Broken (21 page)

Dr. Rhukov took off his heavy, winter coat and laid it on the table. He then removed his black Cossack hat and smoothed down the hair that was sticking up in the back. Someone had brought a recliner into the conference room and Anna Mae was sitting on its edge with her hands folded. The doctor pulled a chair beside her and sat down. His forehead was pink from the frigid January weather and his gray beard was fuller than Anna Mae remembered. However, his lively brown eyes were as captivating as always.  

“How have you been?” he asked.

“Okay.” Her voice was soft and noncommittal.

“I don’t think you have been okay,” he said. “You must be terribly stressed. You’ve had panic attacks? Yes?”

“No, surprisingly, I haven’t.”

“Has Father John been to see you?”

“A few times,” she said. “Can we get on with this?”

“Of course. If you feel you are ready.”

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, sliding back into the soft cushions.

After a few more minutes of casual conversation, it was time to begin. “Now as we work together,” said the doctor, “I want you to hold onto this thought. No matter what comes into your mind you will be aware that it is not happening now…that it is only a memory—nothing you remember can hurt you.”

“What if I remember that I killed Walter?”

“If that is so, then we will handle it. Remember that we want the truth. Your best defense is the truth, no matter what the truth is. Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Now I want you to try to relax. Take a few deep breaths. That’s right. Close your eyes and breathe deeply.”

After talking her through a toe to head relaxation technique, Dr. Rhukov’s mellow voice began leading Anna Mae inward, into the farthest reaches of her mind. She could still hear the sounds of the jail in the distance: muffled voices, iron doors banging shut, an occasional yell. She made an effort to concentrate on Dr. Rhukov’s monotonous, soothing voice and soon the sounds began to fade and she grew increasingly unaware of the passing of time. A picture began forming in her mind.

“…and everything is peaceful now,” he was saying. “The field of flowers wave in the soft summer breeze and their sweet scent fills the air. You breathe in the sweet smell of summer flowers. You breathe in…and out…in…and out. And you are going deeper…deeper into the flowers. And at the count of ten you will be asleep.

“Deeper…deeper…deeper…one.

“Down…down…down…two...”

She could feel herself floating downward, softly, like a feather on the breeze she went down…deeper...Dr. Rhukov’s voice became fainter, farther away. And the flowers began to blend into a Van Gogh painting as she grew more peaceful, calm, and serene.

“Deeper…deeper…deeper…nine.

“Down…down…down…ten.

“You are now in an altered state of consciousness. You can hear my voice clearly and you will answer my questions. You will remember the things that were once hidden. And you will tell me what you recall. But you will always be aware that whatever comes into your mind is not happening now—that it is only a memory. Nothing more. Nobody…nothing can hurt you.”

Anna Mae felt as though she could drift in the peacefulness forever. Dr. Rhukov then asked her to go back to Wednesday, October 14, 1970. She shifted uneasily when he asked: “It’s early morning. Where are you?”

“In my bedroom.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m getting dressed.”

“Where is the rest of the family?”

“Sarah had to go to one of her cleaning jobs. David is in school.”

Dr. Rhukov said nothing for a few moments as he let the images solidify in Anna Mae’s mind. He then asked, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m nervous…uneasy. I don’t want to be home alone with Walter. I’m going to Pittsburgh to visit my mother.”

“Good,” said the doctor. “It is now ten-thirty. Where are you?”

“I’m in church.”

“Describe the church.”

“There’s a red carpet leading to the altar. The sun is shining through the stained glass windows. I can smell incense. There’s only one candle burning in the candle bank. Usually there’s more.” She lifted her head and looked up.

“What do you see?”

“The cross. The tall wooden cross.”

“Does the cross have any significance?”

“It reminds me of Angelo. He used to carry it when he was an altar boy. That cross always made me feel safe. Maybe because it’s in the church where I feel safe anyway.”

“Do you feel safe anywhere else?”

“No.”

“Tell me about Angelo.”

For several minutes Anna Mae talked about Angelo, about how he was her best friend and how she could confide in him. When she was finished, she was smiling.

“Now move ahead a few moments and tell me how you feel.”

“I feel peaceful. I’m lighting candles. I pray for all of us; Sarah, David and myself. But not Walter.”

“How does that make you feel? Not praying for Walter.”

“Like maybe I don’t have enough faith. I’m still afraid of him.”

“Do you feel guilty?”

“No.”

“It is now eleven o’clock. Where are you?”

“On the bus going to Pittsburgh.”

