by John Saul
“Do you want to go up and look at the attic, too?” Charles asked.
Melissa shook her head. “I—I guess I must have been wrong,” she breathed. “But it was so real, Daddy. I was so sure I didn’t dream it.”
Charles slipped his arm around her and walked her back to her room, then tucked her into bed. “Do you want me to leave a light on?” he asked after he’d kissed her good night.
Melissa shook her head. “It’s all right. I’m not afraid of the dark.”
“Okay. Sleep tight, and if you have another bad dream, don’t be afraid to wake me up.” He switched off the light, closed her door, and returned to the master suite.
Phyllis, still sitting straight up in bed, arms crossed, began talking the moment he walked into the room. “She was sleepwalking again. If you’d let me use the restraints—”
Charles glared at his wife. “Those goddamned things aren’t a solution to the problem. She’s so terrified of them, they’ve become part of the problem itself! I’m calling Dr. Andrews tomorrow. I want him to talk to her.”
Phyllis’s head came up. “Oh, perfect!” she spat. “Everybody in town already thinks she’s crazy, and now you want to pack her off to that psychiatrist!”
“For God’s sake, Phyllis,” Charles shot back, his own voice rising to drown out his wife’s words. “She’s been through a lot the last couple of weeks. She’s had to adjust to Teri’s arrival, and tonight she watched a boy die! She’s in shock, and she’s got to be feeling confused and frightened. But tying her to the bed isn’t an answer, and it won’t hurt any of us to talk to Burt Andrews again—”
“And what about me?” Phyllis demanded, her voice rising to match her husband’s. “Do you think any of this has been easy for me? The only good thing that’s come out of this summer is Teri! She’s been an absolute angel to me, and to Melissa, too. And what does Melissa do? Dresses up like a ghost—whom she apparently thinks is real—and goes out and scares one of our friend’s children literally to death! She’s not crazy—she knows exactly what she’s doing, and she does it just to embarrass me! Well, I won’t have it. I tell you I—”
Her tirade stopped abruptly and she stared at Charles in stunned shock.
For the first time in their marriage, he’d slapped her.
Burying her face in her hands, she began to cry. Charles, stunned for a moment by his own action, stood frozen, then turned away. “I don’t suppose I should have done that,” he observed with ominous mildness as he got back into his bed. “But quite frankly, you deserved it.”
He reached over and switched off the light, then rolled onto his side, turning his back on his weeping wife.
Teri, who had been listening in the hall outside the master suite, crept away, then hurried back to her room, where she opened the bottom drawer of her chest and removed an object wrapped in a handkerchief. Carrying it to the bathroom, she made certain the door to Melissa’s room was locked, then unwrapped the object and placed it in the sink.
It was the hand from the mannequin in the attic, and now, as she washed the catsup she’d used for “blood” off the plaster, she looked it over carefully.
One of the fingers was chipped and another had cracked when she’d thrown it down the stairs.
But the trick had worked perfectly. Melissa, as she had the night she’d found Blackie hanging from the rafter, had instantly run to her parents’ room, and Teri had more than enough time to strip off the dress, stow it away in one of the trunks, then clean the few drops of catsup from the stairs before returning to her room, fully prepared to “wake up” if Melissa started screaming.
Instead, it had been her father and stepmother who started screaming, and she’d listened to every word of the fight.
A psychiatrist.
She smiled as she thought about what the psychiatrist would say when Melissa told him about D’Arcy. With any luck at all, they’d lock her up right away.
She dried the hand off, then left her room and went back to the attic, where she fitted it back onto the mannequin. At last, turning off the attic light, she returned to the second floor and her own room.
As she turned off the light and climbed into bed, she glanced out the window.
Across the terrace, beyond the pool, she could see Cora Peterson’s little house.
And in one of the windows on the second floor, she saw a figure dimly lit by the moonlight.
It was Tag.
She frowned, wondering how long he’d been there.
And how much he’d seen.
