Not too many years ago, Belle Falls was thought of as an authentic pastoral community. Outsiders often waxed nostalgia when they envisioned Pennsylvania’s countryside. But reality had reshaped the idealistic images of rolling pastures and barnyard vistas. After the dust settled from a fleet of rust-laden tractors and sunlight curled above the verdant hillsides, most of the landscape had been consumed by an onslaught of shopping centers and parking lots. By this day, the farmers had either withered into poverty or sold their land to bidding developers.
A few steadfast old-timers clung to their properties for as long as it remained equitable, but it soon became apparent that greener pastures existed in the form of cold cash rather than corn crop. After all, councilmen claimed this type of progress afforded the long-time residents with new businesses and work. Bringing the suburbs closer to the farmyards seemed like a practical venture initially, but this decision ultimately pilfered the long-time residents of their provincial heritage.
A prime example of hasty development occurred on the outskirts of Belle Falls over the past decade. Cloverton’s city limits expanded significantly in these years, and more expansion seemed as inevitable as the changing seasons. An array of larger corporations and smaller entrepreneurs soon encroached upon the terrain. This influx spawned suburban mini-malls to sprout where cornstalks once flourished. Although the infrastructure remained virtually unchanged, Cloverton’s population increased nearly ten fold in a five-year period.
With an enormous amount of people residing and working in a region originally designed to accommodate smaller numbers, a problem of over congestion occurred that no one truly understood how to remedy. An endless stream of vehicles often lined up for hours along a two-lane road leading into and out of Cloverton. As a result, the humble beginnings of a town—once revered for its pastures and tilled fields—now surrendered to unsavory offerings of exhaust fumes and rage-induced blasts from car horns.
Ryan had not missed the forty-minute drive to Cloverton since his last visit to Dr. Evans’s office over two years ago. Since Ryan did not have the desire to obtain a driver’s license of his own as of yet, he relied on his friend to make the trip. Luckily, Victor had just recently learned to drive legally, and had subsequently been given limited access to his father’s Buick. For reasons only definable to seventeen-year-old drivers, Victor found the process of navigating through traffic more of a pleasure than a chore.
During the drive, it was apparent to Victor that his friend experienced an unusual amount of stress. He could not even entice Ryan with his accounts of Hubble’s photographic offerings of Jupiter’s moons. Usually the boys traded tidbits of trivia to pass the time, but Ryan found it difficult to find anything important to discuss. His primary concern remained focused on his grandfather’s behavior, but he now felt questions of doubt resurfacing. His decision to visit Dr. Evans today was not solely for the welfare of his grandfather anymore.
The Highland Medical Plaza nestled itself compactly in one of the busiest corners in downtown Cloverton. The building’s red brick and motor exterior appeared as though it was constructed to fit into the framework of early German architecture. Ten years ago, Dr. Jack Evans relocated one of his practices from New York to the center of this thriving district, and it was only by coincidence that Ryan had moved to Belle Falls at nearly the same time. The shingle outside the building indicated that Evans was a psychiatrist who specialized in psychiatric hypnotherapy, particularly in time-regression hypnosis.
Being a long-time native of Pennsylvania, Evans welcomed the opportunity to return to practice in proximity to where he grew up. The transition from Manhattan to Cloverton, however, had not occurred without some adjustment. His practice nearly folded a few times before enough people in the region familiarized themselves with the benefits of psychiatric therapy.
Evans had just celebrated his forty-third birthday, and all things considered, the ravages of time had been kinder to his features than most men his age. His brow was a bit furrowed and his salt and pepper hair receded slightly, and maybe his mild, brown eyes were not as sharp as they once had been, but he spent more hours worrying about the condition of others than he did himself. Though he kept his six-foot stature in relatively decent shape, he was not one to fritter long hours at the gym, and much to the astonishment of his pompous colleagues, he wholeheartedly despised the game of golf. Nevertheless, those who became acquainted with the doctor quickly recognized his affable nature. Most of his patients believed that he was as accessible in the street as he was in the professional backdrop of his office.
Of course any psychiatrist worth the ink on his parchments was quick to clarify that infallibilities existed within every man. Evans made no false pretenses about his own shortcomings. He lived through a failed marriage, and was humbled by the fact that he never fathered any children. Perhaps this contributed to his emotional attachment to some of his patients, which sometimes compromised his ability to administer impartial treatment.
