‘I wrote them for you.’
‘You?’
‘Once I created a Sonnet to a Pair of Brown Eyes.’
‘I remember.’ And she did. The box which contained all the treasured words written by him to Jenny had perished with her in the fire, but the phrases themselves… they were returning like leaves blown along a pathway towards her. She caught one here and there, isolated, fragmentary: a crimson leaf of passion; a fresh green memory of spring; the sere yellow that spoke of life’s mellow pleasures.
‘I remember,’ she said again, and felt the tears rise, overflowing to drop in warm splashes on his neck and chest. She didn’t know whether they were for herself now or as Jenny, or for the man who had been forced to witness her torment.
‘My dear love, I beg you not to weep.’ Tenderly he cupped her face and brought it down to his, kissing the wet cheeks and eyelids, smoothing back the wild tangle of hair.
‘I don’t, usually,’ she sniffed, moved to fresh tears by the intensity of her feelings. ‘I’m making up for all the years of not crying.’ How could one man embody so much tenderness with strength, such delicacy and sureness of understanding? She wanted to give him something precious in return. ‘I wish I could say to you what I feel, but I don’t have your gift with words.’
Drawing her down into his arms, he buried his mouth in her hair. ‘I have no need of words. I have you. You are all my life, my soul, my salvation. Never leave me. Never.’
‘I promise you, my darling. I promise that if ever we are parted, we shall surely find one another. Death itself could not destroy the bond. You will never be alone again.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tuesday, December 11
Tom came awake shouting. He’d been waving his fist under Phil’s nose, ready to make his point in a physical way, if need be.
He shook his head, trying to drive away the remnants of the dream. Why had he been bullying poor Phil? It wasn’t his way of winning an argument, however upsetting. On the whole, he was rather glad he couldn’t remember the point at issue. Probably something ridiculous, as it was a dream.
He’d been sleeping badly. His troubles had begun soon after the regression sessions with Valerie. She was a difficult patient, moody and inclined to throw her weight around when she didn’t get her own way – all of which could be handled. But the past-life stuff, that was getting to him. He didn’t know how he stood with it.
And then there was Karen. She was so sweet, so defenceless, lying there in her hospital bed, barely making a crease in the coverlet. His heart felt wrung every time he thought of her. And that, too, was getting to him., He couldn’t understand why he felt so strongly about a woman he barely knew.
All in all, it wasn’t much wonder that he slept badly.
Shuffling from bed to bathroom, he turned on the shower and looked at himself in the mirror. He shuddered.
Twenty minutes later, fresher and beardless, he sat in his window seat nursing a mug of coffee and vying with Habbakuk for the doubtful warmth of the early sunlight. It was time for a complete recap of the situation.
Valerie’s difficulties could wait. She was in no immediate danger and, in fact, was enjoying her experiences under hypnosis. Instead, he projected his mind back to Sunday afternoon in a hospital room. His nostrils filled with a mix of antiseptic and the perfume worn by that odd little woman – what was her name? Carnot. Wilhelmina Carnot.
He saw the late sunlight slanting through cloud and between the wet branches of a tree just outside the window of the ward, striking the glass in a dazzle of colour. He heard footsteps in the corridor and voices, people answering bells, people rushing trolleys about. He felt the crispness of the sheet draw up under Karen’s chin. All his senses had come alive with the memories of that room, as keenly as if he were right there.
He had felt so numb. Karen’s appearance had shocked him more than he could say. Living death! The phrase kept on hammering at him. It was unclinical. It went against his training. But seeing her lie so cold and still, he just knew her vital spirit had left her body. The essential Karen had gone away, he was sure of it as he was of his own name. And there was something else. Absurd as it seemed, he felt that somehow he was linked with her in that twilight place where she now dwelt – that he could make contact if only he knew how, and call her back.
