Firestorm!

By Ned Gardner

Bet you can’t name the worst fire in American history. Well don’t feel bad. Seasoned psychiatrists Evelyn Cleath and Terry LePorin couldn’t either but learned the hard way when their lovely but troubled patient, Belinda Fairchild, revealed a second side to her puzzling personality in the form of teenage psychotic killer, Carlena, who will stop at nothing to seek revenge upon those she feels deserving.

Using the horrific Peshtigo fire as a backdrop, historical fiction writer Gardner weaves a chilling tale of mystery, suspense, sex and murder that will keep you riveted to each searing page as you speed your way to its shocking conclusion! You’ll keep guessing how this gripping story will end up but forget it, good reader, save your breath… Five will get you ten you won’t see it coming!

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 7, 2009
• ISBN: 9781440112829

Ned Gardner

About the author… Ned Gardner has been writing persuasive, entertaining ideas for over forty years. Following a writing stint at Swift-Chaplin’s Hollywood studios, he began an eighteen-year career at J. Walter Thompson, one of the world’s largest and most prestigious advertising agencies, where he serviced key clients with his exceptional marketing and writing skills all over the country and the world. In 1990, Ned began writing fiction. In addition to FIRESTORM!, he has completed three other novels employing the narrative technique of historical fiction: KODAK MOMENT – a not entirely fictionalized tale finally resolving who really shot JFK and why, ONE-EYED PAPERBOY – an outrageous, humorous romp from Florida to the Big Island of Hawaii intertwining an infamous war criminal’s daughter, her lovely, precocious niece, and the stupidest, most pathetic kidnapping in history, and DEADLY ORCHID – a chilling story of a beautiful but toxic psychopath who will stop at nothing to get what she wants and she wants plenty! Ned has also completed a collection of five quick-paced, mostly unsettling short stories under the title, DEEP, DARK WATER. All these works are available through fine bookstores everywhere. Ned lives in North Palm Beach, Florida.

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FIRESTORM!

Copyright © 2008 by Ned Gardner.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-4401-1281-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4401-1282-9 (eBook)

iUniverse rev. date: 12/23/2008

Contents

Acknowledgements

Firestorm!

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Forty-Eight

Forty-Nine

Fifty

Fifty-One

Fifty-Two

Fifty-Three

Fifty-Four

Fifty-Five

Fifty-Six

Fifty-Seven

Fifty-Eight

Fifty-Nine

Author’s Note

About The Author…

Completed works by Ned Gardner…

Novels:

KODAK MOMENT

ONE-EYED PAPERBOY

DEADLY ORCHID

FIRESTORM!

DEEP, DARK WATER

(A collection of 5 short stories)

To my loving son, Rod… and J.J. and Moe.

Acknowledgements

My sister-in-law Lou, as usual and as always.

FIRESTORM!

Prologue

1987

Late on a summer afternoon

Much of the top layer of hay was still damp with humidity caused by the heavy rain that had fallen only an hour before, and the lingering pungent smell irritated her nose and teased a sneeze.

Hurting and battered—more her legs, shoulders and breasts this time around—she was afraid to move for fear she might wake him, and she struggled to swallow the incessant, gulping sobs that kept creeping up her throat.

Slowly, so very carefully, she untangled her left leg from beneath his, causing him to stir and mutter disjointed grousings that made little sense. Pausing for a minute, waiting until he resumed his drunken stupor, she crawled slowly through the thick, moist hay, hesitating every few feet to confirm his snoring, some of the longer, brittle sticks of hay painfully scratching and poking her hands and knees like needles… she finally reached the tall, twin ladder struts leaning against the loft’s edge.

Wiping her tears and briefly looking back at the sleeping form, her paisley Shepard skirt and ripped cotton slip bunched high around her waist, she turned and stealthily backed down the ladder step-by-silent-step, rung-by-agonizing-rung, afraid to breathe, afraid to open her eyes as if squeezing them shut could squeeze out all the unspeakable horror she had been forced to suffer all over again only twenty minutes before.