Ryan’s unresolved circumstances had always preoccupied the doctor’s thoughts. This case represented one of the few incidents where Evans felt he had not managed the boy’s condition properly. Perhaps the doctor relinquished control too easily, but the stagnancy in treatment had actually occurred because of Ryan’s reluctance to undergo sustained hypnosis in order to recollect the events of his childhood. When Ryan was younger, he did not resist therapy so determinedly. In earlier years, Evans was permitted to observe and gather some rather compelling information, but it was not enough to bring about closure for either of them.
In anticipation of Ryan’s arrival to his office on this late afternoon, Evans had canceled the remainder of his scheduled appointments in order to focus solely on the boy’s dilemma. The urgency of Ryan’s voice on the telephone prompted the doctor to extend such an invitation on short notice. A typical session lasted no longer than an hour, but Evans was prepared to spend as much time as possible with Ryan.
Before Ryan entered his office, Evans perused the boy’s files and jotted pertinent details of the case onto a yellow pad of paper. His office had a luxurious ambiance, replete with mahogany furnishings and leather-bound chairs. Some strategically placed floral arrangements added an aura of freshness to the interior. The only audible sound, other than the scribbling of Evans’s pen, was the soft, melodic ticking of a wall clock.
At just after 4 o’clock Evans’s secretary buzzed his intercom and informed the doctor of Ryan’s arrival. Customarily, Evans kept his clients waiting a few minutes so they had an opportunity to settle down, but he instructed his secretary to permit Ryan to enter his office immediately.
Ryan appeared somewhat hesitant as he paced into the office. He was dressed in standard adolescent attire: a black-hooded sweater, sneakers, and a pair of faded blue jeans. Evans stood up from behind his desk to greet Ryan with a nod of his chin. A spell of awkwardness soon became apparent, but the doctor did his best to pacify the boy’s anxiety.
“Good to see you again, Ryan,” Evans remarked in an enthusiastic tone. Ryan’s reluctance to speak right away indicated his evasive mood. He fidgeted in place and avoided any sustained eye contact with the psychiatrist. “Would you like a glass of water?” Evans offered, motioning to a cooler in the corner of the room.
Ryan seemed preoccupied with reacquainting himself with the surroundings. He recalled the deep burgundy carpeting and finely polished furniture exactly as it was two years ago. Picturesque windows flanked the wall behind Evans’s desk, allowing a fair amount of muted light to slip between the vertical blinds. Before slouching upon a leather chair in front of Evans’s desk, Ryan politely refused the water by shaking his head.
Evans extended his hand for what amounted to be nothing more than an obligatory salutation. Ryan’s sweaty grip exposed his nervousness, and Evans concluded that the boy’s fretfulness had amplified since they spoke on the phone.
“Everything looks pretty much the same,” said Ryan, still attempting to evade the doctor’s scrutinizing gaze as he pe
ered around the room.
“We try to keep things consistent around here,” Evans noted in a mellow voice that Ryan remembered with equal clarity. The doctor was in no hurry to coax anything out of the boy that he did not willingly intend to submit. He simply reclined in his high-back chair and enlaced his fingers across his chest. Several seconds passed as he watched Ryan inspect the credentials displayed in black frames on the wall closest to the desk.
A few minutes passed before Evans determined that Ryan needed at least some encouragement to proceed. The doctor opened a manila folder on his desk and scanned the file he had compiled on Ryan over their seven years together.
“I didn’t think I’d get the chance to see you again,” Evans started. “You’ve gotten taller.”
Ryan threw back his shoulders and sat straighter in the chair before he said, “I don’t even know why I’m here. There’s probably nothing you can do anyway.”
“Well, I’m sure you didn’t come all the way out here to discover what I couldn’t do. From what you’ve told me on the phone, it’s your grandfather’s drinking that has become a problem.”
“Yeah,” Ryan admitted, shamefully bowing his head. “At first I thought he was going through a phase, maybe even looking for extra attention. But he’s out of control now. I’m not sure what he’ll do next.”
Evans scribbled a few notes on the yellow pad of paper. He listened to the tone of Ryan’s voice as much as he did his words. “How often does he drink, Ryan?”
“Everyday, and almost always enough to make him sick.”
“Obviously, this situation has you quite upset,” said Evans before standing up from his desk. He crossed over to the cooler and dispensed a few ounces of water into a paper cup. He then placed the cup in Ryan’s quivering hand. Ryan accepted the offering this time and gulped it down as if he had not sipped a beverage all day. Evans waited until Ryan appeared more relaxed before continuing with his discourse.
“I’ll assume that your grandfather doesn’t know you’re here today.”
“I told him I was coming to see you,” Ryan remarked.
“What did he say about that?”
“He was probably too drunk to remember.”