He pictured the faces of medical staff, and the aunt, if he asked to sit with Karen and try to do just that. It wasn’t an unheard-of technique. The sense of hearing was the last to go and the first to return, and recovered coma patients had been known to report whole conversations they’d overheard whilst apparently deeply unconscious. However, Tom was neither Karen’s medical adviser nor a member of her family. He felt it was hardly the prerogative of a stranger to walk in and offer his services. He couldn’t even kid himself that Karen would remember his voice if she heard it. If she had any memory of him at all it was likely to be as an opinionated clown!
But someone had to try and reach out to her, perhaps her aunt. Maybe she’d already tried, and failed. He needed to talk further with her, to discover what specifically had been done and would be done in the future to speed her niece’s recovery.
Karen had to recover. She was too young; she had so much to offer the world. She was not going to die.
*
The Tuesday night session brought a change. Valerie’s head had barely hit the cushion of the recliner before she’d gone, wafting down through the subterranean passages of her personal labyrinth at incredible speed. Tom watched her with the concentration of a cat at a mouse hole, and he knew Phil did, too. She didn’t speak for a long time, but when she did, it shocked him.
‘Release him from the tranquillity chair. He struggles too much. We shall have him cracking his head open once more.’
Tom heard Phil’s breath hiss in his ear. ‘By God, she’s a man, this time! Look at her face.’
Tom noticed the now familiar shift in light, the subtle change that announced a different personality in the same body. Valerie’s features had rounded and coarsened. She seemed to have developed a bulging forehead, and a shadow covered her chin so that she appeared to be bearded, and yet was not. But her voice was the greatest change. It had gone both deep and nasal, with a strong North American intonation; and it was undoubtedly male.
The thickened lips parted and the new personality appeared to be whistling soundlessly, the eyes beneath closed lids darting like fish in a pond, back and forth, watching something closely.
‘Careful now. I don’t want him hurting himself before the next treatment. Dr. Rush is explicit on the matter. That’s it. Tie him tightly so his head is supported at the edge of the table. Now stand back. I will set the mechanism in motion.’ He leaned forward, hand cupped around an imaginary lever.
Phil whispered again. ‘What do you suppose she – he’s doing? Is it a hospital?’
Tom held up a finger for silence. He leaned forward, his face almost touching his patient’s arm, listening.
‘Pay close attention, if you please,’ said the voice that might and might not be Valerie. ‘With the illness known as torpid madness, which as you know is caused by too small a flow of blood to the brain, Doctor Rush’s favoured method of treatment is the gyrator. We have here a patient who has failed to respond to the other, more common, methods of cold baths and ducking. He has also been subjected to sudden severe frights and periodic starvation, to no avail. It is therefore a last hope for this patient. I have determined to give him five minutes at maximum revolutions of the table. The blood will be driven to his brain by centrifugal force, and will bathe the cells with the necessary nourishment. Pay no attention if he screams. He will be silenced soon enough.’
Valerie’s hand pulled the imaginary lever.
Looking at the small, cruel smile almost hidden in the chin shadow, Tom felt his flesh creep. She was enjoying the ‘treatment’ being meted out to the unfortunate victim. She revelled in her power, and didn’t bother to hide the fact.
&n
bsp; Phil nudged him. ‘She’s become a monster. Look at her tongue sitting in the corner of her mouth while she pushes that damned lever even harder.’
‘Hmm. But someone’s interfering. She’s frowning. She’s pulling back, although reluctantly.’
They waited and presently heard a petulant sigh. ‘Oh very well. But I resent your words, sir. You have absolutely no right to address me in such terms, and I shall take up the matter with the board of the Institute.’ Blood welled up in the plump cheeks. ‘What? You dare accuse me…!’
There was silence for what seemed a very long time. Tom waited patiently, but Phil seemed restless. ‘It’s damned frustrating only hearing his side of the conversation. I wonder what’s being said to the little prick.’
Tom smiled slightly and went along with the change of gender. He, too, found it hard not to believe they were watching a man. ‘Whatever it is, he’s not liking it. But I get the impression that time is passing. Look at the blankness of the face. Perhaps he’s asleep.’
