by Amy Cross
“That's alright,” the attendant replies, although he sounds irritated as he carefully shuts the door and turns a key in the lock. “It's not your fault that someone let you get up here, Emily. We're supposed to have a system in place that prevents this kind of thing. Just try to remember next time, you must never go through an unlocked door unless you have permission!”
“I don't remember coming up,” I sob. “I don't remember anything!”
“That's okay. Just take my arm and be careful on the stairs, okay? Your feet are still wet, and we don't want you to slip.”
It takes a couple of minutes for us to get all the way back to the ward. My knees are weak and my legs are trembling, and I feel certain that everyone must know that I broke the rules. The attendant tells me that he has to inform Doctor Hamlin about what happened, but he says he can let me sit in the recreation room while I wait for the doctor to come and talk to me. He leads me through to the next room, and I hold my hands up to hide my face in case the others are watching me.
Finally he eases me into a chair by the window. He tells me I'll be okay, and then he goes to find the doctor.
Turning to look outside, I see that the rain is falling much harder now. I can still see the man over by the trees, but the weather makes it impossible to make out his features. After a moment, I spot the crow hopping around the edge of the lawn, and I see that the torrential rain has caused hundreds of worms to come wriggling out of the grass. I guess they don't want to drown, but now the crow is picking them off one by one. He must have more worms than he can manage, but several are trapped in his beak now and finally he flies off through the rain.
And still the man watches from the tree-line. I look at him again, but this time I realize I can remember his face. His dark eyes, his grin, his bald head and his hunched shoulders. The memory fills me with horror, and I stare at him for a moment longer before suddenly clambering out of the chair and screaming.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Tell me about him,” Doctor Hamlin says calmly, watching me from the other side of his desk. “Describe this man.”
I stare at him for a moment, before shaking my head.
“Why not, Emily? Because you can't, or because you don't want to?”
“I don't want to.”
“And why's that?”
For a fraction of a second, I see the man's face again in the back of my mind. I can remember his face if I really concentrate.
“Lots of worms,” I stammer. “He had worms in his beak and he -”
“Not the crow, Emily. Stop talking about the crow and focus on the man.”
“He was hopping around and -”
“I don't want to know about the crow,” he says firmly, and for the first time he's starting to sound a little exasperated. “I want to know about the man you think you saw. I had several orderlies go out and take a look around. They weren't very happy to be searching the forest in the rain, I assure you, but they went out there anyway. There was no sign of anyone. We also have very sophisticated motion-sensitive devices out there, in case anyone tries to escape, and none of those sensors were triggered.”
“He was watching me,” I reply, feeling as if I might cry again at any moment.
“When you were on the roof?”
“Before.”
“When did you first see him?”
I open my mouth to reply, before realizing that I might not know the answer. I think I've seen that man several times, maybe even before I came back to the hospital, but my memory is too badly damaged for any of my thoughts to really make sense.
“I want to stop the E.C.T.,” I tell him.
“And why is that?”
“Because I need to remember.”
“I warned you at the start, Emily. The treatment is known to disrupt both short-term and long-term memory.”
“Who's Luke?” I ask. “And Alice...”
He makes a note. “I have no idea. Family members, perhaps?”
I close my eyes, desperately trying to remember.
“You need to focus on the important things,” Doctor Hamlin continues. “You have a loving husband who's waiting for you to go home, and for you to try to resume your old life. I know that might seem a long way off right now, Emily, but -”
“Chanciechaunie,” I whisper.
“I'm sorry?”
“Chanciechaunie.”
“The...” He pauses. “I believe that's a name from a story for children, Emily.”
“Is it?”
He nods.
“Then why is it in my head?”
He pauses again. “Do you remember where you were when you were found? When your husband's private detective finally tracked you down?”
I shake my head.
“You were in a town called Malmarbor. You were talking a lot about this Chanciechaunie character. You also had a great deal of research documentation in your car, although very little of it made sense.”
“Research?” For a moment, I remember spreading piles of paperwork across a bed. “I want to see it!”
“I believe your husband had it all destroyed.”
“What about the -”
I flinch as I remember a cottage in a forest. It was dark outside, and I was pushing the door open, but I don't remember anything after that. Just that one moment, over and over again.
“Do you remember anything before Malmarbor, Emily?”
I shake my head.
“You don't remember all your little stops? You were very busy.”
“I was?”
“It seems you were in a new town every few days. You barely stared still at all. You were in Hartford at one point, staying at a motel. Do you remember why you were doing that?”
Again, I shake my head.
“Well, that's alright. That'll be the E.C.T. again, making it difficult for you to access certain memories.”
“Will I get them back?”
“Possibly. Possibly not. Does that concern you, Emily?”
I open my mouth to reply, but suddenly I turn and look toward the window. Filled with the sense that I'm being watched, I get to my feet and hurry across the room, but when I look outside I see that there's no-one out there. The man seems to have disappeared, and all I see are lots of worms still wriggling next to the lawn.
