Self-Defence

20

Years ago, the mother of a severely brain-damaged child sat in my hospital office and cried for half an hour without break. When she finally stopped, she said, "I love her, but God forgive me, sometimes I want her to die." She never cried again in my presence, and whenever we passed in the hall she looked away from me with a face that was part despair, part rage.

The same face Gwen Shea wore.

The idea of approaching her about a twenty-one-year-old disappearance seemed ridiculous and cruel. What reason did I have to believe Best wasn't just an old man deluded by hope?

I caught a green light and sped out of Malibu into the Palisades, making my way to Rockingham Avenue and possibly more delusions.

The house was a sizable two-story Tudor with pink roses and blue agapanthus along the front and a low hedge of waxy privet bordering the brick walkway. A white Ford Taurus with a rental sticker sat in the driveway. Ken Lowell answered the door wearing a blue suit and holding a Filofax. His shoes were shined and his hair was wet.

"Morning, just on my way out."

He let me into a parqueted foyer. A statuary-marble center table held a black vase full of white silk flowers. Behind it, the stairway was a softly curving arc of polished oak.

The front rooms on either side were dark and vaulted, shaded by heavy cream damask drapes and filled with gleaming furniture.

"Nice repo," I said.

Ken nodded. "The owners cut out to Europe overnight. Food in the fridge and clothes in the closet. Some kind of shopping center deal that went bad. People are looking for them."

"Been seeing a lot of that lately?"

"More than usual for the last couple of years. It's what we specialize in. We pick them up from the bank, rehab them, and turn them around. I guess that makes us capitalist exploiters." He smiled and picked out one of the silk flowers. "It's not what I thought I'd be doing when I was in Berkeley."

"What were you interested in then?"

"My sister Jo was an archaeology major; she turned me on to old bones. After she graduated, she went to Nepal to climb around and explore. I flew there to be with her and we hung out together in Katmandu- place called Freak Street, Telegraph Avenue transplanted to the Himalayas." He shook his head and looked at the flower. "I was with her when she died."

"What happened?" I said.

"We were hiking. She was experienced, very athletic. This was just a stroll for her. But she put her foot down and something gave way and she fell over a hundred feet. I was way behind. She passed right by me as she went down, landed on a ledge full of sharp rocks." He touched his eyes and pressed down on the lids. Then his hands flew to his lapels.

A door opened on the upstairs landing, and Lucy came down the stairs.

"Morning," she said, looking at Ken. "Everything okay?"

"Everything's great." He smiled and buttoned his jacket. "I should be back around six. Don't worry about your car, I'll have it brought over." A wave, and he was gone.

"Looks like you're being well taken care of," I said.

"He's a sweet guy." She looked at the living room. "Not too shabby for a hideout, huh? Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, thanks."

"Would you like to talk outside? It's nice in here, but I find it a little gloomy."

The backyard was generous, with a pork-chop-shaped swimming pool and waterfall spa. A brick patio running along the rear of the house contained a table and chairs and potted plants that needed watering. The neighboring properties were blocked from view by tall honeysuckle hedges and billowing mounds of plumbago.

We sat. Lucy crossed her legs and looked up at the sky. Her eyes were tired, and she seemed to be fighting tears.

"What is it?" I said.

"I can't stop thinking about Puck."

After a second's debate, I said, "He called your- called Lowell two days ago to tell him you were in the hospital. He obviously cares about you, but something's keeping him out of town."

Her legs uncrossed and her head shot forward. "Why would he call him-how do you know this?"

"Lowell phoned me, wanting to talk about you. I told him I couldn't without your permission."

"That's crazy. Why would Puck call him?"

"He knew you were at Woodbridge."

"He must have found out some- absurd. I don't understand any of this."

"I got the impression Puck had been in contact with him."

She stared at me, then lowered her head, as if ashamed.

"He told me Puck had a drug problem," I said. "I didn't assume it was true, but Milo checked it out."

Her mouth opened, then closed. Her fingernails scraped the glass top of the table, and my short hairs rose.

