by Dean Koontz
She tried, but the arm trembled, and she could not lower it.
Inamura nodded with satisfaction. “You may now lower your arm, Joanna. I am now allowing you to lower it. Indeed, your arm is now so limp that you cannot possibly hold it up.”
Her arm dropped into her lap.
“And now you are in a deep, deep, very relaxed sleep, and you will answer a number of questions for me. You will enjoy answering them. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she murmured.
“Speak more clearly, please.”
“Yes.”
Inamura returned to his chair. He put the remote control on the coffee table.
“Fly away,” said the myna in the cage. A wistfulness colored those two words, as if the bird actually understood their meaning.
Joanna was limp, but now Alex was tense. He slid to the edge of his chair and turned to his right, so he could look directly at her.
To Alex, Inamura said, “She’s an excellent subject for hypnosis. Usually, there’s a little resistance, but not with her.”
“Perhaps she’s had a lot of practice.”
“Quite a lot of it, I think,” said Inamura.
Joanna waited.
The doctor leaned back in his chair, every bit as relaxed as his patient. His face was half in shadow. One eye was dark, the other gilded by a soft golden light, a reflection off the brass birdcage. He thought for a moment, then said, “Joanna, what is your full name?”
“Joanna Louise Rand,” she said.
“Is that truly your name?”
“Yes.”
“Recently you learned that Joanna Rand is a false name and that you were once called something else. Is that true?”
“No.”
“You don’t remember making that discovery?”
“My name is Joanna Louise Rand.”
“Have you heard the name ‘Lisa Chelgrin’?”
“No.”
“Think about it before answering.”
Silence. Then: “I’ve never heard the name.”
“Do you know a man named Alex Hunter?”
“Of course. He’s here.”
“Did he mention Lisa Chelgrin to you?”
“I’ve never heard that name.”
“Joanna, you can’t lie to me. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“You must always tell me the truth.”
“Always.”
“It is utterly impossible for you to lie to me.”
“Impossible. I understand.”
“Have you ever heard the name ‘Lisa Chelgrin’?”
“No.”
Alex glanced at the doctor. “What’s happening?”
Inamura stared at Joanna for a while, tilting his head just far enough so the reflected spot of golden light shifted from his right eye to his cheek, where it shimmered like a strange stigmata. Finally he said, “She might have been programmed with this response to this particular question.”
“Then how do we get around the program?” Alex asked.
“Patience.”
“I haven’t much of that at the moment.”
Inamura said, “Joanna, we will now do something amazing. Something you might think impossible. But it is not impossible and is not even difficult. It is simple, easy. We are going to make time run backward. You are going to get younger. It is beginning to happen already. You can’t resist it. You don’t want to resist it. It is a lovely, sweet, flowing feeling ... getting younger ... and younger. The hands of the clock are turning backward ... and you feel yourself floating in time ... getting younger ... rapidly younger ... and now you are thirty-one years old, not thirty-two any more ... and now thirty ... and now twenty-nine ... floating back through time.” He continued in that fashion until he had regressed Joanna to her twentieth year, where he stopped her. “You are in London, Joanna. The apartment in London. You are sitting in ... let’s make it the kitchen. You are sitting at the kitchen table. Your mother is cooking something. It smells delicious. Makes your mouth water. What is your mother cooking, Joanna?”
Silence.
“What is your mother cooking, Joanna?”
“Nothing.”
“She is not cooking?”
“No.”
“Then what smells so delicious?”
“Nothing. There’s no smell.”
“What is your mother doing if not cooking?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you in the kitchen?”
“Yes.”
“What’s happening?”
“Nothing.”
“All right then. What is your mother’s name?”
“My mother’s name is Elizabeth Rand.”
“What does she look like?”
“She has blond hair like mine.”
“What color are her eyes?”
“Blue. Like mine.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Yes.”
“Heavy or thin.”
“Slender.”
“How tall is she, Joanna?”
Silence.
“How tall is your mother?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is she tall, short, or of medium height?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay. All right. But you are there in the kitchen.”
“Yes.”
“Now ... does your mother like to cook, Joanna?”
“I don’t know.”
“What is her favorite food?”
Silence.
“What is your mother’s favorite food, Joanna?”
“I don’t know.”
“She must like to eat certain things in particular.”
“I suppose so.”
“What kind of meals does she prepare for you?”
“Regular meals.”
“All right ... what about beef? Does she favor beef dishes?”
After a hesitation Joanna sighed and said, “My mother’s name is Elizabeth Rand.”
Frowning, Inamura said, “Answer my question, Joanna. Does your mother prepare beef for you?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Yes, you do,” he said gently, encouragingly. “You’re in the kitchen. What is your mother cooking for you, Joanna?”
She said nothing.
Inamura was silent, pondering her blank face. He changed the subject. “Joanna, does your mother like to go to the movies?”
Joanna shifted uneasily in the armchair but kept her eyes shut.
