When Beth Wakes Up

by Matthew Franks

  “No! Why would you ask that?!”

  “You were attacked and left for dead on the way back to Louisville from your parents’ house. Do you remember that at all?”

  “No.”

  “That’s why you’re in a coma. I came here to find out who did it.”

  “Bobby’s a liar and a cheater, but he isn’t a murderer. Are you sure I wasn’t in an accident?”

  “I’m positive. They discovered you in a field off the highway. You’d been beaten.”

  “Who would’ve done that?”

  “I don’t know. I thought maybe you had some ideas.”

  She ruminated for a moment. “Damnit. I just realized I missed my deadline.”

  “What deadline?”

  “I’m a curator at an art gallery in Louisville. I was supposed to make a proposal to the directors.”

  “I’m sure they’ll understand.”

  “Not these people. They’re real assholes.” She sprung up from the couch. “So how do I get out of here?”

  “Listen, I realize this is a lot to take in. Maybe we should focus on who tried to kill you for now.”

  “Alright. Fine. Get me out of here, and we’ll figure it out together.”

  “I appreciate your eagerness, but it’s not that simple.”

  “Sure, it is. I’ll just wake up, and we can retrace my steps. Maybe I could remember something.”

  “I don’t think you can just wake yourself up. You’re in pretty bad shape.”

  “Sure, I can.”

  Beth went to the door and stepped outside. I followed her into the hallway. Her younger self was no longer sitting in the hallway. She marched down the hall and into the lobby area.

  There were actually people again but nothing quite like the time when I had to chase down the imaginary priest that was going to perform a funeral service for a human-sized cocoon. Beth stormed the front desk.

  “I want to wake up,” she told the man behind the counter.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You want to what?”

  “Wake up,” she repeated.

  “Are you sleepwalking?” he asked.

  “No. As a matter of fact, I’m very much alert right now.”

  “I think what she’s saying is,” I chimed in, “she’s ready to check out.”

  “Oh, of course,” he said. “Allow me to review your record.” He started typing quickly into a keyboard attached to a table top computer. “Oh, no. You can’t check out. It says here your stay is indefinite.”

  “Are you sure? Check it again. My name’s Beth Martin.”

  He smiled at her sympathetically and then turned the computer monitor so we could see it. “You see.” He pointed to her name in black letters on an otherwise white screen. Next to her name it said, “Permanent Resident.” “I’m afraid my hands are tied on this one.”

  She turned to me. “Can’t you do something?”

  “What is it you want me to do?”

  “You said you projected into my mind. Can’t you take me with you when you leave?”

  “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “Well, there has to be something!” She moved away from the desk and saw Grilax and Grulax, the two half-human, half-alien “security guards” standing near the front door. “I’ve seen them before. What the hell are they?”

  I saw no reason not to be completely honest with her. “When you thought we were Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, you told me we made them together,” I answered.

  “I said that?! I don’t remember saying that!”

  She hurried past me and nearly knocked down an older woman using a walker. I turned around to see that Grilax and Grulax were watching us. I gave them a thumbs up, hoping that would keep them at bay. It didn’t. They moseyed toward me on their tentacles as Beth pushed the door open onto the veranda. I went out to meet her. A familiar waiter approached her as she frantically looked around for an exit strategy.

  “Would you like your regular table, madam?” he asked.

  “Hell, no!” she told him as she strode over to the end of the veranda and surveyed the golf course. “There has to be a way out of here!”

  The waiter saw me and cleared his throat. “Hello, sir. Do you have a reservation?”

  “I’m with her,” I replied, motioning to Beth.

  “Of course, you are,” he said and then walked away.

  Grilax and Grulax appeared at the door. The few patrons at the restaurant took cover under their tables when they saw them as if they were in a western and a gunfight was about to occur. I went over to Beth with the intention of trying to calm her down. Grilax and Grulax followed close behind. I held up my finger asking them for a moment before they treated us like a security issue. I’d already been ejected once. I didn’t want it to happen again.

  “They’re going to throw us out if you don’t tone it down a little,” I told her.

  “That’s what I want them to do!” She turned around to face the creatures. “Go ahead! Throw me out, you octopus wannabes!”

  Grilax and Grulax glanced at each other and shrugged. They shuffled over to us but only grabbed hold of me. They began to pull me away from Beth, trying to drag me toward the lobby area. Beth shoved them off me, and they both let out high-pitched, pig-like squeals. They slowly went back inside like two dogs with their tails between their legs. Or, in this case, tentacles.

  “You see!” she said. “They were going to throw you out! Not me! I’m stuck here!”

  She whisked past me and ran down the steps to the ground below. She zigzagged across the golf course and stopped when she came to the static barrier enclosing the whole place. I caught up with her as she stood before it bewilderedly. She tried pushing through it, but it resisted her touch the same as it had with me earlier. She even kicked it, but her foot bounced off and she nearly toppled over onto the ground.

  “What the hell is it?” she asked.

  “Something you built with your mind,” I answered.

  “Why would I do that?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe it’s protecting you from something.”

