My sojourn through Anthony Faircloth’s mind took more out of me than I realized. For that and a hundred other reasons, the logical side of my brain screams to leave. To cut bait and run.
But if I don’t help this kid, who will?
By Monday morning, I’m finally recovered and head for one of the local parks for a jog. The burn through my thighs and calves helps to clear my mind. Two trains of thought vie for supremacy as I start my fifth lap around the miniature lake: Anthony Faircloth’s strange malady and this Julianna Wagner girl the news channels can’t seem to stop talking about. Not to mention the undeniable feeling the answer to the first is somehow wrapped up in the second.
I arrive at Archer’s office a few minutes before two for our follow-up session. I’m not certain if he considers what happened with Anthony a breakthrough, but he agreed to give up his lone administrative time this week to be a part of the next step. The doctor in him no doubt wants to supervise every aspect of his patient’s care, but if I were putting money down in Vegas, I’d bet his sudden change of tune has a lot more to do with him wanting to watch the show.
In that way, the good Dr. Archer is just like everybody else.
As we settle into his office and wait for the Faircloth family to arrive, I break the uncomfortable silence with a question.
“What do you know about Julianna Wagner?”
“Julianna Wagner?” He raises an eyebrow. “What do you know about her?”
“Only what they’re saying on the news. Pretty sad case, don’t you think?”
“Why do you ask?” Archer maintains a steely facade as he tries to play off the suspicion in his voice, though the whiff of spoiled milk at the back of my mind is a dead giveaway.
“It’s just… one of the pictures the news keeps putting on the screen shows her with Anthony’s brother at a formal.” I lean in. “Were Julianna and Jason Faircloth dating?”
“At one point.” Archer runs his fingers through his thick hair. “Caroline told me they broke up a little over a month ago. Didn’t say why. At the time I figured it was just your garden variety high school drama.” He rubs his brow. “Boy, was I wrong.”
Scenes from last night’s various newscasts flicker through my memory. “Julianna has been missing for how long? Just under a month?”
His eyes drift closed in concentration. “She was last seen by a couple of friends in the stands at her school’s football game three weeks back. No one remembers seeing her there after halftime and she never made it home that night.”
I bite my lower lip, half afraid to ask the next question. “Isn’t that about the time Anthony began to have issues?”
Archer’s mouth turns up in a grim smile. “You’re quick, Ms. Tejedor. Everything with Anthony started the next day.”
“This Julianna girl dates Anthony’s brother for months, becomes a part of his life, and then one day after she disappears without a trace, his brain decides to take a sabbatical?”
“I know.” Archer raises his shoulders in a subtle shrug. “Seems like there should be a connection, but to the best of my knowledge no one has even told Anthony she’s missing.”
“Were they close?” I ask. “Julianna and Anthony?”
“As Caroline tells it, Julianna and Anthony got along just fine. In fact, sometimes she and Jason let him tag along when they’d go out for a movie he might like. You know, give their mother a night off every once in a while.”
“Any way he might know what happened to her? Something like that could push anyone over the edge, especially someone as fragile as Anthony.”
Archer shakes his head. “Anthony was sick the night Julianna vanished. From what I understand the whole family was cooped up that weekend with some kind of stomach bug. None of them left the house that night and everything with Anthony started the next morning, long before anything about Julianna’s disappearance hit the news.”
A question burns in my gut. “What about Jason? Any chance he’s hiding something?”
“Unlikely. The police questioned him the day after her disappearance and as you’ve seen, he’s not sitting in a jail cell.” Archer walks to the window and peers between the blinds. “I’ve known Jason for as long as I’ve been caring for Anthony. He may be a bit on the moody side, but he’s a good kid.”
“Of course.” I join him at the window and inspect the few feet of fractured asphalt that bridge the gap between his building and the next. “What were he and Julianna like?”
