Dark Sister

by Graham Joyce

  / have taste the flame

  I have taste the flame and it burn my breath It scorch away my words I have none No words I have taste the flame

  This was Bella's final entry in the journal. Only blank pages followed. There was no more information about her fate. Alex closed the diary and put it aside. He looked at the dull red fire shifting in the grate below the chimney where they'd first found the diary. It seemed to him a long time ago.

  One day Maggie got out of her bed and came downstairs. Without saying a word she flung herself into housework, cleaning floors, washing clothes, wiping paintwork.

  "You don't have to do that," said Alex.

  "I know, Alex. But I've got to do something to snap out of it. If I lie in bed any longer, I'll lose my mind."

  He nodded. At least it was a glimpse of the old Maggie; but she looked so frail and ill he just wanted her to rest.

  "You've got work to do at the castle. Go back to your job, if you still have one. You've got a family to support."

  She made a show of eating again, though it was only a show; and Alex allowed himself to be persuaded to return to work. Maggie was still distant from her children, particularly Amy. Alex would catch her staring hard at them while they played or were preoccupied in some activity. He would distract her and she would come to with a start. But the children detected an unexpressed hostility in her, and kept their own distance.

  "Nimble be Jack quick be Jack," she murmured one time.

  "Sorry?" said Alex.

  "What?"

  "Did you say something?"

  "I don't think so."

  Maggie gazed into the fire. The children were in bed and Alex was beside her on the sofa.

  Alex had been meaning to bring up an old question. There was something lying around the house which still bothered him. "All those old herbs and things, Maggie. Maybe we should throw them out."

  Maggie jerked her head toward him. Her lip twisted and her face contorted into a sneer. She barked at him like a dog. "SHE HASN'T GOT IT IN HER TO SUSPECT!" It was something he'd once said to Anita, but how could Maggie know? And then, barking still, "GOOD, WASN'T IT, ALEX? WASN'T IT? WASN'T IT?" Her eyes trickled with fire and her face had distorted. The voice was nothing like her own.

  Alex looked at her in astonishment. Then her hand went to her mouth, and she was Maggie again.

  "Maggie?"

  She was trembling. "Alex, I'm sorry, I don't know where these things come from. I swear it."

  But it wasn't like the first time, when Maggie had thought she was Bella, and had spoken in that gentle, wheedling voice. This was coarse and violent.

  "Maggie, it's happened before."

  "I remember. It takes me over. Then I remember. Hold me, Alex."

  "You're not going to bark at me again?"

  "Just hold me."

  But it happened at other times. In a rare moment Maggie was chatting playfully to Sam when suddenly she barked at him, "SAM! MAMMY WHORE DADDY WHORE WHO'S FUCKING WHO?" The boy was terror struck. Amy, seeing it, took his hand and Maggie instantly snapped out of it. She wept to see him so afraid of her. She gathered him up in her arms. "I'm sorry, Sam! Mummy's sorry! Mummy's not well! Do you understand? Not well!" But Sam didn't understand, and her anguish and her tears only frightened and confused him further. Amy, watching it all, was also frightened and confused.

  That night as they lay in bed, Maggie told Alex about the episode. He held her and tried to comfort her, but she was afraid she would one day lose control and do something harmful to the children. She felt a hovering presence; she described it as being like a lift rising inside her, its doors threatening to open on reaching the top to reveal the unspeakable. It was always there, always waiting. He couldn't understand, and there was nothing he could do but hold her and try to reassure her. He kissed her tears away.

  But in truth Alex was hanging on to her by his fingernails. He was terrified. He was burdened by pieces of a jigsaw he was too afraid to push together. Indeed, he felt his survival, the survival of all of them, depended on keeping the things apart in his own mind. The Maggie dig, the experiments of which he knew, the diary, her shocking outbursts; they stood like a hooded figure on the horizon beckoning him toward some dreadful conclusion. But it was as if the hooded figure couldn't really exist unless it established clear eye contact, unless it knew that he knew. It skirted at the periphery of his vision, making signs, bidding for attention, wanting him to look up.

