“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said, pumping Stella’s hand. “I saw you on television during the Pelham case. You were brilliant. My fiancee’s in law school and she’s a big fan of yours.”
Stella didn’t answer. As her eyes roamed around the room, she began to get apprehensive.
“When Brenda told me about this, I didn’t think it would be so sophisticated,” she said. “From the looks of it, you’ve got more equipment in here than NASA. I won’t get electrocuted, will I?”
“Nah,” Frazer said, laughing. “Don’t let all this stuff frighten you. Just relax and go with the flow. Think of it as a game if it will make you more comfortable. I know guys who’d give their right arm to play around in here. This is cutting-edge technology. Most of it isn’t available to the general public yet.”
Frazer led Stella to the platform, and handed her the goggles, while Brenda headed up the stairs to the control room. Once Stella slipped the goggles over her head, Frazer asked her to stand still while he adjusted them. “You should see a color grid,” he said. “Can you see it?”
“Yes,” Stella said.
“Stella, it’s Brenda,” a voice said in her ear. “Can you hear me okay?”
“Yes.”
“The first thing we’re going to do is walk you through the house,” Brenda said. “If something isn’t right, let us know so we can fix it. As far as the furniture goes, we have all the basic shapes and styles on file in the computer. Therefore, if something isn’t right, we’ll keep replacing it until we find something that fits. We’ll do the same with the structure. I can move walls, doors, ceilings, whatever it takes to make it look like your house.” She took a breath and then said, “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Stella said. Her hands were perspiring on the metal railing of the treadmill. The color grid disappeared and she suddenly saw the inside of a house. “I see it,” she said. “It looks like my kitchen. It’s fantastic, almost like I’m really there.”
“Look at it really close,” Brenda told her. “Is the window in the right place? The appliances?”
“Yes,” Stella said. “The window was over the kitchen sink. Everything is perfect except the table. It was bigger and farther to the right.”
“Hold on,” Brenda said, quickly tapping the computer keys on the main console. “How’s that?”
Stella was amazed. Right before her eyes the table changed. It was the same shape as before only now it appeared larger, and Anderson had shifted the image a few feet to the right. “The kitchen window had curtains,” she added. “I guess I forgot to tell you about them before.”
“What kind of curtains?” Anderson asked.
“Lace … white lace.”
“Were they opened or closed the night of the fire?”
“I don’t remember,” Stella said.
“Okay,” Brenda said. “Move around in the kitchen. Try walking over to the refrigerator.”
Stella did what she said, moving her feet as if she were actually walking across her kitchen floor. It was an eerie sensation, real but not real. She felt as if she were suspended in another dimension. She reached for the handle to the refrigerator and gasped when it opened. Quickly closing it, she moved to the sink area and said, “Closed. The curtains were closed that night. At one point, I was standing at the sink next to my mother. She was rinsing off a head of lettuce.”
Stella emitted a startled cry when the image shifted and she saw her mother’s face. The body was robotic-looking and far from natural, but the face was identical. “How did you do it? This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I got the photographs from your cousin Maria in San Francisco. Looks good, doesn’t it? If this doesn’t jar your memory, Stella, nothing will.”
Stella stared at her mother’s kind face, wanting to reach out and embrace her. It was almost as if she had stepped to the other side and was looking at her mother’s spirit. Because all their photos had burned in the fire, she hadn’t seen her mother’s face since the night she died.
“Where’s Randall, Stella?” Brenda asked. “Try to think in the present tense from now on. When you hear my voice, try not to put a name or a face to it. Just think of it as the voice inside your mind.”
“I don’t know,” Stella said. “Wait…I think Tom was in the living room. He thought he heard my father’s car pull into the driveway, so he went to meet him at the door.”
Brenda added the window treatments, wanting Stella to settle into the environment before they continued. Unable to find a predrawn image that was appropriate, she quickly sketched a pattern with her stylus and moved it into position. Then she motioned to the sound engineer. “Hit track one, Bill.”
Stella stiffened as sounds filtered in through the earpiece. She heard what sounded like two men arguing in the distance, but she couldn’t tell what they were saying. Focusing on the window, she could see figures standing outside on her front lawn. “I can see them,” she said. “God, Brenda, I can see them. I completely forgot that the kitchen windows faced out to the front of the house. And the curtains were lace, so you could see through them even when they were closed. How did you figure it out?”
“From the architectural renderings,” Brenda advised. “Don’t ask any more questions, Stella. The only way this is going to work is if you convince yourself that what you are seeing is real, not fabricated.”
“What am I seeing?” Stella asked, watching as the images on the lawn moved. “Isn’t it just something you created?”
“Yes,” Brenda said, sighing and glancing over at the sound engineer. “I hope this works,” she whispered. “If not, we wasted a hell of a lot of time and energy.” When the engineer merely shrugged, she turned her attention back to Stella. “Listen,” she said, “we put the men out on the lawn and, yes, what you’re hearing is a sound track, but if you let your mind go, you may see something other than what we’ve created. Am I making myself clear? Let us decide what you’re actually seeing. All I want you to do is react.”