“I only saw them together once. It was Jason’s eighteenth birthday party, right at the end of summer. Caroline invited me to drop by for a bite of cake and some punch. One thing that day was pretty clear. When he’s with Julianna, Jason is a different person.” Archer returns to his chair and leans back, a wistful grin on his face. “As best as I remember, that party is the one time I’ve ever actually seen the boy smile.”
“I’ve been doing this a long time, Dr. Archer.” Rounding the desk, I return to my chair and rest both elbows on his plateau of cherry. “Not casting any aspersions, but anyone can put on a smile for the world.”
“A bit more cynical than I’d expect from someone like you.” Archer studies me for a moment. “All I’m saying is, he was as in love as any young man I’ve ever seen.”
Archer’s comment stings more than it should. “Even though they had broken up, Jason must have taken it hard. Any chance he let it slip to Anthony that Julianna was missing?”
“Anything is possible, I suppose, but I doubt it. As long as I’ve been working with the Faircloth family, Jason has always seen himself as Anthony’s protector. He’d be the last person to tell Anthony anything that would cause him pain. From what I understand, he’d already kept the breakup from him.”
“But maybe Anthony asked him―”
Agnes pokes her head in the door.
“Dr. Archer. Ms. Tejedor. The Faircloth family has arrived.”
“We’ll be right there.” Archer fixes me with a no-nonsense look. “Listen. Caroline is dealing with more than enough right now with Anthony. I’d appreciate if you left any discussion of Jason and Julianna out of this.”
“Of course.” My hands rise, palms out in surrender. “Like I said, this is your show.”
“If only.” Archer rises from his seat and gets the door. “Shall we?”
Archer leads me down the hall to the same room we used on Friday. Caroline sits waiting on the couch. Anthony appears to have dozed off.
“Hello, Caroline.” I manage to keep a pleasant lilt in my voice.
She looks up at me with a grim smile. “Wasn’t sure if you’d come back.”
“What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.” I sit in the armchair opposite her. “How is Anthony?”
“Better. He fed himself a bit yesterday and even slept straight through the night twice in a row. First time in weeks.”
“Sounds promising.”
Caroline’s eyes drop. “I would have agreed with you right up till four o’clock this morning when he woke up screaming.”
Archer and I share a concerned glance.
“Screaming?” I rest a hand on her shoulder.
“The word ‘no.’ Over and over. Like the devil himself was climbing up the foot of his bed and clawing at his toes.”
What can I possibly say? “At least he said something.” Ooh. Not that.
Caroline’s looks up at me, her exhausted gaze colored with a hint of derision. “Pardon me if I’m not encouraged by the striking development.” She rubs her eyes with balled fists. “Sorry. Just because Anthony managed to get a bit of sleep doesn’t mean I did.”
Archer steps in. “Remember what I told you, Caroline. If you don’t take care of yourself, you won’t have the strength to care for Anthony or the rest of your family. They need you right now.” He takes her hand. “They need their mother.”
“I know, Thomas. I just can’t seem to nod off when I lay down at night. Too many thoughts.” Her face turns a shade paler. “Not to mention the night
mares.”
“One of the psychiatrists on our staff may be able to prescribe something to help you.”
“Enough about me.” Caroline pulls herself together, brushing the tears and fatigue from her face as she turns to face me. “Can we get started?”
“By all means.” I turn to Archer who studies me with a contemplative gaze.
“Ms. Tejedor,” he says, “if you will humor me, I have an idea. A safeguard.”
My knight in shining armor. “In that case, I’m all ears.”
“As part of my practice, I perform hypnosis from time to time. What you and Anthony do in some ways mimics a trance state, so some of the same rules may apply.”
“I don’t understand your concern, then. I’ve always heard hypnosis can’t hurt you.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. From what you’ve told me, you were forcibly expelled from Anthony’s mind last time. If you can be kicked out―”
“Then logically, I could also be kept.” The sound of the tumblers from the massive lock in Anthony’s mind echoes through my thoughts. “What do you suggest?”
“If you will allow me, I can place a post-hypnotic command in your thoughts. A word, for instance, that will trigger your mind to awake and break away from Anthony’s in the event of an emergency. What do you think?”
