you want to convince me you’re telling the truth.”

  Her face fell. “I was afraid of that.”

  “So how can I help you relax?”

  She thought for a minute, then said, “I would feel more comfortable if you promise to stay within certain boundaries.”

  “All right. What boundaries?”

  “Well, I don’t want you asking anything that’s none of your business. Stick to asking about the reason I’m here and what really happened with Madame Rulanka.”

  “And why you want me to leave the resort, of course.”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “Of course—that ties in with the reason I’m here.”

  “But how will I know if I’m going outside the boundaries? To get at the truth may require some judicious questioning.”

  She fixed him with a warning glare. “Just make sure it is judicious. Use your judgment. If I wouldn’t tell you something while awake, don’t ask me the question while I’m under, okay?”

  “All right.” Now that he knew her fears, he felt safe in reassuring her that he wouldn’t encroach beyond the borders she had established.

  “And make sure I remember everything that happens during this session, too.”

  “Done.” Raising an eyebrow, he added, “Now if you are quite through stalling . . . ?”

  Her mouth twisted in a rueful grin. “I guess.”

  “Good.” He ensured she was settled comfortably, but it was obvious she was finding it difficult to relax. Time for the spinning disk.

  Focusing on the whirling patterns seemed to help her and though it took longer than usual, Gina eventually succumbed to his hypnotic commands and entered a mesmeric state.

  Or, at least she seemed to. Drake didn’t ordinarily doubt his patients, but in this case, it was best to be sure. Giving her the suggestion that she had lost all feeling in her left hand, he concealed a pin in his hand, and pricked her thumb. Though a small drop of blood beaded at the site, she evinced no reaction. She must be truly mesmerized.

  With a sigh, Drake regarded Gina. It was a heady feeling, having her under his control, her mind open to anything he might suggest. Odd that she had given him no prohibition on planting suggestions in her mind, only in delving within her thoughts and feelings.

  Keeping that in mind for later, he formulated his questions carefully, starting with the simplest first. “What is your name?”

  “Regina Marie Charles.”

  So she hadn’t lied about that, anyway. “Where are you from?”

  “Richmond, Virginia.”

  So far, so good. Now for the test. “What year were you born?”

  “Nineteen eighty-seven.”

  Impossible. Yet she still seemed to be in a mesmeric trance. How could she lie? Incredulously, he said, “This is eighteen eighty-five. How do you explain the fact that you were born over a hundred years after this date?”

  “I time traveled.”

  “How is that possible?” he muttered to himself. Apparently under the belief he was addressing her, Gina answered, “I don’t know.”

  He still couldn’t believe it. Wondering if her story would stay consistent, he asked, “How was the time-travel accomplished?”

  “I don’t know,” Gina repeated.

  That simple answer was telling . . . and disturbing. Mesmerized subjects were very literal. If Gina had been awake, she would have understood the intent of his question and answered appropriately. Since she hadn’t, she must be telling the truth.

  But how could he believe her? He rephrased the question. “Describe the events surrounding your trip from the future to the present.”

  “I went with you and Scruffy to the ruins—”

  “Wi
th me?” he asked, interrupting.

  “With your ghost,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  So she still believed that. “Please continue.”

  “I went with you and Scruffy to the ruins of The Chesterfield and you found a hope chest. You called me over to look inside. I opened it, and found a bunch of junk.”

  “What kind of junk?”

  “A badge with a point broken off, a damaged brass nameplate, a broken chain, a pair of rusted handcuffs, and a dueling pistol with the grip half-melted.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I picked up the pistol, felt very dizzy, and the next thing I knew, I was back in the past, with Esme Sparrow bending over me.”

  He frowned. Her story was consistent, but it was also preposterous. So, what about the rest of her story? “And why do you want me to leave the resort so badly?”

  “Because if you don’t, you will die on December 22 in a fire with your lover, Annabelle Rutledge.”

  “Ridiculous,” he exploded. “How could you possibly know this?”

