Self-Defense (25 page)

She sat down. “Now let’s talk about the
Great Man. What does he
want,
all of a sudden? What’s his game?”

“I don’t know, Lucy. Maybe to connect with
you, somehow.”

“No,” she said angrily. “No way. He’s up
to something, believe me. He’s a master manipulator, you have no idea. He loved
hitting Puck when he was down.”

“Puck went to him for money?”

“After he cut off the trust fund.”

“He has that power?”

“Not officially, but the lawyers work for
the family trust, and they do. One call from him.” Snapping her fingers. “They
invoked some sort of spendthrift clause. After that, Puck had to go to him.
Only a few times, as a last resort. And of course he demeaned Puck and made him
beg for every penny. Lectured him about financial responsibility, as if he’s some
expert. He lives off a trust fund, too. His mother’s father owned textile mills
all over New York and New Jersey, made a fortune before income taxes. He’s
never had to work a day in his life. If he did, he’d be sunk. He hasn’t
published or sold a painting in years.”

She slammed a fist into a palm.
“Forget
him. Forget whoever played around with my undies and hung up on me and wrote
that stupid
note.
No more fear, no more bullshit. I’m
evicting
it
all from my mind. I don’t care what it looks like, I never tried to kill
myself. I love life. And I want a
real
life—a regular, boring, ordinary
life. This is a nice place, but in a few days I’m out of here.”

“Where to?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere on my own. I’m
not
going to spend my life looking over my shoulder.”

She got up again. “Had the dream again
last night. Ken came in, said he’d heard me crying out. I was sweating. It’s as
if that damned incubus is sitting back there, just waiting to torment me. As if
there’s a big pile of garbage stuck in my memory banks. I want to evict that,
too. Get my head clear. How do I do that?”

I considered my answer. The delay brought
panic to her eyes.

“What is it? Is there something wrong with
me—did they find something on those tests in the hospital?”

“No,” I said. “You’re perfectly healthy.”

“Then what?”

Timing: the art of therapy.

Mine was off. I felt out of balance.

Her nails scraped the table.

“The dream,” I said. “Has it changed in
any way?”

“No. What are you holding back from me?”

“What makes you think I’m holding back?”

“Please, Dr. Delaware, I know your
intentions are good, but I’m tired of being protected.”

I thought of her head in the oven.

“Sometimes there’s nothing wrong with
being protected.”

“Please. I’m not crazy—or do you think I
am?”

“No,” I said.

“Then what is it? What aren’t you telling
me?”

I continued to deliberate. She looked
ready to jump out of her skin.

Feeling like a first-time skydiver about
to step into space, I said, “Some things have come up. They may be related to
your dream, or they may mean nothing. Given all your stress, I’m not
comfortable dropping them on you, unless you can promise you’ll take them
calmly.”

“What things?”

“Can you promise me?”

“Yes, yes, what?” Her hands were flexing.
She stilled them. Forced a smile. Sat.

Waiting, like a child not knowing if candy
was coming or the strap.

“You don’t remember any contact with
Lowell,” I said. “But Ken says you spent a summer with him at Sanctum. All four
of you did: you, Ken, Puck, and Jo.”

“
What?
When?”

“The summer the retreat opened. You were
four years old.”

“How could—when did he tell you this?”

“The night he brought you into the
hospital. I asked him not to discuss it with you. I wanted to pace things.”

“Four years old? How can that be? I’d
remember that!”

“Your Aunt Kate had just gotten married and
gone on her honeymoon. Does the time frame fit?”

She stared at the lawn. Slumped low in her
chair.

“I—” she said, very softly. “I still can’t
see how I couldn’t remember something like that.”

“Memories from any age can be blocked
out.”

“Four... that’s the age I feel in the
dream.”

I nodded.

She started to reach for my arm, then
stopped herself. Her face had gone gray-white, like skim milk. “You think it
could be
real
?”

“I don’t know, Lucy. That’s what we need
to figure out.”

“Four... I’m so confused.”

“Some parts of the dream seem to match
reality,” I said. “There was a big party that summer. That could explain the
sounds and lights. And the buildings at Sanctum are made of logs.”

Her hands fisted. Her eyes were cold yet
electric. “What about the rest of it—what I saw?”

“I don’t know.”

She started to shake, and I held her
shoulders till she stopped.

Finally she was able to take a deep
breath.

“Calm,” she said to herself. “I can handle
this.”

Another breath. She closed her eyes, her
shoulders loosened, and I let go. A few more inhalations, and for a moment I
thought she’d lapse into the semi hypnotic state I’d seen a few days ago. Then
her eyes opened. “I don’t feel anything. No big insights... but could it—the
girl? What do you think? Do you know anything else that you’re not telling me?”

I studied her face. No muscles moved. Her
eyes were still and dry and piercing.

“Yes,” I said. “After Ken told me, Milo
and I did some research, looking into crimes in that area. We found no murders
or rapes that matched, but we did come across a missing persons case involving
a girl who was never found. She did have long dark hair and long legs, but that
could apply to lots of girls. So let’s not assume anything for the moment.”

“Oh, God.”

“It may very well mean absolutely nothing,
Lucy, and latching on to it may distort your memories. That’s why I didn’t want
to rush into it.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I won’t rush into
anything either.” Putting her hands in her lap. Smoothing her hair. “What else
do you know about this girl?”