CHAPTER 22
Burt Andrews leaned back in the chair behind his desk, his eyes wandering to the calendar, where his regular Tuesday-morning golf game had been scratched out and the name “Holloway” scribbled in its place. When Charles Holloway had called him on Sunday morning, Andrews had tried to put him off until the following week, when one of his regular clients had canceled. But Holloway had kept after him, and finally, reluctantly, Andrews had agreed to reschedule his golf game. Now, listening to Charles explaining what had happened, his eyes flicked toward Melissa, who was sitting quietly in a chair between her parents, her hands folded in her lap, her head down. So far she hadn’t said much of anything at all, and Andrews was certain he knew why.
Phyllis.
Though she’d done her best to appear as if the only thing on her mind was her daughter’s welfare, she hadn’t been able to pull it off. What was really bothering her, Andrews was certain, was not what might be wrong with Melissa, but what her friends in Secret Cove might think was wrong with the child. “All right,” he said, leaning forward once more. “I think I have a grasp of what happened. Now I think it’s time I talked to Melissa alone.”
Charles rose to his feet immediately, but Andrews didn’t miss the flicker of wariness that came into Phyllis Holloway’s eyes, and he made a mental note to try to find out from Melissa what was really happening between mother and daughter. Then, as quickly as the oddly furtive look had crossed Phyllis’s face, it was gone, and she stood up, too. “We’ll be in the waiting room, dear,” she said, bending down to give Melissa a peck on the cheek.
Andrews’s expression reflected nothing as he saw Melissa unconsciously shrink away from her mother’s lips, nor did he speak until her parents had left the room. But as the door closed, he leaned back again and smiled encouragingly at the girl. “Sounds like it hasn’t been the greatest summer in history,” he said. “Are things pretty bad between you and your mother?”
Melissa hesitated, but finally nodded. “It—It seems like she’s mad at me all the time. It doesn’t matter what I do, it’s always wrong.” Her eyes glistened with tears, but she wiped them away, determined not to give in to them.
Andrews smiled sympathetically. “Don’t you just wish you could disappear sometimes?”
Melissa sniffled and looked up. How did Dr. Andrews know that? But then she remembered the last time she’d seen him, almost two years ago. At first she hadn’t liked him at all. His beard had hidden his face, and she’d always felt like she was talking to someone she couldn’t see. But as she’d gotten to know him, and begun to understand that he wouldn’t laugh at her no matter what she said, she’d started liking him. In fact, now that she was actually here, she realized she really wanted to talk to him. Except for D’Arcy, he was about the only person she wasn’t afraid to talk to. She nodded. “I wish we didn’t come here in the summer at all,” she said. “I like the city a lot better.”
“You have a lot of friends there?”
Melissa shrugged. “More than out here, anyway.”
“What about D’Arcy?” Andrews asked.
Melissa shifted in her chair and her eyes clouded slightly. “Wh-What about her?” she asked.
Andrews cocked his head slightly. “Well, she’s always been your best friend out here, hasn’t she?”
Melissa hesitated, but finally nodded. “B-But she’s not real. I made her up.”
“What if you didn’t?” Andrews suggested, his brows lifti
ng slightly. “What if she’s a real person?”
The cloud in Melissa’s eyes darkened. “But she can’t be. I mean, there’s the ghost story, but …” Her voice trailed off as she remembered the vision she’d seen at the top of the attic stairs late on Saturday night.
“I’m not talking about the ghost story,” Andrews told her, leaning forward once more to rest his forearms on his desk. “But it seems to me that D’Arcy might be something more than someone you just made up. Maybe she’s someone who helps you out when things get so rough you just want to disappear.”
Now it was Melissa who cocked her head, her brows furrowing deeply. “You mean like when my mom’s really mad at me about something?”
Andrews felt a tingle of excitement, for there was something in Melissa’s voice that told him he’d struck close to home. “What happens when your mother gets really mad at you?” he asked, deliberately echoing Melissa’s exact words.
Melissa’s tongue ran nervously over her lower lip. “Sometimes,” she said hesitantly, “well, sometimes D’Arcy comes, and lets me go to sleep. And then when I wake up, it’s all over.”