  “Because the article said so,” she reminded him.

  This was getting him nowhere. “Annabelle Rutledge is not my lover,” he stated firmly. Maybe if Gina heard it in the mesmeric state, she’d finally believe it. The only woman he was even attracted to was Gina, and she had betrayed him.

  Curious now, he asked, “And if I leave the resort as you wish, what will happen then?”

  “Then I will have accomplished my task and can go home.”

  For some odd reason, that bothered him. She only cared about saving his life so she could go home? “Why would you want to go back?” Especially since she had been treated so badly there.

  “It’s home,” she said simply. “It’s where I belong.”

  “What is waiting for you there that is so important? Certainly it wasn’t her mother or her fiancé—both had proven to be unworthy of her.

  “Television, microwave ovens, cars, computers, movies, hot showers, shopping malls, drive-through hamburger stands, ice cream—”

  “That’s enough.” As Gina obediently fell silent, he realized he hadn’t understood half her words, though they had been filled with a longing that made them ring true. Could she really be from the future? Or did she just possess a very active imagination?

  He decided to switch tacks and get to the truth about Charlotte’s appearance at the séance. “Who told Madame Rulanka of Charlotte’s death?”

  “Charlotte.”

  “What?” Her answer made no sense. “Impossible.” When Gina didn’t elaborate, he said, “Explain, please.”

  “Madame Rulanka said Charlotte’s ghost contacted her.”

  “And you believed her?”

  Gina wavered for moment. “I’m not sure.”

  “And what did you tell Madame Rulanka about Charlotte?”

  “Nothing.”

  He asked the question in several different ways, but her answer was always the same—Gina had told Madame Rulanka nothing about Charlotte, and Madame claimed Charlotte had appeared on her own. In the face of Gina’s indecision about whether to believe in Charlotte’s ghost herself, he was inclined to believe her. In this, anyway. Madame had clearly found out about his sister elsewhere and merely claimed Charlotte had appeared as a ghost to confuse Gina.

  A great burden lifted from his shoulders. Gina hadn’t betrayed him or Charlotte’s memory after all. She really was telling the truth—about this, anyway.

  And now that he had learned what he needed to know, he was finished with Gina and ought to bring her out of the mesmeric state. He toyed with the idea of implanting some suggestions in her mind to help her with some of her delusions, but decided it would be unethical since she hadn’t agreed to treatment. Reluctantly, he brought her out of her trance, telling her she would remember everything that had happened.

  Gina sat still for a moment, obviously searching her memories to see if he had abided by their agreement. Apparently satisfied that he had, she sighed in relief. Smiling, she asked, “Do you believe me now?”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” he said as gently as he could.

  “Why not?” she demanded. “You heard it—my story was the same.”

  “Yes, that’s the problem. If you continue to believe this delusion even in a trance, your problems must go a lot deeper than I expected. You need help, Gina, but I fear it is beyond my capacity to give.”

  Gina couldn’t believe her ears. She just stared at him, speechless. He didn’t even believe the truth when he heard it. What would it take to convince him? “I have proof. Remember the article about your death?” She pulled it out of her pocket and shoved it at him.

  He declined to take it. “We’ve been over this before.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Do you remember the article next to your obituary?”

  “I believe so. What’s your point?”

  Ignoring his question, she persisted. “Humor me, here. What was the article about?”

  He frowned. “I believe it was about a spiritualist being unmasked as a fraud.”

  Good—he remembered. “Yes, it was about Madame Rulanka.”

  “I’m not surprised,” he said dryly.

  “But I showed her that article right after her performance,” no need to reveal why, “telling her what city she was going to be unmasked in, and as soon as she decided to cancel her engagement in that city, the article changed.”

  His skeptical eyebrow rose. “Changed to what? A ghost of itself?”

  “Very funny. No. Here, see for yourself.”

  She thrust the paper at him again, and this time he took it.

  He skimmed the article. “Are you saying that the article changed to praising this fraud when you told her about the original article?”

