by Kim Murphy
Lee took his cue and introduced them. “This is Dr. Howard. She’s a friend.”
At the sound of Lee’s voice, Jane relaxed. “Netab?”
“Netab,” Lee replied. “She wants to help you remember what happened.”
Lee’s inflection had strangely matched Jane’s in a perfect copy. Finally, Jane glanced warily from Lee.
Shae motioned for Jane to have a seat on the sofa. “We’re going to have a little chat and get to know each other better. If you still have difficulty remembering what happened, I’ll see if hypnosis can help you recall, so Detective Crowley can find whoever it was that did this to you. Do you understand?”
Shae lightly touched Jane’s elbow to guide her to the sofa. The woman flinched but offered no resistance. The nurse left the room, and as Lee strode for the door, Jane drew her knees to her body. Pain reflected in her eyes as she did so.
Unless Shae gained the patient’s confidence, there would be no interview nor hypnosis. “Lee, I think you had better stay.”
Without an acknowledgment, he seated himself at the opposite end of the sofa.
“There’s no reason to be afraid,” Shae said to Jane. “Detective Crowley will remain with us.”
Gradually, Jane stretched her legs and began to look a little less haunted.
What was it about Lee that comforted Jane?
“Detective Crowley investigates crimes,” Shae said. “He wants to know what happened to you, which is why he called me. I’m a psychologist, and I use hypnotherapy when I think it will help. We’re both here to help you, so you can ask either of us any questions that you might have.”
Jane muttered in a language unfamiliar to Shae.
“Do you speak English?”
Jane merely stared at her in confusion. Lee had stated that she seemed to understand, but Shae had her doubts. She’d try a different tack. Some sort of two-way communication was necessary if she was going to use hypnosis. “The important thing is that you’re safe here. No one can harm you further. If you’ll do what I say, we can recover your memory so that you may begin healing. Will you do as I say?”
No response.
“Do you understand what hypnosis is?”
Jane stared blankly at Shae.
“Lee, can I speak with you privately?”
He nodded, but before leaving, he bent down to Jane and spoke to her in a soft, gentle voice. “We’ll return shortly.”
Jane uttered no response, but Shae spotted immediate relaxation and trust. Such a pity that Lee had no knowledge of how to induce hypnosis. Was Jane responding to his words? No, it was more like an instant connection. Once outside the room, she left the door cracked so they could keep an eye on the patient without her hearing their discussion. “If she can’t communicate, I can’t use hypnosis. I must be able to explain to her what it is.”
“She does understand you,” he insisted.
“How can you be so certain? It appears to me that she’s responding to you.”
“Okay, call it another hunch, but I’m certain she understands some of what we’re saying. Try again—please.”
Shae was aware how much he hated cold cases. “I don’t like jeopardizing a patient’s mental health for a hunch.”
“Why do you think I called you? Because I know you’ll get the leads I need without endangering anyone.”
Damn him. He knew exactly how to hit her where she was vulnerable. If she could somehow communicate with Jane Doe, not only would she help Lee, but she would pave the way for the patient’s healing as well. “All right. One more time, but if we’re not successful, I don’t want to hear anymore about it.”
“Agreed.”
“I presume you’ll accompany me? It must be that no-nonsense authority figure thing, but she relaxes when you’re around.”
He motioned for her to proceed before him. “After you.”
Upon returning to the exam room, Shae drew in her breath. Slow and easy. It was going to be tough finding Jane’s comfort zone. “Sorry for the interruption. First, let me explain. Detective Crowley was called in on your case because you’ve been whipped by someone. He wants to know who did this to you so this person can’t hurt you or anyone else again.”
Jane glanced in Lee’s direction. Maybe she did understand.
Taking her cue, Shae continued, “Whipping another person is against the law, and Detective Crowley wants to arrest him. Do you understand?”
“De-tect-ive...”
