by D. J. Palmer
“Why is the link so strong?”
“Neuroscience would tell you that smell skips the thalamus in the brain, which the other senses have to pass through—like a relay station—to get various inputs to the hippocampus or the amygdala, where our emotions are processed.”
“Where does smell go?”
“Straight to the olfactory bulb, which we’ve only recently learned is a memory center where certain long-term memories get stored.”
“I just don’t get what significance ammonia has for Penny,” Grace said while walking.
“Did you clean with it a lot at home?”
Grace’s shrug didn’t discount the possibility. “I mean, we used it in the restaurant for sure, but not excessively.”
“It could be any number of things.”
Mitch considered sharing how the smell of grass and rubber cleats reminded him of Adam’s soccer games, or that the stench of marijuana conjured memories of his son’s decline, but opted against it. Grace had her own cross to bear today.
“Did you ever check for the book she mentioned that day in the ER?” Mitch asked.
“I checked her bookshelf thoroughly,” said Grace. “But I couldn’t find any that had a dark blue cover with water and boats.”
“Maybe she took it with her that night, tossed it away somewhere,” Mitch suggested. “That book is significant to her, maybe something her birth mother read to her. Could be she’d bought it on her recommendation, or it was something Rachel mailed to her. We just don’t know.”
“I’ll check our Amazon orders,” Grace said. “If she did buy it online, there’ll be a record of it.”
“Good thinking,” Mitch concurred.
All thoughts of books with boats on the cover, of Adam and sorrow, faded when they arrived at their meeting room. Mitch checked his watch: Eve would be joining them shortly. He opened the door and the scent of ammonia hit with force, burning his nostrils.
“Oh my God, the smell wasn’t this strong,” Grace said, entering behind him, squinting her eyes as she pinched her nose with her fingers.
Mitch closed the door, effectively trapping them in the fumes.
“I don’t think the ratio matters, but we don’t want to let out all the smell.”
Grace continued holding her nose as Mitch took out his phone, launched the camera app, and set the mode to video recording. He wanted to capture Eve’s reaction—and, hopefully, her transformation into Penny. He did not discount the potential secondary benefit of this experiment, namely advancing the acceptance of dissociative identity disorder among his profession’s many skeptics.
“I think I’ll wait in the hall,” Grace said, making for the exit. Before she could take a single step in that direction, the door to the room opened and her daughter came in.
CHAPTER 21
GRACE’S GAZE FLICKERED FROM her daughter to the two uniformed guards who served as her escort. Both were thin and on the younger side, but she got the distinct impression they were quite capable of holding their own in a fight. At that moment, after taking big whiffs of the heavily scented air, each CO simply held his nose. The stench sent them reeling back out into the hallway.
“Whoa, what happened in here?” one guard asked in a young man’s voice.
“Need a gas mask,” said the other.
Grace shifted her attention to her daughter, who had come dressed in her trademark green uniform, baggy as ever. Her hair was pulled back in a loose pony, how Penny often wore it, allowing for an unobstructed view of her face. There was no trace of a smile, and in those sapphire eyes a cold fire burned.
Not Penny. Still Eve.
Sniffing the ammonia-scented air, Eve looked about as if trying to locate the source of the odor before advancing into the room. Grace held her breath with nervous anticipation.
“Is this a gas chamber?” her daughter asked in Eve’s trademark snarl. “Are you finally putting me out of my misery, Mother?”
Grace deflated on the spot. It hadn’t worked. Eve remained, and whatever had brought Penny forth that day wasn’t triggered by scent. A feeling of hopelessness welled up inside her, and Grace wasn’t sure if it was the ammonia or her disappointment making her eyes water. She tamped down her emotions in order to take Eve into her arms and give her daughter a proper hug hello. She didn’t expect any resistance, nor did she expect her hug to be reciprocated—which it was not.
