Authors: Daniel Hecht
In the hallways and rooms where she claimed to have seen things, Lila's readings showed classic features of fear, anxiety, panic, confusion. By the time they'd gotten to the master bedroom and she was telling about the pig-headed man and the awful changelings, her signs had become chaotic, wild and ragged to a degree that would frighten a cardiologist, let alone a psychologist - extreme but appropriate responses to remembered trauma.
Given what this data was telling her, Lila had shown amazing determination and strength to do as well as she had. The woman did indeed have a core of great resilience and self-control. How to get her to trust it, take assurance from it?
Cree checked her watch and realized it was time to head over to the Warrens'. She refolded the scroll and put her notes away for further review. One thing she knew for certain, though: Whatever else the scroll might reveal, it had already proved that Lila Beauforte Warren really had experienced something deeply, profoundly disturbing. Now it was up to Cree to determine just what that was.
C
REE ARRIVED AT THE HOUSE
a few minutes before four to find a black Jaguar parked carelessly and nearly blocking the end of the Warrens' driveway. She was just parking on the street when another car approached and also paused in front of the house, an older BMW with a vanity plate that read
SHRINK.
It didn't take much to deduce that the driver was Dr. Fitzpatrick. They both parked, got out, and approached each other warily.
Fitzpatrick was a long-limbed man around Cree's age, with thick brown hair and a congenial face that reminded her faintly of Alan Alda. He wore white linen pants, a white shirt with its sleeves turned back on his forearms, and an unruly blue tie.
They met at the end of the driveway and stopped to look each other over.
"Dr. Fitzpatrick, I presume," Cree said.
"Hello, Doctor Black." He smiled at her surprise and explained "After we talked on the phone, I took the liberty of doing a bit of on-line detective work on you. I'm very impressed with your credentials. And relieved."
He extended a hand, and Cree shook it, thinking that his doing research in advance was better than their getting inside, going territorial, and having to lay out their resumes side by side to see who had the longer list of honors and degrees.
"Relieved?"
"Yes. That you have sufficient background to understand why multiple approaches - conflicting approaches - to therapy can be injurious to the patient."
The unspoken conclusion being,
and will therefore back out of this without
an embarrassing tussle.
Still, Fitzpatrick's tone was amiable and respectful. It was hard to take much offense.
They started walking up the drive. "How much has Lila told you about what happened to her at Beauforte House?" Cree asked.
"Not much. We've only just begun, really. And she's a . . . a reluctant patient."
"I brought a cassette of what she told me when we were over there this morning. If she's willing, I'll lend it to you."
Fitzpatrick bobbed his head unenthusiastically. As they skirted the black Jaguar, he rapped the sleek hood with his knuckles. "This is R o Ro's car: Looks like Jack has decided to gang up on you, Dr. Black. Got the whole posse here."
" 'Ro-Ro'?"
Fitzpatrick laughed at himself. "Ronald Beauforte. The nicknames are something of a convention in certain socioeconomic circles hereabouts. I'd guess his being here means Jack has enlisted him to help chase you off, too."
Cree was just thinking that the impending session was looking less and less like the one she'd intended for this afternoon. And then the door opened and Ro-Ro stood there with his supercilious good looks, beckoning them inside.
"I'm flattered that you think I deserve such a big production," Cree told them. They were in the living room, Cree seated on the couch with Jack and Dr. Fitzpatrick ranged on a pair of facing chairs, Ronald standing at his ease to one side of the room. Cree had been a little disconcerted to hear Ronald greet Dr. Fitzpatrick as "Fitz," as if they were good buddies.
"But isn't there someone missing?"
"We thought it might be better if we talked without Lila here," Jack said. "You saw what she was like. She can't take any more of this ghost business. We were wrong to bring you here."
"Your wife is stronger than you think, Jack," Cree told him. "She's going to surprise you."
"You can keep the retainer," Ronald put in, "if that's what - "
"She's never been all that strong," Jack said. "She's always been easily upset."
"I can vouch for that," Ron agreed. "There's some history here." He turned to the credenza behind him and began fixing himself a drink from one of a number of liquor bottles on a tray there.