Reaching the bottom—the hard wooden floorboards reassuringly solid and cool beneath her shoeless feet—she tiptoed across the barn to the large door that had been partially left ajar after he had dragged her through it and towed her screaming and crying up the nine-foot loft ladder by her thick, long hair. Quickly slipping through the narrow opening then swinging the heavy barn door closed as quietly as she could, she pressed the two metal ends of the large outside padlock together with a confirming CLICK!

I’ve got you now, you monster! she said over and over as she dashed around the old rickety building and quickly stuffed handfuls of straw mixed with dry mesquite grass underneath and in-between the rotting edges of the door and cracked sides of the barn. Breathing hard and satisfied now with her preparations, she hurriedly lit the yellowish, bushy material, praying to God it would burn, her hands trembling so badly she had to relight most of the dry bits of hay with tiny torches of stick matches she had found stuffed in the glove compartment of the red ’84 Chevy pickup.

It took less than five minutes, far less time than she would have expected, before plumes of white, billowing smoke morphed into glowing, licking ribbons of fire that swiftly snaked up the sides of the barn to the roof. Suddenly the whole barn was ablaze, resembling a colossal Friday night pep rally bonfire at her high school, and only minutes more before she heard his first cries of panic as the desperate wolf yelled and kicked furiously at the large barn door and baking, hissing walls.

SWEET JESUS OPEN THE DOOR, I KNOW IT’S YOU, YOU CRAZY BITCH! STOP PLAYIN’ AROUND AND OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR OR I’LL SKIN YOU ALIVE AS YOU STAND THERE! he threatened and pounded as if his life depended on it and, of course, it did.

But he couldn’t get out! The huge padlocked door wouldn’t budge! And she continued to heed his mounting terror, listening placidly without pity or remorse as she traced the sound of his scampering footsteps from one end of the barn to the other, then up the loft ladder then down again, urgently smacking the smoking sides of the burning structure with a rake or metal billet of some kind in his futile attempts to find some way out but, alas, for the wolf, anyway, none would be found.

For the next quarter hour she sat on the grassy knoll some forty yards in front of the fiery mass, rubbing her cuts and bruises while she dully watched the growing inferno as if in a fog. She listened to the crackling flames and diminishing screams until the screams were no more and what was left of the searing, glowing framework of the old barn—wobbling uneasily before taking a final, moaning bow—collapsed in a magnificent display of rocket-shooting sparks and crashing hunks of burning timber.

Burn you bastard. Burn forever, you monster, she said with little emotion, then got up and calmly walked the hundred or so feet to their house. Washing her hands in the kitchen sink then checking to see if her mother was home (she wasn’t), the sixteen-year-old made a peanut butter sandwich then trudged upstairs and threw off what was left of her torn, blood-speckled clothing before drawing a hot bath.

Later—feeling much better and finally clean—munching what was left of a large bowl of last night’s popcorn still sitting on the coffee table in the living room, she decided to watch The Facts Of Life on TV until her mother came home.

She was fast asleep on the sofa when Mom arrived an hour later, and the woman was both delighted and amused to see that her daughter had a smile on her pretty face for some silly reason. Must be having a wonderful dream… she pondered happily and kissed the girl lightly on the forehead before heading into the kitchen to prepare dinner, wondering where on earth all that black smoke outside was coming from.

Danger is a successful teacher, its influence immediate and irresistible. No reasoning succeeds so quickly in making men comprehend the greatness of God and their own helplessness.

Reverend Peter Pernin

Peshtigo, Wisconsin

October, 1871

ONE

DOWNTOWN CLEVELAND

31st floor, Terminal Building

July 8, 2008

Can you hear me okay, Belinda?

Yes. Are you still going to count some more, Doctor?

No, not right away. We’re pretty much all done with that for a few minutes. You can relax now, Belinda. Just lie back and relax, and we’ll chat for a while about general goings on in your life like we usually do. You can open your eyes if you want to, totally up to you. Tell me, how do you feel right now? Any huge anxieties or feelings of uneasiness?

No. Little bit tired but otherwise fine, the woman said as she covered her mouth and yawned, eyes still closed. Sorry, she added modestly. I didn’t sleep that great again last night. As I told you last week, it’s been a big problem lately. Crummy, stupid dreams keep popping up all the time. Actually I’ve been having them for years, really, just more often the last couple of weeks for some strange reason and… clearer.

