P. Parrish - South Of Hell

They got to Dr. Sher’s home early, and there was a note pinned to the front door from the doctor saying she would be a little late. So now, Louis, Joe, and Amy were waiting on her front porch.

Amy was sitting in a wicker chair, engrossed in a book. From his place sitting on the steps, Louis could see the cover. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn . Yesterday, it had been Gone with the Wind. Tomorrow, it would likely be Little Women . She read the same three books over and over, rotating them in no particular order. Joe had offered to buy her something new, but Amy had politely declined, saying the people in the books were her friends, and she didn’t want to lose them.

Francie, Ben Blake, Mammy, Aunt Sissy, Marmee, Big Sam, Cornelius… she could name them all.

Louis looked across the porch to where Joe sat, a hip propped on the porch railing. She was watching Amy, her expression one Louis could never remember seeing before, tenderness mixed with a sort of quiet terror. Was that the maternal instinct? An aching urge to protect even when you knew how impossible the job was?

Joe rose from the railing suddenly and went down to the yard, looking down the street for Dr. Sher’s Volkswagen. Louis knew why Joe was so edgy. Dr. Sher was going to hypnotize Amy again. But this time, it was with the intent to retrieve Amy’s memories of the black woman’s death. Joe had been against it, but Dr. Sher had convinced her that the old memory, even if it was a fabrication, was so powerful that it was blocking everything else. And until Amy came to terms with this imaginary past life, they would never access her memory of her mother’s death.

He still didn’t buy it, this regression stuff, not for a second. But if making Amy believe she could go back a hundred years could somehow lead them to how Jean Brandt died, then he’d play along with this idea of a past life.

He reached into his jeans for his wallet. The snapshot of Lily was tucked behind his driver’s license. He pulled it out and ran his finger over the surface.

“Who is that?”

Louis turned and looked up. He hadn’t heard Amy come up behind him. She sat down next to him on the step, cradling her book to her chest.

“That’s your daughter, isn’t it?” Amy said before he could answer.

Louis nodded, surprised. He hadn’t said anything to Amy about Lily. He was sure Joe hadn’t, either.

Amy glanced at Joe, then back at the snapshot. “Miss Joe isn’t her mother, is she?”

“No,” Louis said.

“But you and Miss Joe-”

“She’s here,” Joe said, coming up onto the porch.

Louis slipped the snapshot back into his wallet, glad that Joe had not heard Amy. He went down to the sidewalk as Dr. Sher got out of her car.

“I’m so sorry,” Dr. Sher said. “I had a meeting at the university and had no way to reach you.”

“We found your note,” Joe said.

“Good,” Dr. Sher said, smoothing her hair. “Come in, please.”

She led them into the living room, dropping her coat onto a chair, and turned to face them, giving Amy a smile.

“How are you feeling today, dear?”

“I’m okay, Dr. Sher,” Amy said softly.

Dr. Sher looked up at Joe.

“She didn’t sleep well last night,” Joe said. “She had another asthma attack.”

“The inhaler I prescribed isn’t helping?” Dr. Sher asked.

Joe shook her head.

“Are you sure you feel up to this today?” Dr. Sher asked Amy.

Amy nodded. “I want to do it. It’s the only way I can help my mother.”

Dr. Sher put her arm around Amy’s shoulders. “Then let’s get started.”

The drapes in the living room were closed against the bright sun. The room was quiet except for the ticking of an old alabaster clock on the mantel. Louis had removed his jacket twenty minutes ago in an effort to get comfortable in the too-warm room.

Amy was having trouble going under for some reason. From his vantage point sitting with Joe on the sofa, Louis could see the anxiety etched in Amy’s face. But Dr. Sher was persistent, gently taking Amy through a series of breathing exercises.

Finally, Dr. Sher began slowly to count backward from ten. Louis watched as the tension melted from Amy’s face and her breathing deepened.

“We’re going back now, Amy,” Dr. Sher said. “Back through your childhood, back to when you were a baby.”

Amy’s eyelids fluttered but remained closed. Dr. Sher tried to elicit memories from Amy’s days on the farm as a child, but Amy did not seem to want to stay in that place.

“All right, I want you to go back even farther,” Dr. Sher said. “Go back to as far back as you can remember.”

The room was quiet except for Amy’s breathing and the ticking of the clock.

“Amy, where are you?” Dr. Sher asked softly.

“I’m not sure,” Amy whispered.

“Look down at your feet. Can you tell me what you are wearing?”

“Boots… black boots. Laced up around my ankles. They have mud on them, and one of the laces is broken. I had to tie it together.”

“Can you see anything else?”

“My skirt. There is mud on the bottom of it, too.” She frowned slightly before she went on. “It’s spring. I see a big house and a barn. I am in a carriage. Someone is bringing me to the house. I feel… afraid.”

“Are you at the farm?” Dr. Sher asked.

Amy nodded slowly. “Yes. I can see the oak tree in the front. But it’s smaller. Everything else looks different. The house looks different, newer and pretty, with white trim. A man and a woman are standing in front of it. They are waiting for me.”

“Do you know how old you are?”

“I… I am seventeen. I am very tired from the long journey. I miss my mother. She got sick from fever and died, and that is why I am here, because I have nowhere to go.”

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Isabel. My name is Isabel.”

“Do you know the man and the woman who are waiting for you?”

“No. I just know I am supposed to work for them now. The man is very tall and wears glasses. They reflect the sun like mirrors. He is smiling at me. The woman… doesn’t smile.”

“Can you tell me what year it is?” Dr. Sher asked.

“I… it is 1842.”

Louis heard Joe’s sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t look at her.

“Amy,” Dr. Sher said, “I want you to move ahead now. Go ahead a couple of years. What do you see now?”

“Snow. I had never seen snow before I came here,” Amy said. “It is very cold outside, but I am warm, because I am in the kitchen near the stove. I am holding a baby.”

“Is it your baby?”

Amy slowly shook her head. “It is Miz Phoebe’s daughter, Lucinda. I take care of her because Miz Phoebe stays in her room so much now. She is a very good baby and never cries. I love Lucinda.”

Louis thought about the photograph he had found in the old tin. Had Joe shown it to Amy? Had Amy found the Brandt family Bible? Is that where she saw the name Lucinda? Or was she remembering all of this simply as part of Geneva’s handed-down family “stories”?

“Oh…” Amy was grimacing.

“What’s wrong?” Dr. Sher asked.

“I didn’t do it! Don’t beat me, don’t beat me!”

“Who’s beating you?”

“Miz Phoebe,” Amy whispered. “She hates me so much. But I didn’t take her comb! He gave it to me and said it was mine to keep! He told me to hide it, but Miz Phoebe found it. It’s mine! Mr. Amos gave it to me!”

“Amy, move ahead,” Dr. Sher said firmly. “Go to a time when you are happiest. Can you do that?”

Amy’s breathing deepened again, and her expression became calm. For a long time, the room was quiet. Then Amy slowly brought up her arms, as if she were cradling something. She began to hum softly.