Putting her nose to her daughter’s scalp, Grace inhaled deeply. Underneath the chemical fumes, her hair carried a familiar scent, calling up memories of a smiling girl in a bathtub with a hairnet of suds and one of her favorite mermaid dolls clutched in each hand. A sob broke from Grace’s lips. It was a surprise, but a relief, too, that Eve allowed her mother’s hug to go on.
Eventually, Grace gave up the struggle and allowed her tears to fall freely. They went rolling down her cheeks in salty rivulets, and it was a cry for everything—for Arthur, for Penny, for Ryan’s wayward ways, and for poor Jack, who was all but forgotten in the wreckage of her life. She cried for Annie, soon to be departing for Florida, and the world she had manifested for herself that was no longer hers to control.
Grace held on to Eve as her shoulders shook and the ammonia burned. She was about to let go when something brushed up against her back, stroking and soothing her. It was a phantom feeling, she decided, because nobody—not Mitch, not Eve—could offer her any real comfort in that moment. The touch intensified until she felt herself being pulled into a strong embrace, and only then did she realize it was her daughter holding her close.
With a gentle push, Grace broke the hold to gaze into her daughter’s eyes. They shone clearly like two pools of the purest water, not a trace of menace to be found.
As the smell dissipated into the hallway, Grace’s other senses sharpened. Now it was Penny’s stoop-shouldered stance and docile manner—chin tilted down, hands stuffed nervously inside the pockets of her Edgewater-issued pants, mouth dipped into a slight frown—on full display. Brushing a hand against Penny’s smooth cheek, Grace felt a warmth Eve never could generate, and her tears came again.
“Penny,” Grace said in a disbelieving whisper.
“Mom.” Penny’s voice came out rife with anguish. Grace kissed her cheek, hard.
“It’s so good to see you,” said Grace. She kept her movements controlled and to a minimum, as if anything sudden might scare Penny away like a deer sensing danger.
“What’s going on, Mom? Am I still here? At the hospital?”
Of course. Penny’s last memory would have been from her time in the emergency room.
“Yes, you’re still at the special hospital,” Grace said. “Let’s sit and talk.”
“It smells awful in here.” Penny took several big whiffs of the foul air.
“It’ll clear out, not to worry.” Grace didn’t want to leave the room and risk having Eve return. “Talk to me, tell me how you’re doing?”
Grace looked at Mitch worriedly as she guided Penny into a seat at the same table where, days ago, they had tried to eat lunch together.
“You remember Dr. Mitch, right?”
Penny nodded. “From the ER,” she said.
“He needs to record us for your treatment,” Grace said in an encouraging way.
Penny’s next nod was nearly imperceptible.
As she took her seat, Grace peered over at Mitch. Sure enough, he had his phone’s camera lens aimed directly at Penny. The small device did not completely block her view of Mitch’s face, and Grace interpreted his slack jaw and crinkled brow to mean that he, too, was struggling to process what he was recording.
Grace took firm hold of Penny’s tremulous hands. She didn’t know how much time they had together. A minute? Fifteen? A half hour? How long had Penny stuck around in the ER that day?
“Darling, it’s important we talk,” Grace said, her heart butting up against her ribs. “You told us some things the last time we were together, things we need to clarify.”
Instead of answering
, Penny flung her arm into the air, bringing her palm down against the table with a smacking sound loud as a gunshot. It was a gesture similar to the one Grace had made in Navarro’s office. Like mother, like daughter. Concern tugged at Grace. Was a switch happening before her eyes? Had confusion and fear driven Penny away?
“I need to know why I’m here.”
“Penny…”
“Tell me, Mother.”
Mother. It was still Penny, but even shy, timid girls have their breaking points.
“Don’t be upset,” Grace said. “You’re safe. Trust me. I’m working hard to help you.”
“Just get me out of here,” Penny pleaded, her lower lip jutting out in a pouty way.
“This is a long process,” said Grace, “we have to talk first.”
