Jon Tracy - The Rome Prophecy

Valentina runs her hands through her hair. ‘If he does that, we’ll just lock her in a hospital ward inside the barracks without any proper treatment. That’s assuming I can even find a charge that would stick.’

Louisa lets out a pained breath. ‘How do these guys get to such positions? They’re not idiots, obviously, but it seems like they’re capable of behaving like them.’

‘One of life’s mysteries.’ Valentina ventures to mention a notion she’s been considering. ‘I remember in psychology at college reading about the Cassandra Complex. Could that be anything to do with Suzanna?’

Louisa looks surprised. ‘Interesting notion. Cassandra because of the story she wrote?’

‘Yes.’

The doctor remembers, ‘The Cassandra Complex was a term coined in the late 1940s by the French philosopher Gaston Bachelard to deal with patients who believed they had the power of premonition.’

‘So it fits?’

Louisa flinches. ‘Not really. Suzanna’s alter called herself Cassandra but she didn’t predict anything. In the account, she wrote down that she was publicly punished and humiliated because she was hiding something.’

‘A secret. She said she’d rather die than disclose what she was involved in. What if the secret itself was a premonition, a prophecy or warning of some kind?’

Louisa doesn’t say anything; she’s silently sifting through her dusty back files to recall lessons from long ago.

Finally, something comes back to her. ‘There’s a Jungian analyst called Schapira who wrote a lot about the Cassandra Complex in relation to very disturbed patients who were disbelieved when they disclosed the true cause of their problems. Let me look it up online.’ She moves back to her desk and talks as she types into a medical search engine. ‘From what I can remember, all of this metaphorical referencing is linked back to Greek mythology. Hang on, here we are.’ She reads silently, then paraphrases the text for Valentina. ‘Schapira says that Cassandra women see something dark that isn’t apparent to others and can’t be corroborated by facts. They envisage negative or unexpected outcomes to situations and disclose so-called truths that apparent authority figures find hard to accept.’ She turns to her guest. ‘Sounds like she encountered a lot of sexist men as well.’ Louisa returns to the monitor and adds, ‘In frightened, ego-less conditions, Cassandra women shout out whatever vision they are having, unconsciously hoping that others might understand. But of course they don’t. To them, the disconnected words are just melodrama or nonsense.’

Coffee arrives on a plastic hospital tray brought in by a skinny assistant in her late thirties. She’s in and out so quickly she could pass as an apparition.

Valentina cradles the warm cup in her hands. ‘Is it possible for me to speak to the patient?’

Louisa returns to the sofa and picks up her drink. ‘Suzanna, you mean?’

‘No. Not Suzanna. Could you help me speak to Cassandra? Get Suzanna to persuade Cassandra to talk directly to me?’

There are a hundred good reasons why Louisa Verdetti shouldn’t be doing what she’s doing.

But she’s still doing it.

Going against the norm. Taking risks. Being unorthodox. They’re all things that past mentors and paternal tutors have tried to knock out of her, but none of them have ever succeeded.

She goes with her gut.

It’s part of what makes her a great clinician. Theory and reading can only take you so far. Experience can carry you another lap. An unorthodox approach nudges you over the finishing line.

Or gets you sacked.

She shuts the last thought out as she finishes introducing Suzanna to Valentina and makes sure the bedroom door is locked.

Valentina carefully follows the brief she’s been given. Go slowly. Be gentle. Back off if the patient is the least bit distressed.

She leans slightly forward as she speaks in a gentle tone. ‘Suzanna, I need to talk to Cassandra. Could you please see if she will speak to me?’

The pale young thing sitting in the chair next to the cream metal bed gives her a pained look. ‘I can try, but I know Cassandra is in a bad mood. When she’s in a bad mood, she doesn’t like to see people.’

‘Will you try for me? It’s really important.’ Valentina’s now close enough to take Suzanna’s hands in hers.

‘What are you doing? Don’t you dare touch me!’

The voice is no longer Suzanna’s. It’s stronger. Deeper. Far more confident.

‘Impudent girl. Who are you? Do you not have whoring to attend to?’ She almost jumps out of her seat and huffs indignantly. ‘Where did you come from? Some brothel, no doubt. Dear gods, why have you vexed me with such poxed company?’

Valentina watches the woman pace. She’s completely different to the mouse who was there seconds earlier. There’s anger in her every step. Tension chiselled across her brow. She juts her jaw challengingly towards Valentina. ‘What do you want, girl? Speak up now or be gone.’

Valentina remembers what she’s supposed to say. It’s going to sound strange, but it’s meant to be a bridge, a psychological route into the unknown. ‘Cassandra, we have been sent to you.’ She nods towards Louisa. ‘My friend and I are here because we are believers. We know you have things that you want to tell us. Things that others don’t believe.’

Cassandra looks as them curiously. She regards them much as a mother might watch a child taking its first unsteady steps. ‘What do you speak of? What things? Pray tell.’

Valentina is well versed in games of interview bluff. ‘You know we can’t simply speak openly. We must be guarded. Mustn’t we?’

‘Indeed.’ Cassandra settles back into her chair and puts her hands on its arms as though it were a throne. ‘What is your dedication to Mater?’

Valentina doesn’t know what to say.

‘I asked you a question, girl.’

She has to bluff. ‘How do I know I can trust you?’ She frowns. ‘You may be a fraud, you might be lying.’

Anger flares in Cassandra’s eyes. ‘Lying? You accuse me of lying? Some runaway who smells of the forica has the gall to suggest I am a fraud and a liar. Be gone before I have you whipped and thrown back into the latrine.’

Valentina turns around to Louisa. She needs help. There’s only so long she can keep shooting in the dark.

The clinician steps in. ‘Cassandra, I think it is time for you to be quiet now. Time to give way to Suzanna. Let Suzanna come back and talk to us.’

In the split second that Louisa looks to Valentina to signify that the interview must come to an end, things go horribly wrong.

A bony hand grabs the doctor by the throat and runs with her until her head bangs against the far wall. ‘ Domina! Dominus! Templum! Libera nos a malo! ’ The patient squeezes hard. A vice-like choke hold. ‘ Domina! Dominus! Templum! Libera nos a malo! ’

Valentina moves quickly. From behind, she loops her left arm around Cassandra’s neck and smashes her left forearm downwards to break the grip on Louisa. The doctor falls free.

Valentina sweeps her right knee behind Cassandra’s legs to unbalance her. She goes down shouting.

Valentina pins her to the floor, rolls her over and cuffs her hands. ‘Suffragio! Le anime nel purgatorio. Suffragio!’

‘Be careful. Don’t hurt her.’ Louisa is purple in the face but still worried about the patient.

Within a second, Valentina has Cassandra upright and is manoeuvring her backwards on to the bed.

The two women’s eyes meet.

She’s changed again.

Cassandra has gone.

Neither Valentina nor Louisa ever drinks in the middle of the day at work.