“This will all seem much better,” Doctor Hamlin says after a moment, “once you get home.”
I turn to him.
“You want to go home, don't you?” He waits for a reply. “Emily?”
“Home?”
“With your husband.”
“And my -”
For a moment, I imagine Charlie next to me, but I quickly remember that my son is dead.
“He was killed,” I whisper. “Someone lured him into the lake.”
“Emily -”
“No, that's what happened!” I hiss, hurrying back over to the desk. “He didn't just decide to go into the water. There was something teasing him, telling him to go in. Forcing him! I remember now, I was researching it and I started to find other cases where something similar happened. I was -”
I let out a sudden gasp of shock as I see a truck slamming into a woman. It's late at night, and a moment later I see blood splattered across the front of the truck. The image quickly fades, but for a moment it was clear and strong.
And then it's gone, leaving me shivering in Doctor Hamlin's office.
“You still have four more E.C.T. sessions to go,” he explains, “but I'm confident that your progress will be very strong after that. In fact, I think you're right on course to get home in time for Christmas. I know that won't fix everything that seems wrong at the moment, Emily, but at least you'll be able to start your life again. And that's really what matters, isn't it? You need to put all of this behind you and rejoin society. Do you think you can do that?”
“I was looking for him,” I whisper.
“Who were you looking for, Emily?”
“Chanciechaunie. I have to tell Luke h
e was right.”
“I see.” He makes another note. “Well, that's disappointing. Clearly it'll be a little while before you're allowed to go home. We need to rid you of these delusions first.”
“I have to find him!”
Hurrying to the door, I grab the handle, only to find that it's locked. I pull several times, before turning to Doctor Hamlin.
“You have to let me out of here! I need to find Luke and Alice, and I need to tell them that Chanciechaunie is real! He's -”
I flinch as I remember the news report about the burning church. Suddenly all the memories are rushing back to me, and I remember being in Redfield. I was with Luke and the others, and there was a survivors' group for people who'd encountered Chanciechaunie as children, and then I was in Malmarbor and I found the cottage in the forest and...
“You can't keep me here,” I stammer, trying the door again. “People are going to die if I don't warn them! He killed Marie and the others, and he killed Amanda! He tried to make me jump off the roof, and he's going to go after Luke and Alice as well! I have to get out of this place and warn them!”
“No, Emily. You have to calm down!”
“Let me out!” I scream, trying to tear the door handle away. “You're going to get them killed if you don't let me out of here! You don't understand! You made me lie about Marvin, and now you want me to lie about everything else!”
“I've called some orderlies,” Doctor Hamlin says calmly. “This seems to be a step back for you, Emily, but that's not entirely surprising. Don't worry. I know exactly what to do.”
“Help me,” the little girl's voice whispers as I continue to pull on the door handle. “Emily, where are you?”
***
No matter how hard I struggle, I can't break free from the thick leather restraints that hold me down against the bed. My head is secured in place, and all I can manage is to scream as I feel electrodes being attached to the top of my head and my temple. A moment later, there's a sharp pricking sensation in my arm, and I taste onions again.
“This is for your own good, Emily,” Doctor Hamlin says, leaning over me. “I've decided to extend the twenty-four sessions to twenty-eight. Don't worry, when this is all over you'll be much better. You'll be able to go home to your husband, and you'll never again have to suffer from these delusions.”
“Help me!” I shout, as I hear the machine being readied. “Help -”
Suddenly the weather in my head changes, and I feel an immense storm rattling inside my skull. I try to scream, but this time no sound emerges from my mouth. Instead, I see a face in the darkness, laughing at me as I sink back into the void.
It's him.
Chanciechaunie is in my head again.
Chapter Thirty-Five
As it turns out, the little chocolate truffles fit perfectly onto the plate. I'd worried that I might have to remove the wrappers, with all the mess the process would entail, but they look rather nice as they are and I think they even match the drapes in the front room. That's a lovely coincidence.
“The dullards are here.”
Startled, I start turning just as Craig steps up behind me and kisses the back of my neck.
“What did you say?” I ask.
“I said the Dollards are here. They just pulled up. Is everything ready?”
“I think so,” I reply, looking back down at the plates I've spent the past forty-five minutes arranging. “The truffles fit the plate perfectly, don't you think?”
“I do.”
“And the wrappers match the drapes.”
“Absolutely.”
“But I was wondering about the napkins,” I continue. “I know the green-edged serviettes are better quality, but I was thinking that perhaps the others, the ones with the cream coloring, might go better with the fondant fancies. Then again, the tablecloth wouldn't match those at all, so we'd have to change that. And I spent all day yesterday trying to color-coordinate the linen, but apparently I neglected to consider the wrappers on the truffles so -”
“Honey,” he says suddenly, interrupting me.
“Are you disappointed?”
I wait for a reply, before turning to him.
“What's wrong?” I ask after a moment, seeing a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. “Craig? You're making me worried.”
“Welcome home,” he whispers.
