Mystery Dance: Three Novels

by Scott Nicholson

  “Julia?”

  “Yeah?” She realized she was still holding the phone.

  “I said I love you.”

  “I know you do.”

  “Well?”

  “Me, too. I…love you.”

  Then it started, at that brief hesitation. The slightly perceptible lift, the higher pitch to his voice. The calm before the storm. Those who dealt with Mitchell Austin in the courtroom knew only the calm, never the storm. “When are you going to start thinking about us again, and not just yourself?”

  “I’m making progress. Dr. Forrest is really good. I’m–”

  “Please. Spare me the details.”

  “Mitchell–”

  “How about next weekend? I can catch a morning flight to Charlotte, be up in time for lunch. I’ll stop at one of the gourmet shops on my way to the airport. Bet they don’t have brie or leeks vinaigrette in Elkwood, do they? Or wine that doesn’t have an expiration date on the label.”

  Mitchell was on track now, as if this were a jury civil trial and he had the main witness squirming. Julia felt oddly defensive about this community that she’d only recently joined. “They’re good people here. I like this place. I like these mountains.”

  “When are you going to give in and marry me?”

  Said with the same tone as “What flavor of ice cream would you like?” Her own anger rose slightly, a hot snake writhing in her chest. “Mitchell, we’ve been through this a hundred times–”

  “Okay, okay. But, really, I’d love to see you. I need to see you.” Voice softer now, trying a different tack. “I miss you.”

  “I want to see you, too, Mitchell. I just want to be ready, that’s all. You deserve me at my best, and I don’t think I can give you that right now. Maybe in a few weeks.”

  “A few weeks, then. I’ll hold you to that, honey. Listen, got to go. Another call’s coming in.”

  Wouldn’t want you to miss a call. Some savings and loan might need help foreclosing on an orphanage.

  “Bye, Mitch–”

  He’d already hung up.

  Julia held the phone to her chest for a moment. No shadows had crawled from the bedroom. No Creep had tiptoed past her to mess with her clock. Nobody had spelled out strange words on her coffee table.

  One good thing about Mitchell, he never failed to make her forget her other worries. He’d driven her crazier than a hundred Creeps could. First by getting her to fall in love and then leaving her wondering if love really existed.

  It was nearly noon. She took a sip of cool coffee, carried the cup to the kitchen, and rinsed it. She gobbled an avocado-and-bean-sprouts sandwich and grabbed an apple on the way out the door. Even though the day remained chilly, Julia didn’t get her sweater from the bedroom.

  The clock might still be stuck on 4:06. Could electronic brains go insane? Or only people?

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

  To warm herself, she balled some newspaper, piled the clumps in the fireplace, and struck a match to them. Then she stacked on the wooden blocks, staring wide-eyed as the tongues of fire licked the wood into a gray pile of ash, erasing the name that had been spelled out on the flat wooden faces.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “What did you dream last night?”

  Julia stared past Dr. Forrest to the painting that dominated the office wall. It was done in shades of orange and brown and red, an abstract piece with jagged edges. Piled triangles, shredded squares, the angles reamed and raped. Art that was disquieting instead of soothing.

  Dr. Danner had favored pastorals, not-so-skilled paintings of the sort seen in beginner’s art classes. Barns and willows, creeks and fences. No people. No threats. Just plain old boring nature.

  “Julia?”

  “Oh, sorry.” Julia looked at the doctor. Pamela Forrest smiled wisely, her glasses perched on the end of her nose. Fortyish, well-dressed, low heels and short, up-to-date hairstyle. Comfortable in her leather chair, her neat office the external manifestation of an ordered mind.

  And here Julia was again, shrinking her shrinks, comparing their defects.

  Dr. Forrest nodded, nudging her along. “You’re a little distant today. What were you just thinking about?”

  She thought about lying. But then she’d really be crazy. If you couldn’t trust your therapist, who could you trust?

  “I had an episode,” Julia said. “When I came home this morning. I…I thought I had locked my front door, but then I found it open.”

