by Ted Dekker
He grinned, clearly pleased with his analogy.
“I’m going to heal you, if you’ll let me. I’m already in there, so to speak, just let me do what I do, and I’ll show you how to solve all of your problems. Deal?”
Something was wrong, but Austin couldn’t put his finger on it.
The administrator rose to his feet and stepped toward the closet door through which Austin and Christy had entered only yesterday.
“Time to lock and load, Scotty boy. I’m gonna lock, you’re gonna load. Deal or no deal.”
Lawson opened the closet.
Only it wasn’t a closet. Nor a hallway. The space beyond the door was dark, like the gaping throat of a monster.
“Take a walk with me. I want to show you something.”
Austin stood slowly, then followed the administrator into a very dark hall, about ten paces in before stopping in front of a riveted black door with a narrow window at eye level.
Lawson opened the door. “Step inside.”
Austin stared into the darkened room. “In there?”
“In there.”
He stepped forward cautiously and entered the room.
“I’ve always said that humanity’s great malady is quite simple to summarize: lost in thought,” Lawson said behind him. “I would say that describes you succinctly, wouldn’t you?”
Austin looked around him. Every inch of the six-by-six-foot room was painted black. He teetered on his feet. Blinked into the dark. He tried to move, but his feet were rooted to the ground as if they’d been sunk in concrete, anchored by raw fear.
“Consider this the first step to your liberation. I’m going to lock this door and let you load up on your thoughts for a while. I think a week should do it. Fair enough?”
“I…” Austin’s voice echoed in the small room.
The door slammed with a heavy boom that reverberated through the cell. The force of it thumped Austin’s chest.
His world was plunged into thick darkness and he thought, I’m going to break.
For a long time he couldn’t move, because there was nowhere to go. He simply stood on his feet, swimming in disorienting darkness as waves pain washed through his head.
He had to sort things out. So he began to sort. But with that sorting came fear, because he knew that he couldn’t sort things out.
It wasn’t just any ordinary fear, but a kind of debilitating fear that Austin had never before encountered.
The trembling began then.
CHRISTY HAD spent two days sequestered in her room, and on each day she’d been visited by Lawson three times—once at ten, once at three, and once at six. Preparations were being made, he said. There was only one surgeon he trusted for the job; one who understood the full nature of the objective. In this case, to transform her into a walking picture of beauty without having to endure taxing procedures that might take months.
The surgeon’s name was Paul Bigoti and he lived in New York. Wednesday night was the soonest he could make the trip, but the wait would be well worth it. The man could work magic with a blade, a pump, and a few sutures.
Christy spent the days embracing her true self. Her uglier self. The one who stared back at her in the mirrors most of the time now.
Every time she began to doubt her resolve to go through with the procedure, she would creep into the bathroom and take a good look at herself. Thirty seconds was enough to plunge her into a pit of self-hatred and pity, fueled by her growing rage over her own victimization.
It was critical that she fully embrace her true self. Lawson helped her understand that with absolute clarity during each session. In fact, that was his primary thrust.
Hate the person you are so that you can love the person you will be.
Accept just how terrible your life has been. Sit in your oppression and realize just how unfairly you have been treated. Just how awful it is to be trapped in such an unjust situation.
There was no use pretending that things were better than they appeared to be. Putting a bit of makeup on an ugly mug was pointless, because the makeup would only wear off and expose that bulldog face once again. The only way to fix it was to actually change things once and for all.
Strong language, yes, but it was for her own good. He was accomplishing what no one else had. Things were going to get better for her because of him. She was finally going to be able to love herself.
She’d asked about Austin only once and was told that he was working through his own issues. Not to worry, Lawson said. Scott would soon realize that he was as messed up as she was.
For the most part, she put him from her mind. It was time she thought only of herself for once. And she was in a horrible, horrible place because she’d suffered a dreadful, dreadful past.
By the time they rolled the gurney into her room on Wednesday night she was so entrenched in her own misery that not a whisper of doubt crossed her mind. Or perhaps the mental storm raged too loudly for her to hear it.
They rolled her down halls for a long way, and the whole time she kept her eyes on the ceiling lights, passing like a countdown to mercy.
Lawson stood by the operating table to offer her an encouraging smile and a gentle squeeze.
“These corrections are so exciting, my dear. You’re going to be a very happy girl. This is the first step to becoming whole. A whole new you.”
“Thank you,” she managed. And she meant it.
She still hadn’t met the surgeon, but that didn’t matter. His assistant, a nurse named Charlene, had flown in early and spent an hour explaining exactly what to expect. Their procedure was particularly noninvasive and they utilized lasers that minimized recuperation time considerably. Charlene had carefully drawn lines on her neck, her face, and her belly, went out of her way to make sure Christy was emotionally ready to proceed with the surgery, then left.
The fingers would have to come later, Lawson had told her. Let’s just get your main parts looking stunning, then worry about the rest.