  “Fine! I’ll just make it go away!” She closed her eyes tightly. After a few seconds, she opened them, but the force field remained. “Damnit!”

  “There might be another option.”

  “To make me wake up?!”

  “No. To get you out of this place. If your mind is holding you hostage, perhaps we can trick it into releasing you.”

  “How?”

  “By becoming someone else.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  If there was one thing my prior dream work with inmates taught me, it was that, with the right tools, a person could overcome almost anything. Quite often, one of the biggest obstacles to a convict reliving his crime was the innate fear that he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

  Even the toughest would cower when confronted with their past, particularly the ones that denied it adamantly in the present. More times than not, I had to get creative to help them face the truth.

  In Beth’s case, I felt she needed to step outside of herself, a task that she had proved capable of doing with the whole Margaret fiasco. By temporarily becoming someone else, she would be able to take on a more detached perspective of the horribleness that occurred to her and hopefully move beyond the “retirement” hotel. Getting her out would serve two purposes.

  First of all, it could possibly lead her to a place where she might remember who tried to kill her.

  Secondly, we could explore other settings that might help trigger that terrible memory. Before we could even get to that point, however, I first had to teach her the art of shapeshifting.

  We acted like everything was hunky dory and headed back to her room. I nodded to Grilax and Grulax on our way, and they reciprocated. The man behind the check-in counter noticed us and then turned his attention to someone else. The important thing was to keep any restrictive elements in check so, when we were ready, we could just walk out the front door.

  When we reac
hed her room, she hesitated before going inside. She walked a little way down the hall and came to the door with number “7” on it. She knocked.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I need to talk to her before I go. To me, I mean. Tell her everything is going to be okay.”

  “You just did.”

  “It’s not the same. I can feel her hurting.”

  No one answered. She knocked again. After waiting a few seconds, she opened the door. A huge gust of wind blew from inside and out into the hallway. She shivered. She stepped inside, and I followed her. Snow fell from the ceiling, flew about, and landed on the already well-covered ground. There was no furniture, only a small tent in the center of the room. Beth’s feet crunched the ice beneath her as she approached the tent. She peeked inside to find Little Beth sitting and crying.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi,” said Little Beth.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  Beth went in and sat down. “Do you mind if my friend joins us?” She motioned to me.

  “This is Max.”

  Little Beth saw me. “I know Max. He helped me bury my dog.”

  “Really?” asked Beth. “Which one?”

  “Petey,” I said and then took a spot on the floor inside the tent.

  Beth’s face lit up. “I remember Petey! What ever happened to that dog?”

  “I killed him,” said Little Beth. She buried her face in her hands. “I stabbed him with a kitchen knife.”

  “Oh, no, sweetheart,” said Beth. “You wouldn’t do something like that.”

  “Yes, I would,” said Little Beth. “I’m evil.”

  “Why would you say that?” Beth reached out to touch Little Beth’s shoulder, but an abrupt burst of static appeared and pushed her hand back. “What was that?!”

  “Some form of electric barrier, I suppose,” I said. “Maybe you can talk to her but you can’t touch her.”

  “Well, that’s stupid!” Beth contested. “Look, honey. Take it from me. You’re not evil. I don’t know where you got that idea from, but it’s not true. Petey…ran away. That’s what dogs do.”

  Little Beth’s expression shifted from sadness to anger. “No!” she shouted. “That’s what Mommy and Daddy said, but they lie!”

  Beth tried to touch her again to console her, but the electrical force field prevented her from being able to do so. Wanting to help, I held my hand out for Little Beth to take. She was still upset, so, when she first saw it, she didn’t budge. But, once she let herself calm down a little, she slowly put her hand out toward me. Beth watched in awe as her younger self intertwined her fingers with mine.

  “How did you do that?” asked Beth.

  “The barrier must only be with you,” I said. “Maybe there’s something about our friend here that you can’t access.” I squeezed Little Beth’s hand. “I’m sorry about Petey. I know he was a good dog. But you didn’t kill him. You’re a good girl.”

  “How do you know?” asked Little Beth.

  “Because I can see it in your eyes. Trust me. I’m an expert. I’ve worked with a lot of bad people. You’re not one of them.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” I turned to Beth and saw tears in her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “I can feel her being comforted.” She wiped a tear from her cheek. “It’s nice.” She looked at me a moment and then shook her head. “Just my luck. I finally meet a good guy, and he’s only in my head.”

  The tent levitated above our heads and then disintegrated. The snowstorm around us disappeared as well. Now we were in a regular hotel room again. Sunlight crept in through the window. Little Beth gave my hand a squeeze and let go of it. She got up and moved to the window. She looked out and the landscape of her childhood home appeared on the horizon. Beth rose to her feet and joined her.

  “It really is a beautiful place,” said Beth.

  “Yes,” agreed Little Beth.

  As they stood together gazing at the picturesque view of the farm house, the sun mysteriously vanished behind the clouds. It became very dark. Both of them seemed confused.