Stella blinked several times, then stared at the window, trying desperately to recall what she had seen that night. “It’s not working,” she said at last. “I don’t remember anything. I told you I couldn’t remember.” She was reaching up to remove the goggles when Brenda began speaking again.
“Give it some time,” she said. “Take some deep breaths and relax. Let your mind drift. It has to come naturally, Stella. You can’t force it to happen.”
Five minutes passed, then ten. Finally, Stella thought she heard her mother’s voice. “All the plans I had for you,” she was saying. “You can’t enter the Miss Texas pageant after you’ve had a child. If you’d only waited, Stella. Why did you have to have sex with this boy?”
In the background, Stella heard the men’s voices again. “You can’t do this,” a man said, his voice loud and strained. Then she heard only fragments of sentences and disjointed words. “Tomorrow … more money…I promise … make it worth your while … please.” Her father had a pronounced Italian accent and even though the voice sounded familiar, Stella knew it wasn’t her father who was speaking.
“Stella,” Brenda said softly, “what’s happening?”
“The man’s talking. He’s pleading with my father. I don’t know why. More money, he keeps saying. If you just wait, I’ll get more money.” Stella shut her eyes and listened, trying to conjure up the voices again inside her mind. “My father’s telling him no, telling him to go away, calling him names.”
“Who’s the man, Stella? Can you see his face?”
“No,” Stella said, her eyes still closed, “but I recognize his voice. I just can’t place it.”
“Hit track two,” Brenda said to the engineer. “Quick.”
Stella heard another voice. “Hello,” the man said. “Who is this? If you’re there, speak up.” The same words were repeated several times before Brenda started speaking again. “Is that the voice, Stella?”
“I don’t know,”
she said. “It’s similar but not the same. I need to hear him say the same words in order to be certain.”
Brenda removed her headset and tossed it down on the console. “This was the best I could do,” she told the sound engineer. “I doubt if I can get Clementine Cataloni to record a script for me. All I did was call him up and record the phone call.”
“We could do a voice match,” the man offered.
“From what?” Brenda asked, frustrated that they weren’t making more progress. “The voice we’re matching it to is in her mind, Bill. How would that work?”
“Hey,” he said, “I’m just trying to help. No one even told me what we’re doing here.”
Putting the headset back on, Brenda told Stella that they were going to move forward. If they had to, they could always go back to the kitchen and try again later. “I’m taking you to the living room now,” she said. “How does it look?”
“Good,” Stella said. “I mean, we didn’t have a chair like that, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. It’s in the right place.”
“This is where your father and Randall fought, right?”
Right, and I got punched in the stomach.”
“Tom left by the front door. I went down the hall to my room.”
Brenda tapped the keyboard on her computer console and Stella found herself walking down a hall. Seeing an open doorway, she stepped inside and saw an exact replica of her room. The bedspread was the same pink-and-white pattern. Her dresser was in the right location, the bowl of matches on top of it just the way Randall had mentioned.
In one corner of her room, she saw several batons, and what looked like a majorette uniform on a hanger. She laughed, thinking Brenda had misjudged her. Back then, she had taken care of her room about the same way Mario took care of his apartment. Whenever she removed her uniform after a football game, she generally dropped it on the floor. Stella’s mother used to make fun of her, saying she had an affinity for stacks. She always kept three or four piles of clothes and other personal articles scattered in various spots throughout her room. She only had one chest and the closet was so small, Stella could never find enough room to hang up her clothes.
Stella closed her eyes and let her mind drift far into the past. She saw herself walking with the other majorettes after a football game, laughing and joking. Her best friend, Kathy, kept bumping into her as they walked. Another girl came up behind her and hugged her. Stella felt as if she were watching it all from somewhere above. A happy, expectant face suddenly looked up, and she knew she was seeing her girlhood image.
Tears gathered in her eyes. She felt as if a boa constrictor had wrapped itself around her heart. She knew the exact night she was remembering—the night Tom Randall had taken her to the lake and they had made love for the first time. Go back, she told her image. You don’t know what’s waiting for you. For the thrill of this one night, you’ll have years of pain and agony. You’ll never feel safe again. You’ll never see your parents again, your keepsakes, your home.
“Look at this,” her girlhood image said, tossing the baton high in the air. She watched as the image twirled around and caught the baton between her legs. Her legs were tan and perfectly shaped, the skin smooth and luxurious. “I’m going to ask Mrs. Fisher if I can use it during next week’s game.”
Because there were no family pictures left after the fire, Stella had forgotten what she looked like without the scars. The face she saw in her mind was so perfect, so unmarred, that it almost took her breath away. Was it really her? Was the beautiful young woman she saw, so full of promise and hope, still locked somewhere inside of her?
Stella opened her eyes. The computer-generated images seemed to come alive and shift in color and shape, until she was seeing the real objects and furnishings instead of the ones Brenda had created. Suddenly it all seemed completely real, and vivid memories flashed in her mind. Her palms began sweating profusely. Fear engulfed her. She pressed both her hands into her abdomen and grimaced in pain.
“What’s happening, Stella? Can you tell me?”
“Tom just came in and locked the door,” she said. “My father hit me, and I’m afraid he’ll come and hit me again. My stomach hurts. It’s cramping terribly. I’m so ashamed. I’ve let my parents down. I’ve let everyone down.”
