Nightmare

54

Nightingale looked up as Barbara came down the stairs, He was about to say something when he realised that Jenny was behind her. Her eyes were red as if she’d been crying. ‘I’m sorry, kid,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to upset you.’

Jenny pointed a finger at him. ‘I’ll do this because Barbara asked me to, but once it’s done I’m going to want an apology from you and a promise that you’ll never, ever, mention my uncle again.’

‘It’s a promise,’ said Nightingale, getting off his stool.

Jenny looked at Barbara. ‘This is crazy. It really is crazy.’

‘You have to go into this with an open mind,’ said Barbara. ‘It’s not going to work if you’re negative.’

Jenny nodded. ‘Okay, I’ll get myself into a more positive frame of mind.’ She walked over to the breakfast bar and poured champagne into her glass.

‘I hope that’s not for me,’ said Nightingale.

Jenny flashed him a tight smile, drank it all in one, then refilled her glass.

‘Is she okay drinking?’ Nightingale asked Barbara.

‘What do you mean by that?’ said Jenny. ‘I’m not the one with the drink problem.’ She drank half her champagne.

‘I meant for the hypnosis. Doesn’t drink affect the process?’

‘In moderation it can actually help,’ said Barbara. ‘It’s a relaxant.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ said Jenny. She toasted them with her glass and then drained it.

‘You’re going to relax yourself into a coma,’ said Nightingale.

Jenny smiled sarcastically. ‘Yeah? Pot. Kettle. Black.’ She poured the last of the champagne into her glass.

‘Shall we get started?’ asked Barbara.

‘Let’s,’ said Jenny. ‘Where do we do it?’

‘The sofa in the sitting room should do the trick,’ said Barbara. ‘But anywhere you feel comfortable is fine.’

‘The sofa works for me,’ said Jenny. She finished her champagne and headed for the sitting room.

The television was on with the sound muted. Barbara picked up the remote and switched it off. ‘Take off your shoes,’ she said. ‘You’ll probably be most relaxed if you lie down but sitting is okay.’ Jenny sat down on the sofa, slipped off her shoes and then lay back. She plumped up a cushion and slid it behind her head.

‘What about me?’ asked Nightingale.

‘That’s up to Jenny,’ said Barbara. She looked at her friend. ‘If it makes you uncomfortable then he should stay outside.’

‘It’s okay,’ said Jenny. ‘Unless he hears it for himself he’s not going to believe it anyway so he might as well stay.’

Nightingale sat down in a winged easy chair by the fireplace.

Barbara picked up a chair from around the circular dining table by the window and carried it over to the sofa. She put it down so that she could sit at Jenny’s shoulder.

‘Are you sitting comfortably?’ asked Jenny.

Barbara wagged her finger at Jenny. ‘You take this seriously, young lady,’ she said. ‘You’re dealing with a professional, remember?’

‘Yes, miss. Sorry, miss.’ Jenny took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

‘Okay, close your eyes and I want you to listen to your own breathing. Try to breathe as slowly as possible. Slow and even. The slower the better. Not too deep, not too shallow.’

Jenny did as she was told. Nightingale crossed his ankles and sat back in his chair. Barbara began to speak in a slow, deep voice, barely more than a murmur, her mouth close to Jenny’s ear. Nightingale couldn’t make out what she was saying but the tone and rhythm were so soothing that he started to feel his eyelids getting heavy. He blinked and forced himself to concentrate but even then he had to struggle not to fall asleep.

Barbara continued to talk to Jenny for almost five minutes before sitting back in her chair and nodding over at Nightingale. ‘She’s under,’ she mouthed.

Jenny’s eyes were closed and her chest was rising and falling slowly. Nightingale could hear a slight wheeze as she breathed in and out.

‘Jenny, can you hear me?’ asked Barbara quietly.

‘Yes,’ said Jenny, her voice a dull monotone.

‘Everything’s calm and peaceful. You’re safe here, you’re among friends. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘I want you to go back in your mind to the last time that you spoke to your Uncle Marcus. Can you do that for me?’

‘Yes,’ said Jenny.

‘Did you talk to him on the phone? Or did you see him?’

‘I saw him,’ said Jenny.

‘Where?’

‘He came here.’

‘Here? To your house?’

‘Yes.’

‘When?’

‘Three days ago. Saturday.’

‘That can’t be right,’ said Nightingale.

Barbara silenced him with a warning look, then pressed a finger to her lips. ‘Shhh.’

