“Now then, what’s going on in that busy little head of yours, Stella?” The Professor queried reproachfully. He had his lever arch file open again on his knees and was leaning forward. I didn’t think it was politic to let him know, so shook it slightly, smiled vaguely and shut my eyes to do some more thinking.
“Sleeping Beauty.” He said, for a moment I thought he was being personal, then realised he was referring to his notes. He shook my arm slightly, “Stay awake now, my dear, I want to try reading to you while you’re awake. And then, when you drop off again, I’m going to leave you with a notebook, so you can note down what you remember from your dreams. Can you do that for me?” I nodded slowly. I wasn’t happy. I knew what was coming, we’d worked on a number of different texts and editions of the story, tracing it back to its 14th century roots, which were as dark and tangled as those of most of the classic fairy tales. As soon as he started reading from his notes, I recognised his own translation, from Italian, of Basile’s, Sun, Moon and Talia. Published around the 1600s, it was a jolly little fable, not holding back on anything including rape, incest and a touch of cannibalism – even Disney couldn’t have done much with this version.
I’d unfortunately, come to know the story well, so was able to tune out, whilst still appearing to listen. The familiar tone of Professor Lowbell’s light voice reading, was almost relaxing – if you weren’t actually listening to the words. I also realised, that whilst I still felt far from well, my head was clearing, the light wasn’t hurting my eyes in the same way and sound levels seemed to be returning to where they should be. All in all, if you ignored a few things, like the dolls, the drugging, the locked door, what he was reading and the occasional photographs he was taking of my expressions as I slept – it was all quite cosy.
It must have been around about that time that I first heard a whisper. So faint was it and so full was my head of other stuff, that for a while, it didn’t register, so I ignored it. Then it got a little louder, at which point I deliberately ignored it. I didn’t know what drugs I might still have in my system, but I wasn’t taking chances. If it was Letitia or Adelaide trying to get through to me, I wasn’t taking calls. And then, the all-encompassing, musty dank scent of the room, to which I’d grown accustomed, was suddenly drenched and drowned by purple-deep lavender. I sucked in my breath sharply and the Lowbells both looked up.
“That bit…” I said, with no idea where we were in the tale, but confident we’d never be far from a gasp-eliciting section, “… always gets me.” Professor Lowbell nodded approvingly and turned his eyes back to the page.
“Ruth?” I said silently. Nothing. I tried again, still nothing and then, when I was about to blame imagination and wishful thinking, she was there, in my head.
“Stella? Thank God. At last. Are you all right? Where are you?” I gave a little sob out loud. Couldn’t help myself.
“Sorry.” I said to Professor Lowbell, who’d looked up again, sharply.
“This is really most interesting Stella.” He said, “You’re familiar with this text, yet your reactions are almost as if hearing it for the first time. Significant I think. Dotty, make a note, will you?”
“Done.” She jotted, put the notebook back on the table and then patted my arm. “I think my dear we’re feeling a teeny bit perkier today, than of late, what do you say? Time for some more medicine soon though, don’t want that pesky temperature shooting up again.” I nodded and let my eyelids droop.
“I’m actually pretty tired.” I said and yawned. “I’ll just shut my eyes for a bit first, if you don’t mind.” After a moment or two, I felt her breath, unpleasantly hot on my cheek, as she leaned heavily over me.
“Hmm, gone again.” She murmured to him. “Maybe only one spoonful on the next dose? What do you think, Lowbell?” I could hear him shift in his chair and re-adjust the folder on his knee.
“No, the higher dose is good. More time we have with her asleep, the more access to her sub-conscious. I’m truly intrigued, Dottie, her reactions aren’t always as I’d expect.” I turned in the bed, onto my side, away from them, concentrating on breathing evenly. Right now I’d been thrown a lifeline, I needed to grab that with both hands.
“Stella, can you hear me?” I wanted to shriek back at Ruth, that of course I could bloody well hear her, but struggle as I might, I couldn’t get a thought out there. I couldn’t make her hear me again, I felt switched off at source, like an unplugged hoover. The frustration was unbearable. I wanted to cry, scream, shout and bang my head against the pillow. Amidst all the angst though, I was thankful to the core that even if it was a one-way conversation, something at least must be coming back to me, it wasn’t gone for good.
“Stella, hang on. The others are with me now – Sam’s here too, we couldn’t reach you properly before, there’s something wrong, blocked.” For a second or so, I could feel them all behind her; Glory, Ed and Rachael, before they were over-ridden by the unmistakeable, soft buttery chocolate strength, that was Sam. The intervening years, had in no way faded my memories, and for a second or two, I instinctively tried to protect myself, both from him and the fear I’d experienced then. But as he moved through my mind, I could feel him scanning, assessing, re-adjusting and I reckoned things couldn’t get much worse, I might as well let him see what he could do.
There was a sharp, painful, internal tug in my head, that vanished almost as I felt it. And suddenly I was flooded. Cascades of sound, sensation, and thought – loud, loud, loud. I yelped, then remembered where I was and turned it into a snorey kind of a snort. My head felt wide open and – like a library in an earthquake – everything inside had fallen off the shelves, to make a terribly mixed mess on the floor, no sense, no order. I could feel the others, holding back until I’d gained some control and organised everything as best I could.