Clearer? That’s interesting. And always the same ones? About your mother and the old farm? About when you were just a young girl?

Yup, the same ones. Always the same ones about the farm. Freaky, huh?

"No, I don’t think so. Not necessarily, anyway. I do, however, wonder why you keep dreaming the same things all the time. There’s usually some sort of reason for recurring dreams like that, and I think it could be quite revealing if we can both figure that out at some point during our sessions.

All right, let’s begin like last time. Do you understand you are being hypnotized right now, Belinda Fairchild? That you gave permission for me to employ this psychological technique with you today, July eight, o-eight at… let’s see, six-twenty pm, and we are doing this in an attempt to hopefully enhance our analysis of your situation? the doctor asked routinely for the record. This was the third time Belinda had been put under, and she was accustomed to the tape recorder silently confirming her approval among other things she might say that might turn out to be helpful in some way.

Yes, I understand.

Good. Are you comfortable? Would you like a glass of water? Would you like Gail to bring you something refreshing to drink? Something maybe from the coffee shop downstairs?

No. Some tea perhaps. With lemon, if you have it. If it’s not a lot of trouble because I don’t want your nice assistant to go to any trouble.

No. Absolutely no trouble, Doctor Evelyn said and buzzed Gail with Belinda’s request.

Burrr… boy, it sure seems a bit chilly in here, Evelyn said rubbing her bare arms.

I can turn down the air conditioning if that would be more comfortable for you. Would you like a blanket to cover your legs? I noticed you’ve been trembling a little bit since we first started this afternoon.

No, I’m fine. A little tired, that’s all, but I’m fine, really. Lately I seem to periodically shiver every now and then, I don’t know why, she told the doctor and sort of laughed, then shifted her body an inch or two on the leather couch before opening her lovely brown eyes.

Good. Great. All right, Belinda, I going to count to ten again, the doctor said, preparing her patient for the next stage. I want you to close your eyes again and when I’m finished counting I want you to feel totally refreshed—totally energized and completely relaxed. And you’ll no longer feel tired or shaky, okay? Do you understand? Yes? Good, all right. Okay, here we go: One… two, you’re feeling more and more relaxed now… three, four, you’re no longer feeling tired, Belinda… five… five and a half, six…

It was late on a hazy, summer afternoon. Belinda was having her regular Thursday one-hour session with her analyst, Dr. Evelyn Cleath, who had been an integral part of Belinda’s life for the past two years. Although the thirty-six-year-old woman was dealing with some very definite, very difficult issues, no question, Belinda also considered her weekly therapy sessions a marvelous cathartic. A bit of luxurious self-indulging. And she believed she earned the right to spoil herself once a week by sharing her innermost feelings with someone she trusted explicitly. She always felt renewed and reenergized after leaving Doctor Evelyn’s office and, besides, it had been an especially tough year for Belinda Fairchild and, if anything, her world seemed to be more upside down and difficult lately rather than the other way around. For the past several months she had been dealing with several extremely complicated issues…

First, there was the painful divorce after eleven years of some sort of turbulent, childless marriage. Then there was the death of her mother—made all the more tragic by the fact that Belinda was an only child—and she and her mom were extremely tight, told each other everything and were as close as twin sisters (which certainly didn’t help her long-in-decline and finally capsized marriage with her now ex-husband).

The one saving grace was that Belinda’s well-paying job as a dental hygienist for a prominent Cleveland periodontist was both interesting and time consuming, which helped the still very attractive, trim brunette keep her mind off her problems. And, importantly, she was dating again, though not yet in love again—a fluctuating state of affairs she decided was probably a good thing at this particular point in her disordered and stressful life. She was pretty sure true love was floating around out there someplace in cyberspace, just not floating around in her particular cyberspace at the moment.

How do you feel? You can open your eyes now if you want to.

Good. Fine. I don’t feel tired anymore.

Great. Now I’d like to try something a little different, Belinda. Something you and I have never done before that I think you might enjoy and could just be very revealing beyond what you and I have already talked about. Tell me, have you ever heard the medical expression ‘hypnotic transgressional regression’?