"Damn him. He had no right- why did Milo have to do that?"

"For your sake. And Puck's. We couldn't understand why he couldn't come back to see you, figured he might be in some kind of trouble. How long's he been addicted?"

"He- I don't know, exactly. He started smoking grass in prep school. By the time he started Tufts he was already into… the bad stuff. He had to drop out in his junior year because a campus policeman caught him shooting up in a dorm room. After that he didn't care and just hit the streets. The police kept picking him up for vagrancy, and the system kept spitting him back. He tried to get help- student health, free clinics, private doctors. Nothing worked. It's a disease."

Her fingers ran down the glass again, but silently.

"Even with all his problems," she said softly, "he was good to me- he cares about me. That's what scares me. He must be in trouble. It would have to be something serious for him not to be here."

"He's been telling everyone it was business."

She gave a miserable look. Covered her face. Exposed it. "Yes, he sold. Once in a while. Only to get his own stash. I know it's wrong, and I'm sure in some part of his brain he does too. But he felt he had no choice. He was broke, and he wouldn't give him more than pennies. I tried to help him, but most of the time he wouldn't take anything from me- not unless he was hurting really bad. He's the one who suffers… the way he lives- a hole over a hairdresser's."

She looked out at the landscaped yard.

"It's not like he sold to little kids or anything like that. Just to junkies, and they'd have to get it one way or the other… It's the heroin. All this talk about crack, and heroin goes on eating people up."

She began to cry.

I patted her shoulder.

"So many times I offered to have him come live with me. To try another program. He said he was beyond hope and didn't want to drag me down. Didn't want treatment- he liked junk, it was his lover, he'd never give it up. But still he was always there for me. If I called him to talk about something, he'd always listen. Even if he was stoned, he'd try. Sitting there, pretending to be normal- he'd be here now if he wasn't in some kind of major trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

She squeezed her hands together. "The people he hung out with."

"Who are they?"

"That's the thing, I don't know. He made a point about shielding me. Whenever I came over, he rushed around, cleaning up, putting his kit away. Lately, he didn't even want me over at his place- too depressing, he said. So we had coffee in restaurants. He'd come in looking half dead, trying so hard to act okay. I know he sounds like just another stupid junkie, but he really is a wonderful brother."

I nodded, thinking of Puck's dinner date with Ken, how an addict might have viewed the sudden appearance of a wealthy half brother. Yet he hadn't shown up.

"Milo's not going to call the police in Taos or anything like that, is he? I don't want to put him in any more danger."

"No," I said. "Milo's main concern is you."

"Yes, I can't believe all he's done. You, too. And now Ken."

She wiped her eyes.

"I must bring it out in people, like a wounded bird. Puck told me that, once. That he'd always seen me as wounded. I didn't like that. I wanted him to perceive me as strong."

"You are strong."

She spread her fingers on the glass. Looked through the tabletop, studying the pattern of the bricks. "Milo told me, you know. About being gay. It shocked me… Now I understand the position you were in. I really put you in the middle. I'm sorry."

"It was one of those things that couldn't be helped."

She shook her head. "I'd never have suspected it. A big, burly guy like that- that's stupid, of course, but still, it was the last thing I'd have guessed. It must be so hard for him. The job."

"How did finding out affect you?"

"What do you mean?"

"How do you feel about his being gay?"

"How do I feel about it? Well… I'm certainly glad I know the truth now."

She looked away.

"Anything else?" I said.

"I guess- on a selfish level- I guess I'm disappointed."

She shook her head.

"Maybe it was just a stupid crush, but it sure- I mean, the feelings are still there. How can you kill feelings, right?"

I nodded.

She stood and walked up and down the patio.

"He and I both do this," she said. "Pace when we're nervous. We found out when we were at the hotel. All of a sudden, we started doing it simultaneously; it was a riot."

She looked at me. "You know how I feel? Cheated. But I'll get over it. And I'm still grateful to have him as a friend. Don't worry about me, I may look wounded but it's an illusion. All done with mirrors." Smile.

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 semihypnotic 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."