Shae thought she had detected a hint of an English accent. “That’s right, and I’m Dr. Howard. I’m a psychologist trained in hypnotherapy. Detective Crowley thought hypnosis might help you remember what happened, but we can sit here and chat for a while if you prefer. Can you tell me your name?”
Jane muttered in the guttural language once more.
“That’s fine. We’ll come back to your name when you feel more comfortable. Do you know where you are?”
Jane shook her head.
Good! She understood.
“You’re in a hospital. The doctors treated your injuries. Most importantly, you’re safe. Whoever hurt you can’t reach you here nor harm you again. You can have a comfortable rest while your body heals. The doctors and nurses will see to that. I, on the other hand, am a doctor who helps people with emotional injuries. You’ve endured a trauma from the accident, and I’m here to help you. If you listen to what I say, I can help you, and in turn, the two of us can help Detective Crowley. Will you listen to what I say?”
Jane glanced at Lee. He gave her a nod.
Shae was beginning to doubt that the patient’s trust in Lee was due to his badge. It was more like she knew him.
Jane faced her again. “Aye.”
Scottish? Shae wondered. “Through the use of hypnosis,” she said, “I can help you recall what happened. Contrary to what you might have seen on TV, hypnosis doesn’t control your mind. You won’t go to sleep, nor will you be stuck in a trance.”
“Trance?” Jane asked.
“Yes, hypnosis is a trance-like state of the mind, but it’s never permanent. Your attention will be more focused, but you will be relaxed so that you can calmly tell us what happened. Shall I continue?”
“Aye.”
“You will be in complete control. Do you understand?”
“Trance.” Jane closed her eyes.
“Good. Relax. Breathe in. Now out. Breathe in and hold for the count of three. One. Two. Three.” Shae went through several breathing exercises with Jane. She was hopeful. The patient was responding. “Imagine a bird. Can you see it?”
Jane’s eyes remained closed. “Ussac.”
Some sort of bird, Shae presumed. “Now I want you to imagine your right big toe.” Shae continued the relaxation script through Jane’s foot and leg. “Think of a boat. You’re riding on a gentle wave. The wave reaches your left foot and leg.” Waves and waves, until she led Jane through every part of her body. “You may feel a pleasant tingling sensation from the tips of your toes or in your fingertips. It’s growing stronger as your entire body is bathed in the glow. You’re now drifting and floating in peace. Now, can you tell me your name?”
Jane responded in the guttural language.
“Can you tell me your name in English?”
“Phoebe Wynne.”
The patient had most definitely spoken with an English or Scottish accent. Yet, somehow it seemed different. Shae couldn’t quite put her finger on why. Lee watched Phoebe with growing interest. Thankfully, he knew his place and remained silent.
“Phoebe, I’d like for you to think about before the accident. Someone whipped you. Can you describe who did it to you?”
Silence.
Shae needed to use another approach. “Phoebe, where are you from?”
“Dorset. When I was a lass of nine years, Momma and I sailed on the Blessing to James Town.”
Jamestown? Phoebe had uttered the name as if it were two distinct words.
“Was this in celebration of the recent anni
versary?” Shae asked.
“Nay. Poppa was on the Sea Venture. She wrecked during a hurricane. We thought Poppa had been lost at sea.”
Phoebe’s memory was most unusual. Shae had to remind herself the purpose of the session was to discover Phoebe’s assailant. Still, the memory could be leading somewhere, and if the patient could remember the date, they might have a birthdate to go with her name. “When did you arrive in Jamestown?”
“1609. Momma thought Poppa was dead. We ran off the following February during the starving time.”
* * *
2
Phoebe Wynne
Not a horse nor a dog roamed the colony. Even the rats scurried for shelter to avoid capture from hungry hands. A walking skeleton—Master Littleton—dug his grave, lay in it, and prayed to be taken. Master Collins committed the greatest of sins. He hated his wife and killed her, saying that she had died. Then he cut her up, salted her, and fed upon her to satisfy his hunger. For his crime, the men heaped faggots around a wooden stake.