Cree watched him, thinking,
Ro-Ro.
Once you'd heard the nickname, it was hard not to think of him that way: an aging Southern bon vivant clinging to upper-class frat-boy mannerisms.
"I have no problem with returning the retainer or discontinuing my research," Cree said, "provided I hear from Lila that that's what
she
wants."
Jack and Ronald turned to look at Fitzpatrick, as if that was his cue to respond. But before he could, Lila appeared in the doorway. She was still wearing the same gray skirt and white blouse, rumpled now as if she'd been sleeping in them. She did look like hell, Cree saw, haggard and red-eyed, a wisp of hair hanging down over one eye and giving her a demented look. And yet the back that had looked so broken at Beauforte House was ramrod straight again.
Jack stood up, instantly solicitous. "Darlin' - "
"Sit
down,
Jackie." Lila glanced over at Ronald, who was looking on with a sardonic grin and swirling whiskey around his glass. "Ro-Ro.
Of
course you're here. Do make yourself at home, won't you? Care for a drink?"
"Maybe I will, thanks." Ronald blinked languidly and took a sip.
"I am not a cripple," Lila said. "I won't be discussed in my absence by some . . . cabal, however well meaning.
I
am the one who will decide what I need to do for my own mental health."
Jack and Ronald frowned briefly, different kinds of frowns, but Fitzpatrick's expression was one of both interest and, what — pleasure, maybe, at Lila's assertiveness.
"And what
do
you think, Lila?" he asked mildly. "You've had a harrowing experience today. What's the best way to get you to feel better?"
"I want to figure out what the hell these ghosts are. And why they're bothering me. And how to get rid of them for good."
Jack shook his head. "Lila . . . Peaches, the things you told us today, those can't be
real.
They may be scary as hell but they aren't
real,
they ain't even regular ghosts. They're - "
"They're all in my head, right? Hallucinations, because I'm going crazy. That's what I've been thinking, too. But after we got home today I remembered something. Jackie, I want you to think back to that night I woke you up, back in December. When I was so upset and said I had a bad dream? I told you and Cree about it today?"
"Yeah, the snake."
"Yes. Now Jackie, can you remember what happened? Can you
admit
what happened?"
Jack looked puzzled, glancing quickly from Ronald to Dr. Fitzpatrick as if seeking support. "What happened? I heard you scream, I woke up. I didn't know what the hell was going on, you snapped on the light and said you'd — "
And then Jack stopped abruptly. His eyes went thoughtful and then a little alarmed.
"No," Lila insisted. "Yow said - ?"
Jack looked at her with dismay. Lila waited him out, and at last he dropped his eyes. "I said . . . I asked somethin' like, 'Is that smoke?'"
Lila stared at him, then Cree, a look of desperate triumph or vindication: She had described her giant water moccasin as oozing like smoke.
"I - I was still practically asleep, the light blinded me! Doesn't mean - "
"You
saw
the snake! Just for a second.
You
saw it, too. If there'd really been smoke, we would have smelled it! It would have lingered in the room. There's no reason there'd be smoke, that old coal heater hasn't been used in fifty years. You saw it, Jackie!"
Cree felt a pang in her chest. Lila's plea for verification was a cry for someone to share her experience, for proof she was not really as alone as she felt.
Jack couldn't look at her, but he couldn't back down, either. "Baby, if there'd really been a big damn snake, wouldn't
it
have still been in the room?"
"Can I ask a question?" Cree interrupted. "Lila, have you seen or felt any of those things here, at this house?"
"Never." She gave Cree a grateful look.
"Jack, has Lila acted . . . that way . . . here at this house or anywhere else? At any time?"
Jack thought about it, pouted. "Can't say she has," he admitted. "I mean, she's been
upset
since we moved back in, after that business over there, but . . . no."
"Why would that be, do you suppose? Why would she encounter her hallucinations only in Beauforte House?"
Ron sipped his whiskey, thoughtful now. Jack threw out his hands, palms up, at a loss, then looked to Fitzpatrick. "Help me out here, Fitz."