  But he would not look up. He would resist. This was not the Maggie he knew, but he hoped if only he could pretend for long enough that things were creeping back to normal, then the hooded figure on the horizon might fade into the shadows. All he had to do was avoid looking up.

  He hadn't dared to touch Maggie since her illness, but one night he brushed her lips with his and let his tongue probe inside her mouth. She stiffened, and then bit hard into his tongue. Alex jumped back, spitting blood. The bite had sunk deep. Maggie's face was contorted and ugly. "HOW DO YOU LIKE FEEL OF BRANK THE BRANK THE BRANK?"

  Just as suddenly she realized what she'd done, and was sobbing hysterically and reaching out for him. But Alex was out of his depth and drowning.

  Later, lying awake in the dark, Maggie said, "I want De Sang. He can help me."

  "What? That fraud? What can he do for us?"

  "I've told you. He can help me."

  "We'll get proper psychiatric help."

  "No. I want De Sang."

  "He won't help us, Maggie." Alex despaired at the idea. "I didn't even pay his bill."

  Maggie made an appointment to call on De Sang the following afternoon. She took Sam. He ran into De Sang's consulting rooms and flung himself at the man, embracing the trunk of his legs. "Well, well, well! And how are you, young man?" De Sang stooped down beside Sam and spoke quietly to him, as though confiding the biggest secret in the world. "I want to have a talk with your mummy. Do you think you can keep Captain Hook tied up in that hallway for a while?"

  Sam shuffled out of the room.

  "My receptionist will keep an eye on him," De Sang said, offering her a chair.

  "I've just paid her," said Maggie. De Sang glanced away.

  "So," he said after she'd outlined her story. "There's Maggie, and there's Bella, and there's ..."

  "There's A."

  "And you don't know her name?"

  "No. But I think Bella does."

  "And why do you think I can get Bella to tell us?"

  Maggie pointed to the hypnotherapy diploma peeping from behind children's paintings on the wall. "I want you to conduct a regression. Isn't that the word?"

  De Sang shook his head. "That isn't an everyday use of hypnotherapy."

  "No. But then you're not an everyday kind of psychologist."

  He smiled at her. Then he moved over to his couch, kicked off his shoes and lay down, as if he were the patient. "Let's you and me have a talk, Maggie." He settled his head against the pillow. "Just us witches."

  FORTY-ONE

  De Sang agreed to try something. He argued that the sessions should be conducted at Maggie's home. Her psychological difficulties had been generated in the home, he pointed out, and should be resolved there.

  Alex made a point of being out.

  De Sang arrived, and asked Maggie to make herself comfortable in the living room. He took off his jacket. "I want you to be very relaxed. The fact that I know you trust me is going to make this a lot easier," he said. She nodded.

  "Maggie, have you been thinking about that word I gave you? I'm going to speak that word now. I'm going to say the word, and you'll remember it just how I showed you the other day. All right?" Again Maggie nodded. "And the word is, the word is, Maggie, what I told you ... Wait. Before I tell you the word again, Maggie, I want you to get comfortable. Come on, let's shift these cushions around, that's better. Now take a deep breath, because I'm going to say the word, deep breath, good, that's good, and another, and the word is . .."

  De Sang had lowered his voice.
He was almost murmuring. There was a cadence to his speech, a compelling rhythm, and even though he was saying very little, it was like a spool unwinding. "Maggie, I'm ready now to say the word, it's just a question of saying the word. Maggie would say the word herself but you can't, Maggie. You can try, but it's too difficult, isn't that right. Maggie? You buried the word so deep you can't bring yourself to say it now, can you? Isn't that right?" Maggie nodded drowsily. De Sang gently took one of her hands in his. "But it won't matter because I'm going to say the word for you. That's why I'm here, to say the word. I'm going to whisper the word to you, Maggie, and the word is delphi." Whereupon De Sang jerked Maggie's hand violently toward him in a short, snapping motion. Maggie's head lolled to the side, her eyes closed.

  De Sang nodded in satisfaction.

  "Such feelings of relaxation; you'd like to keep your eyes closed and remain relaxed, exactly as you are, why not, trusting me implicitly, knowing you're safe, quite safe, and I'm going to count to three and repeat our secret word and you are going to go deeper, all the while remaining aware of the sound of my voice, knowing you're completely safe, one, two.. ."