After a few more minutes and a few more notes, Ryan’s nervousness still had not completely settled. He cautiously watched the doctor’s hand slide across the paper in front of him. Evans usually displayed limited emotion when evaluating his patients, particularly when touching upon sensitive issues.
“Correct me if I’m mistaken, Ryan, but I don’t remember you speaking very much about your grandfather’s drinking before your grandmother passed away. How long has he had this problem with alcohol?”
Ryan pondered the question momentarily before shrugging his shoulders. “To be honest, I never noticed. Maybe he was really good at hiding it.”
“Fair enough,” said Evans. “I want to go back and talk about what you said earlier. You mentioned that he was out of control. What exactly does that mean?”
“He’s crazy and drunk all the time. The man never leaves the house, not even to visit my grandmother’s grave. The only time I ever see him leave is when he’s going to pick up booze.”
“Is he physically violent?”
Ryan paused again, this time hoping to reveal more than what he knew to be true. “He wants to hit me,” he said finally.
“Does he tell you so?”
“Not exactly,” answered Ryan somberly. “I can see it in his eyes though. It’s the way he watches me.”
Evans continued to write on the notepad as he asked, “What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to say. I’m not sure what he’ll do next. I’m really afraid to be around him anymore.”
Evans did not immediately respond, but he continued to record Ryan’s mannerisms during these seconds. Although he saw that Ryan was visibly frightened, Evans had no evidence to substantiate the boy’s accusations.
“Ryan, you’ll have to decide how far you really want to take this. If you’re in any kind of danger at home, wouldn’t it be wiser to call the police and report him?”
“I thought I’d talk to you first to see if there was any other way to handle this.”
“Before I make any suggestions, I need to know that you’re being accurate,” Evans explained. “Does your grandfather ever tell you how he feels about you?”
Ryan became a bit agitated now. It seemed as though the doctor was more intent on evaluating Ryan’s responses rather than reacting to them in a way the boy found beneficial. “Does he really need to tell me?” replied Ryan, crossing his arms in front of his chest defiantly. “Look, Doctor Evans, I can’t say precisely why the guy hates me, but you know when someone doesn’t like you. A person doesn’t necessarily have to tell you how he’s feeling in order for you to sense it.”
Evans revealed somewhat of a deflated look before stating, “Good point.” He then proceeded without the demonstration of emotion that Ryan was prone to display thus far. “I have to admit to you, Ryan, that before your grandmother’s death two years ago, I specifically asked her about the relationship you had with your grandfather.”
“Why did you need to know that?”
“As your psychiatrist, I wanted to understand the dynamics of your family life. Unfortunately, your grandmother didn’t offer much information in regard to your grandfather’s feelings towards you or vice versa. From what I gleamed during our conversations, however, I sensed that he was extremely jealous about your dependency to his wife.”
“I know that now,” Ryan admitted freely. “I guess this is his way of making me pay for it.”
“It’s not likely that your grandfather is going to sit down with me to discuss why he feels the way he does. I’m going to have to rely on you to help me understand his motivations.”
“Does an alcoholic need to be motivated?” Ryan remarked in protest. “I mean isn’t the disease itself an explanation to the fact that he isn’t motivated by anything else but self-destruction?”
Evans chuckled to himself and nodded with approval. He had momentarily displaced the knowledge that he was dealing with a boy whose intelligence belied his seventeen years of life. “At least you seem to have some idea of what you’re facing. Based on what you’ve told me, it has served you well to keep some distance between you and him for the past two years.”
“It’s getting harder,” Ryan admitted. “He knows I’m leaving for college next year, but he’s still trying to provoke me.”
“Can he provoke you?”
“I might’ve said no to that question a year ago, but lately I’m not so sure. He’s become increasingly violent and always feels a need to get in my face as if he’s looking right through me. Sometimes I feel as if I almost need to defend myself.”
Evans began writing on his yellow pad again. This action alone caused Ryan to become defensive because he felt as though the doctor was concentrating more on his internal thoughts and less on his grandfather’s drunkenness. While the doctor observed him, Ryan felt his chest tightening and his breathing became a bit erratic.
“I don’t want to sound ungrateful,” Ryan continued with an obvious discomfort, squinting his eyes in the shafts of sunlight flickering between the vertical blinds behind the doctor’s desk. “Together, my grandparents were kind to me. They didn’t have to take me into their home and raise me as they did. I even reserved the hope that my grandfather and I would’ve become closer after my grandmother’s death, but I’m afraid the exact opposite has happened. I think we’ve learned to hate each other now.”
