Читать книгу Crimson Rain - Meg O'Brien - Страница 10

The next day, Rachel sat across from the psychiatrist who had treated her from the ages of six to sixteen. Victoria Lessing was older, of course, her hair graying now, but only a bit at the temples. Otherwise it was the same pale blond, pulled back into a twist. She still had that look in her violet eyes, too—the one that said, I know your every thought. You can’t hide a thing from me.

“It’s been a while, Rachel.”

Rachel sighed. “You said it. I thought we were through with all this.”

“Well, your parents are worried.”

Rachel gave a shrug.

“You don’t think they should be?”

“No. I just had some bad memories last night. After all, today is Christmas Eve. I think that’s pretty normal.”

“Normal being a relative term,” the psychiatrist said, smiling.

“I suppose.” Rachel fell silent.

“Have you been thinking more about your sister lately?”

“I don’t know,” Rachel said. “Maybe.”

“Do you know why?”

“No.”

“I think you do,” Victoria said softly.

Rachel shrugged again. “I just thought I saw her, once. At Berkeley.”

Victoria leaned forward, resting her arms on her desk. “Really?”

“Well, I was walking around on the campus, and there was this woman. She had dark hair like Angela’s and mine, and…oh, I don’t know. There was just something about the way she looked at me.”

“Did you think she was following you?”

Rachel narrowed her eyes. “You mean, am I getting paranoid again?”

“No. I didn’t mean that at all.”

“But you were thinking it. Rachel’s imagining things again.”

“No, I was not,” Victoria said firmly. “You were a lot younger when you had nightmares that Angela would come back. Now that you’re older, I’m sure you know the difference between being paranoid and feeling something real.”

“Well, I didn’t think this woman was following me, anyway. I just thought it was odd, the way she looked at me. I thought maybe Angela—” Rachel stopped talking and studied her hands.

“You thought that because she was your twin, she might have ended up at the same college as you,” Victoria guessed. “The way identical twins who are separated seem to do similar things in life?”

“I…yes. I guess the thought crossed my mind.”

“Of course you and Angela aren’t identical.”

“No. But does that matter?”

“I’m not sure. You don’t have the same DNA, of course. As for other possibilities…did you try to find out if she was a student at Berkeley? Through the registrar’s office, for instance?”

“No,” Rachel said abruptly.

“You didn’t really want to know,” Victoria guessed again. “Because if it was Angela, you’d have had to do something about it. You’d have had to look her up and talk to her.”

Rachel frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t read my mind that way.”

“That bothers you?”

“Of course it does! You’ve always done that, and it drives me nuts.” Rachel paused, then laughed. “I guess that’s not the sort of thing to say to a psychiatrist.”

Victoria smiled. “We’ve known each other a long time, Rachel. You should know by now, you can say anything to me.”

Rachel hugged herself with her arms, feeling cold even though the room was warm. “I just think it’s silly, Vicky, my parents getting all worried like this. I warped back into the past for a few minutes when I saw that tree on the floor. Doesn’t everybody do that sometimes?”

“Your mother said you were up pacing all night, and you didn’t eat any breakfast this morning.”

“Well, duh! I was upset, for heaven’s sake. I’m over it now.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, dammit!” Rachel gave the therapist a mutinous glare.

Victoria laughed. “I haven’t seen that look since you were…oh, seven or eight.”

The glare faded into a grin.

Victoria reached behind her chair and took a plate from a low mahogany filing cabinet. “Cookie?’

“Geez. I can’t believe you’re still plying patients with chocolate-chip cookies.”

Victoria smiled. “It seems to work.”

Rachel took a cookie. “This is supposed to make me more willing to open up, right?”

“Right.”

She rolled her eyes. “Does psychiatry still work, even when the patient is smart enough to figure out all the moves?”

“Only when the cookies are merely a distraction, to keep the patient from figuring out the real moves.”

“Is that what you’ve been doing to me all these years?” Rachel asked. “Playing mind games?”

“Why would you see it as mind games?” Victoria asked. “Why not simply as a way to help you? A way to get to the truth?”

Rachel snorted. “That assumes there’s any such thing as truth.”

“Are you saying there isn’t?”

Carefully Rachel set the cookie back on the plate. “Let’s approach this from another direction. Do you think you’ve helped me over all these years?”

Victoria hesitated. “I…well, you’ve been going to college, preparing for the future. I certainly think you’re better now than you were when you were sixteen, for instance. Or right after Angela left.”

Rachel’s mood changed in an instant. Jumping to her feet, she clenched her fists at her sides. “Angela left? For God’s sake, Vicky, my sister did not leave! She was sent away—returned to the store, like a defective toaster oven. Why does everyone say she left? Does it make it easier somehow to sweep the truth under the rug?”

“So we’re back to truth,” Victoria said calmly, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms. “What is your truth, Rachel?”

Rachel threw up her hands. “How the hell do I know?”

“Do you want to know?”

“I…of course I do!” But she had paused before answering, and Victoria picked up on it quickly.

“What are you afraid of?” she asked.

Rachel sat again, rubbing her face and taking a deep breath. “I don’t know. I think…I think I’m afraid of Angela. Of what I might find out if I saw her again.”

“Have you been wanting to see her again?”