  “Yes, I saw it myself. It changed right before my eyes.” When he didn’t say anything, she said, “You do believe me, don’t you?” He had to.

  He shook his head sadly. “No, but I believe you are more ingenious than I ever gave you credit for. This is obviously not the same paper, but a clever reproduction.”

  “But it has the same tear as before—the tear you put in it. Look,” she insisted, pointing at the jagged rip in the corner.

  He fingered the edge, then said, “Nice touch. I assume you tore this one to match the other.”

  Damn, but the man was stubborn. Now thoroughly exasperated, Gina snatched the paper out of his hand. She folded it and put it back in her pocket, then decided it was time to pull out the big guns. “Okay, bud. I didn’t want to do this, but we’re just going to have to talk to Esme about this.”

  “Miss Sparrow?” he said incredulously. “Why would you want to bring her in on your delusion?”

  “Because it’s not a delusion. It’s the truth—and she’ll verify it. You’ll believe me if Esme says so, won’t you?”

  “Miss Sparrow is too sane and practical to believe in time travel, ghosts, and other such nonsense.”

  “So if she corroborates my story, you’ll believe it?” Gina persisted.

  “All right,” he conceded. “If Miss Sparrow validates your story, I will have no choice but to reconsider. However,” he paused and looked at her sternly, “you must promise me something in return.”

  “What?”

  “If Miss Sparrow doesn’t corroborate your story, you must agree to seek professional help.”

  Gina swallowed hard. What kind of help did he have in mind? “Not a mental institution,” she said. “Just seeing a doctor, you mean. Right?” If for some reason Esme chose not to confirm her tale, she didn’t want to be stuck somewhere else come December 22.

  “I’m not leaving out the possibility of an institution,” he said firmly. “If you become a danger to yourself or others, it may be necessary.”

  So, he thought she was nuts. Well, she’d known he felt this way all along, but the realization that he would have no hesitation in shutting her up in one of those hellholes hurt. “How could you think of doing that t
o me? I wouldn’t wish that fate on my worst enemy.”

  “Nor would I,” he asserted, “unless it were absolutely necessary. So, are we agreed?”

  She wasn’t at all sure Esme would be willing to tell all she knew about the time travel. But if she didn’t, Gina was sunk. Standing, she said, “Agreed. Okay, let’s go.” Sheesh, what she had to go through just to save this stubborn man’s life.

  “Go?”

  “Yes, let’s find Esme. I want to get this over with now.”

  “If you insist,” he said with a sigh, though it was obvious he thought she was about to be disappointed. She just hoped he was wrong.

  They found Esme still at work, taking care of a few last-minute details for the day, and pulled her aside into a vacant sitting room where they all stood in a circle facing each other.

  Folding her hands primly at her waist, Esme said, “Now, what is this all about?”

  Drake spoke first. “Miss Charles has told me a rather unusual story regarding her origins and she insists you will be able to confirm it.”

  Esme gave her an admonitory look and Gina’s heart sank. Before Esme could open her mouth and condemn her to life in an antiquated mental institution, Gina blurted out, “I had to tell him. He won’t believe me any other way.”

  Drake glanced uncertainly at the two of them. “You mean she already knows this story?”

  “Yes, of course,” Gina said in exasperation. “I told you once before—it’s her fault I’m here at all.” Turning to Esme, she said, “Tell him.”

  When Esme did nothing but stand there looking uncertain, Gina added, “Please? If you don’t, he’s going to lock me up in a mental institution forever and I’ll never be able to accomplish my task.”

  Esme sighed, then indicated they should all sit. “All right, “ she said briskly. “What would you like to know, Mr. Manton?”

  Gina began, “Tell him about the—”

  “No,” Drake interrupted. “I wish to hear Miss Sparrow’s version without your interference.”

  “Okay,” Gina said, not without trepidation. “So long as it’s the real story.”

  Esme gave Drake a stern look. “First, I must have your word that none of what you are about to hear will ever be repeated to anyone outside this room.”