Nightingale nodded. He was leaning forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees.

‘Jenny?’

‘Yes?’

‘I want you to go back to three days ago, when Uncle Marcus came to see you. Can you do that? Can you do that for me, Jenny?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘It’s five minutes before he’s due to arrive. What are you wearing?’

‘Blue jeans. My Versace T-shirt. The one with the angel wings on the back.’

‘I need you to look at your watch, Jenny. What time is it?’

‘Five to eight,’ said Jenny.

‘And he said he’d come to see you at eight o’clock?’

‘Yes. He phoned me before.’

‘And it’s Saturday?’

‘Yes. Saturday.’

Nightingale frowned as he realised that Jenny had lied when she’d said that the last time she’d seen Fairchild was when he’d gone to the police station. But that didn’t make any sense at all. Why would she lie to him?

‘Now I want you to go forward until Marcus arrives. Did he knock at the door or ring the bell?’

‘He rang the bell. The intercom.’

‘That’s good, Jenny. Now I want you to go to the door and open it. Can you do that for me?’

‘Sure,’ said Jenny.

‘So open the door and tell me what you see.’

‘It’s Uncle Marcus.’

‘What’s he wearing, Jenny?’

‘A dark blue suit. A pink shirt with a white collar. A dark blue tie.’

‘And what happened then, Jenny? Did you let him into the house?’

Jenny said nothing.

‘Jenny, can you hear me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Marcus is there, standing at the door, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good, now I want you to let him in the house. Can you do that?’

Jenny said nothing.

‘Jenny? Can you hear me?’

There was no response. Barbara looked over at Nightingale and shrugged. Nightingale made a circling movement with his hand. ‘Move her forward,’ he mouthed.

Barbara nodded and turned back to Jenny. ‘Jenny, I want you to go forward an hour, it’s now nine o’clock. Can you do that?’

‘Yes,’ said Jenny.

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m showering.’

‘You’re in the shower?’

‘Yes.’

‘And where is Uncle Marcus?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Okay, Jenny. I want you to finish showering. What do you do then?’

‘I go downstairs.’

‘Is Uncle Marcus there?’

‘No.’

Barbara looked over at Nightingale. He made another circular motion with his hand and mouthed, ‘Take her back.’

‘Jenny, I want you to go back to eight o’clock. Can you do that for me?’

‘Yes,’ said Jenny.

‘Look at your watch, Jenny. Tell me what time you see.’

‘Eight o’clock.’

‘That’s good. Now I want you to wait until you hear the intercom buzz.’

‘Yes,’ said Jenny quietly. She lay on the sofa, breathing softly.

Barbara looked at Nightingale, frowning. He could see that she was worried and he shared her concern. He tried to flash her a reassuring smile but he knew that he wasn’t fooling anyone. Something had happened on Saturday evening and he feared the worst.

‘There he is,’ said Jenny. ‘The intercom is buzzing.’

‘That’s good. Now open the door.’

‘Okay.’

Barbara waited a few seconds. ‘Have you done that? Have you opened the door?’

‘Yes,’ said Jenny.

‘And what do you see, Jenny?’

‘It’s Uncle Marcus.’

‘That’s good. Now tell me what he’s wearing.’

‘A blue suit and a dark blue tie and a pink shirt.’

‘Does he say anything?’

‘No. He’s just smiling.’

‘That’s good. Now let him inside the house.’

Jenny continued to breathe softly but didn’t say anything.

‘Jenny, can you hear me?’

Jenny said nothing but her chest continued to rise and fall slowly.

‘Jenny?’

Nightingale stood up and went over to the sofa. He looked down at Jenny, then put a hand on Barbara’s shoulder. ‘What’s happening?’ he whispered.

‘Nothing,’ said Barbara. ‘That’s the problem. She should be able to tell me what she says and hears but that’s not happening.’ She reached out and stroked Jenny’s hand. ‘Can you hear me, Jenny?’

Jenny didn’t react.

‘How about taking her back to before he arrives, then move her ahead half an hour?’

Barbara nodded. ‘Okay, I can try,’ she said. She took a deep breath, then began to talk in a low hushed voice, her mouth just a few inches from Jenny’s ear. ‘Now, Jenny, I want you to go back to five minutes to eight. Can you do that for me?’

‘Yes,’ said Jenny.

‘That’s good. And now I want you to look at your watch. Can you tell me what time it says?’

‘Five minutes to eight,’ she said.

‘And what are you doing?’