I don’t… hypnotic transgress… no I don’t think so, Belinda said as Gail Sabin, the doctor’s pretty blond, late-twenty-something assistant for the past four months quietly interrupted with Belinda’s hot tea.

Just put it there on the table next to her arm, Gail, thank you so much, hon. Um, yes, Belinda, well most people haven’t heard of that sort of foo-foo, silly sounding medical term either so don’t feel alone. Let me explain the technique briefly and then you can decide if you might be alright with it before we actually try it, okay?

Dr. Evelyn Cleath had already decided Belinda was an exceptionally good subject when it came to the relatively common use of hypnosis during physiological therapy, primarily because Belinda greatly enjoyed it; she always felt wonderfully refreshed afterward and usually saw her life much clearer which—no big surprise—was why Belinda was such an exceptionally good subject to hypnotize in the first place!

Hypnotic transgressional regression, Dr. Cleath began, "at least the nutshell version of the medical term, is simply an attempt to bring a patient back to an earlier age and have her remember things that happened to her those many years past that can sometimes help us understand why she acts and thinks the way she does now.

As we discussed before, Belinda, it’s a little in line with knowing the ‘why’ in order to be able to fix the ‘what’. Some subjects can ‘regress’ and some can’t, it just depends on the individual and her mindset at the time and her confidence in her doctor. In your case, I believe it might be possible for you to do this because you enjoy being hypnotized and have told me several times you greatly look forward to it each time we have gotten together lately so… whaddya think? Would you like to give this regression thing a shot? How about a splash of ‘hypnotic transgressional regression’ in your tea along with a twist of lemon? Then we’ll both see what happens, if anything.

Okay. Sure. Sounds like fun. If you think it might be helpful.

I do. All right. Keep your eyes closed, and I’m going to count to twenty this time. When I’m finished I’d like you to tell me about your earliest birthday party that you can remember and, if possible, I’ll ask you to try to be that same little girl again at the very same age you were the day of the party and tell me what you’re doing, what you’re thinking about, what you’re wearing and anything else you can recall, okay? Understand?

I think so. Can people really do this? Have you ever done this before with any of your other patients?

"A few times. Not very often though because most of my patients can’t regress back very easily. It’s difficult and very few people can do it—including me, by the way, because I’ve tried it on myself with another extremely qualified therapist across the hall, and I struggled even though I was deeply hypnotized at the time. Pretty interesting, huh?

But I think you could be one of those unique exceptions, Belinda, and in any case I think we should both find that out. All right? Still comfortable with trying it? Want a sip of tea first? the doctor asked in a bit of a rush because she felt too many questions requiring thoughtful answers might dilute the depth and worth of the trance she was about to instill.

"Okay, let’s begin. I’ll start counting: One… two… I want you to try to think back now… three… you’re mind is drifting way, way back many, many years ago, Belinda… four… five… you’re a little girl again, and you’re excited because it’s your birthday, it’s your special day—your birthday and you’re very excited, can you remember? Six… seven… can you remember your very first birthday party so many years ago, Belinda? I want you to remember as much as you can, I want you to tell me about it… eight… nine… remember all your nice friends that were there… all the wonderful, beautifully wrapped presents they brought just for you… eleven… twelve… "

TWO

Belinda?

Yes.

You okay? Feel all right?

Yes.

Good. Do you know where you are?

Of course. Don’t you?

Um, yes, Evelyn smiled, of course I do. How old are you?

I’m… Seven! S-E-V-E-N! Belinda proudly spelled out her brand new age.

Seven? Wow, honey, that’s, that’s wonderful! What a big girl! Where are you now? Where do you live now? the doctor pushed, immediately noticing the woman’s voice had changed. A higher register now. More like the voice of a seven-year-old girl.

Larchmont. It’s in New York, Daddy says. In our backyard. We moved here last year, but I still miss the other place and so does Mommy but she won’t tell Daddy because it makes him mad and he says bad words.

Where was that? The other place you lived…

In Bronxville. In Westchester County. That’s also in New York. Kind of near here someplace. Some of my friends and their mothers from Bronxville are here at my party right now, but they have to go home soon because it’s getting late and they have to go home before it gets too dark.

