John Manning - The Killing Room

At the far end of the room, facing a large picture window overlooking the ocean, sat a small, white-haired woman in a large wingback chair. She did not stir when they came in. She just sat there very still, her gaze aimed out the window.

“I’m Michael O’Toole,” the man with the red cheeks said. Douglas and Carolyn introduced themselves. “I’m very glad you’ve come. And Jeanette has been looking forward to it all morning.”

“I’ll leave you alone now,” Dr. Hoffman said. They thanked her, and she slipped quietly out the door.

“Jeanette,” Michael said to the white-haired woman. “Jeanette, this is your cousin Douglas and his friend Carolyn.”

There was no movement, no sense that she even heard him.

“Sit down, please,” Michael said, gesturing to Carolyn and Douglas to make themselves comfortable on the soda. He gently turned Jeanette slightly in her chair so that her vacant eyes now looked directly at them. She might as well have been a mannequin.

Carolyn felt her heart sink. She had read this woman’s impassioned work. She had followed the career she’d almost had. How vital she seemed in her writings of forty years earlier. Now she was just a shell.

“Mr. Young,” Michael said, “I remember your father. I was sorry to hear of his passing.”

“Thank you,” Douglas said.

Obviously Michael was clueless about the family curse. To him, Jeanette had simply suffered some unexplained breakdown. Carolyn had read the reports from the hospital. Although no brain damage was found, Jeanette had lost all ability to communicate or, apparently, to comprehend. Her body functioned fine. So long as attendants regularly moved her limbs, the muscles remained strong; without such assistance, they would have long ago atrophied. Without outside intervention, Jeanette would simply lie there, not speaking, not eating, not doing anything for herself. Carolyn noticed an IV drip behind Jeanette’s chair. She was fed intravenously, but, according to the notes in her file, she would sometimes chew and swallow if nourishment was held to her lips. On a small table in front of her were the remnants of a muffin on a plate and a half-empty glass of orange juice. Michael had apparently been feeding her before they arrived.

He sat now on a hassock at her side, looking solicitously up at Jeanette. “You remember his father, don’t you, Jeanette? Douglas. He was a lawyer. Remember when he’d visit? He was such a wonderful man.”

Still Jeanette made no sound, revealed no flicker of consciousness. But Carolyn felt somehow that her eyes had moved. They were no longer simply staring blindly. They had fixed on her. She felt Jeanette was looking directly at her.

And more than that.

She felt she was seeing her.

“I remember coming here with my father,” Douglas said, his voice uneasy. He was directing his words to Jeanette. “I remember meeting you when I was very young. I remember that painting, in fact.”

“I painted it,” Michael said, pride in his voice. “Jeanette and I met on the Yale campus. She was a divinity student. I was an artist.” The sadness shone in his eyes. “We were going to be married, weren’t we, Jeanette?”

Her face remained expressionless, her eyes fixed on Carolyn.

“Well, we never got married,” Michael said, reaching over to take Jeanette’s hand, “but we’ve still been together for forty-two years, haven’t we, my dear?”

Carolyn held Jeanette’s gaze. What was she saying with her eyes? There was something…something that Carolyn was sure she was trying to communicate.

Georgeanne had been right, though. Whatever thoughts, if any, swirled through Jeanette’s head, the woman herself was peaceful. There was nothing about her that seemed in distress.

“Jeanette,” Douglas said. “I wonder if I can ask you a few questions.”

Michael stiffened. “What kind of questions?”

“We’d like to find out what brought on her current state.”

Michael’s smile faded. “I was afraid that was the reason for the visit. Why is it that so few ever visit Jeanette just to see her? Your father was one of those few. A good man. Never came prying about what happened that night. Jeanette doesn’t know! It was a fluke of the brain. Who can explain the human brain? The human mind?”

“But her doctors have all been stymied,” Carolyn interjected. “If we could find out what happened…”

“For what good purpose?” He stood. “It would just upset her! Only once in all these years has Jeanette ever gone from the calm, content woman you see before you to a frightened, shaking creature. And I won’t allow that to ever happen again.”

“Of course, we don’t want that,” Carolyn said. “We don’t want to upset her.” She paused. “But Mr. O’Toole, perhaps we can help her.”

He folded his chubby arms across his chest. “Long ago I gave up any hope that Jeanette will ever change. Long ago I accepted that this is our lot in life.”

“But perhaps…” Carolyn hesitated, trying to find the words. “Perhaps if we at least know the kinds of things that upset her in the past, we can avoid doing them again now.”

His eyes regarded her sternly; then he looked back over at Jeanette. He seemed to see the way she was looking at Carolyn, and his stance softened.

“I can tell you this much,” he said. “Years ago, probably twenty-five years ago now, a man came here. He was sent by Jeanette’s uncle. Like you, he wanted to know what had happened to bring Jeanette to such a state. I told him that her doctors had said it was an unexplainable shock. But what brought the shock on? The man wanted to know the answer to that. Possibly nothing, I told him. Doctors say that’s rare, but it is possible. The brain can experience a shock for no reason. A short-circuiting of nerves, so to speak.” He paused for emphasis. “And if there was a reason for the shock, I certainly don’t want Jeanette remembering it.”

“What did this man say when you told him that?” Carolyn asked.

“He kept pushing. And because Mr. Young pays for Jeanette’s care here, I couldn’t stop him. Even Dr. Hoffman, despite her better judgment, was forced to let him proceed. And he began saying names to Jeanette. Names that upset her. For the first time, she reacted to outside stimuli-”

“Which is actually a good thing,” Carolyn observed.

“Not if it makes her upset! I won’t have her upset!” He calmed himself, looking anxiously over at Jeanette. “She began to shudder. She began to cry. Her face got red. I told the man if he persisted I would physically throw him out of the room.” He smiled. “I was younger then. I could have done it, too. But Dr. Hoffman agreed, and she asked the man to stop.”

“But perhaps if we could find the reason for her state, we could reverse it,” Carolyn said.

Michael ignored her comment. “Then, about ten years ago, another man came around. He was with a black woman, who claimed she could read minds just by touching someone.”

“Kip,” Douglas said, and Carolyn nodded.

Michael continued, not hearing. “He wanted to say certain things to Jeanette, too, but I forbade it. And the black woman, she touched Jeanette’s hand, and concurred with my judgment. She said Jeanette did not have the information that they sought and they should leave her in peace.” He chuckled. “I’m not sure I believe in all that mumbo jumbo, but I was glad to have her as an ally. They left without upsetting Jeanette.” His eyes narrowed as he stood over them. “And I will not allow you to upset her either.”

Carolyn sighed. “I see in her files that Dr. Hoffman even tried hypnotizing her, but Jeanette remained unable to reveal anything.”

“That’s because she doesn’t know anything! