Tess Gerritsen - The Surgeon

“All the time.” Catherine was smiling now. It was clear she liked Polochek and was comfortable with him. A good beginning.

“Eventually, you do remember the actress’s name, don’t you?” he said.

“Yes.”

“And when is that likely to happen?”

“When I stop trying so hard. When I relax and think about something else. Or when I’m lying in bed about to fall asleep.”

“Exactly. It’s when you relax, when your mind stops desperately clawing at that filing cabinet drawer. That’s when, magically, the drawer opens and the file pops out. Does this make the concept of hypnosis seem more plausible?”

She nodded.

“Well, that’s what we’re going to do. Help you relax. Allow you to reach into that filing cabinet.”

“I’m not sure I can relax enough.”

“Is it the room? The chair?”

“The chair is fine. It’s…” She looked uneasily at the video camera. “The audience.”

“Detectives Moore and Rizzoli will leave the room. And as for the camera, it’s just an object. A piece of machinery. Think of it that way.”

“I suppose…”

“You have other concerns?”

There was a pause. She said, softly: “I’m afraid.”

“Of me?”

“No. Of the memory. Reliving it.”

“I would never make you do that. Detective Moore told me it was a traumatic experience, and we’re not going to make you relive it. We’ll approach it a different way. So fear won’t block out the memories.”

“And how do I know they’ll be real memories? Not something I made up?”

Polochek paused. “It’s a concern, that your memories may no longer be pure. A lot of time has passed. We’ll just have to work with what’s there. I should tell you now that I myself know very little about your case. I try not to know too much, to avoid the danger of influencing your recall. All I’ve been told is that the event was two years ago, that it involved an attack against you, and that the drug Rohypnol was in your system. Other than that, I’m in the dark. So whatever memories come out are yours. I’m only here to help you open that filing cabinet.”

She sighed. “I guess I’m ready.”

Polochek looked at the two detectives.

Moore nodded; then he and Rizzoli stepped out of the room.

From the other side of the window, they watched as Polochek took out a pen and a pad of paper and placed them on the table beside him. He asked a few more questions. What she did for relaxation. Whether there was a special place, a special memory, that she found particularly peaceful.

“In the summertime, when I was growing up,” she said, “I used to visit my grandparents in New Hampshire. They had a cabin on a lake.”

“Describe it for me. In detail.”

“It was very quiet. Small. With a big porch facing the water. There were wild raspberry bushes next to the house. I used to pick the berries. And on the path leading down to the dock, my grandmother planted daylilies.”

“So you remember berries. Flowers.”

“Yes. And the water. I love the water. I used to sunbathe on the dock.”

“That’s good to know.” He scribbled notes on the pad, put down the pen again. “All right. Now let’s start by taking three deep breaths. Let each one out slowly. That’s it. Now close your eyes and just concentrate on my voice.”

Moore watched as Catherine’s eyelids slowly closed. “Start recording,” he said to Rizzoli.

She pressed the video Record button, and the tape began to spin.

In the next room, Polochek guided Catherine toward complete relaxation, instructing her to focus first on her toes, the tension flowing away. Now her feet were going limp as the sense of relaxation slowly spread up her calves.

“You really believe this shit?” said Rizzoli.

“I’ve seen it work.”

“Well, maybe it does. Because it’s putting me to sleep.”

He looked at Rizzoli, who stood with arms crossed, her lower lip stuck out in stubborn skepticism. “Just watch,” he said.

“When does she begin to levitate?”

Polochek had guided the focus of relaxation to higher and higher muscles of Catherine’s body, moving up her thighs, her back, her shoulders. Her arms now hung limp at her sides. Her face was smooth, unworried. The rhythm of her breathing had slowed, deepened.

“Now we are going to visualize a place you love,” said Polochek. “Your grandparents’ cottage, on the lake. I want you to see yourself standing on that big porch. Looking out toward the water. It’s a warm day, and the air is calm and still. The only sound is the chirping of birds, nothing else. It is quiet here, and peaceful. The sunlight sparkles on the water….”

A look of such serenity came across her face that Moore could scarcely believe it was the same woman. He saw warmth there and all the rosy hopes of a young girl. I am looking at the child she once was, he thought. Before the loss of innocence, before all the disappointments of adulthood. Before Andrew Capra had left his mark.

“The water is so inviting, so beautiful,” said Polochek. “You walk down the porch steps and start along the path, toward the lake.”

Catherine sat motionless, her face completely relaxed, her hands limp in her lap.

“The ground is soft beneath your feet. The sunlight shines down, warm on your back. And birds chirp in the trees. You are at complete ease. With every step you take, you are growing more and more peaceful. You feel a deepening calm come over you. There are flowers on either side of the path, daylilies. They have a sweet scent, and as you brush past them, you breathe in the fragrance. It is a very special, magical fragrance that pulls you toward sleep. As you walk, you feel your legs growing heavy. The scent of the flowers is like a drug, making you more relaxed. And the sun’s warmth is melting away all the remaining tension from your muscles.

“Now you are nearing the water’s edge. And you see a small boat at the end of the dock. You walk onto that dock. The water is calm, like a mirror. Like glass. The little boat in the water is so still, it just floats there, as stable as can be. It’s a magic boat. It can take you places all by itself. Wherever you want to go. All you have to do is get in. So now you lift your right foot to step into the boat.”

Moore looked at Catherine’s feet and saw that her right foot had actually lifted and was suspended a few inches off the floor.

“That’s right. You step in with your right foot. The boat is stable. It holds you securely, safely. You are utterly confident and comfortable. Now you put in your left foot.”

Catherine’s left foot rose from the floor, slowly lowered again.

“Jesus, I don’t believe this,” said Rizzoli.

“You’re looking at it.”

“Yeah, but how do I know she’s really hypnotized? That she’s not faking it?”

“You don’t.”

Polochek was leaning closer to Catherine, but not touching her, using only his voice to guide her through the trance. “You untie the boat’s line from the dock. And now the boat is free and moving on the water. You are in control. All you have to do is think of a place, and the boat will take you there by magic.” Polochek glanced at the one-way mirror and gave a nod.

“He’s going to take her back now,” said Moore.

“All right, Catherine.” Polochek jotted on his pad of paper, noting the time that the induction had been completed. “You are going to take the boat to another place. Another time. You are still in control. You see a mist rising on the water, a warm and gentle mist that feels good on your face. The boat glides into it. You reach down and touch the water, and it’s like silk. So warm, so still. Now the mist begins to lift and just ahead, you see a building on the shore. A building with a single door.”