I see. Why are you all in the backyard? Is that where your birthday party is being held right now?

Yup. And the pony and all the balloons are out here too. My daddy had a man bring the pony so we can all have rides because it’s my birthday. I can’t keep him though. We just rented him today like a truck. My dog keeps trying to bite his feet all the time! I get the first pony ride because it’s my birthday, and I’m the first one before anyone else can have a ride!

Of course you’re first! Are you seven today?

YES! SEVEN! I JUST TOLD YOU! EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT, SILLY BILLY, she giggled.

Yes sweetie, of course everybody knows that. You’re right, and I’m being very, very silly aren’t I. Are you wearing a pretty new dress? Dr. Cleath asked, quickly changing the subject and not wanting Belinda to get too excited for fear she might suddenly wake up without Evelyn properly setting up the sometimes awkward post-hypnotic transition back to reality.

Yup! A pretty new green one! See, it has a big bow in back! My grandmum gave it to me for my birthday, and I love it more than anything! Mommy said I can wear it to school tomorrow if I don’t get it dirty! I have to be sure I don’t fall off the pony and get it all messy though because I might get all dirty and hurt myself.

Oh you won’t, honey, don’t worry about that. And won’t that be fun for you at school tomorrow, Belinda, going to school in your new dress! Do you know who I am, sweetie, do you know my name?

Sure. You’re Doctor Evelyn.

Yes, that’s right. That’s very good. Now I’m going to slowly count to ten again, Belinda, and I’d like you to try to remember another time much earlier than now—another birthday at another time when you were younger than seven. Do you think you might be able to do that for me?

I… no, I don’t think so. Why do you want me to do that? You’re beginning to make my head hurt, Doctor Evelyn.

Really? Why?

I don’t know. Why do you want me to keep doing this? To keep trying to remember things so long ago? I just… I don’t understand why you…

No reason, honey, I just thought we both might enjoy it. We can do it very quickly. I’d just like to see if you can do it, that’s all. Is that a problem? Is it okay if we just try regressing back a little bit further… try to go back just a little bit more? We don’t have to if you don’t want to, Belinda, or if your head is really beginning to hurt you and you want to stop.

No, it’s okay, Belinda said, her high voice still sounding like that of a little girl. We can try it but please don’t be mad if I can’t do it the way you want me to.

"Of course not. I will never be mad at you no matter what you say or what you do. Doctors don’t do that, sweetheart, get mad at people and especially very pretty little girls who just turned seven! All right, here we go, one more time. One… I want you to think way back, Belinda… two… way, way back, honey, as far back in your life as you can go… three… just as far back as you can remember ever in your whole life… four…

Belinda?

The hypnotized woman didn’t say anything.

Belinda Fairchild, can you hear me?

Still no answer. The woman’s eyes remained closed and she started to toss and turn as if in the middle of a disturbing dream.

Are you okay? Belinda, if you can hear me please say something. Are you asleep? Do you want to just rest a little bit now?

Still no reply…

Would you like me to wake you up completely now? the doctor asked gently, becoming concerned. Just say ‘yes’ and I’ll wake you up and you’ll feel just fine. Do you want me to do that, Belinda?

My head hurts! the patient suddenly said.

What? Your head hurts? Evelyn repeated. Belinda’s voice was now more mature, older; no longer like that of a little girl but not exactly her normal voice either. A touch more nasal as if she had a cold.

Yes it does. And my hands hurt due to the harshest of burns collected these past hours during such woeful conflagration.

Um… I see. Sorry. I’m sorry to hear that, Evelyn said, not completely certain what ‘conflagration’ meant or exactly what this woman had just said. Can you tell me where you are right now, Belinda? What place—where exactly you are talking to me from right now?

Hah! With thee of course in your room! In your room with the red curtains where we always are! I must tell thee that your jokes are coming at a very bad time right now, Doctor Evelyn.

Again, I’m very sorry, Belinda. I didn’t mean to joke with you, and I must have left my manners at home. Could you tell me please, where did you get the burns you just mentioned that you said are on your hands?