  “Open?”

  “Well, not open, just unlocked.”

  “And how did that make you feel?”

  “Scared.”

  “Scared of what?”

  Julia looked down at her hands. “I don’t know.”

  “I think you do.”

  “Him. It. The Creep.”

  “Ah.” Dr. Forrest leaned forward in her chair. “You thought the Creep had unlocked the door and was waiting inside.”

  “Yes.”

  “Was there a Creep inside?”

  “No. But there could have been.”

  “And what would the Creep have done?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. It’s not very hard to imagine.”

  Julia dreaded imagining it again. The fantasy was almost as painful as the real act would be, had been. But if she acted out the scenario, Dr. Forrest would be pleased with her. Julia needed to please someone.

  So she concentrated on what the attack would have been like. The anxiety of that morning came back to her, as fresh as it had been the first time. She gripped the arms of her chair and squeezed until her knuckles were white. “Please don’t hurt me,” she gasped through clenched teeth, almost feeling the knife thrusting with every word.

  “Yes, that’s it,” said Dr. Forrest, her voice low, intense, urging. “Let it out, live it. Bring out the fear and face it.”

  “He’s got me,” Julia said, eyes closed, drenched in the sweat of tension, aching from the hot knife in her chest, seeing her blood spilling on the living room carpet.

  “Can you see his face?”

  “No.”

  “Try.”

  “I’m trying,” she said, barely above a whisper. Though the room was sweetened by the chrysanthemums perched in a vase on the doctor’s desk, Julia could have sworn she smelled smoke.

  “Try harder. If you can see him, it will be a small victory over him.”

  “I…” The Creep’s features almost coalesced from the mists of her imagination. The handyman? Mitchell? That college kid who been watching her from across the street yesterday? Or was it older than that, older than her, older than time?

  “Who is it? Who has brought this fear into your life?”

  Julia exploded from the chair and strode to the window. She paced back and forth, rubbing her upper arms. She was panting, wired from worry yet nearly exhausted at the same time.

  Dr. Forrest came to her, put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Julia. I know how much it hurts you to face it. If I thought there was another way to beat it, I’d try it. But you’ve refused Klonopin and Prozac and–”

  “No drugs,” Julia said. “I want to beat it with my own head.”

  “I know, Julia. But we all need help from time to time. At least you’re letting me help you.” She led Julia back to the chair. “Let’s try something different. We’ve come far enough that I think you’re ready for the next stage.”

  Julia sat meekly and Dr. Forrest leaned the chair back, crossed the room, and lowered the lights. The sky was still overcast, the room nearly dark. Julia closed her eyes and waited for Dr. Forrest’s instructions.

  “Let’s go back,” the therapist said.

  “I don’t want to,” said Julia.

  “But that’s where the problem started, Julia. Everything else, all your troubles, your fears, were born there. Your body knows it, your subconscious knows it. All the rest of you is waiting for you to admit it.”

  Julia swallowed hard and lic
ked her lips. Darkness. She opened her eyes. Darkness.

  “Look up at the ceiling, Julia.”

  Julia obeyed, but couldn’t see the ceiling.

  Dr. Forrest’s tone softened, but her words kept their even pace. “Look past the ceiling, Julia.”

  Julia looked. More darkness, a deeper black.

  “Look beyond that, Julia. And while you’re looking, let your arms and legs relax. Your limbs are like large helium balloons, very light, very relaxed.”

  Julia floated on that image. For the first time since waking that morning, she felt completely at ease.

  Dr. Forrest’s soothing voice came from somewhere near her. “Very peaceful, very light. You trust me, don’t you, Julia?”

  “Yes,” she heard herself whispering. It was almost someone else’s voice.

  “You’re free now, Julia. Nothing can hurt you. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

  Julia smiled. Her face felt like a mask of warm taffy.

  “You really have to trust me now. We’re going to go back. Way back into the past.”

  Julia mumbled a protest.