‘I’m in the kitchen. Drinking wine and reading.’

‘What are you reading?’

‘A Jodi Picoult book. The new one.’

‘That’s good. Now listen to me very carefully. It’s five to eight now. I’m going to ask you to move ahead to half past eight. Are you able to do that for me?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘That’s good. So I want you to do that now. Move forward to half past eight. Do it now.’

Jenny sighed, and then went still.

‘Jenny, can you hear me?’ asked Barbara.

There was no reaction. Barbara looked up at Nightingale. ‘It’s just not working.’

‘Why not? What’s the problem?’

‘I don’t know, Jack. It’s as if that hour just doesn’t exist for her. She can tell us what happens before he arrives, then she’s in the shower afterwards. But there’s nothing in between.’

Nightingale nodded. ‘Okay, move her forward until after he’s gone.’

Barbara turned back to Jenny. ‘Listen to me, Jenny. I need you to move forward to nine o’clock. Can you do that for me?’

There was no response.

‘Jenny, can you hear me?’ Barbara stroked Jenny’s hand. ‘Tell me you can hear me.’ Jenny didn’t respond. ‘Jenny, can you hear me?’ Barbara repeated.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Nightingale, but Barbara ignored him.

She patted the back of Jenny’s hand. ‘Come on, love, I need you to go back. Go back to before he came to the house. Go back to five to eight. Do it now. Come on.’

Nightingale could hear the fear in Barbara’s voice and he knelt down by the side of the sofa. Jenny wasn’t moving and her eyes were closed.

‘Jenny, talk to me,’ said Barbara. ‘Can you hear me?’

Nightingale’s stomach lurched as he realised that Jenny had stopped breathing. ‘Jenny!’ he shouted.

‘You mustn’t wake her, not like that,’ said Barbara, still rubbing Jenny’s hand.

‘She’s not breathing, Barbara!’ said Nightingale, his heart racing.

‘What?’

‘Look!’ said Nightingale, pointing at Jenny’s chest.

Barbara put a hand on Jenny’s cheek. ‘Jenny, it’s time to wake up,’ she said.

Jenny lay completely still.

‘Barbara, you’re going to have to wake her up now.’

‘I’m trying,’ she said. ‘Nothing like this has ever happened before.’

‘Jenny!’ shouted Nightingale.

Barbara seized Jenny’s shoulders and shook her. ‘Come on, Jenny, wake up!’

Jenny’s mouth dropped open but her eyes stayed closed. Nightingale pushed Barbara to the side and pulled Jenny upright. Her head lolled to the side. He shook her hard, then slapped her across the face but she didn’t react.

‘Shall I call an ambulance?’ asked Barbara, her voice trembling.

‘No time,’ said Nightingale. He placed his fingers against Jenny’s neck and found a pulse. Her heart was beating but she’d stopped breathing. That made no sense at all. He bent down and grabbed her around the waist, then straightened up with a grunt and carried her out of the sitting room to the stairs.

‘Jack, where are you going?’ screamed Barbara.

‘We’ve got to snap her out of this, now,’ said Nightingale. He carried Jenny upstairs, using the banister to pull himself up. The bathroom was at the back of the house, next to the spare bedroom. He rushed in, pulled open the glass door of the shower and carried her inside. He twisted the temperature control to cold and then turned the water on full, gasping as the jet of freezing water washed over them both. He twisted around so that the water sprayed over Jenny’s face. Within seconds she began coughing and spluttering, thrashing her head from side to side.

Nightingale lowered her so that her feet were on the floor, and Jenny put out a hand against the tiled wall to steady herself. She shook her head as the freezing water poured down her face, still coughing and fighting for breath.

Barbara followed them into the bathroom and grabbed a white towel.

Nightingale put his hands on either side of Jenny’s face and looked into her eyes. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

‘What the hell are you doing, Jack?’

‘How do you feel?’

‘Soaking wet and bloody freezing,’ she said. ‘How do you think I feel?’ She saw Barbara standing at the door clutching the towel. ‘What’s going on, Barbara?’

‘The regression went wrong,’ she said.

Nightingale turned off the shower and tried to help Jenny out but she shrugged him away. ‘Leave me alone,’ she snapped.

Barbara wrapped the towel around Jenny.

‘Is this because I threw champagne over you?’ she asked Nightingale. ‘Is that what this is about?’

Nightingale shook his head. Water was pouring from his soaking wet clothes and pooling around his shoes. ‘We need to talk,’ he said.