Inamura said, “Does your mother like the theater, perhaps ?”
“I guess she does.”
“Does she like the movies too?”
“I guess she does.”
“Don’t you know for sure?”
Joanna made no response.
“Does your mother like to read?”
Silence.
“Does your mother enjoy books, Joanna?”
“I ... I don’t know.”
“Does it seem strange to you that you know so little about your own mother?”
Joanna squirmed in her chair.
Inamura said, “What’s your mother’s name, Joanna?”
“My mother’s name is Elizabeth Rand.”
“Tell me everything you know about her.”
“She has blond hair and blue eyes like mine.”
“Tell me more.”
“She’s slender and pretty.”
“More, Joanna. Tell me more.”
Silence.
“Surely you know more, Joanna.”
“She’s very pretty.”
“And?”
“Slender.”
“And?”
“I can’t remember, damn it!” Her face contorted. “Leave me alone!”
“Relax, Joanna,” Inamura said. “You will relax.”
Joanna’s hands were no longer in her lap. She was fiercely gripping the arms of the chair, digging her fingernails into the upholstery. Under her closed lids, her eyes moved rapidly, like those of a sleeper caught in a
bad dream.
Alex wanted to touch and comfort her, but he was afraid that he might break the spell that the doctor had cast.
“Relax and be calm,” Inamura instructed. “You are very relaxed and calm. In deep sleep ... deep natural sleep ... yes ... yes, that’s better ... deep relaxation. Joanna, perhaps you can’t remember these things because you never knew them. And perhaps you never knew them ... because Elizabeth Rand never existed.”
“My mother’s name is Elizabeth Rand,” Joanna said woodenly.
“And perhaps Robert Rand never existed either.”
“My father’s name is Robert Rand.”
“And perhaps you cannot picture the activity in that kitchen,” Inamura pressed on, “because it never existed. Nor the apartment in London. So I want you to float freely in time ... drift ... just drift in time ... backward ... backward in time. You are looking for a special place, a unique and important place in your life ... a place that reeks strongly of antiseptics, disinfectants. You know the place I mean. You dream of it repeatedly. Now you’re searching for it ... drifting toward it ... drifting toward that special place and time ... settling into it ... and now ... there ... you are there in that room.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Are you sitting or standing?”
A tremor passed through her.
“Easy, relax. You’re safe, Joanna. Answer all my questions, and you will be perfectly safe. Are you sitting or standing in that room?”
“Lying down.”
“On the floor or on a bed?”
“Yes. I’m ...”
“What?”
“I’m ...”
“You’re what, Joanna?”
“I’m n-naked.”
“You seem frightened. Are you frightened?”
“Yes. S-scared.”
“What are you frightened of?”
“I’m ... s-strapped down.”
“Restrained?”
“Oh, God.”
“Relax, Joanna.”
“Oh, God. My ankles, my wrists.”
“Fly away,” said the myna bird. “Fly away.”
Inamura said, “Who did this to you, Joanna?”
“The straps are so tight.”
“Who did this to you?”
“They hurt.”
“Who strapped you to this bed, Joanna? You must answer me.”
“I smell ammonia. Strong. Makes me sick.”
“Look around the room, Joanna.”
She grimaced at the stench of ammonia.
“Look around the room,” Inamura repeated.
She lifted her head from the chair in which she reclined, opened her eyes, and looked obediently from left to right. She didn’t see Alex or the office. She now existed in anoth- er day and place. In her haunted eyes, a veil of weeks and months and years seemed to shimmer like a sheet of tears.
“What do you see?” Inamura asked.
Joanna lowered her head. Closed her eyes.
“What do you see in that room?” Inamura persisted.
A strange, guttural sound issued from her.
Inamura repeated the question.
Joanna made the peculiar noise again, then louder: an ugly, asthmatic wheezing. Suddenly her eyes popped open and rolled up until only the whites were visible. She tried to lift her hands from the arms of the chair, but apparently she believed they were strapped down, and her wheezing grew worse.
Alex rose to his feet in alarm. “She can’t breathe.”
Joanna began to jerk and twitch violently, as if great jolts of electricity were slamming through her.
“She’s choking to death!”
“Don’t touch her,” Inamura said.
Although the psychiatrist hadn’t raised his voice, his tone halted Alex.
Inamura’s left eye gleamed from deep in the shadows that fell across that side of his face, and the reflection of gold light was over his right eye again, a bright cataract that gave him an eerie aspect. He seemed to have no concern about Joanna’s apparent agony.
As Alex watched, Joanna’s blank white eyes bulged. Her face flushed, darkened. Flecks of spittle glistened on her lips. Her wheezing grew louder, louder.
“For God’s sake, help her!” Alex demanded.
Inamura said, “Joanna, you will be calm and relaxed. Let your throat muscles relax. You will do as I say. You must do as I say. Relax ... tension draining out of you ... breath coming easier ... easier. Breathe slowly ... slowly and deeply ... deeply ... evenly ... very relaxed. You are in a deep and natural sleep ... perfectly safe ... in a deep and peaceful sleep....”