I knew I wasn’t back to normal, there were things missing that shouldn’t have been. I could read both Lowbells now, loud and clear and, like the fairy tales, they didn’t make for pleasant reading. I’d have to focus on that shortly. But I still couldn’t, for the life of me, move anything, I had my back turned to the notebook and pen on my bedside table, but knew they were obstinately static.
“Wait!” Well, no mistaking who’d appointed herself spokeswoman, although I appreciated the fact they weren’t all talking at once. Rachael cut through to the nub. “Sam’s done what he can. You’ve been pretty ill with this virus, but you’ve also got high levels of sedative and hallucinogenic in your system, he can’t work out how you’re still conscious. Mind you,” A swift thought, directed at the others as much as me, “He may not appreciate how bloody minded you are! Anyway, don’t worry, you’ll get everything back, this is probably only temporary, but listen, don’t let them give you anything else. Can you hear me? Can you answer? Do you understand?
“Of course I understand.” I snapped back at her. “Not stupid, just in a bit of a sticky situation here.”
“Stella, the situation is serious.”
“Well, I know that. I am the one stuck in a locked room, with a lorry-load of dolls, drugged up to the eyeballs – me, not the dolls – and two lunatics taking happy snappy, shots.” Glory broke in.
“Shut up a minute Stella, do you know where you are?”
“Well of course I do – in Hampstead, at the Lowbell’s house, they’re clients… ”
“No you’re not.”
“Yes I am.”
“No, you’re not.” It was all starting to sound a bit pantomime and I wanted to laugh, but maybe that was just the sheer relief of being in contact again.
“The police searched the house, top to bottom.” Glory said. That stopped me in my tracks.
“Well I must be here, where else could I be?” I paused, “Anyway if Ruth found me, you know where I am.”
“She found you, because she heard you, but that doesn’t mean you’ve popped up with an add
ress and postcode.” Rachael put in – always with the sarcasm.
“When? When did they search the house?” I asked.
“Last week.” said Glory.
“Last week?” I was having trouble keeping up the regular breathing thing. “How long… ?”
“Eight days, you’ve been missing for eight days.”
“Didn’t know if you were dead or alive, till just now.” Rachael grumbled, although behind the gruffness I caught acute anxiety, I was touched, but immediately thought of what my family must be going through.
“You have to let them know I’m OK… promise me… right away.”
“Of course,” Glory said. “But listen Stella, we may not have much time. You’re not the first.”
“Not the first what?”
“Victim.” Said Rachael.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“You know,” Sam cut in, “I think she is, where she thinks she is. When Boris went in with the police, he wouldn’t have heard her, if she wasn’t conscious.”
“But they searched the whole house, didn’t find anything.” Said Glory.
“If she was hidden, they wouldn’t have done.” Sam, adept as ever, at pointing out the blindingly obvious. But I now had a rather more urgent query.
“What do you mean, victim? Are you saying they’ve done this before?” There was a muttered confab at the other end, before Glory said,
“We think so.”
“And?”
“And what?” she said. I tutted internally, this was no time to dance around an issue.
“What happened to the others?”
“We don’t think it ended well.” Said Rachael. “But not to worry, Ruth and Sam both agree you’re still in Hampstead, we’ve got it all in hand. Trust me.” And of course I did. She might be the most infuriating woman on the planet, but if she said it was in hand, it was in hand. “And Stella,” She added. “Try not to do anything at all until we get there, am I clear?”
“Well, I can’t do a lot of anything at the moment, can I?” I huffed, “So no need to worry.”
“I mean it.” She said, and then they were all gone. I felt bereft.
However, I felt more myself at that point, than at any time over the last few (eight?) days, and vastly relieved to have confirmation on the drugging front. No wonder I hadn’t known which way was up. It was also a far better scenario than thinking I’d gone ga-ga. Whatever Sam had shifted in my head had been at least part-way effective, and if the Lowbells still thought they could do what they liked with me, they had another think coming – the cavalry was on its way and I was starting to see light at the end of the tunnel.
Dorothy was shaking my arm gently and I turned over and ‘woke’ reluctantly, flinching as my leg inadvertently touched Letitia’s.
“Come on sleepy head, time for your medicine.” There were pills again on her outstretched palm and from the corner of my eye, I spotted Professor Lowbell standing by with the bottle of thick yellow stuff and a spoon, nurse’s little helper, ready for action. I shook my head firmly as I sat up.
“I’m sorry, but I’m feeling awfully sick, I absolutely couldn’t swallow anything right now.”
“Nonsense,” she said firmly. “These will make you feel heaps better.” I shook my head again, more slowly this time. I’d scanned her briefly earlier, when Sam had done whatever it was he did, but hadn’t really taken in too much. Now I did, and perhaps wished I hadn’t. Behind the so familiar, comfortably plump, erudite, Dorothy mask, was something else altogether. The depth and breadth of that was overwhelming and as her scent washed over me, musky and musty, the taste and smell of fabrics and clay rotted with time, I retched, couldn’t help it.