  And then the house burst into flames. Little Beth started screaming. Beth tried to touch her again. This time the shock was so powerful it knocked her to the ground. I quickly jumped up and went toward Little Beth. Before I could make my own attempt to help, she too caught fire.

  I grabbed Beth by the hand and pulled her to her feet. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but I didn’t want to risk her regressing in some way. I pulled her away from Little Beth and toward the door. The walls of the room now burned as well. Beth resisted me, wanting to go to Little Beth. I forced her to come with me and soon we were back out in the hallway. I shut the door.

  “Let me back in there!” she shouted, jerking away from me. “She’s in pain!”

  I stood between her and the door. “It’s not real, Beth,” I said. “You have to tell yourself it’s not real and it’ll stop.”

  “But it feels real!”

  “It’s all in your mind. You’re having an emotional reaction to something you’re creating.”

  “Yeah? Well, it’s not like a dream where I can just wake up. Is it?”

  She walked back to her room and went inside. I lingered in the hall for a moment, wanting to give her some time to recompose. I had never second guessed myself with anyone I’d worked with as much as I did with Beth. Perhaps it was the fact that the others were criminals and the line was clearer as to what was right or wrong. In her case, I’d make a decision and often regret it immediately afterwards. I stepped inside the room and shut the door behind me.

  Beth sat on the couch in the living room area.

  “I’m sorry,” I told her. “I shouldn’t have pulled you out of there like that.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’m a big girl. I can handle things.”

  I took the chair across from her. “You’re right. It’s not my place to try to protect you.”

  “I don’t even know you. Are you a therapist? You definitely talk like a therapist.”

  “I’m a specialist working with the FBI.”

  “How did they get involved?”

  “An agent I’ve collaborated with in the past found out about you and asked for my help.”

  “So, what do you do outside of people’s minds?”

  “I have a family. My wife, Jessica and our daughter, Katie.”

  “Do they have special powers?”

  “It seems my daughter has inherited them from me. She’s having a hard time dealing with it. Along with all the other stuff teenagers have to deal with in this day and age.”

  “To be honest with you, I used to think the whole psychic thing was nonsense.”

  “And now?”

  She pointed to me. “Either you’re a well-crafted figment of my imagination or I really should’ve listened to that palm reader at the state fair.”

  People’s perceptions of psychics tend to fall into two categories. If it wasn’t a stereotypical image of a head-scarf–wearing gypsy sitting behind a crystal ball and flipping tarot cards, it was a nicely dressed, self-proclaimed expert on television with a 1-800 number and a $9.95/ten minute minimum. It made sense. After all, society has perpetuated those ideas for years.

  I chuckled. “I assure you that I’m not a figment of your imagination,” I told her. “I’ve never read anybody’s palm either, although I’m sure it’s quite lucrative.”

  She smiled. “So, what’s your plan, Max? How are you gonna get me out of here?”

  “We’re going to walk out the front door. Just not as ourselves.”

  Teaching someone to morph into someone else can’t be compared to, let’s say, teaching them to ride a bike. It takes a lot of non-conventional reasoning, some of which contradicts common sense altogether. Getting Beth to learn the skill proved understandably difficult. First, I had to break through her belief that she couldn’t be any
one but herself, an ego-driven notion that required eradication before we could move to the next step.

  “Who will we be?” she asked.

  “Anyone” I replied. “But you have to truly become that person. Otherwise, you’re not fooling anyone but yourself.”

  “I don’t think I can do it.”

  “Why not? You thought you were Margaret.”

  “That’s different. I was still…” She motioned to her face. “Me. Besides, I wasn’t aware I was doing it.”

  “But you still did it. Therefore, on some level, you’re capable of letting yourself go.”

  “Alright, Mr. Smarty Pants. Let’s say I was willing to give it a try. Who would I be?”

  “I don’t know. Think of someone you remember well enough to make yourself look and sound exactly like them.”

  She ruminated for a moment. A glow fell over her face as if lightbulb turned on above her head, and then she laughed. “I got it!” she said. “Miss Schneiderfelt!”

  “Who?”

  “She was my third-grade teacher. I can remember everything about the old hag.”

  “Okay. Miss Schneiderfelt it is. I’ll be Mr. Schneiderfelt.”

  “There was no Mr. Schneiderfelt. She never married. She did live with a lot of cats if that tells you anything.”

  “Fine. I’ll think of someone else then. The important thing is that you have someone in mind. Now we have something we can work with. I want you to close your eyes.”

  She closed her eyes, only to open one slightly. “Sorry,” she said and then shut it again.

  “I just wanted to make sure you were still here. I’m ready.”

  “I want you to picture Miss Schneiderfelt’s nose. Only her nose.”

  She snorted. “Okay.”

  “Now I want you imagine her nose at the end of your face. All of its little details.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now I want you to will her nose to replace your nose.”

  “Okay.”

  She closed her eyes more tightly. For a second, nothing happened. And then a pig snout appeared where her nose used to be. She quickly opened her eyes and felt around on her face. When she realized she had a pig snout she jumped up and looked at herself in the mirror on the wall. She started laughing. She turned to me and covered it as if she became embarrassed by it.