I shudder as I feel his hands on my shoulders. I should be happy, I should smile, but I can't stop worrying about the table decorations.
“I just sometimes can't quite believe that I've finally got you back,” Craig continues. “I spent so long looking for you, and then you were back in the hospital for all that treatment, and there were times when I thought I'd lost you for good. Maybe I never really mentioned this before, but some of Doctor Hamlin's updates weren't too positive. This time last year, for example, he was telling me that I shouldn't count on you ever being...”
His voice trails off for a moment, and finally he forces a smile.
“We should focus on the positive,” he adds. “And we have a lot of positives, don't you think? We're really blessed.”
He looks down at my belly, and for a few seconds he seems lost in thought.
“There's really only one more thing we need to make this perfect,” he whispers. “I know pressure isn't going to help, but we just have to keep trying. And then -”
Suddenly the doorbell rings, and he steps back.
“That'll be the Dollards,” he says with a smile. “Don't worry if you don't remember them too well, just focus on being the perfect hostess as usual. The rest'll come back to you over time.”
“Keep them in the reception room for a few minutes,” I reply, grabbing a plate and handing it to him. “I want to change the tablecloth.”
“Emily, you really don't need -”
“It has to be perfect!” I add, slipping past him and hurrying to the door as I quickly untie my apron. “Please, Craig, this is important to me! Just keep them talking and offer them truffles, I'm sure they won't complain too much!”
Our little poodle Sebastian comes running through, almost tripping me.
“And find something for him to chew on,” I continue. “The poor little thing's bored out of his mind!”
I don't wait for him to protest. Instead, I hurry to the dining room and then through to the hallway. I can hear Craig at the front of the house, welcoming Henry and Louise Dollard inside, but I slip past the laundry room and take a detour via the bathroom, where I stop for a moment to check that my make-up is all in order. Once that's done, I'm ready to go and change the tablecloth, but at the last second I glance down at the trashcan.
Maybe I should double-check.
Crouching down, I open the lid and take out the pregnancy test from earlier. It still shows that I'm not pregnant, and I suppose it was foolish of me to think that maybe it had somehow changed.
Soon, though.
I'll be pregnant soon.
And then life will really start to get back on track.
Feeling another itch on my arm, I give it a quick scratch. There seems to be a small lump beneath my skin, although Craig and Doctor Hamlin have both told me not to worry. I suppose I should trust them. After all, they know what's right for me.
After washing my hands, I hurry through to the laundry room. Craig is still talking to the Dollards in the reception area, and it sounds like he's doing a good job. As they continue to laugh and joke, I start searching for a tablecloth that'll match the other settings at the table. I have one in mind, but for some reason it doesn't seem to be in the usual pile. My mind is racing as I start checking other shelves, in case I somehow put the tablecloth away in the wrong place, but still there's no sign of it anywhere. Trying not to panic, I crouch down and check the shelves at the very bottom, but I still have no luck.
“Please,” I stammer, feeling my chest starting to tighten, “just -”
And then I see it.
Feeling a rush of relief, I pull the tablecloth out. For some re
ason, I must have put it with the summer items, when that's not where it belongs at all. Still, now that I'm holding it in my hands, I just need to get it to the dining room and onto the table before the Dollards find out. I hurry to the door and stop for a moment, and I immediately hear that they're still talking to Craig. If I do this right, they'll never know that the dinner party came so close to disaster. I'll still seem like the perfect hostess.
I take a deep breath, and then I scurry to the dining room. My heart is pounding, but I know I can do this. I have to! Nothing else matters in the whole world!
***
“No, we're going to the cabin for Christmas,” Henry Dollard says later, as we all sit at the dining table. “We missed it last year because of all the social events on the calendar, so this year we're determined to get some time alone.”
“Of course, you remember how much it rained last year,” Louise adds with a laugh. “Hopefully the snow will settle this time. What did you do for Christmas last time, Craig?”
“I was here,” he replies, seemingly a little uncomfortable. “I was...”
His voice trails off.
“Oh, of course,” Louise mutters, glancing at me for a moment before looking down at her plate. “I forgot. I'm so sorry.”
“But this year will be different,” Craig continues, mustering some more of his usual enthusiasm. Sometimes I think that nothing gets him down for long. “This year, Emily and I are going to spend Christmas right here at the house. Nothing too stressful, just a good time for us both.” He turns to me. “Isn't that right, darling?”
“Absolutely,” I reply, forcing a smile that I hope will seem genuine. I look over at Louise, then at Henry, and then I catch my own reflection in the dark patio doors. All I see outside is darkness and a faint flurry of snow.
I open my mouth to make a silly little joke about the weather, but for a few seconds I can only stare at the window, and at the reflection of the four of us sitting around the table. After a moment, however, the reflection seems to fade, and I'm able to see the falling snow more clearly. I know I should turn to the others and entertain our guests, but instead I simply watch the snow, and slowly I realize that I can see the darkness beyond the snow more clearly. And somewhere in that darkness, there seems to be a presence, as if we're being watched.