Joanna gradually grew quiet. Her eyes, which had been rolled back in her head, came down where they belonged. She closed them. She was breathing normally again.
“What the hell was that all about?” Alex asked, badly shaken.
Inamura waved him back into his chair, and Alex sat reluctantly.
The doctor said, “Do you hear me, Joanna?”
“Yes.”
“I never lie to you, Joanna. I tell you only the truth. I’m here only to help you. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.”
“Now, I’m going to tell you why you had that little respiratory problem. And when you understand, you will not allow such a thing to happen ever again.”
“I can’t control it,” she said.
“Yes, you can. I’m telling you the truth now, and you are well aware of that truth. You had difficulty breathing only because they told you that you’d be unable to breathe, that you’d suffocate, that you’d spiral down into uncontrollable panic if you were questioned thoroughly under the influence of drugs or hypnosis. They implanted a posthypnotic suggestion that caused this attack when I probed too deeply, evidently with the hope your seizure would terminate this interrogation.”
Joanna scowled. “That’s the same thing that caused my claustrophobia.”
“Precisely,” Inamura said. “And now that you’re aware of it, you won’t allow it to happen again.”
“I hate them,” she said bitterly.
“Will you allow it to happen again, Joanna?”
“No.”
“Good,” Inamura said.
Even in the dimly lighted room, Joanna looked so pale that Alex said, “Maybe we shouldn’t continue with this.”
“It’s perfectly safe,” the doctor said.
“I’m not so sure.”
Inamura said, “Joanna, are you still in the room, that special room, the place that reeks of ammonia?”
“Ammonia ... alcohol ... other things,” she said. “Sickening. It’s so strong I can smell it and taste it.”
“You are unclothed—”
“—naked—”
“—and strapped to the bed.”
“The straps are too tight. I can’t move. Can’t get up. I’ve got to get up and out of here.”
“Relax,” Inamura said. “Easy. Easy.”
Alex watched her anxiously.
“Be calm,” Inamura said. “You will remember all of it, but you will do so quietly. You will be calm and relaxed, and you will not be afraid.”
“At least the room’s warm,” she said.
“That’s the spirit. Now, I want you to look around and tell me what you see.”
“Not much.”
“Is it a large place?”
“No. Small.”
“Any furniture other than the bed?”
She didn’t reply. He repeated the question, and she said, “I don’t know if you’d call it furniture.”
“All right. But what is it? Can you describe what’s in the room with you?”
“Beside my bed ... it’s ... I guess it’s one of those cardiac monitors ... you know ... like in an intensive-care ward or hospital operating theater.”
“An electrocardiograph.”
“Yes. And beside it ... maybe ... a brainwave machine.”
“An electroencephalograph. Are you in a hospital?”
“No. I don’t think
so.”
“Are you hooked up to the machines now?”
“Sometimes. Not now. No beeping. No wiggly lines of light. Machines are ... shut off.”
“Is there anything else in the room?”
“A chair. And a cabinet ... with a glass door.”
“What’s in the cabinet, Joanna?”
“Lots of small bottles ... vials ... ampules ...”
“Drugs?”
“Yes. And hypodermic syringes wrapped in plastic.”
“Are those drugs used on you?”
“Yes. I hate ...” Her hands closed into fists, opened, closed. “I hate ...”
“Go on.”
“I hate the needle.” She twitched at the word “needle.”
“What else do you see?”
“Nothing.”
“Does the room have a window?”
“Yes. One.”
“Good. Does it have a blind or drapes?”
“A blind.”
“Is the blind open or shut?”
“Open.”
“What do you see through the window, Joanna?”
She was silent again.
“What do you see through the window?”
Her voice suddenly changed. It was so hard, flat, and cold that it might have been the voice of an altogether different person. “Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.”
Omi Inamura gazed at her, captured by a silence of his own. At last he repeated the question. “What do you see beyond the window?”
She chanted—not woodenly but with a strange, cold anger. “Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.”
“You are relaxed and calm. You are not tense or apprehensive. You are completely safe, utterly relaxed, calm, in a deep and natural sleep.”
“Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.”
Alex put one hand to the nape of his neck where a chill crept across his skin.
Inamura said, “What do you mean by that, Joanna?”
She was rigid in her reclining chair. Her hands were fisted against her abdomen. “Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.”
A dry scratching noise rose from the shadows across the room. Freud was scraping his talons against his wooden perch.
“Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun,” Joanna repeated.
“Very well,” Inamura said. “Forget about the window for the time being. Let’s talk about the people who came to see you when you were kept in that room. Were there many of them?”
Shaking with what seemed to be anger but which Alex now realized might be the physical evidence of a fierce internal struggle to break free of the implanted psychological bonds that imprisoned her memory, she repeated, “Tension, apprehension, and dissension have begun.”