A technician made some adjustments to a machine behind her, placed an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, and asked her to count down backward from ten.
“Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Fi…”
Vacancy swallowed her mind and left her in a state of nothingness.
Peace. If nothing was peace. For how long, she didn’t know.
What she did know was that when she suddenly regained awareness, such as it was, she was looking down at the room from above. It was all there right below her—the large silver bowl lights, the stack of monitors tracking her vitals, the blue-smocked doctor working with gloved hands, Charlene assisting him, and the anesthesiologist. All looking down at the operation table with interest.
At the body on the operating table.
At the very bloody, gashed up, lumpy, naked form.
At her.
The sight of her neck, peeled open like a banana, was so distasteful that she gasped loudly. Was she dead?
The heart monitor’s steady beep echoed through the room. So, not dead. Of course not. This was how they got rid of all that ugly fat. That was all.
She looked around the room, stunned by her vantage point. It was like she was really here, lying on the ceiling, staring down at the operation. She could see them, hear them, smell them, probably touch them if she reached down far enough.
“Hello?”
They continued without reacting to her call. But she could hear herself.
“Can you hear me?” she asked, louder now.
The surgeon held out his hand palm up. “Cannula.”
His assistant placed a long, thin cylindrical instrument into his hand, oblivious to her presence above their heads.
Surprisingly, she felt no anxiety. Maybe because she was here, on the ceiling, and her body was there, on the table.
In some ways, she was like a driver looking down at her car. If the body needed some work done—into the garage it goes, up comes the hood, out comes the old oil. Replace some parts and put it back toge
ther. Simple. That wasn’t her down there; it was only her body.
The surgeon shoved the thin silver tube under the skin he’d folded back from her neck.
“Suction.”
A whining, sucking sound filled the room as the clear tube connected to it shook violently. Christy watched with swelling horror as thick, yellowish fluid filled the tube.
They were vacuuming her fat out. If this was noninvasive, she hated to think what invasive looked like.
But then she remembered that this was just her car, so to speak. Whatever got rid of the old fat was worth it. This was just Lawson’s garage, and it was time for an oil change.
Thoughts of the room fell into the background as a question suddenly filled her mind. If she wasn’t that body, then who was she? Not her mind, because she was quite sure that her brain was still under that hood down there, not floating on the ceiling.
“Prep her thighs,” the surgeon said.
Her thighs? She didn’t remember talking about her thighs. But as long as she was in for service, might as well fix it all.
Suck it all out, fellas. Every last drop of fat.
With that thought she suddenly felt herself falling toward her body. Then she was inside a dark space.
And then back into vacancy.
—
CHRISTY’S NEXT conscious thought entered her mind slowly, like mud sliding down a piece of tin. Or shaving foam slowly filling a hand. At first she thought she was waking from a dream, snugged under covers at home.
She tried to open her eyes but couldn’t. Yes, of course. Because she wasn’t at home under her blanket. She was in Saint Matthew’s psychiatric ward, and her face was wrapped in bandages.
A monitor beeped steadily to her left. They’d finished, she thought. She was alive. Excitement sparked in her mind.
She was a new creation.
And then the beeping faded and she slipped into a beautiful dream.
It was Christmas morning. She was standing in a large garage, which looked somewhat similar to an operating room, staring at brand new, sleek red car with a bow on top. Her father dangled the key in front of her.
“Merry Christmas, darling. She’s a beauty. You’ll be the envy of all your friends now. You can finally be proud.”
She jumped for joy, squealing with delight. “Thank you, Daddy!”
The keys were blocking her view of his head, and when her fingers grabbed the keys from his hand, she was too excited to be bothered by the fact that he had no face.
“What about my old car?” she asked, walking up to the shiny red car.
“It’s in the dump where it belongs,” he said. “Never could stand the sight of that hunk of junk. You’re a new girl now. Brand spanking, beautiful new.”
It isn’t just a car, she thought. It’s my body.
It’s me.
She woke again later, disoriented, clueless as to the passage of time. This time she woke enough to feel the raging pain slicing into her skin. Not just sections of her skin, but over her whole body.
She moaned and turned her head slowly. She tried to stretch her fingers but her hand was wrapped up thick. So were her feet and legs.
She was bound in bandages, she realized. From head to foot. Swaddled up like a mummy.
“There you are,” a soothing voice Christy recognized as Nancy’s said to her left. “Welcome back. Everything is just fine.”
Her mouth was bound so she couldn’t speak, but the woman’s reassuring tone calmed her.
How do I look? she wanted to ask. Did it go well? Am I beautiful?
“The doctor said you did so well, Alice. We are so proud of you. Can you hear me?”
She slowly nodded.
“Good. That’s good. He said you would be in pain for a while, but your body’s reacting very well to the healing agents injected into your skin. It’s only been three days.”
Three days? She couldn’t remember more than a few hours, if that.