  Dr. Forrest took her hand. “Shhh. It’s okay. This time, I’ll be with you. We’ll go back together. I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

  Julia waited, looking beyond with eyes closed.

  “I won’t let him hurt you,” Dr. Forrest said.

  Julia nodded. A few moments more, looking beyond blackness, and she was small again. Four. In her room. Chester Bear against her shoulder. In the middle of the night. Darkness. Darkness. Except…

  The light spilling through the crack below the door.

  “What do you see?” Dr. Forrest said.

  “Light.” Julia’s voice sounded childish even to herself.

  “Where are you?”

  “My bedroom.”

  “Which bedroom?”

  “In the house. The big house where Daddy lives.”

  “Daddy? How do you know?”

  “I know.”

  “What’s happening now?”

  “I get out of bed. I hear voices in the other room. Loud. Like somebody’s mad. I’m scared.”

  Dr. Forrest squeezed her hand. “I’m with you this time. Go on.”

  She went to the door. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet. “I’ve wet the bed. Daddy doesn’t like it when I wet the bed.”

  Julia went to the door, listened. “The people are mad at Daddy. I hear them. The bad people.”

  “What does your father say, Julia?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t hear him.”

  “What do you think he says?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Try harder, Julia. Do it for me.”

  Julia listened. A car horn sounded. Had it come from outside the office, or outside her childhood bedroom?

  “No good,” she whispered, mouth dry.

  Dr. Forrest was quiet for a moment, still holding Julia’s hand. “Let’s pretend for a little bit. Can you do that?”

  “Yes,” said Julia eagerly, not wanting Dr. Forrest to get mad like the bad people.

  “Let’s pretend that the people have come to take your father away.”

  “No,” Julia cried, trying to sit up. Dr. Forrest held her pinned against the chair.

  “You’re at your bedroom door, Julia,” Dr. Forrest continued, holding on as Julia thrashed weakly. “You’re four years old, and the bad people are in the living room.”

  “Bad people,” Julia moaned.

  “Open the door.”

  “No. Please don’t make me.”

  “Open the door, Julia.”

  Her hand was against the wood, pulling, a mixture of horror and excitement racing through her with every ragged leap of her heart. The light made her eyes hurt and she blinked. The door opened only slightly, but she was afraid the bad people had heard the hinges creak.

  She blinked and hugged Chester Bear. Daddy stood in the living room. Three people without faces were with him, surrounding him. They wore black robes with hoods.

  “Come on, Douglas,” said the tallest of the faceless people. “You’re either all the way in, or all the way out.”

  Daddy shook his head, his face pale and sweating. “I can’t do that, Lucius.”

  “You drank from the cup,” the hooded man said. “You made a pledge.”

  “But that wasn’t part of the deal,” her father pleaded. He looked around wildly. It was the first time Julia had ever seen him scared. He’d always been so big, so brave, so strong–

  “You wear his ring,” said the leader of the bad people. The other two closed in on Daddy, one at each arm.

  “You’re crazy,” Daddy said. Julia almost cried out, but fear tightened her throat and froze her tongue.

  Then Daddy looked at her bedroom door, saw the light spilling on her face through the crack. And the bad man, Lucius, saw Daddy’s eyes widen. The hooded head turned in Julia’s direction.

  This time she did cry out, dropping Chester Bear and feeling as if she were going to wet herself again. She cried and shook her head, screamed and screamed against the night.

  “Tell me what’s happening,” came a voice.

  Dr. Forrest? What was she doing here?

  A hand gripped hers.

  And Julia tore herself from the past, remembered the earlier sessions and how they had gone this far into Julia’s past, this far and more, and suddenly she didn’t want to relive it again, just wanted that night to stay back there in the dim, dark forgotten.

  “You know what happened, don’t you, Julia?”

  She nodded. How could she forget? Her mind had tried, had locked it away in some secret compartment.

  “Are you ready to tell me about it?”

  “No.”

  “Julia. I thought we were making progress.”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Yes, you can. The body remembers what the mind tries to forget. The memory is in your blood, in your cells. In your heart. Listen to it.”