‘Oh, great! We could be here all night.’
‘No. Time seems to be relative in this other place. I’m betting we’ll have the next scene quite soon. Look. He’s waking up.’
The thick lips yawned, showing Valerie’s perfect caps which managed to look unaccountably yellow and decayed in spots. The man muttered to himself and seemed to be searching in a cupboard or drawer. At last he appeared satisfied, making the motions of taking up a pen and writing.
Phil almost danced with frustration, but Tom shushed him as the man was about to speak.
‘I’ll finish my notes, and then I’ll go down and finish him.’
The calm malevolence of those few words took Tom by the throat. He could scarcely breathe. It was like being in the theatre, watching and understanding the person’s actions, yet powerless to prevent them; knowing they were outside reality, yet feeling the echo of past horror ringing down the years to maul his senses.
The imaginary pen moved for a few minutes, then the man sat back with a grunt. ‘I’ll order him whipped. After all he’s been through he will not survive that. And it is a perfectly legitimate treatment. Rush used it for years and advocated it for the most stubborn cases.’
The small private laugh was worse than anything Tom had yet heard. He jerked back, as if afraid of contamination. But the concentrated frown between his eyes had lightened. ‘I think I’m beginning to get the hang of all this. The way this bastard is abusing his power… that’s the key.’
‘Well you see more than I do,’ growled his friend. ‘If I had one wish I’d take the Starship Enterprise back through a time warp and put such a crimp in this character’s style!’
‘Look! It’s over. She’s coming back.’
They watched, fascinated by the metamorphosis from one personality to another. Features appeared to move, the change barely visible to the eye. Then Valerie was there, and Tom was greeting her and guiding her back up the labyrinth into daylight.
She seemed shaken and confused, as before. Not quite aware of her surroundings.
‘Are you all right?’ Tom and Phil spoke in unison.
She shivered and blinked a few times. ‘I guess so.’ She looked from one concerned face to the other, her expression changing to exhilaration. ‘Boy what a workout. But it was worth it. At last we’ve discovered what’s going on.’
Tom sat back and looked at her. ‘You’re talking about karma, aren’t you? The pay-back system.’
‘If that’s what you want to call it. I see it more as the redressing of an imbalance.’
‘And what form do you see your imbalance taking, Valerie?’
‘That’s easy to see. I’ve been guilty of abusing power.’
Phil had to break in. ‘You mean, as a medicine woman you actually tried to practice witchcraft?’
Her smile was enigmatic. ‘I don’t know. Where’s the fine line between natural medicine and occult practice?’ She returned to Tom. ‘What do you think?’
‘Maybe you did abuse your gifts in that life, but not to kill people, as you apparently planned to do in the latest session.’ His eyes met hers and held until she looked away.
‘You picked it up. I thought you might.’
‘Picked up what?’ Phil was plaintive. He looked disheveled, with tie loose, hair thrust up by excited hands.
Tom was aware that the sessions were having as much outward effect on his friend as on the patient. It seemed Phil had invested heavily in the outcome. Very likely he now felt vindicated in his beliefs and wanted Tom to admit unequivocal belief himself. But he wasn’t ready for that yet, not by any means. Besides, what was true for Phil might not necessarily be Valerie’s truth. It was still possible that she was inventing the episodes, subconsciously. Her up front reactions were too natural to be an act, yet she could be deceiving herself.
‘What did you pick up?’ Phil persisted.
‘That the victim in the first life had become the persecutor in another.’
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Valerie looked flushed and excited. ‘What’s dealt out in one life is balanced in the next.’
Tom shook his head. ‘I see a problem with that. Two wrongs don’t make a right, in any philosophy; and I can’t see your downward progression from healer to tormentor (and possibly murderer) as an improvement. In fact, to extend your own statement, you’d be taking on a further karmic load yourself.’