“Her name was Karen Best. She disappeared
the night before the party—which
wouldn’t
fit with the dream. She was
last seen in Paradise Cove, fifteen miles from Topanga. And there’s no evidence
she was ever up at Sanctum. The only thing that does match is her physical
description, and there’s nothing very distinctive about it. As I told you
before, dreams can be mixtures of reality and fantasy. You were four years old,
may very well have seen something a child’s mind couldn’t process.”

“Such as?”

“Something sexual, like you initially
assumed. Small children who witness the sexual act often interpret it as an
assault.”

“But the scraping sounds—the last couple
of times, like last night—it was definitely shovels digging. Burying her.”

Hunching her back, she bit her finger.

“Lucy—”

She removed the finger and rubbed the
upper joint. “Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I’m not going to fall apart. I’m
just trying to put this into place.”

“Don’t try to do it all at once.”

She nodded. Breathed deeply again, and
placed her hands on the table, as if summoning a spirit at a séance.

“Why now?” she said. “If I’ve forgotten it
all these years, why now?”

“Perhaps the stress of the trial,” I said.
“Hearing about all that sexual violence. Or maybe you’re strong enough to deal
with it now.”

She expelled air. “What does Milo think
about this?”

“He’s open-minded but skeptical.”

“But he didn’t dismiss it... the girl.
Karen. Do you have a picture?”

“Not with me, but I can get one.”

“I want to see her.”

I nodded.

“Does she have a family?”

“A father and a brother.”

“Have you met them?”

“The father. The brother lives back east.”

“Was she originally from back east?”

“Massachusetts.”

“Boston?”

“New Bedford.”

“I’ve been there
plenty
of
times—used to go out there with Ray to buy squid from the Portuguese fishermen.
What was she doing in L.A.?”

“She came out to be an actress and ended
up waiting tables.”

“Poor thing,” she said. “Poor, poor thing....
Does her family know about me?”

“I told the father someone had a distant
memory of a girl who resembled his daughter being abducted.”

“How did he take that?”

“He hopes something will come of it.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s a minister. Seems nice.”

“Does he want to meet me?”

“At some point,” I said. “If we learn
more.”

“So he hasn’t given up on finding her?”

“He’s not doing anything active anymore.”

“No, of course not—all these years. What
about right after it happened?”

“He mounted an intensive search.”

“He loves her,” she said flatly. “A
minister. Which church?”

“It’s a group that feeds the poor.”

“A good man—maybe I can help him. Can you
hypnotize me or something? I’ve heard that can unlock memories. I’m sure I’d be
an easy subject. Sometimes I feel as if I’m walking around in a trance anyway.”

She gave an angry, nervous laugh.

“When I hooked for Raymond, I used to
trance out all the time—see how tough I am? I haven’t repressed any of
that.
I even told Milo. The slate is clear. So let’s get into my head. I want to get
rid of all the garbage.”

“Hypnosis isn’t just something you jump
into, Lucy.”

“It’s dangerous?”

“Not when done with a properly prepared
patient.”

“You’re worried about my mental
stability?”

“I’m concerned about your stress level.”

She sat back, as if studying me. “Tell me
honestly. Do you think I tried to kill myself?”

“I really don’t know, Lucy. Ken saw you
with your head in that oven.”

“Okay, it was there,” she said. “I’m not
going to deny reality. But the phone calls, the undies, the note—I know it
sounds paranoid, but all that happened. I didn’t put those horrible rat things
there. Tell me you believe that.”

I nodded.

She said, “Maybe one of those crazy girls
is out to get me. Or some other nut, who knows? I’m even willing to consider
the possibility that I did it while I was sleepwalking—like the first time I
ended up on the kitchen floor. But I wouldn’t
willfully
try to kill
myself. Life means too much to me, and killing myself would be giving in to
him.
Confirming his preconception that we’re all weak and useless. That’s
what he told Puck every time Puck came to him. We were weak, spineless,
useless.
Banal.
I’d never do myself in, give him the satisfaction. Do
you understand?”

“Yes.”

A distant look came into her eyes.
“Sleepwalking. The more I think about it, the more I’m sure that has to be the
key. From the beginning. I must have gotten up in the middle of the night and
left that cabin and seen something... sex and violence, just like you said. I
can’t put it in words, but that
feels
right—there’s an internal logic.”
She smiled and exhaled. “It’s good you told me about all this. I won’t disappoint
you and misuse it. You’ve really helped me today, Dr. Delaware.”

I nodded.

“Not that it’s easy,” she went on. “I’m
still shaking inside.” Touching her belly. “But things are finally starting to
make sense.
Viscerally.
”

She touched my arm.

“Keep helping me. Please. Help me get into
my head and find out the truth. Help me get back in control.”

A hummingbird shot up in the air, a tiny
rocket. A gardener’s air gun blasted from somewhere down the block.

Her eyes were fixed on me.

“I’ll help you any way I can, Lucy.”

“What about hypnosis?”

“Right now?”

“Yes. I feel ready. I don’t even care if
it works, just that I tried my best. If I don’t
do
something, I’ll just
sit around here feeling helpless. So much has come down on me.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want to jump
into anything.”

“I understand,” she said. “But if hypnosis
could help clarify things, wouldn’t that help
unload
me?”