“Barring any unforeseen changes to your recovery, they should be able to take the bandages off at the end of the week.”
Three days and they’d felt like a few hours. Only three or four more and they would unwrap her.
Merry Christmas, darling. She’s a beauty.
She could hardly wait. All of these years in a cage and now, finally, she was going to walk out, a free, beautiful woman that her father would proudly show the world.
You’re a new girl now. Brand spanking, beautiful new.
Like that car.
Or better, like a beautiful butterfly emerging from its cocoon. That’s what she would be. An ugly slug of a caterpillar turned into a stunning butterfly free to escape its tomb. Reborn.
“Try to rest, darling. You’ll feel some discomfort, but the drugs will take the edge off and help you sleep.”
Nancy gave her bandaged hand a gentle squeeze that hurt only a little. She didn’t really care about the pain. It was a small price to pay for her rebirth.
A gorgeous butterfly with red and yellow wings would unfold on the stage as the world watched with rapt attention. And when she turned the key and took flight, a gasp would filled the skies, because no one had ever seen such exquisite splendor.
The days slipped by in a drug-induced fog, spinning with dreams that kept evolving. The car dream became an elaborate butterfly dream, which morphed into a dream of a royal mummy walking out of her grave. Such beauty was beheld when they unwrapped her that they pronounced her queen again.
You’re a queen, my darling. The cell in the basement was only your tomb. Now you get to come out and show the world just how beautiful you are, because Daddy is dead.
Dead?
Yes, dead. And that gave her even more comfort. She would surely be a queen when they removed her grave wrappings, but even then she would never forgive her father for making her ugly to start with. Nor for keeping her in that grave so long.
—
THEY CAME for her on the seventh day. Some people claimed that it took seven days to make the world, and Christy didn’t know if that was true or not. But she did know that it took seven days to remake Alice.
And now Alice was about to become the queen in her new wonderland.
“Well, then,” Lawson’s voice boomed. “Here we are.”
“Here we are,” Nancy said.
They were still in the recovery room and Christy’s head was still wrapped up in bandages, so she didn’t know who else was watching, but that didn’t matter. Her mind was full of what she would see when she looked in the mirror for the first time.
“How’s the pain, Alice?” Nancy asked.
She nodded, brimming with excitement.
“Pain, or no pain?”
She shook her head this time.
“Good,” Lawson said. “Sit her up and let’s take off her facial bandages so she can talk, shall we? Is that okay with you, Alice? I want you to keep your eyes closed until all the dressings are removed, but we’re going to free your face first so that you can talk.”
Again, she nodded.
There was still a little pain, mainly in her joints, but most of it was gone. Either way, she didn’t care. She only wanted to feel the new air on her new body as her eyes fluttered open like those butterfly wings.
Hands began to unravel the bandages. Cool air whispered over her exposed lips.
A tremor of anticipation spread through her bones.
“Ah… There it is. So beautiful. I can’t tell you how excited we are to show you what the doctor was able to make of you, my dear,” Lawson said, carefully peeling the long swaths of gauze from around her head.
He unwound another loop, this one from her forehead.
“We were able to see your progress when we replaced your bandages. Twice, while you were in a drug-induced sleep. I can assure you, you’re going to be very happy.”
The revelation came as a surprise.
“Can you tell us how you feel?”
Christy opened her mouth, felt only a tinge of pain on h
er cheeks, then spoke for the first time in a week.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Only fine?”
“I feel good. I feel very good.”
“I’m so happy to hear that. Isn’t that good news, Nancy?”
“It’s very good news. We’re very proud of you, Alice.”
Air cooled her skin as the bandages came off, from her neck down to her waist. Despite her eagerness to take a look, even just one, she held her eyes closed as he’d suggested.
“Can you swing your legs off the bed for us? Let’s get you on your feet.
“Yes.”
She felt some discomfort in her stomach and buttocks as she eased her legs off the bed, but not as much as she had anticipated.
“Can you stand for us? We’re right here, don’t worry.”
Christy scooted off the bed, placed her feet on the floor, and slowly stood with their help.
“Good. That’s good, darling.”
The rest of the bandages came off quickly. Fresh air spread down her legs like a cool cream.
“Beautiful,” Nancy said. “It’s hard to believe such a simple procedure can produce such stunning results.”
By the time the last dressing slipped off her left foot, Christy’s breathing had quickened with such anticipation that she thought she might pass out.
“There we go. There we go.” Lawson made no attempt to hide his enthusiasm, which only increased her own.
She heard him step back.
“Alice? We’ve placed a full-length mirror five feet in front of you. Now remember, there will still be some swelling, and you’ll see the sutures, but those will go away soon. This is it. This is the new you.”
A beat.
“Open your eyes, Alice.”
She let her eyes flutter open, squinted once as light filled her vision, then focused on the image in the mirror directly in front of her.