A Gift for Dying

by M. J. Arlidge

  And that’s what she would do now. They would not be intimidated. They would not be cowed. It was time for the people of West Town to fight back.

  61

  ‘You can’t come here, Kassie. That’s not how it works.’

  Adam stared at the teenager in blank astonishment. The day had taken on a surreal quality, as if he were imagining it all. His heart-rending ordeal at the hospital, the news that Rochelle Stevens’ body had been found, then finally his discovery of Faith and Kassie chatting earnestly in her studio, as if they knew each other, as if they were friends. Was it possible he was dreaming it all? Would he wake in a minute and find that all was well? That a happy, pregnant Faith was slumbering next to him?

  ‘I know that and I’m sorry,’ Kassie replied sheepishly.

  ‘You know I want to help you, but I have a life – a private life – and when I’m not working –’

  ‘I understand that, I really do. I never meant to intrude on you, on Faith …’

  Adam followed Kassie’s brief glance towards the studio, to which Faith had discreetly retreated.

  ‘But surely you see why I had to come? You’ve heard the news?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Adam had thought of nothing else on his drive home. The fact that Rochelle was dead – a woman he had spoken to, had a drink with – was horrific. The fact that he and Kassie had broken into her house made things much worse.

  ‘Kassie …’

  He hesitated, struggling to find the right words to frame his question.

  ‘Kassie, if you know anything about these murders, you must tell me now. If you’re in trouble, I can help you, but I need to know the truth.’

  He was trying to keep his voice steady. Kassie stared back at him, almost as if she didn’t understand the question.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You followed Rochelle last night, after your therapy.’

  ‘She gave me the slip. I told you that …’

  ‘Did something happen at the therapy session that upset you?’ he persisted. ‘Something between you and Rochelle?’

  ‘I’ve told you everything,’ she insisted. ‘I was scared by what I saw. So I screamed, that was it …’

  ‘Where did you go last night, after we separated. Did you go home?’

  For the first time, Kassie looked sheepish. Dropping her gaze, she replied:

  ‘No. I couldn’t face it.’

  ‘So …’

  ‘So … I spent the night on the “L”. I got on the Loop and just did circuits until the morning. Loads of people do it, hobos, winos, runaways …’

  She looked up at him as she spoke, trying to gauge if he believed her. Adam found it hard to read her expression. Was that guilt he could see? Or embarrassment?

  ‘You must see why I have to ask,’ Adam continued, avoiding her eye. ‘You knew Jacob Jones, he’d prosecuted you in juvenile court. You knew Rochelle too.’

  ‘I’d met her once. And I couldn’t even remember Jones. I was in court for half an hour, I didn’t take in names, faces …’

  Adam said nothing, staring at the distressed teenager.

  ‘And, no, I didn’t have anything to do with their deaths,’ Kassie concluded testily. ‘I wanted to help them, I want to stop this guy …’

  ‘Kassie, you’re a fifteen-year-old girl.’

  ‘I don’t have a choice. You know that.’

  She was staring directly at him. Adam exhaled, long and hard, rubbing his hand over his face. In truth, he didn’t know anything any more.

  ‘That’s why I came here … to ask for your help.’

  ‘I don’t see what I can do.’

  ‘I want you to take me back there.’

  ‘To Rochelle’s house?’ Adam replied, incredulous.

  ‘No, to my vision. To the things I saw.’

  Another shock on a day that continued to surprise him.

  ‘You obviously doubt what I feel, what I see, but I think my experiences might be … helpful. I’ve tried to remember what was happening, I’ve tried to cast my mind back, but I can only remember fragments …’

  ‘I don’t even know how we’d begin,’ Adam replied, on the back foot suddenly. ‘They are not your memories, they are not …’

  He just stopped himself saying ‘real’, but Kassie was clearly filling in the blanks herself.