“Where did Tom come from?” Brenda said, making some adjustments on her computer. “Didn’t he go out the front door earlier?”
“He says he got in through the basement window,” Stella said, her voice trailing off. “I’ve got to lie down. I don’t feel good. I’m dizzy.”
“She’s into it now,” Brenda told the engineer, moving the microphone away from her mouth. “Thank God, we finally got her to suspend reality. Now we might be able to accomplish something.” Pulling the microphone back into place, she spoke to Stella again, her voice a controlled monotone. “Are you on the bed?”
“Yes,” Stella said, sounding younger and more tentative than before. “Tom’s talking to me. He’s next to me on the bed. I’m angry at my father because he hit me. Tom says he’s an asshole and that we should stay at his parents’ house until Daddy cools down. He says I have to have the baby aborted, no matter what my father says. Tom says his parents will help us.”
“Can you hear your father?”
“I don’t hear anything,” Stella said. “Tom’s asleep on my bed. As soon as we’re certain my father’s asleep, we’re going to sneak out the window. I’m sleepy too, though. I feel cold, really cold. I’m so cold, I’m shaking. My head’s swimming and I’m afraid I’m going to pass out.
“There’s something wet and sticky between my legs, but I’m too tired to go to the bathroom.”
Holding her hand over the microphone, Brenda whispered, “Let’s leave her alone for a while. Let her go down to a deeper level. She had a miscarriage that night. That must be what she’s referring to.” She looked through the glass at Stella, thinking how sad it was that a young girl had to suffer through such an ordeal. “Load up the other tracks now, Bill,” she said. “When I give you the signal, cut immediately to track three.”
They both watched Stella from the control booth. She was standing ramrod straight on the treadmill, not a muscle in her body moving. Anderson filled her coffee cup from a pot behind her and then resumed her position at the control panel. After sipping her coffee, she pointed a finger at the sound engineer and the prerecorded sound track began playing. First there were a series of metallic clicks lasting a little over a minute. “Do you hear the clicking sound, Stella?”
“Yes,” Stella said, her voice a tense whisper.
“Can you tell what it is?”
“No,” she said.
“Where is the noise coming from?”
“Under my bed somewhere.”
“Are you on the bed now?”
“Yes,” Stella said. “I’m scared. I have to get out of here. My heart’s beating so fast, I can’t breathe. Something’s wrong, really wrong.”
“Go to track four,” Brenda told the sound engineer. “We’re about to get into the good stuff.”
A crackling, popping sound came on, recorded from an actual fire. Brenda had added the sound of running footsteps in the hallway, thinking Stella’s family would have either heard or smelled the fire before she awoke and tried to escape from the house.
Just then Stella started shrieking, the sound so high-pitched that Anderson almost jerked the headset off. “My bed’s on fire,” she screamed. “Someone’s at my door trying to get in. Oh no. Oh no. Help me. Someone has to help me. I’m so scared.”
“Who’s at the door, Stella?”
“I don’t know. I have to get out. I’m on fire. I’m burning. My face. Help me. Someone has to help me.” Stella was running on the treadmill now and perspiration was dripping from her face, her blouse already soaked and clinging to her body.
“Where’s Randall?”
“I don’t know,” Stella shouted. “Get me out of here. Please, help me. Oh, God, no, I’m burnin
g.” She began coughing and choking. “The smoke. There’s too much smoke. I can’t breathe. My chest is burning and my eyes sting.”
“Where are you now, Stella?”
“I can’t get out. The door won’t open. Someone’s beating on it, but it’s stuck.”
Brenda shook her head. She didn’t know whether to stop or continue. Stella was kicking out with her feet, and Brenda was afraid she would trip and hurt herself. She decided to let it go a few more minutes, hoping they would discover something definitive. If they did, it would make Stella’s suffering worthwhile.
“It’s my dad,” Stella cried. “He has an ax in his hands and there’s this awful look on his face.”
Brenda tapped a few keys on her console, inserting Stella’s father into the scene, his face created from the old photographs.
“Where is he, Stella?”
“He busted the door down. He’s grabbing me, screaming at me. He keeps saying my name and crying, “No, no, my beautiful daughter.” There’s smoke everywhere and I can’t breathe. My dad’s coughing too. He says we have to get out of the house.”
“Can you hear anything else?”
“I have to get Mario, but my dad won’t let go of me.” Stella was moving her hands back and forth in front of her face, swatting at thin air. “My dad…he fell down. He can’t get up. I keep pulling on him, but he can’t get up. I don’t know what to do. God, help me. He’s too heavy. I can’t lift him. Where’s Tommy? Tommy, help me.
Brenda waited until Stella fell silent. Then she prompted her again. “What are you doing now, Stella?”
“I’m in the hall,” Stella said. She was panting as she jogged on the treadmill. “I’m going to get Mario. My dad told me to get Mario. He said he would go upstairs for my mother.”
“Is your father conscious now?”
“Yes,” Stella said. “He choked on the smoke, but he got up. He’s okay. He’s going for my mother.”
Trial by Fire Page 22