“Talk? Okay, let’s talk.” Penny slumped in her chair. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”
Grace sent Mitch a look that brought him forward. “You told us some things in the ER, things you remembered. You said to Dr. Mitch you weren’t alone that night. Do you recall that conversation?”
Penny eyed Mitch with focused intent, and Grace thought she saw a flicker of recognition burst forth in her eyes.
“I don’t remember that,” Penny said, pulling her hand from under Grace’s with a quick jerk of her arm.
Mitch stepped forward. “Your memories will help us explain everything to you,” he said. “You told me about a book you were reading. Something with water and boats on the cover?”
Penny shifted her focus from her mother to Mitch and back again, frustration straining her unblemished face. She was so young to be dealing with so much. Grace felt an ache that only mothers with a sick and helpless child can know.
Penny returned a slow shake of her head. “I don’t know about any book, and I won’t do anything you ask me, not a single thing, until I get some answers.” She’d issued her ultimatum with uncharacteristic authority, but Grace knew it was still Penny making her demand known. “I remember being in the ER,” she continued. “There were people in handcuffs … patients in a hospital in handcuffs. Now, what’s that about?”
Pride flooded Grace as she witnessed her child’s self-advocacy. Perhaps she’d been underestimating Penny’s resiliency.
Mitch was about to say something, but Grace raised a hand to stop him.
“There was a crime and the police think you hurt someone. The crime was a murder,” Grace said somberly.
Penny’s eyelids sank. “Do people think I did it? This is a prison hospital or something, isn’t it?” Her soft-spoken voice belonged to the old Penny again, her short-lived vibrato gone as if it never had been. How Grace wished she had Arthur at her side. “Better together” was his motto, the phrase he’d always say about the family. That wasn’t an option right now, so she pushed ahead, undaunted.
“Yes, it’s a prison hospital specifically for people with mental health issues. It’s called Edgewater. And yes, they think you committed a murder,” Grace confessed.
Penny bit her lower lip, her head still downcast. “Do they have evidence against me?” A shaky voice implied she knew the answer.
“They do. A lot.”
“Who was murdered?”
Grace turned to Mitch for guidance, but he shifted on his feet, seeming as unsure as she felt.
She waited a beat, then two, and finally said, “The victim is a woman named Rachel Boyd.”
Grace braced herself for a volatile reaction that didn’t come. Then something caught in Penny’s throat, and an instant later, tears flooded her eyes.
“Mom—” Penny closed her eyes tightly. “She contacted me … Facebook, we exchanged messages … she told me … to keep it a secret, and I did. She wanted to meet. I remember now … I took the car to meet her … I know I shouldn’t have, but I did, and I’m sorry—”
“It’s okay, love,” Grace said, reaching across the table to take hold of Penny’s hands again.
“I … I killed Rachel?”
“That’s what people are saying,” said Grace.
“Why would I do that?”
“We’re trying to get some answers,” Grace replied.
Off to her left, Mitch kept the camera trained on Penny.
“Think about that book, okay?” he encouraged. Grace appreciated his redirection. It was similar to the way he handled Darla not long ago. “You said it had a dark blue cover, boats in the water.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
“Go on, darling. Try to picture it,” Grace implored.
“I can’t.” Penny made a frustrated sound, but Grace patted her hand to encourage her to keep trying. Soon Penny stilled, and Grace sensed something transpiring. “Wait, I do see it,” she said in a hushed voice after a moment’s pause. “The book.”
“Oh good … that’s very good. Can you see the title?” Grace felt her excitement growing.
“I’m not alone,” Penny whispered. Grace knew it was no longer just a book she was seeing in her mind.
“Who’s with you?” she asked. “Is it a man? Is it Vincent? Vincent Rapino?”
Penny opened her eyes as if jolted from a trance.
“You know that name.” Grace sounded stunned, but quickly composed herself. “He was Rachel’s boyfriend. Do you remember anything about him?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Penny said, her tone apologetic. Her eyes were open, but it looked to Grace as though she were seeing beyond the Edgewater walls.