  ‘Even so,’ she continued, unabashed. ‘I experienced them. I felt like I was there with her and some of the things I felt about Jason were true – the cold stuff under his feet, that could have been the plastic sheeting –’

  ‘You’re putting two and two together and making five, Kassie. You’re allowing what you want to believe to lead you –’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ Kassie blurted out. ‘Two people are dead. The police have got nothing, so if there is a chance that I can help, don’t you think we should try?’

  ‘What if it affects you negatively?’ Adam countered. ‘If it unbalances you, exacerbates the trauma you’ve already suffered –’

  ‘That’s a chance I’m willing to take.’

  Her response was decisive, definitive: leaving Adam with a choice to make. Engage with her on her terms. Or turn her away.

  ‘Look, there are distancing techniques we might use,’ he said eventually. ‘To allow you to access those … experiences without fully being there …’

  To Adam’s surprise, Kassie now smiled, laying a hand on his arm.

  ‘That’s all I ask,’ she said quietly, tears suddenly filling her eyes. ‘I just want us to try.’

  62

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. One minute everything was normal and then …’

  Gabrielle Grey took in the tearful girl in front of her. Simone Fischer was one of a dozen people gathered outside the down-at-heel community hall in the Lower West Side. Some carried flowers, some clung to each other for support, all were visibly shocked by the breaking news of Rochelle Stevens’ murder.

  ‘Go on,’ Gabrielle prompted.

  ‘Well, it was so strange … Rochelle was encouraging the group to share, which we did, then she turned her attention to the new girl,’ Simone continued. ‘Rochelle asked her if she wanted to tell us about her experiences … then it all went sort of crazy.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘The girl … she didn’t say anything. She just started making these odd noises.’

  ‘What sort of noises?’

  ‘Grunting and gasping, as if she couldn’t breathe. Then she screamed, screamed the place down. I thought she was having a fit at first, but then she looked up with these … wild eyes and started moving towards Rochelle, clawing at her …’

  ‘I see,’ Gabrielle responded, suddenly very interested.

  ‘Obviously, the group broke up after that. We were all sent home – we were glad to get out of there, to be honest – while Rochelle stayed with the girl.’

  Simone came to a sudden halt, wondering perhaps if their hasty departure had cost Rochelle her life.

  ‘And does this girl have a name?’ Gabrielle responded, keen to keep the conversation on track.

  ‘Sure,’ Simone blustered. ‘Her name is Kassandra, I think. But Rochelle said we should call her Kassie.’

  Ten minutes later, Gabrielle was striding down the road, dodging the upended trash cans and garbage that littered the ground. She was aiming for the ‘L’ station that Rochelle had used after her abortive NA meeting, scanning the desolate street for potential witnesses. Her initial impressions were not favourable. The buildings in this part of Chicago were largely derelict – few people wanted to live here, let alone set up businesses, meaning the streets were always sparsely populated. On and on she went, but Gabrielle was the only person on the streets this morning and she would have felt distinctly vulnerable, were it not for the Colt .45 nestling next to her ribs.

  Before long, she had made it to the ‘L’. Frustrated, she now had an idea and hurried inside the station. And there it was – a lone security camera cover
ing the ticketing area. Walking up to the ticket booth, Gabrielle banged on the glass, then flashed her ID at the surprised CTA employee, who was halfway through a jelly donut.

  ‘That thing recording?’ Gabrielle barked, gesturing towards the camera.

  ‘Sure. I guess,’ was the mumbled response.

  ‘Then I wanna see what you’ve got.’

  Five minutes later, Gabrielle found herself sitting in front of a grimy monitor, staring at the familiar staccato images. Luck was on her side for once – the recordings were usually deleted after twenty-four hours, but less than a day had passed since Rochelle’s disappearance and, after a little patient scrolling, Gabrielle found what she was looking for.

  The slight figure of Rochelle Stevens hurried into the ticketing area, shooting a brief look behind her as she did so. She delved into her purse, slammed her travel pass down and passed through the barriers, then suddenly looked up. Had she heard a train approaching? Without hesitating, she then ran through the parting barriers and sprinted up the stairs. She soon disappeared from view, but Gabrielle kept her eyes glued to the screen and moments later her patience was rewarded.