  Remember.

  No matter how much it hurts.

  “They came and got you, didn’t they?”

  “Got me?”

  “The bad people.”

  “The bad people,” Julia echoed.

  “And what did they do to you that night?”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks, hot on her skin. Her stomach clenched as if expecting a blow from a fist. The muscles of her arms trembled uncontrollably.

  “They…they got me.”

  “Yes. And you know what they did next.”

  Julia shook her head, still denying. Needing to deny.

  “Let it out,” Dr. Forrest said, squeezing Julia’s hand so tightly it hurt. “Bring it to the light, so you can defeat it.”

  It came in a rush. The scraps of images, thoughts like broken glass, a jigsaw-puzzle dream with its pieces spilled in dark water, reflections in fractured mirrors, the splintered bones of memories, fantasies built on smothering air, all clashing together like invisible armies in the night.

  Cold stone beneath her naked back. Her legs and arms fastened with rough rope. The candles around her, their orange light flickering off the gray walls and mingling with shadows that slithered like snakes. Above her, ropes dangling from rough wooden beams backed by an endless night. Singing, humming, many voices.

  She wanted Daddy. She wanted Chester Bear. Then she saw the bad people. All around her, in their robes, eyes glowing under the dark hoods. Then they were hurting her, even though she screamed and fought against the ropes.

  She struggled free, sat up, her lungs on fire. She blinked rapidly.

  The office. The impressionist art on the wall, oak paneling, the slight scent of leather and flowers. Dr. Forrest sitting beside her, beaming, her glasses fogged.

  “Yes!” said Dr. Forrest triumphantly. “You did it.”

  Julia looked around, saw the clock on the wall. Her hour was almost up. Good. She didn’t think she could stand another minute with the punishing past.

  �
�How do you feel?” Dr. Forrest asked.

  “Awful. I’ve got a headache. My muscles are sore.” She rubbed her wrists where the imagined restraints had squeezed her.

  “The memory’s in the flesh,” Dr. Forrest said. “Psychogenic. The pain’s locked away, too. But we can draw it out.”

  “I wish it didn’t have to hurt so much.”

  Dr. Forrest put her face near, so close that Julia could smell the fettuccine Alfredo the woman had eaten for lunch. “You’re the victim, Julia. Don’t forget that. You didn’t ask to be abused.”

  “Except I do keep asking for it, don’t I? Isn’t that why I fear The Creep so much? It’s like I expect bad things to happen to me.”

  “Yes, but it’s not your fault. You’re helpless. Those people–bad people–have enslaved you. The past has a long reach.”

  “Then why do I have to keep returning to the past? Can’t we just leave it alone?” Julia shook the smoke and sweat and pain from her head.

  “Don’t you want to be better?”

  “Good enough. You know that. That’s why I’m here.”

  “We have a lot of work left to do,” the therapist said. “But that’s enough for today. I really feel we’ve made a breakthrough this session.”

  Julia felt as if the breakthrough had been made from the inside out, that the memory in her meat had slashed and clawed its way to the skin. She stood and gathered her purse, slightly dizzy. Dr. Forrest was behind her desk, thumbing through her calendar.

  Julia almost mentioned the wooden blocks, but knew that Dr. Forrest would make her search her purse for the receipt. Because the doctor would say that Julia bought the blocks herself and spread them out on the table to engage in psychological self-torture. A bit of self-indulgent trickery. Julia’s diagnosis would change to something meaty like Schizophrenia, Stable Paranoid Type. And Julia would be no closer to being cured.

  “Tell me something about your father,” the doctor said without looking up. “When you used to play on the floor with him.”

  No, Julia thought. Dr. Forrest can’t read minds. And believing people can read minds will definitely nudge you into the schizophrenic folder.

  “I’d spell my name with my wooden blocks. And he’d laugh and say, ‘No, honey. It’s Jooolia.’ And he’d take away the second block and put in three O’s.”