Having successfully cemented Anna Mae in the past, the doctor began moving her along faster. She went with ease into the forgotten time of that day. She talked about arriving at her mother’s spotless house, about the aroma of baking cookies, Missy in her highchair and her mother’s sobriety.

Suddenly Anna Mae’s voice became a bit shrill and her words were more clipped, more deliberate, “Here it is,” she said, pointing to something in front of her. “Step Eight,” she nodded. “Make a list of all the persons I harmed, and become willing to make amends to them.”

“Who is that?” asked the doctor. “Is that you talking?”

Anna Mae moved restlessly. Her hands gripped the arms of the recliner and the muscles in her jaw twitched.

“Relax,” said the doctor. “Take a few deep breaths. That’s right. Relax your hands, Anna Mae. That’s good. Everything is peaceful. You will not be disturbed by anything you remember. You will stay calm and serene as though you are watching a movie. What you see in the movie is happening to the characters on the screen. What’s happening now?”

“I need to tell you why I left when you were a baby,” she said in the same high-pitched voice. “I didn’t want to hurt Sarah. You were a beautiful baby...”

“Who said, ‘you were a beautiful baby?’”

Anna Mae took a deep breath and replied, “It’s the older woman. She’s telling that to the girl.”

“Excellent,” encouraged the doctor. “You are doing fine...”

“The woman tells the girl that her father was not a singer in a rock band. She’s trying to explain something to the girl, but the girl doesn’t want to hear it.” Abruptly Anna Mae stopped talking. Her body stiffened.

“This is only a movie,” the doctor reminded her. “You are sitting in a theater looking up at the screen. There are other people around you. You are safe.”

Anna Mae nodded. “The woman was raped. She is telling the girl...”  Anna Mae’s voice trailed away, her breathing quick and shallow as her hands gripped the armrests.

“Easy, now,” said the doctor. “Remember. You are safe. What you are seeing and hearing—it is all happening to the people in the movie. It will not upset you.” He waited until Anna Mae’s breathing returned to normal, then asked: “Who did the man rape?”

“The older woman.”

“The woman told that to the girl? She told the girl that a man raped her?”

“Yes.”

“Very good,” said the doctor. “You are still very relaxed. You smell the flowers as you watch the movie. It’s an interesting movie but it doesn’t affect you in any way.”

“The girl is very upset,” said Anna Mae without emotion. “She’s asking the woman to repeat what she said. And the woman is saying that when she was fifteen, a man named Walter raped her. She tells the girl that Walter is her father—the girl’s father.”

Dr. Rhukov felt a surge of outrage and had to struggle to keep the trembling out of his voice. “You’re doing fine, Anna Mae...”

“The girl is hysterical.” Anna Mae’s face turned white.

With skilled pacing of his words, Dr. Rhukov quickly pulled Anna Mae out of the scene, sending her back to the field of flowers. When she appeared to be relaxed again, he guided her back to the movie and asked her to continue.

“The girl’s running out of the house.” A pink blush returned to Anna Mae’s face. “She’s running to the bus stop. She’s crying. The bus comes right away. Now she’s wiping her eyes so the people on the bus won’t see her crying. She’s found a seat in the middle of the bus. She’s thinking about what that woman said. She’s looking at the other people. She wonders if they can tell how upset she is.”

Not wanting to tire Anna Mae or have her slip back into first person, Dr. Rhukov talked her back into the soft summer breeze and the sweet scent of flowers. He studied the features of the girl he had come to care about almost as a daughter. The days, the weeks, the months in jail had washed the color out of her once glowing complexion. The luster that once shone in her golden hair had dissolved into a dull dirty blond. And the sadness he once saw in her had given way to defeat.

He looked at his watch. It was time to move her forward, back to the movie strategy that kept her strong emotions at bay. He guided ‘the girl’ back to the bus. Anna Mae told Dr. Rhukov that when the girl got off the bus she forgot to pay her fare and the driver called her back. Then the girl in the movie was walking through town, past the pool hall where someone named JD called out to her. But the girl was too upset to stop and talk. The doctor listened intently as Anna Mae described how the girl hurried up Vickroy Street Hill, went into the house. She was disappointed when she saw the man named Walter sleeping on the couch. She went upstairs to her bedroom. 

Anna Mae began making the motions of brushing her hair and then dropped the imaginary brush, saying; “The girl hears something banging downstairs. She’s nervous but that doesn’t stop her. She’s going to confront that Walter person. She’s going to ask him if what the woman said was true—that he is her father.

“She’s going down the steps.” At this point Anna Mae laughed a little. “Her knees are like rubber so she’s hanging onto the banister.” She stopped talking and seemed to be listening.