Andrews nodded. “I see.” He picked up a pencil from his desk, twirling it idly. “What about when your father’s home, on the weekends? Does your mother get as mad at you then?”
Melissa glanced unconsciously toward the door, then shook her head. “It’s better on the weekends,” she admitted.
Andrews nodded almost absently, as if the words held little importance to him, then smiled. “How would you like to try an experiment?”
Melissa looked at him cautiously. “What kind of experiment?”
Andrews grinned at her. “How would you like to be hypnotized?” Melissa’s eyes widened and she looked almost frightened. “It would be just like going to sleep,” Andrews assured her. “Like when D’Arcy comes. Only this time I would be the one who puts you to sleep.”
“Why?” Melissa asked, her eyes wary.
Andrews considered his next words carefully. He didn’t want to frighten Melissa, but he didn’t want to lie to her, either. “Well,” he said, “I’d like to find out what happens when you go to sleep, and the easiest way for me to do that would be to talk to D’Arcy.”
For several seconds Melissa said nothing, and when she finally spoke, there was a slight tremor in her voice. “W-Will it hurt?”
Andrews laughed out loud. “Of course it won’t hurt,” he replied. “In fact, it might not even work. But if it does, you’ll just feel as though you’re going to sleep, but you won’t really be asleep.”
Melissa still seemed to hesitate. “If you talk to D’Arcy, will you tell me what she says?”
Andrews nodded. “Of course.” He talked to her for a few minutes more, explaining to her what he was going to do, and finally she nodded.
“Do I have to watch a pendulum or something?”
“Nope. Just listen to what I’m telling you, and try to concentrate on nothing except the sound of my voice. I’m going to talk to you, and you’re going to get sleepy. You’re going to find your eyelids getting heavy, and you’re going to want to close them. Now your arms and legs are going to get heavy, too. So heavy you won’t be able to lift them. And you’re going to get sleepier and sleepier, and now you’re going to go to sleep …”
His voice droned on, and after a few moments Melissa’s eyes finally closed.
“Melissa, can you hear me?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Open your eyes, Melissa.”
The girl’s eyes blinked open, and she sat still in the chair, staring at him.
“Raise your right arm, Melissa.”
Melissa’s arm rose up until it extended straight out from her shoulder, where it remained, held so steady it could have been suspended by wires from the ceiling. He kept talking to her, his voice still droning quietly, and finally, when he was certain she was deep in a hypnotic trance, he told her to lower her arm.
“Now I want you to close your eyes,” he went on, “and then I want you to go to sleep so I can talk to D’Arcy.”
As he watched, her arm settled back onto the arm of the chair and her eyes closed once more.
“D’Arcy?” he asked softly. “D’Arcy, can you hear me?”
There was no reaction from Melissa at all. She simply sat in the chair, her eyes closed, unmoving.
Andrews kept talking, urging the second personality he was almost certain resided within Melissa to come forth. “I need to talk to you,” he said. “I need to talk to you about Melissa. Wouldn’t you like to talk to me, too?”
There was no reaction from Melissa, not even a flicker of movement from her eyes. And yet, from what she’d told him, he was sure that somewhere within her subconscious, the “D’Arcy” personality was there, if he could only reach it.
In his mind he reviewed what he knew of the multiple personality disorder, in which a single individual literally divided the various aspects of his personality into separate entities, each of which reacted to the outside world in a specific manner. If he was right, then D’Arcy—the personality equipped to deal with Phyllis Holloway’s unending criticism and anger toward her daughter—might see no reason to come forth now. Indeed, if she feared discovery might lead to something that could harm Melissa, it could be very difficult to reach her. Finally, he decided to try a different tactic. “Melissa,” he said. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“I want you to talk to D’Arcy for me. Can you do that?”
There was a momentary silence, then Melissa uttered a single word. “No.”
Andrews frowned. He’d been so sure. “Why not?” he asked. “Why can’t you talk to her?”
“Because she isn’t here.”
Andrews’s frown deepened. “Where is she? Do you know?”
Melissa hesitated, but finally spoke again. “Yes,” she breathed.
