The Hypnotist

TWENTY-SEVEN

Nina Keyes sat beside her granddaughter on one of the wooden benches in the lobby of the Metropolitan Museum. The little girl was rocking back and forth, her arms wrapped around her chest, tracks of tears on her cheeks.

Malachai Samuels sat on Veronica’s other side, whispering to her softly, telling her over and over again that she was safe, that she wasn’t alone, and that she didn’t need to be frightened anymore.

Even though it was Saturday, he’d been in his office when the call had come through and he heard Nina Keyes’s hysterical voice asking him to come to the Met right away. Her granddaughter needed help. He’d been here for at least ten minutes, but nothing he said was having an effect on her. Veronica was deep in her own drama and couldn’t seem to hear him.

“We should move her away from all these people,” Nina said in a frantic voice.

“Not while she’s having a spontaneous regression.”

“You need to stop it.”

“That’s not wise. This could be a breakthrough for her.”

“But she’s in pain.”

“Yes, but she can’t get hurt. I promise you that. We’re here with her.” He returned his focus to Veronica. “Tell me what’s wrong. What are you seeing?”

The little girl didn’t seem to be able to hear him.

“Veronica, you’re safe. Your grandmother is safe. I want you to know that. Nothing can hurt you. Nothing.”

Veronica’s tears continued to fall, and she emitted small moans, cries of mental or physical distress; there was no way to tell.

“We were walking over to the main stairs when Veronica reached out for my hand and just started crying,” Nina said. “She kept saying it was dark and that she didn’t want me to go. Nothing I said calmed her down.”

“Did you notice anything that could have triggered this attack?”

Nina shook her head and then looked around the great, grand space. Malachai followed her gaze and took in the oversize flower arrangements, the crowds of people, the museum guards dressed in navy blue, and the four flags flying over the entranceway, one for each of the special exhibitions: Vuillard Interiors, Egyptian Jewels, Illusion in Contemporary Photography and Persian Tile Treasures.

“Nothing that I can think of, I’m sorry. Can’t you help her?”

“You’re safe now, Veronica. You’re here in New York with your grandmother. No one is going to let anything happen to you.”

“It’s not me,” she whispered in a tremulous voice. “It’s Hosh.”

“Who is Hosh?”

“It’s not me. It’s Hosh. I have to save Hosh.”