Grace leaned in closer, thinking she hadn’t heard quite right. “Come again?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Penny said, this time with conviction. “Nothing.”
Her eyes soon filled, cheeks went rosy, and before long tears were streaming down her face.
“It’s okay … I understand. You’re safe,” Grace assured her. “What happened that night? Can you tell me?”
“Someone hurt her, but it wasn’t me,” Penny said, speaking in a soft, almost dreamlike tone.
“I’ll say a name,” Grace said. “You don’t have to answer, just nod your head if that person was with you.”
Penny went still as a painting, giving no indication she’d grasped her mother’s instruction. From her wide and frightened eyes it appeared she was still lost in the past, trapped in some terrible memory.
“Was Vincent there?”
The only movement Penny made was to close her eyes slowly.
“Was Maria with you?”
Penny gave no acknowledgment. Her body stayed still even as her eyes opened. She looked empty, the mannequin look again.
While her daughter remained motionless, inside Grace was revving up. These new revelations—I didn’t do anything wrong, I wasn’t alone—revived a hope in her long ago abandoned in the face of the overwhelming evidence.
Could Penny be innocent?
“You saw someone hurt Rachel. Can you give us a name?”
Instead of answering, Penny tapped her hand softly and rhythmically against the table.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Three times those taps sounded in short succession, and then paused before she did it again.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said in a breathy whisper.
Mitch’s recording captured every detail: the way her lips pursed together, the squint of her eyes, how her hands had balled into tight little fists.
“Penny, who are you talking to?” Grace asked. “To me? Are you telling me that you’re innocent?”
It looked to Grace as though Penny had donned a virtual reality headset, and through its magical lens, she could peer into the past to confront a terror that felt visceral and real to her.
“Look at your room again.” Mitch’s words seemed to come out of the gloom, causing Grace to startle. “Do you see the book?”
“The book with boats and water,” Penny answered in a dreamlike voice. “I love that book.”
“Close your eyes and see if you can see it in your head. Tell me the tit
le if you can.”
Penny closed her eyes. “I see only the bucket,” she said, unclenching her hands.
“Bucket? What bucket?” asked Mitch. He moved in closer, kneeling on the floor beside Penny, his attention focused on the patient more than his recording.
“It’s a blue plastic bucket … filled with that stuff … it smells … awful.”
“What stuff?” Grace squeezed Penny’s hand gently.
“Ammonia. The bucket is full of ammonia. I’m going to get my head put in the bucket, too, but I didn’t do anything wrong, so I shouldn’t get the bucket.”
Grace and Mitch exchanged horrified glances. Had someone tried to force Penny to inhale ammonia fumes on the night of Rachel’s murder? That scenario was sickening to the core, but it certainly explained why the scent had triggered a switch. Thoughts flurried through Grace’s mind as she tried to puzzle out possibilities.
Nothing about this made sense, but these were clearly her daughter’s recollections.
“It happened to her, and it’s going to happen to me.” Penny sounded truly terrified. Her eyes were closed, but her head was turned to a corner of the room, as if seeing Rachel there, on her knees, someone standing behind her, pushing her head down, down, into a bucket full of ammonia. “I heard the voice say it. She has to be gone and gone for good. I’ll get the bucket, too, if she’s not gone and gone for good.”
Grace was reeling now. Voice? What voice? Had someone pressured Penny to stab Rachel using the threat of torture? Gone and gone for good … dead … what other explanation could there be?
Then, in a quiet voice, so soft Grace had to strain to hear it, Penny began to speak.
“Alabama … Alaska … Chicago…”
“Penny?” Grace asked. “What are you talking about?”
Lost in this trance, Penny either didn’t hear, couldn’t respond, or she simply chose not to answer.
“Charlotte … Virginia … Ohio … Tennessee … Santa Fe,” she continued.
Grace looked to Mitch, utterly bemused. He offered a shrug in response, for he too was baffled.