  This time there was no sudden movement, but the sound of Maggie's deep breathing amplified, until it became almost like the purring of a cat. De Sang repeated this process, and then again a third time. Noiselessly, he got up and prowled softly around the room. Maggie sat with her head back, a slight rasping issuing from her throat in time with the rise and fall of her breathing.

  At last De Sang stopped, leaned over her and said, quietly, "You can come to any time you want. Any time you want."

  Maggie stirred. She lifted her head, rotated her neck as if to ease stiff muscles, and then opened her eyes. She looked directly at De Sang. As easy as that, De Sang thought. She wants it. "Hello, Bella."

  Maggie held his gaze. "I don't know you."

  "Yes, you do, Bella. You know me. I'm De Sang. I want you to trust me."

  She looked suspicious. "Have you come to take me away?"

  "No, Bella. I'm here to help you."

  She started to weep. "They took me away. They put me in that place. I didn't do anything. They took me away."

  "Don't cry. Bella, please don't cry." De Sang took her hand again and sat on the arm of the chair. "I promise you I'll help you."

  "They hurt me."

  "What did they do, Bella? What did they do?"

  "They came for me. They said I was wicked. They put me in an asylum. I only tried to help them. But they didn't find my secrets. I hid them. They're coming for you! Hide them, said A. Hide! Hide! Hide! I hid them." She became subdued and weepy again. "They hurt me."

  "You lived here didn't you, Bella? This was your house?" She nodded, yes.

  Go straight for the split, thought De Sang. "Do you know whose house this is now?"

  She looked around her wildly. "This is my house."

  "Yes, Bella. But can you tell me who lives here now?"

  "I live here!"

  "You did live here, Bella. But that was in the past. Someone else lives here now. Do you know her name?"

  She flung herself forward in the chair, eyes wild, barking at him like a dog. "DON'T HURT DARK SISTER!"

  De Sang stepped back a pace. Too fast. Fool.

  "It's all right, Bella, it's all right. Relax, just relax. I want to help you. I promise they'll never take you back to that place. I promise you." She relaxed back into her chair. "Your secrets, Bella. You hid them. You were right to hide them."

  "Yes, hide."

  "You hid them up the chimney, didn't you?"

  She stiffened. "Yes."

  "They're safe. We found them. No one can hurt you now. Bella? Are you the dark sister?"

  She looked confused again. The mention of these words seemed to disorient her. "Dark sister? No ..." She started to tremble.

  "It's all right. I'm helping you. Like A. helps you. A. helps you, doesn't she, Bella?"

  "No!"

  "Is she your dark sister? This A.? Is A. your dark sister?"

  "No..." She was trembling, shaking her head weakly from side to side.

  "Bella. Who is A.? Tell us who she is."

  She leapt up again, hissing in De Sang's face, "DON'T! DON'T HURT DARK SISTER! DON'T DARK SISTER! DON'T DARK SISTER! DON'T! HURT! DARK! SISTER!"

  She was shaking uncontrollably, thrashing her arms and screaming at De Sang. Blood appeared at the corner of her mouth.

  She's having a fit! "Bella," De Sang shouted above her screams, "I'm going to touch your head and you are going to go to sleep!"

  He touched her brow and instantly she fell back onto the cushions. De Sang examined her. She'd bitten her tongue. She'd also wet herself: petit mal.

  He brought her out of her hypnotic state.

  Maggie was distressed and embarrassed on realizing what had happened. She was concerned that nothing should be said to Alex about her minor fit. He would have chased De Sang out of the house.

  "Do you remember anything?"

  "Turquoise light," said Maggie. "That's all."

  "I met Bella."

  "And A.?"

  "Briefly, I think. But that's something much more volatile."

  "What did I tell you?"

  "Nothing you couldn't have told me from reading the diary. But that's not the point. Bella's only a screen. To stop me, or you, from getting to A."

  "I'm not deliberately screening her."

  "Not consciously. Maggie, I'm afraid I pushed it too far too soon. Let me see your tongue."

  He examined the self-inflicted bite.

  "It's the mark of the brank," said Maggie.