By the river. Where so many of the dead and dying and putrid stinking bodies are lying. Did thee ever smell the dead, Doctor? Acck, ’tis awful! And my name is not Belinda, and I prefer thee to please stop calling me by that name because it does not belong to me, and I cannot and will not in truth answer honestly to it further.

"Yes I’m… I’m very sorry. What is your name, could you please remind me again, please?"

Carleena. Carleena Bartlett. Dost ye not know that by now? What town are ye from? Do you live near here by the river?

Yes. Fairly close by. But I’m sorry, I must have forgotten your name. Please try to forgive me for my very poor memory. Wow. Carleena Bartlett. That’s a very beautiful name. Exactly what river are you near, by the way, could you remind me of that too?

Peshtigo. The Peshtigo River, of course. ’Tis the only river of consequence that touches our town that I know of on this black and horrible day. The only river that flows into the bay and the great Michigan Lake.

I see. Thank you for telling me that. Can you also tell me, Carleena, why this day is so black and horrible? Is… this day somehow different in some manner from other days?

Hah! Dost thou not know? The black day of the cruel and holocaust fires that swept over us, of course! The cyclonic fires from hell that ravaged our town and our neighborhoods and so consumed so many so awfully! Those that doubt a true hell on earth would do well to see what happened in this place, she said with profound sadness. And on my sixteenth birthday of all day of days for the fiery bowels of the earth to erupt and spill over us!

I see. You’re sixteen today. Carleena, can you tell me what year this is? The date right now?

Of course! Dost ye not know that either? It’s seventy-one! Are thine injuries so severe from the fires and insufferable smoke and burns that they have rendered your memory singed and worthless, completely melting your brain? Are ye also in need of aid? Of some mending and repair?

I… no, I’m fine. Just a bit confused, I guess, Evelyn said and couldn’t help but laugh slightly. Um, tell me, are you saying it’s nineteen seventy-one, Carleena? Exactly what year is it, she repeated.

"Hah, you wish to joke with me again! I’m beginning to understand all of this now! It is, of course, eighteen seventy-one, you silly goose, as if this presents a large butcher’s pot of fresh news to thee. October eight to be most precise, this year of our Lord, eighteen seventy-one. My birthday! And I beg you not to tease if only in jest because my head aches further, and I am ill and pained deeply on my arms and hands due to the terrible burns.

Besides, the hypnotized woman added quickly, there is no humor in pain and the tragedy and what is left for us here. Are thou a physician who cures pain beyond one who peers into the mind or dost thou not attend seared and broken bones?

Um, pretty much just the mind only, I’m afraid. Sorry, but I just deal with mind problems, not bone problems, the doctor told her supposedly hypnotized patient as the psychiatrist quietly shook her head in quiet bewilderment.

Belinda, are you playing with me right now for some reason. If so, it’s not funny and I want you to stop it immediately, do you hear what I’m telling you?

No answer.

What the hell is going on here? Is this woman faking this nonsense or what? Evelyn could only wonder as she stared at the reclining, now silent woman. Could this troubled, beautiful but gentle lady who I’ve gotten to know so well over the past two years be messing with me? Pulling my leg for some dumb, silly reason? And if she’s faking this whole regression bit, why? Why would she do that? Does this woman actually realize what she’s just been telling me? Does she even have a clue as to what she’s talking about?"

And if Belinda Fairchild was genuine… the real deal, at least in her own mind… where were these strange incantations exactly coming from that seemed, at least to Evelyn, to be so straight from the heart? What in heaven’s name had Evelyn just done to this woman in fooling around with this regression business, and could she bring this troubled, pretty lady back to reality okay without any serious or lasting implications?

Not a bad question…

THREE

So do you believe her?

I don’t know. I guess so. I’m trying very hard to, anyway. Truth is I just don’t know what to believe. It’s all so… damn strange, Terry!

Yeah. And that’s a huge understatement, Evey! Did you tell her everything she told you afterward, after you woke her? Did you tell her what she said when she was speaking as the what? The young Carleena Bartlett girl?