Dr. Rhukov was hesitant to interrupt Anna Mae’s thought process. But Anna Mae appeared to be frozen in time so he risked the question. “What’s happening?”

“It sounds as though a glass broke,” she said, her voice shaky. “The girl’s wondering if Walter is drunk again. But she doesn’t care. If he dares touch her she’s going to go after him. He beats her, ya’ know. But if he’s drunk enough she thinks she can get the best of him.”

Again she stopped talking and Dr. Rhukov gave her a gentle reminder that it was all just a movie.

Anna Mae nodded. “A movie. A movie...”

“Yes,” he assured her. “It’s just a movie.”

“A movie,” she repeated. Suddenly her whole body tensed. She shrieked, “No! No it’s not! It’s not! It’s real! My God. Oh my God,” she gasped and leaped from the recliner. Frantically she scrambled around the edges of the small room until she reached a corner where she fell into a crouch, covered her eyes and began screaming.

The doctor shouted, “What do you see, Anna Mae?” Guards rushed into the room. “Leave her alone!” the doctor shrieked. “Don’t touch her!”

Without taking his eyes from Anna Mae, the doctor pushed one of the guards away from the form that huddled in the corner. “Anna Mae! Tell me! Why are you screaming? What do you see? Tell me, Anna Mae!”

Like a wild animal, Anna Mae tried to crawl up the wall as the guards pushed the doctor aside and lunged at her flailing arms. Finally, one cuff locked shut.

Dr. Rhukov crawled on his knees until he was next to her. “Tell me,” he pleaded, “Anna Mae! What do you see?”

The doctor winced as the guard yanked her arms backward, snapped on the second cuff and yanked her to her feet. Dr. Rhukov, out of breath, leaned back into the corner. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hypodermic needle. “She needs a sedative,” he said, removing the cap. He struggled to stand as quickly as his arthritic knees would allow. The guards pushed Anna Mae down on the edge of the recliner. Dr. Rhukov looked into Anna Mae’s tear streaked face.

“I didn’t remember,” she whimpered.

“No,” he said, gently pushing up her sleeve and inserting the needle, “You didn’t remember.”

February 8, 1971 – Monday

“All rise!” The bailiff‘s voice boomed across the packed courtroom: “This court is now in session. The honorable Allen B. Wittier presiding. The Commonwealth of Pennsylvania versus Anna Mae McBride. Case number 5390: Murder in the First Degree.”

Anna Mae sat at the defense table, her head down and barely breathing.

“Keep your head up,” Ivan whispered.

Anna Mae struggled to straighten her back and lift her head. She wore a plain beige dress and her hair was loosely pulled back by a wide beige band. She had waited forever for this crucial moment when the trial would begin. Last Friday’s jury selection had taken all day, and included a grade school teacher—tiny and straight laced, a steel worker with skin the color of oatmeal, a cold, unsmiling business man in a black suit, and a homemaker that Ivan said reminded him of a Bavarian bar maid. Anna Mae had watched as each was selected—these strangers who held her life in their hands. Back in her cell she had prayed every night that they would believe that she honestly didn’t remember anything.

That morning, Ivan told her that he finally succeeded in getting the judge to throw out the crime scene photos as evidence, deeming them unnecessarily inflammatory. She had grown to have confidence in the lanky man whose brown eyes sparkled when he got excited. She looked at the table where Ivan’s hands rested on a sheaf of papers, and for the first time noticed his long fingers and Harvard ring. She thought herself lucky to have him.

“Ladies and gentleman of the jury...”

Anna Mae took a deep breath as Assistant District Attorney Tom Simon began his opening statement.

“…my name is Thomas G. Simon. I’m the Assistant District Attorney representing the Commonwealth, which means, good people, that I represent you, the people of Pennsylvania.”

Short, trim, pompous, and wearing the obvious auburn wig, ADA Tom Simon strutted before the jury like a courting peacock. Ivan Hammerstein silently drummed the fingers of his Harvard hand on the defense table while Anna Mae listened in stunned disbelief as the district attorney walked the jury through his version of what happened on that life-changing day of Wednesday, October 14th, 1970.

“…and that day, at her mother’s house, when she was told the shocking news that Walter Lipinski…the man who she thought was her uncle…the man who had given her a home and his heart…the man who had labored untiringly to support her with back breaking work in the unforgiving heat of the mill…the man she blamed for every disturbing detail of her miserable life and the man she absolutely hated—was, in fact, her father. And that same day last October, she went home in a fit of rage, took an ax and hacked him to death.”

