When Your Eyes Close

by Tanya Farrelly

  CHAPTER SIX

  Michelle

  The rain was coming down in sheets as Michelle and Conor made their way from the premises on Capel Street onto the quays, their backpacks loaded with sandwiches and flasks of hot tea and soup. Michelle checked her phone, as she had been doing compulsively all afternoon, while Conor poured soup for the homeless man on the bridge, and then took from his pocket some treats for the Jack Russell who sat obediently by the man’s side. No messages. She put the phone away and stooped to fondle the dog’s ears.

  ‘How’s it going, Tommy?’ she asked the man.

  He nodded and slurped the soup. She didn’t ask if he was hoping to get into a shelter; he’d told her before that he was a loner, that all he needed was the dog, Buddy, for company. ‘Have you eaten at all today, Tommy?’ she asked. The man stopped to think.

  ‘Had the best steak you can imagine,’ he said, ‘back in 1993.’ He laughed at his own joke as he unwrapped the tuna sandwiches Conor had given him. The dog was crunching on a biscuit as they closed their backpacks and moved on.

  Michelle was used to the run. Usually, she even enjoyed it. Nick had asked her if it wasn’t too dangerous, but she told him, no, that the volunteers always went out in pairs, and that some of the homeless people were the nicest, gentlest people you could meet. She’d been appalled by some of the stories they’d told her. They’d been spat on, and worse, by drunken fools who thought themselves superior; their deplorable behaviour proving the exact opposite to their own skewed beliefs.

  As they continued along the North Quays, it occurred to Michelle that she hadn’t recently seen the homeless couple that usually sat on the Ha’penny Bridge.

  ‘Hey, what’s happened to Dolly and Jim? I haven’t seen them in a while,’ she asked Conor.

  Conor sighed and looked at her. ‘Jim passed away – pneumonia,’ he said.

  ‘Shit.’ Michelle felt tears prick her eyes as she thought of the couple always making jokes and sitting close together. She took a deep breath. Conor looked at her and she turned away so that he wouldn’t see the tears.

  ‘It sucks, I know,’ he said.

  Michelle nodded, not trusting herself to speak. It didn’t seem right, Dolly without Jim. She wondered where Dolly was, whether she’d been forced to seek refuge in a shelter now that her partner was gone. Michelle took a deep breath, then lowered her head and quickened her step to match Conor’s. By the time they were out of sandwiches and had returned to the premises, Nick had still not called.

  ‘I’m off. See you guys on Friday,’ Michelle called. She ducked out of the building and ran down the narrow stairs before anyone had a chance to engage her in conversation. Usually sociable, she couldn’t face talking to anyone today and as she stepped out into the street she swallowed back more tears. Why hadn’t Nick called?

  In the car, the tears came again. Something was wrong – and she couldn’t bear to be kept in ignorance. She wiped her eyes, breathed deep and turned on the ignition.

  It was after ten o’clock when Michelle found herself outside Nick’s house again. She turned on the dim overhead light and checked herself in the rear-view mirror, then took her compact from her bag to renew her foundation and coat her lips with pink gloss. She didn’t look too bad considering the day she’d had. She took a deep breath, got out of the car and walked up to the front door. Her heart thumped as she rang the bell and waited for him to answer. A few minutes passed and she leaned on the bell again. She heard movement inside, and through the frosted glass of the hall window she saw Nick descend the stairs.

  He didn’t look pleased to see her. He ran a hand through his already dishevelled hair. She noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes, and his hands were shaking. ‘What are you doing here?’ he said.

  ‘I was worried. Can I come in for a minute? I won’t stay long.’

  He stood back, avoiding her eyes as she stepped past him into the hall. He followed her into the kitchen.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she said.

  ‘I’m fine. You shouldn’t have come, Michelle. I was going to call you …’ He still didn’t meet her eye.

  She put a hand on his arm. ‘Nick, what’s going on? Why have you been avoiding me?’

  ‘I haven’t, I’ve been busy that’s all …’ He stepped away from her, crossed the kitchen to the dishwasher and began emptying it.