Though I’m not the biggest fan of letting anyone muck with my thoughts, I give him a simple nod. “Let’s do it.”
Archer turns down the lights and sits in front of me. He bobs a small flashlight before my face, his soothing voice washing away any concern. My entire body relaxes, my eyes refuse to stay open. Then, a moment later, I’m back, more rested than I’ve felt in weeks and helping Caroline position Anthony on the couch before beginning anew the ritual that three days before sent me careening into the boy’s mind.
“Hello, Anthony. Remember me?”
As I stare down into his vacant brown eyes, my heart begins to pound, though I’d never admit it to Archer or Caroline. The last time we danced this dance, a malevolent force the likes of which I’ve never felt forced me from the boy’s mind. If Archer is right, that force is Anthony himself, or at least some particularly nasty part of him. Regardless, the boy’s mind is nothing but one big ambush and I’m about to stroll back in. Unarmed. And alone.
Fantastic.
I stand alone in the Exhibition hallway, staring up at the massive wooden doors at the end of the hall. The lock securing them is twice as big as its predecessor and metal spikes the size of my forearm pierce the wood at even intervals, stabbing into the stone at the threshold as if a giant has nailed the doors shut from outside.
Looks like somebody doesn’t want company.
Assuming, of course, the doors are barred to keep people out.
Turning, I lean back and rest my shoulders against the smooth oak door. The hallway stands unchanged from my previous visit. The nine alcoves, alternating left and right every few paces, await me, each likely opening on another painting from Anthony’s vivid imagination. A single glance up reveals the ceiling has undergone a dramatic change. Where before the frescoes there comprised a pastiche of classical mythology, now the arched ceiling contains a smattering of scenes no doubt from some of Anthony’s favorite movies.
There are the classics. Mark Hamill in desert gear staring across the sand at a binary sun. Keanu Reaves decked out in black and dodging a hail of bullets atop a skyscraper. Uma Thurman in a yellow motorcycle jumpsuit facing an army of masked men in suits.
Then there are others I don’t recognize. Sean Connery lecturing some guy with long hair and intense eyes, both of them dressed like they’re heading to the Renaissance Fair. An oddly coifed man in a bow tie and a tweed jacket standing in the door of a wooden phone booth painted a deep blue. A white stallion racing up the side of a skyscraper as a thunderstorm rages.
Good God. What did I do to end up at the mercy of this kid’s imagination?
“Why did you come back?”
Though the voice is familiar, I nearly jump out of my skin. Coming to just above my left knee, a certain brown-skinned gnome stares up at me in awe. One of the bells on his forked hat grazes the middle of my thigh through the green silk of the sarong.
“Hello, Tunny.”
“You shouldn’t have come back,” he says. “She’s going to be very angry.”
“Who is going to be angry, Tunny?”
Tunny stares at me for a moment before beginning to shake, his head swaying back and forth like Anthony’s did in Archer’s office on Friday. “You shouldn’t have come back.”
“Here I am. What is this ‘she’ going to do about it?”
“Last time, she merely sent you away and no doubt considered that a kindness.” He lowers his head and stares up at me through his bushy eyebrows. “She is not one for kindnesses.”
I half expect the menacing voice of the Exhibition’s keeper to echo down from above and am strangely disappointed at the silence that follows.
“So, I’m an intruder and ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’ is the guard dog. I get that. What I don’t get is why you’re so afraid.”
“The Exhibition is hers to run. The rest of us remain here wholly at her leave. No one crosses her. No one.”
“And why is that? Tunny, who are you talking about?”
“Please don’t push, fair Scheherazade. We don’t speak her name. Bad things happen when anyone speaks her name.”
“Then bring her here.” The haughty words of an Arabian princess pour from my mouth. “I would speak with this woman who engenders such fear.”