  A tall girl ran into the ticketing area, climbing up and over the ticket barriers, before hurrying up the stairs. Winding the footage back again, Gabrielle waited until the pursuing female entered the ticketing area, then paused the feed. She studied the image closely, then, exhaling, sat back in her chair.

  It was clear as day. Even from a side angle, there was no doubt that Rochelle’s pursuer was Kassandra Wojcek.

  63

  Faith stood stock still, staring at the canvas in front of her.

  She hadn’t wanted to come into the studio, but it was the brightest, most welcoming room in the house. Bathed in the warm glow of the morning sunshine, it had seemed the obvious place to bring Kassie, as they waited for Adam’s return. When he did eventually stumble through the door, looking pale and distracted, he had immediately ushered Kassie into his office, engaging her in what was clearly a fairly heated conversation. Standing outside in the hallway, a forgotten figure, Faith had felt self-conscious and awkward. Adam had never had a client in the house before and she didn’t want to be accused of eavesdropping or interfering, so she had retreated to her studio once more, pulling the door shut behind her.

  Now the large room, which had seemed bright and airy earlier, felt uncomfortably warm, even a little suffocating. The numerous canvases, which Kassie had taken such delight in, now seemed to crowd in on her, goading her by flaunting her past productivity, the ease with which she had previously set down her latest bout of inspiration. Turning away, she found herself confronted by her self-portrait once more.

  Faith stared at Faith, flesh and blood facing her painted self, as if in a stand-off. The portrait was nearly complete. It was a morning’s work – a day at the most – to finish it off. A tube of black oil paint was sitting on the easel, where she had left it that morning, and now, carefully, cautiously, she picked it up and squeezed it, depositing its oozy contents on to her palette. Dropping it without replacing the lid, she did the same with a tube of white paint, before picking up the nearest brush to mix the two colours. Soon an appealing, rich grey coated the hairs of her brush and slowly she raised it to paint.

  The tip of the brush touched the canvas, which felt odd, yet familiar, and slowly Faith completed a stroke. Then another. This, however, was faltering, less certain, and Faith saw that she’d blurred the line. She was about to wipe it off, start over, when suddenly she paused. She was close to the painting, was looking directly at her own face, her eyes glued to the features in front of her. But suddenly she wasn’t seeing her features any more, she was seeing Annabelle’s. Her tiny upturned nose, her dimpled chin, those achingly beautiful blue eyes. Those glassy, lifeless eyes …

  Shaking, Faith dropped the brush. It clattered to the floor, but she didn’t notice. She swayed a little, as if she might be about to faint, then leaned forward, resting her head on the taut canvas. She could feel tears running down her face now, falling on to the paint, but she didn’t care. She hadn’t the strength to move even if she had wanted to.

  It was a mistake to have tried. She wasn’t ready yet and something made her wonder if she ever would be. She wanted to paint – she needed to paint – but for now it was impossible. She could not see, could not feel, anything but Annabelle. She was haunted by the ghost of a child she had loved and lost.

  64

  They had driven to his office in silence. Adam hadn’t wanted to leave Faith, but she had angrily shooed him away when he put his head round the studio door. There was no question of conducting the session at home, with Faith in earshot, so Adam had tipped Kassie into his Lexus and set off for Lincoln Park.

  Climbing the stairwell to the top floor, Adam had been struck by the silence in the building. He had no clients scheduled for today of course, but where were all the other people, the office workers and couriers who he regularly passed as he climbed the stairs? Nothing seemed normal today. Everything seemed slightly off.

  Five minutes later, they were seated opposite each other in his client space, Kassie sitting bolt upright on one of the comfy chairs. She had refused the offer of a drink, with something akin to impatience. There was a clear sense that, now the decision had been made to do this, she just wanted to get on with it. Adam, for his part, was more circumspect, but had concluded that there was nothing to be gained by rejecting Kassie. If he really wanted to get to the bottom of this, if he really wanted to help, then he had to engage.

