The Mask (21 page)

Now the house was preternaturally silent. She could almost believe that she had gone deaf.

What was I doing with the knife?

She hugged herself to ward off the chills that kept wriggling through her.

Maybe she had dreamed about food and had come down here in her sleep to make a sandwich. Yes. That was probably what had happened. In fact she
was
a bit hungry. So she had gotten the knife out of the drawer in order to slice some roast beef for a sandwich. There was a butt end of a roast in the refrigerator. She had seen it earlier, when she had been helping Carol and Paul make dinner.

But now she didn’t think she could eat a sandwich or anything else. Her bare legs were getting colder by the moment, and she felt immodestly exposed in just flimsy panties and a thin T-shirt. All she wanted now was to get back to bed, under the covers.

Climbing the steps in the darkness, she stayed close to the wall, where the treads were less likely to creak. She returned to her room without waking anyone.

Outside, a dog howled in the distance.

Jane burrowed deeper in her blankets.

For a while she had trouble getting to sleep because she felt guilty about prowling through the house while the Tracys slept. She felt sneaky. She felt as if she had been taking advantage of their hospitality.

Of course, that was silly. She hadn’t been nosing around on purpose. She had been sleepwalking, and there was no way a person could control something like that.

Just sleepwalking.

T
HE
focal point of Carol Tracy’s office was Mickey Mouse. One long wall of the room was fitted with shelves on which were displayed Mickey Mouse memorabilia. There were Mickey Mouse buttons, Mickey Mouse pins, a wristwatch, belt buckles, a Mickey Mouse phone, drinking glasses bearing the famous mouse’s countenance, a beer mug on which there was a likeness of Mickey dressed in lederhosen and a Tyrolean hat. But mostly there were statuettes of the cartoon star: Mickey standing beside a little red car; Mickey curled up in striped pajamas. sleeping; Mickey dancing a jig; Mickey with Minnie; Mickey with Goofy; Mickey holding barbells; Mickey with Pluto; Mickey and Donald Duck with their arms around each other’s shoulders, looking like the best of friends; Mickey riding a horse, with a cowboy hat
raised in one white-gloved, four-fingered hand; Mickey dressed like a soldier, a sailor, a doctor; Mickey in swimming trunks, clutching a surfboard. There were wooden, metal, chalk, porcelain, plastic, glass, and clay statuettes of Mickey; some of them were a foot high, and some were no more than one inch tall, though most were in between. The only thing those hundreds of Mickeys had in common was the fact that every one of them was smiling broadly.

The collection was an icebreaker with patients of all ages. No one could resist Mickey Mouse.

Jane responded as scores of patients had done before her. She said “oooh” and “aaah” a lot, and she laughed happily. By the time she had finished admiring the collection and had sat down in one of the big leather armchairs, she was ready for the therapy session; her tension and apprehension had disappeared. Mickey had worked his usual magic.

Carol didn’t have an analyst’s couch in her office. She preferred to conduct sessions from a large wing chair, with the patient seated in an identical chair on the other side of the octagonal coffee table. The drapes were always kept tightly shut; soft, golden light was provided by shaded floor lamps. Except for the wall of Mickey Mouse images, the room had a nineteenth-century air.

They chatted about the collection for a couple of minutes, and then Carol said, “Okay, honey. I think we ought to begin.”

Worry lines appeared on the girl’s forehead. “You really think this hypnosis is a good idea?”

“Yes. I think it’s the best tool we have for restoring your memory. Don’t worry. It’s a simple process. Just relax and flow with it. Okay?”

“Well…okay.”

Carol got up and stepped around the coffee table, and Jane started to get up, too. “No, you stay there,” Carol said. She moved behind the wing chair and put her fingertips against the girl’s temples. “Relax, honey. Lean back. Hands in your lap. Palms up, fingers slack. That’s fine. Now close your eyes. Are they closed?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Very good. Now I want you to think of a kite. A large, diamond-shaped kite. Picture it in your mind. It’s an enormous, blue kite sailing high in the blue sky. Can you see it?”

After a brief hesitation, the girl said, “Yes.”