“Tell me where she is, Melissa.”
There was a long silence, and then Melissa spoke once more. “She—She’s at home,” she breathed. “She’s in the attic.”
Andrews probed a little further but could find out nothing more. Apparently the D’Arcy personality was buried so deep that Melissa couldn’t contact it unless she were under stress. But in time, Andrews was sure, that would change. Or perhaps he was completely wrong and D’Arcy didn’t exist at all.
Five minutes later Melissa blinked, opened her eyes, then cocked her head. “When are we going to start?” she asked.
Andrews grinned at her. “We already started,” he said. “In fact, we’re all finished.”
Melissa’s eyes widened in surprise. “We are? How come I don’t remember what happened?”
Andrews chuckled. “Well, for one thing, not much happened. I tried to talk to D’Arcy, but I don’t think she trusts me yet. She wouldn’t talk to me at all.”
Melissa seemed to shrink into the chair slightly. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked, her voice anxious.
“No, of course not,” Andrews hastily reassured her. “It will just take some time, that’s all. But you could do me a favor.” Melissa gazed at him questioningly. “When you talk to her, you could tell her it’s all right for her to talk to me.”
“But if she doesn’t want to …” Melissa began.
Dr. Andrews shrugged. “If she doesn’t want to, she doesn’t have to,” he said. He leaned back in his chair, then another thought occurred to him. “Do you ever talk to D’Arcy in the city?”
Now Melissa looked completely baffled. “How can I?” she said. “She lives out here.”
Andrews nodded. And out here, he thought, your father isn’t around all week. Out here, you’re left alone with your mother, and that’s when you need D’Arcy most. He reached out, pressed a button on his intercom, and a moment later Charles and Phyllis Holloway came in. “That’s it for today,” he told Melissa. “I’ll just talk to your parents for a minute, and then you can go home.”
Melissa’s eyes once again flicked toward her mothe
r, but she said nothing, scurrying quickly out of the office.
When he was alone with her parents, Andrews gave them an encouraging smile. “Well, I think we have a few problems, but nothing we can’t handle. Melissa’s been under considerable stress the last few weeks.”
“We’ve all been under stress, Dr. Andrews—” Phyllis interrupted, but Andrews held up a hand.
“Of course you have,” he agreed. “But at this point I’m not certain what’s happening with Melissa. I have a couple of theories, and I’d like to talk to her again.”
“Theories?” Phyllis demanded. “What kind of theories?”
Andrews sighed, and forced a smile. “I’m afraid that until I have a better grasp on things, I really can’t go into it. I don’t want you to worry when there may be nothing at all to worry about.”
“But what are we supposed to do?” Phyllis pressed. “If she keeps walking in her sleep—”
“I’m not sure that’s what’s happening,” Andrews broke in. “There are several possibilities I want to explore. For now, the best thing you can do is simply let her rest. She’s been under a lot of strain, and it’s affecting her.” His eyes fixed on Phyllis. “Just let her be herself,” he said. “Try not to pressure her.”
Phyllis’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t,” she said. “I give her guidance, which is my job, since I happen to be her mother. I just want her to fit in with all her friends. But the way she’s been behaving, the things she thinks she sees …”
“Melissa and I will be discussing all that, too,” Andrews said, rising to his feet and moving toward the door. “But the best thing you can do right now is simply be patient with her. She’s going through a lot of changes. Her age—”
Phyllis’s expression hardened. “That’s easy for you to say, Dr. Andrews. But what about the rest of us? What about Teri and me? Perhaps—Well, perhaps we ought to send Melissa away for a while?”
Charles, stunned by the words, stared at his wife, but before he could say anything at all, Dr. Andrews spoke.
“That might be something to consider later on,” he said. “But right now I don’t see that it would accomplish anything except make her feel more insecure than she already does. The best thing you can do, Mrs. Holloway, is let her know that you love her and approve of her just the way she is. If she does things that annoy you, try not to show it. She’s very frightened, particularly of you. She wants your approval, but doesn’t know how to get it. So just show her that you love her. Do you think you can do that?”