  Michelle stood in the middle of the room, lost. ‘Can’t we at least talk about it?’

  ‘Sure, but you shouldn’t just show up like this. It’s not fair.’

  ‘Not fair? Do you think it’s fair to just ignore me? I’ve been worried sick. You haven’t called in days. I thought there was something wrong. And obviously there is, but we need to talk about it, Nick. I mean … is it me, am I the problem?’

  Nick shook his. ‘No, it’s not you. Not personally.’ He stopped putting away the dishes and turned to look at her. ‘I’m sorry, Michelle. Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I just don’t feel that great right now. Can’t we do this another time?’

  Another time. Another four days of silence, more maybe? ‘No. I’m sorry, Nick, but I can’t go on like this; not knowing what’s happening between us. If you want to finish it, then it would be better if you just told me.’

  He didn’t say anything for a minute. ‘Look, Michelle, you know I’m crazy about you. It’s just … I don’t think I can do this right now. Maybe it was too soon after my divorce, everything happened so quickly.’

  She was fighting back the tears. This was the last thing she wanted, and if he was so crazy about her, what the hell was he doing? ‘So, what? We just end it – walk away and pretend we never met?’

  Nick took a deep breath. He looked like hell, and she wondered if there was something else going on. ‘I don’t want to string you along … not when I don’t know what …’

  ‘Nick, you’ve been stringing me along for days. I thought we were happy, I thought we were doing great … what happened to change your mind? Is it your ex-wife, is that it?’

  ‘Susan? No, that’s got nothing to do with it.’

  ‘What then? I just wish you’d give me a reason …’

  ‘I’m sorry … I guess I’m just not ready. I’m so sorry, Michelle, I really am.’

  ‘Right, well that’s it then. There’s nothing I can say to change your mind.’

  He pinched the sides of his nose, shook his head. For a minute she thought he was crying. It was all she could do to keep back her own tears. ‘Right, well, there’s a bag of stuff upstairs, clothes … If you don’t mind, I’ll go up and get it.’

  ‘No. No, go ahead.’

  Rowdy sniffed beneath the sitting room door as she passed. She walked on, seeing the dog would surely make her come undone. At the top of the stairs she paused. This might be her last time in this house, and she didn’t even know why. She wished he’d change his mind, follow her up the stairs and tell her not to go, but he didn’t. In the bedroom, she picked up her slippers from her side of the bed, put them in the bag that she’d left there for convenience. He’d told her there was no need to keep taking it every time she left, and so she’d taken it home once a week to fill it with clean clothes, but this time there’d be no coming back. She stood at the end of the bed, looked round the room, committing everything to memory. When she neared the door, she noticed something on his bedside locker. It was a container of pills and, curious, she picked them up. Valium the label read. Surprised, she put them down again. What was he doing taking Valium? He’d never mentioned being on any sort of medication. She’d never seen him take it.

  ‘Did you get everything?’ Nick asked as Michelle headed back downstairs.

  She nodded. ‘Nick, those tablets on your locker … is everything all right?’

  He looked taken aback, but then sighed resignedly. ‘Yeah, I’ve just been a bit stressed, you know. Work … the doctor said they’d help.’

  ‘Okay. Look, if there was anything else wrong, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you? I’m here for you, Nic
k, if you need me. I can be a friend if you’re not ready for anything more …’

  ‘I know.’

  He walked with her to the door. She waited for him to say that he’d call her, anything that might give her hope, but instead he just hugged her awkwardly, and told her to take care of herself.

  ‘You too,’ she said, and hurried to the car before he could see just how badly he’d hurt her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Nick

  In daylight, Tessa’s house was even more impressive. Nick looked out across the lake as he stood on the porch waiting for someone to answer. Round the back, he could hear children playing, their squeals of innocent delight. Tessa answered the door herself this time.

  ‘Hello, Nick. Please, come in.’ Her smile was warm as she stepped back to admit him.