  "What?"

  "Never mind. Sometimes I say things and I don't know what they mean. Promise me you'll try again, whatever happens."

  De Sang did try again.

  He adopted the same routine, relaxing Maggie, evoking his keyword, applying the powers of suggestion, surfacing the persona they referred to as Bella. Only Bella was proving less communicative.

  "Aren't you speaking to me today, Bella?" She shook her head, no. "Don't you trust me anymore, Bella? Has someone told you not to talk to me?"

  She looked away.

  "Is it her? Has she told you not to talk to me? That's it, isn't it? Your dark sister. She's told you to have nothing to do with me, hasn't she?"

  "No." She pushed out her bottom lip in a pout, looking like a child, except that her face was wreathed in lines of pain and suffering.

  "Why would that be? Why would your dark sister not want you to have anything to do with me? She's not afraid of me, is she?"

  ."She's not afraid of YOU."

  "Can I speak to her?"

  "She'll tell you to get to hell."

  "I'd like to talk to her. Has she said anything to you about me?" No answer. She was refusing even to look at him. "Is she a healer, too? A healer like you, Bella?"

  "She was."

  "I want you to give her a message, Bella. Next time she speaks to you. Tell her my name is De Sang. Tell her I'm also a healer."

  "She'll spit in your eye."

  "Tell her. Tell her I can help her."

  Suddenly she turned and looked at him for the first time that day. Her face was transformed. It was no longer the pouting baby. It was the sneering face again, animated, more energized than the deadpan of Bella, a cold sparkle in the eyes. It was a new personality. She threw her head back and said, "HA!"

  De Sang stared at her for a long time. "Thank you for coming," he said at last.

  FORTY-TWO

  Alex was cultivating serious doubts about the value of De Sang's treatment. He tried to stay back as far as was practical, but since the psychologist insisted on conducting these sessions at the family home, it was impossible to keep things at arm's length. He was resentful of Maggie's implicit faith in the man. He was also irritated by the way De Sang let Sam climb all over him. Beyond all that he believed these sessions were making Maggie, if anything, more withdrawn from her family. He managed to smother all these misgivings wit
h a stiff civility. He offered De Sang a glass of vodka.

  "Who is this other ... personality you're trying to get through to?" Alex wanted to know.

  "It's the A. of the diary. That's all I can tell you. Bella haunts Maggie, and A. haunts Bella. A. manipulates Maggie through Bella, and uses her as a shield to stop me getting near her."

  "But are they—were they—real people?"

  "Maggie's the only real person."

  Alex looked exasperated. "I'm out of my depth."

  "No, you're not. Just think of it as archaeology. Ruins built over other ruins." De Sang drained his glass and declined a refill. "If only I had something on A. I could get to her. Provoke her. If I had her name, for example."

  "When is Mummy going to play with me again?" said Sam. He and Amy were seated at the dining table, drawing with colored pens. Their behaviour was always impeccable whenever De Sang was around, as if they sensed how important it was to cooperate.

  De Sang sat down beside them, reached for a piece of paper, and began drawing along with the children. "When she gets better."

  "Is she tired?"

  "She's very tired," said De Sang. "What's that you're doing Amy?"

  "Secret writing."

  "Show me."

  Amy offered De Sang a special pen she had. "You write on this, but you can't see anything. Then you press it on the radiator and then you can see it." She showed him a piece of paper on which she had written her name. "It's a spy-pen."

  "That's clever. Where did you get it?"

  "Mummy bought it from the toy shop."

  De Sang studied Amy's graphics on the paper as if they were letters chiselled in marble over the oracle at Delphi. "Can I borrow this pen, if I promise to give it back to you?"

  It was true, the sessions did sometimes make Maggie increasingly withdrawn and uncommunicative. She had her good moments and her bad spells. De Sang was afraid to push Bella too far about her dark sister: the initial hysterical reaction, the petit mal, all of these things made him anxious about the frail condition of Maggie's psyche. He was genuinely afraid her presiding personality might become completely swamped. In psychological terms, there was the danger of triggering a true psychosis.But she was still seriously unwell. Physically her condition was so alarming he felt it necessary to prescribe a course of steroids.