‘Of course I should. I probably did. Don’t you see? I’ve been going from life to life failing to recognize what I’ve been doing. Each time the emotions and events that were not dealt with have been presented, I’ve continued to sidestep the opportunity to resolve them. Now – here and now in this life – is my big chance to put matters right, because now I’m uncovering the problem. Each time I regress I learn more. When we finally put it all together, I’ll have the answer. I can redress the balance.’
Tom looked dubious. He welcomed enthusiasm, provided it was based on reality. But if matters didn’t turn out the way she expected, Valerie was in for a heavy disappointment, perhaps a devastating one. And yet… And yet… There was something quite alluring in the idea of such perfect balance. What a magnificent philosophy. If it could only be true.
Phil’s change of tack made a welcome diversion.
‘This fellow Rush. Have you heard of him, Tom?’
‘As it happens, I was reading about his work only recently. He seems to have been something of an entrepreneur back in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. As Physician General of the Continental Army and Treasurer of the United States he was well positioned to indulge his charitable social conscience. He did a lot of good for the poor in many ways. It’s a pity he had such odd notions on treatment of the insane.’
‘The gyrator?’
‘Amongst other things. Evidently Valerie’s alter ego was a disciple of his procedures.’
‘So, where do we go now?’ Phil looked at the other two, and Valerie said immediately, ‘To the next session. I want to find out if I’m a murderer as well as a suicide.’
‘It sounds a bit morbid.’
‘Not at all. I’m quite detached about it. And I’m eager to find out all I can. It’s all so fascinating, I can hardly wait.’ She turned to Tom eagerly. ‘How about it, Tom? Can we have another session straight away? Is there any reason why we shouldn’t?’
While he hesitated, Phil added his weight to Valerie’s plea, the longing in his face like that of a child begging for a toy.
Tom took a turn about the room, ending up in front of his painting. He felt uneasy. There was too much pressure from two people who might not know what they were doing. His faith in Phil had suffered since his friend had allowed himself to become emotionally involved in the proceedings. Tom had himself felt the fascination, to the extent of participating in Valerie’s scenario in his own dreams. It simply wouldn’t do to have both therapists overly engrossed. Someone had to maintain a detached viewpoint. And Valerie was still an unknown quantity.
Tom stopped trying to sell himself. He knew how badly he wanted to go on – now – immediately.
‘Tom? Hey, where are you, pal?
He blinked, and Phil’s distant voice was suddenly loud in his ear. Once again he had been looking down the misty gorges, snared into a meditative trance. The painting was no help at all in maintaining a proper therapeutic separation!
Turning his back on its siren song, he made his decision.
‘Okay. We’ll try once more, but with the proviso that Valerie is tied into the chair. I don’t want another suicide attempt. We might not be so lucky again.’
‘Agreed.’ Valerie smiled nervously.
While Phil went off to fetch some climbing rope from Tom’s apartment close by, Tom tried to warn Valerie not to expect too much of the experience. She wouldn’t listen.
‘Tom, this is the most exciting, the most meaningful thing that’s ever happened to me. I feel a sense of purpose. I’m finally going somewhere. Can you imagine what that means to an emotional drifter like me?’
Tom understood well enough. He felt a strange diffidence in presenting his own view.
‘Look, I’m not trying to be a wet blanket, truly. I guess I’m scared. You’re taking a risk, pinning everything on the outcome of these sessions. I fear what a disappointment might do to you. Life isn’t tied up in neat little bundles, Valerie, but you’re expecting just that.’
She smiled across the gap in their understanding, undisturbed.
Tom floundered. How to get through to her? He feared that she’d missed the point. Reincarnation, if proven, meant a monumental change in personal philosophy. The moral and spiritual issues must affect the believer to an extent that was hard for him to comprehend. He hoped he was wrong, but something about Valerie’s attitude didn’t ring true to him. She seemed eager to ‘redress the balance’, yet the words sounded like cant, lip service paid to disguise another purpose. Perhaps, to her, it was merely a thrilling departure from the mundane, a sensational episode for the personal enjoyment of Valerie Winterhouse, and a measure of her new importance.
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