“Dear, oh dear,” she said, “Now, that’s not good is it? Poor you.” Let’s leave the pills for the moment then. Lowbell, hand me that bottle please, the medicine will sort your tummy.” I wasn’t about to point out, that up till now, it had been a decongestant, and I certainly wasn’t going to take any, but she had other ideas. Actually, that wasn’t strictly true, her mind wasn’t similar to anything I’d come across before, it was full of images, rather than any kind of linear logical thought.
“No,” I said, “I really can’t.”
“Oh, I think you can.” And before I could move away, she’d placed her thumb and index finger, hard and lengthways against my upper and lower lips, forced my mouth open and tossed in a fully loaded spoonful. “Lowbell.” She said, and the Professor who, even in these last crazy days had always treated me with almost courtly courtesy, now obediently reached forward and roughly massaged my throat – just the way my father did when medicating the cat. It was equally effective, I swallowed, impossible not to. And before I could catch my breath, they’d whacked in another dose. Oh this wasn’t good, this was very definitely not going to plan.
I don’t know whether what they’d just forced into me was different or stronger than before, the effect was certainly immediate. Or maybe it was me that was different this time round? Whatever Sam had done, he’d brought me a long way back to normal – my normal. So when the drugs took me wherever they wanted, a whole load of other stuff came too.
All the previous nightmares of the last few days had arrived when I was asleep – not great – but at least in the realms of the expected. This time I didn’t sleep, but the nightmares swept in anyway. Snow White, clutching her bleeding heart in her hand; her stepmother, in red-hot, iron shoes, dancing on in torment till she died; Cinderella’s sisters, with bloodied stumps where they’d sliced off a toe to fit into the glass slipper; Kay, from The Snow Queen, shards of ice embedded agonisingly in eye and heart. All in all there was a lot of unpleasant stuff going on in my head.
And then there were the dolls, so many dolls and multiplying. Dolls on the shelves on the walls of the room, now moving round again, a sickening, slow-motion, up and down carousel. More dolls in the head of Dorothy, uncountable images. Bright eyed and sightless; torsos with no limbs, limbs with no bodies; detached heads with gold curls, matted locks tied with pristine ribbon; ripped fabric faces and faces with no features. All carrying their own history, of hands that had played with them; loved them; feared them; cried over them; punished them; lost them; found them; left them to rot.
I could feel myself sinking, going down, overwhelmed. But buried below the vertigo and loss of reality, there was one small, cold part of me that understood, that wasn’t lost, that knew exactly what they were doing. I was a lab rat. They hadn’t planned to take me, it was too risky, I was too close, but when I was taken ill and virtually collapsed on them, the opportunity was simply too good to miss. They hadn’t had something to play with, for a good long time. They wanted to use me, to observe and learn and, to all intents and purposes, I’d dropped into their laps. In one part of the circling, see-sawing room, Professor Lowbell had his camera ready. His wife had her notebook open and was busy jotting. They were both leaning forward, hungrily watching.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The drugs had opened me up even more, to what I’d been swamped with, for days now, both awake and asleep. Stories and dolls, sensory overload. No wonder, as Kitty would have said, I couldn’t tell my arse from my elbow. It had been going on the whole time I was there, but the effect on me now, with some of my senses regained, was intensely magnified. Of course, they couldn’t have known that. Nor could they have anticipated that small, cold core that remained me, in the middle of the mayhem. I was angry. I was very angry and I had complete faith in young Sam. If he said all my abilities would come back, then come back they would – and what better time to see if he was right.
I thought I might start with Letitia, who’d been getting on my wick, for some time now. I focused and threw her out of bed. I was a little clumsy, getting back into the swing of things, and might have misjudged distances slightly. She rocketed out of there, like she’d been shot from a
cannon, smashing into the bedside light on her side, and bringing it crashing down with her. Well that was a result – it may have lacked finesse, but I suddenly felt a whole lot better.
The Lowbells exchanged meaningful looks.
“Dear me,” said Dorothy, pen poised over notebook, “Now, why did you push poor Letitia like that Stella, don’t you like her?”
“I do not like her.” I enunciated carefully. Whilst I may have been thinking more clearly, I was still having a bit of a problem speaking, my tongue was still playing up.
“Why don’t you like her, Stella? Is it because she looks like you? Does that make you feel unhappy? Do you feel threatened?” Dorothy was leaning forward eagerly, eyes raking my expression. A fresh waft of her washed over me and in her excitement, the images in her mind were swirling. For a moment, in her head, I saw another woman in my bed, fair hair restrained by a green Alice band. Alongside her, lounged a Letitia-sized doll, also blonde haired and green Alice banded. This woman was ‘one of the others’. Another lab rat they’d had chasing round their maze. I opened my mouth then remembered the tongue, and also that actions so often speak louder than words.
From the top shelf, on the wall opposite, I slowly toppled one of the dolls, a rouged item with a perky feathered bonnet and a small basket over her arm. She fell, hit the parquet flooring and bounced slightly. Dorothy tutted and rose to go and restore her to the shelf.
Even Stranger Page 17