“Watch the kite, honey. See how gently it rises and falls on the currents of air. Rises, falls, up and down, up and down, side to side, sailing so gracefully, far above the earth, halfway between the earth and the clouds, far above your head,” Carol said in a mellow, soothing, rhythmic voice as she stared down at the girl’s thick blond hair. “While you’re watching the kite, you’ll gradually become as light and as free as it is. You’ll learn to soar up and up into the blue sky, just like the kite.” With her fingertips, she lightly traced circles on the girl’s temples. “All the tension is leaving you, all the worries and cares are floating away, away, until the only thought in your head is the kite, the sailing kite in the blue sky. A great weight has been removed from your skull, from your forehead and your temples. Already, you feel much lighter.” She moved her hands down to the girl’s neck. “The muscles in your neck are relaxing. Tension is dropping away. A great weight is dropping away. You are so much lighter now that you can almost feel yourself
rising up toward the kite…almost…almost…” She moved her hands down, touched the girl’s shoulders. “Relax. Let the tension fall away. Like blocks of concrete. Making you lighter, lighter. A weight is falling off your chest, too. And now you’re floating. Just a few inches off the ground, but you
are
floating.”

“Yes…floating…” she said, her voice thick.

“The kite is gliding far above, but you are slowly, slowly moving up to join it….”

She went on like that for a minute, then returned to her own chair and sat down.

Jane was slumped in the other wing chair, head tilted to one side, eyes closed, face soft and slack, breathing softly.

“You are in a very deep sleep,” Carol told her. “A very relaxed, very deep, deep sleep. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” the girl murmured.

“You will answer a few questions for me.”

“Okay.”

“You will remain in your deep sleep, and you will answer my questions until I tell you it’s time to wake up. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Very good. Now tell me—what is your name?”

The girl was silent.

“What is your name, honey?”

“Jane.”

“Is that your real name?”

“No.”

“What is your real name?”

Jane frowned. “I…don’t remember.”

“Where did you come from?”

“The hospital.”

“Before that?”

“Nowhere.”

A bead of saliva glistened at the corner of the girl’s mouth. Languorously, she licked it away before it could drool down her chin.

Carol said, “Honey, do you remember the Mickey Mouse watch you saw a few minutes ago?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ve taken that watch from the shelf,” Carol said, though she hadn’t moved from her chair. “And now I’m turning the hands on it backwards, around and around the dial, always backwards. Can you see the hands moving backwards on that Mickey Mouse watch?”

“Yes.”

“Now something amazing is happening. As I turn those hands backwards and backwards, time itself begins to flow in reverse. It isn’t a quarter past eleven any more. It’s now eleven o’clock. This is a magic watch. It governs the flow of time. And now it’s ten o’clock in the morning…nine o’clock…eight o’clock…. Look around you. Where are you now?”

The girl opened her eyes. They were fixed on a distant point. She said, “Ummm…the kitchen. Yeah. The breakfast nook. Boy, the bacon’s nice and crisp.”

Gradually, Carol moved her back in time, back through the days she had spent in the hospital, finally regressing to the accident last Thursday morning. The girl winced as she relived the moment of impact, and cried out, and Carol soothed her, and then they went back a few minutes further.

“You’re standing on the sidewalk,” Carol said.
“You’re dressed only in a blouse and jeans. It’s raining. Chilly.”

The girl closed her eyes again. She shivered.

“What’s your name?” Carol asked.

Silence.

“What’s your name, honey?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where have you just come from?”

“Nowhere.”

“You mean you have amnesia?”

“Yes.”

“Even before the accident?”

“Yes.”

Although she was still very concerned about the girl, Carol was relieved to hear that she wasn’t responsible for Jane’s condition. For a moment she felt like that blue kite, capable of soaring up and away. Then she said, “Okay. You’re about to step into the street. Do you just want to cross it, or do you intend to walk in front of a car?”

“I…don’t…know.”

“How do you feel? Happy? Depressed? Indifferent?”

“Scared,” the girl said in a small, shaky voice.

“What are you scared of?”

Silence.

“What are you scared of?”

“It’s coming.”

“What’s coming?”

“Behind me!”

“What’s behind you?”