Fitzpatrick shrugged. "I think these are issues we can iron out later. The real point is, Lila, if I'm hearing you right, you still think your best course is to explore the supernatural, um, possibility? Even though there's a good chance you have a brain disorder, and even though the process upsets you, you feel that it would be a beneficial therapeutic approach?"
Lila nodded.
"And you'd like to continue working with Dr. Black?"
"Now hold on a minute here," Ronald said. He frowned as he set his glass down and stepped closer to the circle of chairs. "Not half an hour ago, we all agreed - "
"Ronald," Lila said,
"you
agreed, not me. I'll tell you what I agree to. I want to get to the bottom of this. I want to do whatever I have to with Cree. And if you want cooperation from me about the house or
anything
else, you'll damn well cooperate with me and with Cree's research on this! Jackie, same goes for you. If you want me to continue with Dr. Fitzpatrick, it's conditional on me working with Cree until such time as
I
say it's not the right thing." Lila's decisiveness was clearly a major effort that was fatiguing for her. But she rallied one more time to glare at her brother and her husband. "Am I making myself clear?"
Ronald shook his head, disgusted, and shot an accusatory glance at Cree as he went to pour himself another drink. Jack just sat for a moment, hands on knees, puffing out his cheeks as he blew air through pursed lips. And then he meekly got up and went over to the credenza himself, muttering, "I think maybe I'll join you, there, Ro-Ro."
Lila hovered, still defiant but looking suddenly uncertain again, her power ebbing.
There was a long moment of strained silence, and then Fitzpatrick loudly smacked his hands on his thighs and stood up. "Well. That settles that, then, doesn't it?" And he grinned widely to no one in particular.
Cree and Dr. Fitzpatrick left the house fifteen minutes later. Outside, the lowering sun had stretched the shadows of houses and trees into long diagonals, and the air had cooled nicely. They paused at the end of the driveway, and Cree was about to shake Fitzpatrick's hand when he unexpectedly tipped his head toward the green slope of the levee and asked, "Ever been up there?"
"No. This is my first visit to New Orleans."
"You want to take a walk? I was just thinking, you and I have a few things to talk about. No time like the present. Good weather, grab it while you've got it."
Cree looked up at the sunlight on the grass, the blue sky, the tops of trees just visible on the other side. Lila had ended her bravura performance by asking Cree to begin a full investigation and handing her a retainer check for another five grand - a convincing statement to Ron and Jack about who was in charge. She had also given Cree and Fitzpatrick permission to discuss her case with each other.
Cree was tired, but the lakeshore did look inviting, and the sooner she began a dialogue with Fitzpatrick the better. "Just let me get my other shoes from the car," she said.
She changed into her walking shoes and met him at the end of the street, and they climbed up the steep embankment. At the top, she was rewarded with a vast view of water, bordered by a wide strip of green parkland that stretched out of view to the left and right. The flat top of the levee was almost level with the second-floor windows of the houses in the neighborhoods behind it. Here and there along its zigzagging length, people came and went, suggesting that beyond keeping floodwater out of the city it doubled as a walking and bicycling path. On the lakeside, the lawns were thronged with people picnicking, playing catch, lounging, wrestling with dogs, flying kites. The breeze that bustled off the lake carried the scent of smoke from portable grills as it tugged at Cree's skirt and hair.
"This is nice," she admitted. It was a relief to be surrounded by lots of space, free of close interiors so congested with emotions and history. To let the wind and sun sweep it all away for a moment.
Fitzpatrick stood with his hands deep in his trouser pockets, eyes shut, face turned to the sun. Yes, a little like Alan Alda, Cree decided, but more edgy. More dash or darkness - an attractive combination. The wind made his hair crazy and pulled his tie fluttering over his shoulder.
"I come running here a couple of times a week," he told her. He still hadn't opened his eyes. "When it gets hot, which is basically from here on in, this is the coolest place in town. The wind helps. You jog?"
"Pretty regularly."
"Thought so," Fitzpatrick said.
Cree heard the oblique flattery in his comment. He was low-key and unselfconscious about it, and left it alone afterward. To her surprise, she liked the way it made her feel. They began to walk along the levee into the lowering sun.
"I expected you'd be part of the lynch mob, Dr. Fitzpatrick. Why weren't you?"