No. I was afraid to. I kind of chickened out, to be perfectly honest, Evelyn said to her colleague and ex-lover, looking somewhat embarrassed. "I wanted to tell her when I first woke her but changed my mind at the last second until I’ve had the chance to mull over what damage it might cause. I mean, think about it for a minute…

"How would you feel if I told you your subconscious not only thought you were someone else but actually had you talk in a rather odd, old fashion and puritanical sort of dialect like a completely different person from a hundred plus years ago? Jesus, Terry, I mean how traumatic might that be? Especially for a woman who’s already on the edge, has lost all semblance of any self-confidence assuming she once had some, and has been going through a really rough time lately, which supposedly is why she came to me in the first place! Maybe I’m totally off the wall here but I think I’m supposed to help the poor lady, not tangle up her mind even more than it already is!

I mean how would you react if you were her, believing for a moment that she’s truly on the level with this regression thing? she asked psychologist Terrance LePorin. They were sitting in LePorin’s rather opulent office located directly across the hall from Evelyn’s suite having a drink about an hour after Evelyn’s mystifying session with the Fairchild woman had ended and Belinda had gone home.

Yeah, okay, Terry agreed, fair question. It very possibly could be seriously upsetting to her, and I think you made the right call in not telling her what happened. How did she feel afterward? Did she act and talk normally? Was she crying?

No. She was just like she always is after one of our sessions, thank God! She sounded fine and refreshed. No unusual aftereffects I could see, anyway. She was meeting her new sort-of boyfriend for dinner later, and she sounded perfectly fine to me but who knows?

That’s good. Any memory of the Carleena girl conversation or Peshtigo fires or anything else you two talked about after you woke her?

"Nope. Nothing. No memory whatsoever. And Belinda’s birthday, not so incidentally, is October eighth."

"Yeah, I figured. You know, Evey, as I listened to the tape the second time tonight, I kept searching Belinda’s voice for some hint, some indication of a fraud—especially when she was speaking as the Carleena character—but unfortunately I couldn’t detect even a smidge as to anything phony or disingenuous. And I emphasize ‘unfortunately’ here because it would be a lot easier if we were certain this was some kind of silly hoax and she was as phony as a three-dollar bill. A hell of a lot easier, to be frank, and I’m not just saying that to be melodramatic."

I know.

Yes? Terry asked. You know? Are you absolutely sure you know? Just exactly what do you know, Ev? Do you fully, totally comprehend the significance of what we’re discussing here, my impossibly frustrating but lovely colleague?

Well I thought so up to now… she looked at him oddly. What are… exactly what are you getting at, Terry? Why is it I’m beginning to think I’m not completely getting your point here, assuming you have one someplace, she smiled.

"Oh I have one all right. My point, doctor, is, Terry got up and started to freshen their drinks, my point is a little something called ‘reincarnation’ or at least the suggestion of it if this woman is even close to being on the level. And the mere mention or possibility—or just a calm, logical discussion of that particular subject—could turn the entire psychiatric and religious world on its ear, much less everyone else who believes or wants to believe there’s a heaven and a hell! Tell me, Evelyn, is this Fairchild lady a Catholic by any chance?"

Yes she is. She specifically told me that when we first met and I interviewed her.

"A practicing Catholic, do you know?"

I think so. From what I understand, anyway. She goes to church at least once a week. She also wears a little gold crucifix on a chain around her neck all the time. I’ve never seen her without it, in fact, not that that necessarily means anything one way or another.

No it doesn’t. Is she an only child?

No. Well yes, actually, she is now. See, she had a brother two years older but he died in a car crash when she was just starting high school. It was extremely traumatic for her, she doesn’t like talking about him or the accident, and unless you know her better she claims she’s always been an only child, Evelyn said, adding, "but from what I gather the two siblings weren’t all that close, quite the opposite in fact. I told you about the recent death of her mother—she still isn’t over that heartbreaking event—and the father has been gone for many years now, abandoned them, really. A drinker and womanizer from what I understand. From what she told me, both parents died pretty much of natural causes… She’s had a pretty sad life, a lot of shitty luck she couldn’t do much about. Bad marriage, tough upbringing, painful hard times a lot of her life and all the other stuff I told you about before. Fortunately there were no kids to complicate