Tunny laughs, though a hint of fear undercuts the mirth in his voice. “You can’t be serious. We all go well out of our way to avoid any encounter with her.” He takes me by the hand. “In fact, if you’re going to insist on staying, we need to get you out of sight. Come. You can stay in the forest with me until you return to… wherever it is you come from.”
Tunny leads me toward the alcove that holds his woodland painting. After a careful survey of the space, he steps forward and begins a frantic scramble across the bottom of the frame. Hiding my amused smile behind a cupped hand, I hold back a laugh and join him by the painting.
“Here.” I stoop and interlace my fingers. “Let me give you a hand.” With just enough of a boost to allow him to leap into the forest beyond the canvas, Tunny is on his way. His small figure moving within the confines of an oil painting reminds me of where I am―an odd dreamscape somewhere between Anthony Faircloth’s slightly too-big ears. As my brain attempts to reconcile Tunny’s fluid movements within the unchanging realm of oil, he shouts out of the picture at me.
“Well? Are you coming?”
I brush the back of my hand across the painting, the texture of oil on canvas as real as anything I could imagine. “I can’t. The way is blocked. What do I do?”
Tunny snorts. “Climb. Jump. Step. Just get in here. You look a bit vulnerable out there.”
Though my every sense screams at the absurdity, I raise a foot and take a fateful first step. The surface of the painting passes around the tip of my sandal-clad foot like a warm waterfall. My foot finds purchase on the other side, the crunch of dried leaves beneath my sole indistinguishable from reality. Another step and I’m standing amid an old forest, composed of broad strokes of grays and browns, and countless dabs of green.
The smell of fresh earth permeates my senses. In a blink, my body redistributes its dimensions to fit the few square feet of canvas, the latest in what seems an endless run of miracles. An invisible orchestra springs to life as cello and brass and viola and woodwind all intermingle to tell the story of the awkward little gnome. Runs of oafish playfulness intersperse with an occasionally beautiful melody, all building to a huge fall followed by a brass run that sets my heart to racing.
“Tunny?” The little gnome is nowhere to be found. “Where are you?”
“Here.” Standing perfectly still at the base of a large oak, Tunny’s brown skin and grimy hair blend in with the
surrounding bark and moss. He flashes me a wicked grin, his yellow teeth like petrified wood. “I may not be much to look at, but in these woods, I can vanish in an instant.”
I let out a laugh. “You clearly have the home court advantage.”
Tunny joins me for a few seconds before his face draws down to its previous sobriety.
“You never answered me before,” he says. “Why in the name of the Creator did you return here? Sent away as you were, I can’t imagine anyone daring to show their face in these halls again.”
I offer him a subtle curtsy. “As you can see, I’m not just anyone.”
“And no one but you has ever come here anyway. What is it you want?”
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Who is it you seek?”
“A boy, Tunny. A very special boy.”
He studies the ground at his feet. “No boys here. Does this person you seek have a name?”
I take a deep breath. “His name is Anthony.”
Tunny turns and begins to burrow at the base of the tree. “Don’t know any Anthony, though I’m probably not the one to ask. Mostly, I know these woods and not much else.”
“I’ve seen him here.”
“Where?” A momentary stiffness overtakes Tunny’s wooden spine.
“In Tuileries.”
The gnome stops burrowing and glances across his shoulder. “You can forget about him, then. If he’s in Tuileries, he’s lost to you forever. Like all the other children there.”
“Can’t say I agree with you on that, Tunny. I believe I can save him. In fact, I may be the only one who can.”
Tunny spins and sits on a gnarled root. “What makes this boy so special, anyway?”
At last. Contact.
“His mother sent me from a land far away to bring her boy home. There is no one more special to her.”
He stares at the forest floor. “She must miss him very much.”
“You have no idea.” Tunny’s befuddled gaze suggests I’ve taken this line of questioning as far as I should for the time being. My gaze wanders back to where we entered the gnome’s forest and my brain attempts to reconcile the sight of the rectangular hole in space floating there as well as the dimly lit hallway beyond that beckons for our return.
The Mussorgsky Riddle Page 5