Evans dropped his fountain pen and rose from his chair without stating a word in response to Ryan’s confession. Seeing that the boy was uneasy, he adjusted the vertical blinds behind his desk. The sinking sunlight cast a soft orange glow over the office’s interior. Ryan admired the natural light momentarily before Evans tugged the blinds shut so that only a fluorescent bulb’s artificial glow illuminated the interior.
Evans did not want the boy to
be distracted by any outside sources when he spoke. His tone still had not changed since the moment Ryan entered his office. “I suppose the best thing we can do now is figure out how to make this situation better. Short of moving out of your home, is there anything else that you can do?”
Ryan gnawed on his bottom lip as he pondered the question. It took a few moments for him to collect his thoughts and say, “If I had an answer to that, Doctor Evans, I don’t think I’d be here today.”
“Believe me, Ryan,” Evans quickly clarified. “I want to help you, and maybe more so than I’m ethically entitled. But in order to do so, I’m going to need to get more personal. Do you have a problem with that?”
Ryan never had the intention of letting this conversation transform into a therapy session for him, but he was wise to Evans’s wily ways for some time now. He should have surmised that the doctor used this meeting as an opportunity to resume where they had left off two years ago. Ryan’s standoffish posture immediately indicated to Evans that none of his tactics served the doctor’s advantage on this afternoon.
“I didn’t come here to talk about me,” insisted Ryan. “This isn’t about me. I just need someone to help me with my grandfather’s problem before he drives me crazy.”
“Your grandfather isn’t here to speak for himself,” Evans countered. “I can only work with what’s given to me. Right now, Ryan, you’re the one sitting in front of me. If you help me understand your thoughts, I might be able to pinpoint the reasons why your grandfather is behaving in the manner you described.”
While the doctor made a valiant effort to alleviate the boy’s anxiety, Ryan’s eyes shifted to the paperwork on his desktop. He noticed a tattered manila folder spread open in front of Evans. “I see that you still have my file,” Ryan noted. He was already looking around the office for leather jacket, but then remembered he had left it in the waiting room with Victor.
After sensing Ryan’s agitation, Evans questioned, “Is there something wrong?”
“Everything is wrong,” Ryan huffed. He still tried to maintain a level of politeness with the doctor when he said, “I know what you’re trying to do here and it’s not going to work. You shouldn’t have my file out. I’m not your patient anymore.”
“I don’t discard a patient’s file simply because he or she stops therapy,” Evans explained without an apologetic tone. “Besides, if I recall correctly, you never officially told me that you wanted to discontinue treatment—that was your grandfather’s decision.”
“My point exactly,” said Ryan, standing up from his chair. “I just don’t want to do this anymore. I’m tired of trying to remember my past, and I think I’m even more tired of people like you who insist that I remember it. Shouldn’t I be concentrating on my future now? Isn’t that a sign of real progress?”
Evans had no interest in debating a logical point. A patient who insisted on moving forward obviously showed promise and any type of regressive therapy might hinder such progress. But Evans had practiced psychiatry long enough to suspect that Ryan harbored as many doubts about himself as he did his grandfather. Ryan’s uneasiness revealed itself through his mannerisms. Additionally, his inability to look the doctor in his eyes for a sustained amount of time hinted to a deeper uncertainty.
“I’d like to think that you could walk out of here today, Ryan, and never give me or what happened in your past another thought. After you left here two years ago, I was not sure if I’d ever see you again. I’m certain your grandfather never informed you that I tried to contact you numerous times since you last saw me.”
Ryan paced back and forth in front of the desk like a caged animal. “You couldn’t help me then and you still can’t help me now,” he declared in a menacing voice.
“Why don’t you let me try?”
“What I really need is for someone to trust me when I say that I’m ready to forget about my past. I may never live long enough to know what happened to my parents or twin brother, and maybe it’s better that I don’t.”
“Do you believe it’s possible to truly heal that way?” Evans asked, although he already realized that Ryan’s distrustful nature caused him to respond impulsively. “I’ve known you a long time now, Ryan, and I can see that something is troubling you.”
“I already told you what’s bothering me.”
“There’s something else,” Evans maintained.
Ryan rolled his eyes and laughed in a contrived sort of way. “Of course there is,” he said sardonically. “Isn’t that always the case when you’re dealing with the human mind, Doctor Evans? Nothing that’s said is what’s really meant. Isn’t that right?”
“In your case, I’d say it’s at least half right.”
“You doctors are amazing in a predictable way,” Ryan chuckled as he started toward the office’s doors. “But it’s always been like this between us,” Ryan complained. “Everything I tell you is secondary to what you think I’m trying to say.”