  The medication had helped, for the shakes at least. He’d felt like hell after Michelle’s visit. He’d gone into the sitting room and sat on the sofa crying, the pain so bad that nothing could ease it, and the only one he could blame was himself. The dog had looked at him, puzzled, and he’d buried his face in its fur until the convulsions had eased. But he knew that he’d done the right thing. If he’d been honest, Michelle would have insisted on staying. Better that she think he was a total bastard and get on with her life. She’d get over him; he wasn’t that special. Not like her.

  ‘How have you been?’ Tessa asked as she led him into the small office.

  ‘Up. Down. The doctor prescribed Librium and Valium. They’re helping a bit. How many sessions do you think I’ll need before the urges stop?’

  Tessa indicated for him to lie back in the chair. ‘It’s different for everyone,’ she said. ‘I know it’s only been two days, but have you noticed any difference?’

  He shook his head, took off his jacket and sat into the chair.

  As soon as he did so, the visions came back – the confabulation. He wasn’t surprised. His dreams always came back to him as soon as he got into bed at night. He tried not to think about it.

  Tessa must have seen his discomfort because she referred to it at once.

  ‘I know you’re probably a bit nervous after what happened last time, Nick, but it’s not common, so try to put it from your mind. Just lie back and try to relax.’

  He took a deep breath, exhaled it shakily.

  ‘That’s it,’ the woman said.

  She began with the same instructions as last time. Her voice was gentle, lulling him towards unconsciousness. This time he didn’t fight as much. He allowed his body to slacken limb by limb as she told him to. Sleep deprivation aided his hypnosis. He was aware, but from somewhere far away, of Tessa’s voice telling him to make a fist, to think of a time when he felt empowered, when he felt strong. He thought of Michelle again, but then he remembered that Michelle wouldn’t be there anymore, and he let himself drift back, and back further still to the time before he married Susan. To his youth and then suddenly to his childhood.

  He’s in a playground, his father pushing him on a swing. He laughs, asks his father to push him higher. He kicks his legs out, catapults himself into the air, hands gripping the metal chains. Then suddenly, the scene changes. He’s the one pushing the swing. He’s laughing still, but his laughter is joined by a high-pitched squeal of delight. ‘Hold on tight,’ he says, as he pushes the swing and the little girl in jeans and a yellow T-shirt flies forward – pigtails sailing behind her as the swing pauses at the crest before making the descent into his waiting hands. ‘Okay Caitie, we’d better get going,’ he says, as he steadies the swing and helps her down. But she’s already running towards the slide.

  The images shift between his life and the unknown. Sometimes, he’s aware of Tessa’s voice guiding him. She tells him that he’s somewhere quiet, somewhere peaceful and he sees himself in a field by a small stream.

  He’s gathering firewood, but he’s his other self – the one with long hair. He has a moustache. He’s just lit the fire when he hears voices, singing. He looks up, smiles. A woman is coming through the trees, it’s Rachel. The little girl skips next to her, jumps through the long grass. She runs towards him singing one of their favourite songs – ‘Kisses Sweeter than Wine’.

  ‘Nick.’ Tessa was calling to him.

  Nick? No, John. Johnny, that’s what Rachel called him.

  ‘I’m going to count from one to five, Nick. When I get to five, you will open your eyes. You will feel good. You will feel relaxed.’

  The images were fading. The woman and the little girl moving beyond reach. He was reluctant to wake. He wanted to stay there in the camp with Rachel and their child. Their little girl, Caitlin. That was her name: Caitie.

  His eyes fluttered.

  ‘One. You’re coming back now, Nick. Two. You’re becoming aware of your body again. Three. You’re bringing with you all of those good feelings. Four. You are aware of the sounds around you. Five. You’re opening your eyes, Nick. Open them slowly. Keeping hold of those positive feelings.’

  He blinked. Closed his eyes again. Caitie.

  ‘Open your eyes, Nick.’

  He opened them, saw Tessa hovering next to him. She smiled. ‘You did great, Nick. Just take your time now.’

  He lay there a few minutes longer trying to hold on to the images of the woman and the girl, but they had faded – nothing left but an all-too-real memory. He opened his eyes, sat up. Tessa had turned the light on, she was poised at her desk waiting for him to speak.