Ivan placed a supporting hand on Anna Mae’s ice-cold arm. “Keep your head up.”

“And you will hear testimony from good citizens of this valley community, Anna Mae McBride’s own friends, and even Sarah Lipinski, the defendant’s aunt and Walter’s grieving widow—the woman who raised Anna Mae McBride, that the defendant, McBride, is indeed capable of this despicable crime. The prosecution contends that Anna Mae McBride does indeed remember every last lethal swing of that bloody ax!

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, good and honest citizens of this state, you will recognize Anna Mae McBride for what she really is—an absolute liar! And you will find her guilty of premeditated murder. That is murder in the first degree!”

As Thomas G. Simon walked with arrogant casualness back to the prosecution table, Anna Mae could feel the accusation in the eyes of the jury. When she glanced in their direction, she saw the steelworker, arms folded across his chest, glaring at her.

“Don’t look at them,” Ivan snapped. “Keep your head up. Look straight ahead. Good. Now stay like that until I get back!”

Ivan Hammerstein swooped out of his chair and in a second he was standing before the jury where he waited until all eyes were on him.

“She didn’t do it. And you,” he said with a sweeping wave of his hand, indicating the twelve people who leaned forward to hear what the defense attorney had to say, “…ladies and gentlemen of the jury, all through this trial, you remember—the defendant, Anna Mae McBride, did not do it! Don’t let any paid psychiatrist convince you that she remembers anything. Because she doesn’t. She saw something. More than likely she saw the person who murdered her uncle. But Anna Mae McBride does not remember what she saw. Psychiatrists call it Traumatic Amnesia. Remember those words: Traumatic Amnesia. Walter Lipinski was savagely attacked and bludgeoned to death with an ax. And this young, sweet and innocent girl,” he turned to look at Anna Mae who was still facing forward exactly as instructed, “this unworldly and church going young woman witnessed that attack. And there is not a psychiatrist alive, at least not a good one, who wouldn’t agree that it is within the range of normal human behavior to repress—to block out…such a shocking and bloody crime.

“The term is Traumatic Amnesia. Anna Mae saw something horrible and she does not remember what she saw. Furthermore, any shoddy evidence the prosecution presents will reek of reasonable doubt. There were no witnesses. There is no murder weapon. When the police investigated this crime they jumped to a conclusion and stayed with it, blatantly ignoring any suggestion to pursue another avenue. And so I urge you, throughout this trial, remember—Anna Mae McBride did not kill the man she knew as her uncle. She did not murder Walter Lipinski.”

Defense Attorney Ivan Hammerstein paused just long enough to let his last words sink in. “Thank you,” he said, then he returned to the defense table to resume his seat beside Anna Mae.

“Present your case, Counselor,” said the judge.

Assistant District Attorney, Thomas G. Simon called his first witness and Becky McBride walked from the back of the courtroom to be sworn in. Her dark blond hair was neatly trimmed and she wore a navy blue suit with a white blouse. Anna Mae, although forewarned, was heartsick that her mother was testifying for the prosecution. “State your full name, please.”

“Rebecca Sadie McBride. They call me Becky.”

“May I call you Becky?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” said Simon. And then turning to the judge, “Let the record show that Miss McBride is a hostile witness.”

Anna Mae whispered to Ivan, “What’s that mean?”

He whispered back, “She doesn’t want to testify for Simon.”

“Miss McBride, do you see your daughter sitting in the courtroom?”

“Yes.”

“Please point her out to the jury.”

For the next eight minutes, Tom Simon asked Anna Mae’s mother a series of questions that brought her to the moment when she told her daughter that Walter was her father. “And how did she react when you told her?”

“She was shocked.”

“Would you say she was angry?”

“No.”

“But she walked out, didn’t she? She stormed out of the house, didn’t she? She was furious, wasn’t she?”

Ivan leaped to his feet. “Objection!”

“Sustained. Careful Simon,” admonished Judge Wittier. “The witness already said that the defendant was shocked, not angry. The jury will disregard the questions.”

“Is it normal,” asked Simon as though he had not been reprimanded, “for your daughter to just walk out of your house without as much as a goodbye?”

“No.”

“Then she was upset.”

“I guess.”

“Would you say she had good reason to be upset?”

“Yes.”

“And she was probably angry wasn’t she...”

Ivan stopped midway between sitting and standing as Judge Wittier issued another warning.

“No more questions,” said Simon in a sarcastic tone.

“Redirect?” asked the judge.

Ivan stood up. “What was your daughter’s demeanor when she left your house on October 14th?”

“She was shocked,” said Becky.

“Thank you!” Ivan sat down.