Sullen and mute, Master Collins marched to the stake in shabby and dirty clothes. He paused briefly when he reached the circle of broken sticks and knelt in prayer. He arose and placed his back to the stake. Half a dozen men wound ropes about his body and a chain around his neck. The torch was applied. For a moment, smoke billowed. Sparks flew into the air, and the wood crackled.
Almost immediately, his breeches caught fire. Though his flesh must have been scorched, he uttered no sound. Flames crawled upwards on his clothing. With a sudden convulsive jerking on the ropes, Master Collins turned his head from the rapidly increasing flames. A cry pierced the air. “Oh my God! Let me go!”
In an attempt to prevent me from viewing the spectacle, Momma seized my hand. “Come, Phoebe.”
Amongst Master Collins’s screams came the smell of roasting flesh, followed by a musky odor. I was so weak from hunger that my knees nearly buckled. Momma tugged on my hand once more and nearly lifted me from the ground to keep me moving. The men were distracted by the burning, and no one observed us slipping out the wooden gates. Soon, we were away from the fort. As we neared the snow-covered forest, a man with brown skin painted with black geometric patterns stood afore us. He wore a breechclout, deer hide leggings, and a mantle draped in duck feathers. His crown hair stood upright. Whilst the right side of his head was shaved, his black hair, tied in a knot and adorned with fowl feathers, stretched the length of his back on his left side. Bird’s claws hung through each of his ears, and the same black patterns decorated his face, making his expression look more fierce.
With their bows at the ready, other warriors joined him. I had ne’er seen Indians up close afore. Their frames towered over us, casting imposing figures. I clung to Momma’s skirt, hoping the wool fabric would make me invisible.
“Please,” Momma said, sinking to her knees. “My husband is dead, and I have naught to feed my daughter. Do what you will with me, but spare her.”
Even though they hadn’t understood a word she uttered, they lowered their bows slightly. The first warrior stepped forward, lifted Momma’s thin hair, and let the strands fall slowly from his fingers as if he were curious about her blonde curls. Though her face remained stern, I felt her shaking legs neath her skirt as I shrank further into the folds.
The warrior spoke in his Algonquian tongue and drew Momma to her feet. The other warriors lowered their bows and moved away from the colony. With a wave, he indicated for us to follow. Momma had only heard ghastly tales of savages. She had no way of knowing that Paspahegh warriors rarely raped, nor did they kill women and children, but she obeyed. Her head remained high. She pretended to be unafraid. With that simple gesture, we followed them to their town.
* * *
3
Shae
“Indian warriors, Jamestown! I half expected to hear a tale or two about John Smith and Pocahontas thrown in for good measure.”
Normally, Lee wasn’t the sort to ruffle easily, but Shae watched him pace the length of Dr. Miller’s office, then back again.
“I warned you that hypnosis would be a long shot,” she said.
Calming, he halted by Dr. Miller’s desk. Thankfully, the doctor had loaned them the use of his office so they could speak in private. “You did,” Lee finally agreed. “What caused her to make up such a story?”
“Confabulation. Phoebe has completely fantasized details of her trauma into a pure work of fiction. She needs therapeutic treatment, not forensic analysis. I suspect it lends some insight as to why she’s comforted by your presence.”
“Proceed, doctor,” he said with interest.
“You look very similar to her description of a Pa... Paspa...”
“Pa-spa-hay. They were a tributary tribe to the paramount chief, Powhatan.”
“You sound like a textbook,” she said. “Where did you learn about them?”
“My parents had me read about all of the Virginia tribes—to teach me about my heritage. For all the good it did,” he grumbled.
Amazing—all the years they had known each other, he had never shared the fact that he had read about the tribes. She was getting distracted. “Phoebe trusts you because you look like a Paspahegh warrior.”
He straightened his tie. “I guess I had better trade in my suit for a loincloth.”