  ‘She was there again.’

  Tessa eyed him, curious. ‘Who?’

  ‘Rachel. The woman from last time. We were camping. I was lighting a fire and they appeared from the trees, Rachel and Caitlin.’

  ‘Who is Caitlin?’

  ‘My daughter.’

  Tessa nodded. ‘Are you close to your daughter, Nick?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t have any children, it was in the dream. In the dream, Caitlin was our daughter – mine and Rachel’s.’

  Tessa looked perturbed. ‘This woman, Rachel, do you know her in real life? Could she be someone from your past?’

  ‘I don’t think so. And yet, I feel like I know her; she’s so real. And Cait – the little girl … I’d like to go back,’ he said suddenly. ‘Maybe I can find out more information, figure out what’s going on.’

  Tessa shook her head. ‘You’ve done enough for today,’ she said. ‘I can’t explain these images, Nick. Maybe as we go on, it’ll become clear. Maybe these people are part of your past, something you’ve blocked out.’

  Nick looked at her, incredulous. ‘I couldn’t have blocked out something like that. I’d know if I had a wife, a daughter. It’s just not possible.’

  Tessa picked up her pen, scanned her diary to make their next appointment. ‘That’s not quite what I meant. Maybe these people take a different form in your confabulations. I’m not sure. We’ll just have to see what comes out in subsequent sessions.’

  ‘What about that thing you said before? About past lives?’ Even as he said it, the cynic in his head scoffed at the thought. But the images were so real …

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t believe in that. I think we get one chance here, let’s try and make sure you get the best one you can. Now, how about Friday?’ she said.

  Friday. Only two days away – he reckoned he could manage that.

  As Nick got in the car, he fought the temptation to phone Michelle. He’d like to talk to someone, to tell them what was happening to him, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He had to figure it out himself. Maybe what Tessa said was true. Maybe Rachel was a version of someone he knew, of Susan maybe? Although, even as it occurred to him, he didn’t believe it. And Caitlin – his little girl – where had she come from?

  Nick got back to the house, took his Valium, and sat at his computer. He typed ‘past life regression’ into the search engine again, this time ignoring the voice in his head that told him that it was all nonsense. What if it wasn’t … if there was the sliver of a chance that it was true? It would explain
why the experience he’d had under hypnosis had seemed so real. It would explain why Rachel – her name had even taken on a new significance for him – seemed more than a conjuring of his imagination. It would mean that death was not the end.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Caitlin

  Caitlin had hung up from the guards feeling frustrated. She’d asked to speak to Walt Gallagher, the sergeant who had been in charge of David’s case, only to be told that he’d retired the month before and nobody had deigned to tell her. When she’d asked who had taken over the sergeant’s cases, she’d been told in a disinterested tone that the speaker had no idea. His work had most likely been distributed among the force.

  Trying to keep her cool, she’d asked if she could speak to someone senior in the office. The man on desk duty had enquired what it was about, making her relay the whole story up until the phone call she’d received the previous night, while interjecting intermittently with the odd ‘mmm-hmm’ and ‘I see.’ When Caitlin had reached the end of the story, the man transferred her to someone else, someone who had, apparently, taken over the case from Gallagher. The new sergeant, Trevor Parks, had her retell the story of David’s disappearance again. When she’d told him about the anonymous phone call, Parks didn’t seem too excited. Instead, he’d told her that more than ninety per cent of the time, this type of call turned out to be a hoax. It was not something to pin her hopes to. Probably, it had been some sicko who’d read about the case in the paper and thought it would be funny to make a crank call.

  ‘But the case hasn’t been mentioned in the paper for months,’ Caitlin had interjected.

  The sergeant had told her then that there had been an article about Ireland’s missing in the magazine in the Sunday World the previous week. Maybe David was mentioned in that? He didn’t have access to the article himself, but maybe Caitlin should contact the paper to find out.

  ‘What will you do?’ she’d asked. ‘Can you trace the call?’