As Ryan started to leave, Evans did not refrain from relaying his thoughts in an uncensored manner. “You can run away if you choose, Ryan, but if you had allowed me a chance to help you years ago, we might’ve been far beyond the point where we are now.”
“I know what you want,” Ryan sighed, pivoting slightly toward the doctor. “You want to hypnotize me, but you’re forgetting that I don’t believe in that sort of stuff.”
“I’m not forgetting. I just think you’re afraid to let go.”
“There’s nothing to let go of, Doctor Evans. I’ve been trying to tell you that for years. Maybe it was a good idea that I stopped coming to see you after all. We always got to this point, but nothing was ever resolved.”
Evans had known Ryan long enough to realize that it was pointless to argue with the boy in regard to this matter. Evans’s voice was rather subdued when he spoke again. “When you settle down later on, I want you to consider what we talked about here today. You need to know that I’m here for you when you need me.”
Perhaps that was a comforting thought, but Ryan sensed the futility of this conversation as he had on many other occasions. Rather than announce his feelings at this point, he elected to turn back towards the doors and open them. Once Ryan stepped out of the office, Victor greeted him in the lobby immediately. Ryan needn’t utter a word to his friend to convey his mood. The appointment had obviously not gone as he anticipated.
“We’re leaving,” Ryan commanded as he grabbed his jacket from the coat rack.
“What happened?” Victor inquired, almost expecting not to receive a reply.
Ryan paused for a moment in an effort to compose himself. He was not certain if he was more upset with the doctor or himself as he zipped his jacket. He turned back towards the double doors he had just exited, almost as if he was prepared to investigate his feelings further, but then decided against such an action.
“Are you going to see the doctor again?” Victor asked with a bit of urgency.
“I don’t know,” mumbled Ryan. “I have to think about a few things.”
As Victor peered at Ryan’s face he noticed a thin line of perspiration lathering his brow. “Are you going to be okay, Ryan? You look a little frazzled or something.”
Ryan glanced at his reflection in the glass doors leading to the plaza’s lobby. He swiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and continued to walk out of the building. “I’ll be okay, Victor. I just need some fresh air,” he declared.
Whether or not Victor believed his friend seemed unimportant at the moment. Over the years, Victor learned to not ask Ryan too many questions in a short period of time. Their friendship developed because Victor had always seemed less fascinated with the details of his past than most people. Of course the nature of curiosity rarely escaped any human being, and Victor was not unique to this trait. He occasionally wondered about Ryan’s younger years and the disappearance of his family. But some matters, especially those aligned to the height of sensitivity, were better left to the professionals.
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The first ten miles of the drive back to Belle Falls was similar to their journey into Cloverton. Ryan elected not to speak to his friend. His head remained tilted against the car’s passenger side window as if he had fallen asleep, but his eyes remained opened and affixed to an unknown marker on the landscape. It was not until they passed the blinking amber lights of a line of construction vehicles that Ryan’s concentration centered on Victor again. He picked his head off the window and acted momentarily alert.
“I want you to come over my house tonight,” said Ryan. Considering the degree of disharmony occurring at Ryan’s home with his grandfather, Victor seemed partially unnerved by this invitation.
“Are you sure you’re grandfather isn’t going to freak out?”
“We’ll be outside,” Ryan clarified. “It’s going to be clear tonight. I’m going to set up the scope.”
“Cool.” Victor sounded pleased when he sensed his friend reverting to his familiar habits. “Anything in particular you want to observe?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Ryan answered lowly. “But I’ll let you know when I see it.”
“You have me in suspense now,” Victor tittered like a small child on the verge of discovery. Ryan’s voice did not reveal the same level of enthusiasm. Contrarily, his face appeared slightly pale and he still had not managed to shake off a gloom lingering over him all day like an unwanted shadow.
While the boys returned home, the doctor busied himself by recording notes on his earlier meeting with Ryan. Evans normally left his office around five o’clock in the afternoon, but he remained at his desk an additional hour examining Ryan’s file with a keen interest. His research reminded him that nothing previously extracted from Ryan’s childhood memories came without a great deal of difficulty. It would have been far too easy for the doctor to surrender all hope in regard to this boy, but something beyond Evans’s own present ability to comprehend compelled him to push onward.
For now Evans kept Ryan’s file close at hand. Tucking the entire folder in a briefcase ensured that he intended to revisit the information before the day was done. Perhaps no other patient before or since had managed to claim so much attention from the doctor. Although it had been nearly a decade since Ryan first came to Evans for assistance, this was the first time in many moons that Evans felt dedicated to vigorously explore the mysteries of Ryan’s forgotten past.
CHAPTER 5
Phantoms of the Moon Page 9