“I haven’t even really thought much about her since I’ve been away at school. Then all of a sudden, I thought for sure she was there, and it all started up again.”

“What started up?”

Rachel gave Victoria a shaky smile. “The fear. It was like déjàvu. It just washed right over me, like some awful wave. I started to shake, and I actually thought—”

“What? What did you think?”

“It’s…it’s silly.”

“Nothing about fear is silly. Remember when I taught you to turn around and face the monster in your nightmares? What happened?”

“It went away,” Rachel admitted. “The nightmares stopped.”

“So you know you can trust me, right?”

“I guess.”

“Then tell me, Rachel. What did you think when you saw—or thought you saw—Angela?”

“I guess I thought, what if she came here to kill me?” Rachel said, looking down at her hands again. They were shaking.

Victoria rested her chin on tented fingers. “And how does it feel now that you’re home? Safer?”

“God, no! It feels worse. Vicky, I keep thinking something awful is about to happen. And my parents—” She paused.

“What about your parents?” Victoria pressed.

“Oh, hell, they aren’t even here anymore. They’re both doing their own thing, and they hardly talk to each other.”

“I see. When did you first feel this about them?” Victoria asked.

“Last summer, I guess. It was so weird, I couldn’t wait to get back to school.”

“So let’s think about this. Do you feel your parents are no longer around to protect you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Victoria was silent. Finally, she said, “Rachel, let me pose a theory. You’re feeling vulnerable, unprotected, exposed. That could bring up old memories of the night when Angela—”

“Don’t say it,” Rachel interrupted. “I don’t even want to think of it.”

“—when Angela tried to kill you,” Victoria finished, ignoring her. “Look at it, Rachel. See it. Remember it. Then you can let it go.”

Rachel flushed. “You think I haven’t been remembering it all these years? For God’s sake, Vicki!”

“No, what I think is that, as you’ve gotten older, you haven’t been remembering it the right way. We need to work on that.”

“So what you’re saying is that I imagined I saw Angela, because I’m feeling afraid again? My fear conjured her up?”

“Not her, Rachel. A woman who looked like her—” Victoria broke off. “Not even like her, for that matter, since you don’t know what Angela looks like now. Perhaps just some of the same qualities you remember from childhood. Rachel, what does that sound like to you?”

Rachel closed her eyes. “Like I imagined the whole thing. It wasn’t Angela, and she hasn’t come back to try to kill me again. There. Is that better?”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t know!” Rachel’s eyes flashed, and the mutinous glare came back. “Why do I have to do all the work? You’re the one getting paid for this!”

Victoria shook her head and smiled. “You may be a beautiful, grown-up twenty-one-year-old, Rachel. You may be smart, intelligent, all those good things. But I’m still seeing shades of that little girl in front of me. The one who stuck her chin out and told me to go to hell when she was ten.”

Rachel hesitated, then laughed. “I did do that, didn’t I? God, I must have been a handful.”

“Still are, apparently,” Victoria said with a smile. She picked up her appointment book and a pen. “Okay, now. Do you want us to work together while you’re home on vacation, or not? Shall I put you down for the day after tomorrow?”

“Mom likes to hit the stores the day after Christmas,” Rachel said. “How about the day after that?”

“Right.” Victoria wrote it in.

“Uh…can I have that cookie back?”

Victoria had picked up the plate and was putting it on the file cabinet. She swung back and laughed. “Sure. Maybe it’ll sweeten your mood.”

Rachel stood and gathered up her coat, slipping it on with the cookie between her teeth. Then, taking it in her hand, she said, “Vicky…I know we’re making light of this right now. And to tell the truth, I’m kind of relieved that we are. But I still feel, down deep, that something bad is going to happen.”

Victoria got up and came around the desk, wrapping an arm around Rachel’s shoulders and walking her to the door. “You could be right, of course. But let’s not jump the gun. Let’s look at all sides of it first. Okay?”

Rachel nodded, drawing her pink scarf tighter as Victoria opened the door into the hallway. “God, it’s raining again,” she said, looking back toward the office window. “Now that I’m living in California most of the time, I get so depressed up here when it rains.”

“Espresso,” Victoria said, patting her shoulder. “Get yourself some espresso. Better yet, a mocha. The chocolate will do you good.”

“I don’t know,” Rachel said. “Maybe I need some Prozac or something.”

Victoria studied her, meeting her eyes. “Maybe you do. But let’s start slowly. We can talk about that later, after we meet some more.”

Rachel sighed. “Okay. See you in a few days, then.”

“Right.” Victoria touched her cheek lightly with a pale, slender hand. “Rachel…try to have a happy Christmas.”

“You, too,” Rachel said, stepping away.

Going down the long, carpeted hallway to the elevator, she felt awkward, as if she were stumbling. As if the hallway had shrunk, and there wasn’t room now to put her feet anywhere. Or the way it felt during the occasional California earthquakes, even when they were only small tremors. It seemed for days afterward that the ground kept moving—but only slightly, so that it was hard to know whether what she felt was real or not.

She hadn’t told Vicky about these “spells,” which had come and gone several times over the past few weeks. She didn’t want anyone to know. It was probably irrational, but the old fear was back: If I tell them too much, they might send me away, too.