“Lee, don’t dismiss her. You were right for me to continue, but her mental state is fragile. The warrior is some sort of symbol, most likely for someone she knows. Whoever he is, she feels protected by his presence. It’s why she trusts you.”
His eyes were the color of burnt almond, and they grew piercing as he met her gaze. “I have a name, if it’s her real one. I’ve already put it through to the dispatcher, but if that turns up empty, I have nothing more to work with.”
And Phoebe would most likely be turned over to a psychiatric hospital, unless she could function in transitional housing. The patient struck Shae as one who might not do well in either environment. “Let me know if anything turns up.”
“I will.” Lee strode for the door.
“Lee, I’m going to ask Dr. Miller if I can take over her case upon her release.”
He faced her. “Getting personally involved, Shae?”
“No, but she needs someone to help her work through her trauma. I don’t want to see her cast off to some state hospital.”
“Sounds like personal involvement to me.”
“Of course you would think so, since it’s so easy for you to turn off emotions.”
Lee opened his mouth to protest.
She continued before he had the chance, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I guess after all these years, I still find myself vulnerable to slinging a petty jab on occasion. I merely don’t want to see Phoebe lost in the system. Someone cares for her and is looking for her. Unless they step forward, who she is and what happened to her are locked away in a troubled mind.”
“And you, doctor, have ulterior motives. You seek a published paper from treating such an unusual patient.”
She resisted the urge to respond with a biting retort. “I’ll admit a paper would be nice, but it’s icing on the cake. I truly believe I can help her. I’ve got a few favors to call in. I think I can get her placed in transitional housing. She deserves a chance.”
“I’ll see what I can do on my end.”
“Thanks, Lee. By the way, you haven’t said how you’ve been.”
His expression softened slightly as he lowered his detached detective’s mask. “I’m fine.”
“And Linda?”
“We split six months ago. You know the score—long hours and wondering if she’d get the call late at night saying I was lying dead on some dark street.”
She did understand—all too well. Shae suspected that was the reason why they were better friends now than when they had been married. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”
“The story of my life. What about you?”
“Pretty much the same. Russ and I—”
Lee’s cell phone rang. “Crowley,” he answered. “I’m on my way. Have to run, Shae.”
He shot out the door before she could say goodbye. She shook her head with a knowing laugh. Nothing had changed. No wonder he had lost yet another woman.
* * *
4
Phoebe
The warriors escorted Momma and me to a town of arched houses covered by woven mats. Upon our entrance to the town, the Indians sent up a joint shrill cry, terrifying the two of us with their noise. I clutched Momma’s skirts that much tighter. A warrior in a feathered headdress introduced himself as the weroance Wowinchapuncke and made a speech. We understood not a single word he uttered and feared the worst when he finished and motioned for us to follow four women.
The women, wearing leather mantles for warmth, took our hands and led us towards the river.
Momma’s free hand gripped my shoulder as we traveled a path cleared from brambles. “Everything will be fine.”
Her trembling hand signaled a different story than her words. I had overheard tales in the colony how the Indians cooked children and ate them, as Master Collins had his wife. “Momma,” I cried.
“Not now, Phoebe.”
We reached the river bank, and the women stripped us of our woolen clothing, including our shifts.
Momma kept her eyes focused forward so as not to view the men, women, and children lining the bank, watching us.
Again, the women took our hands and led us into the water. I already shivered uncontrollably from the winter day, but the ice-edged river water was downright freezing. Momma struggled to reach me. Two women clamped their hands around her arms and held her away from me, whilst the masses on the bank burst into laughter. Momma howled like a crazed bitch protecting her pup ’til one of the women said in English, “No hurt.”
Numbness spread, tingling my feet, but the women began to wash us. Dunked underwater, I panicked and flailed my arms, for I could not swim. The women scoured and scrubbed. The cold water bit into my flesh. When I was allowed to rise, I choked for air to fill my lungs. Briefly, I saw a long-legged white hound on the opposite bank. I gasped for another breath, and when I reopened my eyes, the dog had vanished.