  ‘Distancing techniques work in a number of ways,’ Adam found himself saying. ‘But they all have the same purpose. They allow the subject to relive a trauma from a safe space, so they know they can’t be hurt or affected by the experience. Like an outsider looking in. So we need to find something that will work for you as an individual. Some people like to imagine they are in a comfy living room, watching their experiences on a TV. You are in control, you can turn it on or off at any time. Other people like to put themselves back in the experience directly, but this time they are in a bubble. They cannot be touched or hurt and nobody in the original experience can see the –’

  ‘The bubble,’ Kassie interrupted quickly. ‘We’ll do the bubble.’

  Adam paused, unsure whether he should unpack this decision or let it slide. Seeming to sense his doubt, Kassie said:

  ‘It’ll be the best fit for me. There’s no point discussing other options.’

  She seemed confident, assured, so Adam continued:

  ‘Now I’m going to put you under hypnosis, but remember you will be in your bubble at all times, totally safe and secure.’

  Kassie nodded, so Adam got her to count to fifty as he slowly began to hypnotize her. Once he was confident she was properly under, he began to guide her back in time.

  ‘I want you to empty your mind, Kassie. Imagine you’re floating through a blank space. It has no colour, no markings, nothing. It is empty, clean, pure. You’re soaring gently through it, happy, relaxed, weightless.’

  Adam paused to let his words register. Kassie appeared to be responding to his words, so he continued:

  ‘Now in the distance you see something. It looks like a light, something real, something tangible. Now you’re moving towards it at a steady speed, slowly it’s getting bigger and bigger, clearer and clearer. Now you can see what it is. It’s your therapy group and you’re there with Rochelle, Simone and the others. Can you see it, Kassie?’

  The teenager nodded.

  ‘You’re in the room with them, but you’re safe. You’re secure. Watching them from inside your bubble. Now, Kassie, slowly, I want you to look up. I want you to look into Rochelle’s eyes. Can you do that for me?’

  The effect on her was immediate. Kassie gasped, then spit flew from the teenager’s mouth, as she screamed:

  ‘Oh, God, no. Please don’t hurt me. I don’t want to … PLEASE …’

  The final word erupted from her, as she fell forward off her ch
air, landing in a heap on the floor. Adam was on his feet at once, hurrying to her, lifting her up off the carpet. She was conscious, out of hypnosis now, but still Adam was amazed by the transformation in her. She was sweating profusely and her face was deathly pale.

  ‘It’s ok, Kassie,’ he said gently, guiding her back to a chair. ‘You’re quite safe. You’re here with me, Dr Brandt, in my office and –’

  ‘It’s ok. I’m ok …’

  She whispered the words, breathless but coherent. Even as she spoke a tiny bit of colour came back to her cheeks.

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,’ she said quietly.

  ‘You’ve nothing to apologize for, Kassie.’

  ‘I was just so scared …’

  ‘I understand. You just sit there. I’m going to get you a glass of water, then we’ll think about getting you a cab home.’

  ‘I want to try again.’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘We need to try again.’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t be doing my duty if I –’

  ‘Please,’ she countered. ‘Just one more time. I know what to expect this time, I can handle it.’

  After further discussion, Adam eventually conceded, insisting, however, that they take a fifteen-minute break to get some fresh air and a glass of water. The quarter-hour on the balcony passed quickly and before long they were facing each other once more. Despite some fairly serious misgivings, Adam put Kassie under hypnosis once more.

  As before, he guided her towards the therapy room and as previously he asked her to look directly at Rochelle. Kassie, who had been slouching slightly, sat up sharply and began to make quiet, keening noises. Her body was rigid, her face contorted, the muscles twitching around the side of her mouth. She didn’t fall this time; instead she seemed to be fighting something, perhaps fighting to keep herself in the experience.

  ‘He wants to hurt me,’ she suddenly blurted, her voice tight, rising in pitch with each word. ‘He’s going to kill me. I can feel his hand on my neck –’