The girl opened her eyes again. She was still staring at a distant point, but now there was stark terror in her eyes.

“What’s behind you?” Carol asked again.

“Oh God,” the girl said miserably.

“What is it?”

“No, no.” She shook her head. Her face was bloodless.

Carol leaned forward in her chair. “Relax, honey. You will relax and be calm. Close your eyes. Calm…like the kite…far above everything…floating…warm.”

The tension went out of Jane’s face.

“All right,” Carol said. “Staying calm, always relaxed and calm, you will tell me what you’re afraid of.”

The girl said nothing.

“Honey, what are you scared of? What’s behind you?”

“Something…”

“What?”

“Something…”

Patiently, Carol said, “Be specific.”

“I…don’t know what it is…but it’s coming…and it scares me.”

“Okay. Let’s go back a bit further.” Using the image of the backwards-moving hands on the Mickey Mouse wristwatch, she regressed the girl another full day into the past. “Now look around. Where are you?”

“Nowhere.”

“What do you see?”

“Nothing.”

“You must see something, honey.”

“Darkness.”

“Are you in a dark room?”

“No.”

“Are there walls in the darkness?”

“No.”

“Are you outdoors at night?”

“No.”

She regressed the girl another day. “Now what do you see?”

“Just the darkness.”

“There must be something else.”

“No.”

“Open your eyes, honey.”

The girl obeyed. Her blue eyes were vacant, glassy. “Nothing.”

Carol frowned. “Are you sitting or standing in that dark place?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you feel under you? A chair? A floor? A bed?”

“Nothing.”

“Reach down. Touch the floor.”

“There isn’t a floor.”

Uneasy about the direction the session was taking, Carol shifted in her chair and stared at the girl for a while, wondering what to try next.

After a few seconds, Jane’s eyes fluttered and went shut.

Finally, Carol said, “All right. I’m turning the hands of the watch counterclockwise again. Time is flowing in reverse. It will continue to flow backwards, hour by hour, day by day, faster and faster, until you stop me. I want you to stop me only when you come out of the darkness and can tell me where you are. I’m turning the hands now. Backwards…backwards…”

Ten seconds passed in silence. Twenty. Thirty.

After a full minute, Carol said, “Where are you?”

“Nowhere yet.”

“Keep going. Backwards…back in time…”

After another minute, Carol began to think something was wrong. She had the disquieting feeling that she was losing control of the situation and placing her patient in some kind of danger that could not be foreseen. But as she was about to call a halt to the regression and bring the girl forward again, Jane spoke at last.

The girl shot up out of the chair, onto her feet, flailing and screaming. “Somebody help me! Mama! Aunt Rachael! For God’s sake, help me!”

The voice wasn’t Jane’s. It came from her mouth, through her tongue and lips, but it didn’t sound at all like her. It wasn’t merely distorted by panic. It was an entirely different voice from Jane’s. It had its own character, its own accent and tone.

“I’m going to die here! Help!
Get me out of here!
”

Carol was on her feet, too. “Honey, stop it. Calm down.”

“I’m on fire! I’m on fire!” the girl screamed, and she slapped at her clothes as if trying to put out the flames.

“No!” Carol said sharply. She stepped around the coffee table and managed to seize the girl’s arm, taking several glancing blows in the process.

Jane thrashed, tried to break loose.

Carol held on and began to talk softly but insistently to her, calming her down.

Jane stopped struggling, but she began to gasp and wheeze. “Smoke,” she said, gagging. “So much smoke.”

Carol talked her out of that, too, and gradually brought her down from the peak of hysteria.

At last Jane sank back into the wing chair. She was wan, and her forehead was strung with beads of sweat. Her blue eyes, staring into a distant place and time, looked haunted.

Carol knelt beside the chair and held the girl’s hand. “Honey, can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m afraid….”

“There is no fire.”

“There was. Everywhere,” the girl said, still speaking with the unfamiliar voice.

“There isn’t any more. No fire anywhere.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. I say so. Now tell me your name.”

“Laura.”

“Do you remember your last name?”

“Laura Havenswood.”

Carol flushed with triumph. “Very good. That’s just fine. Where’s your home, Laura?”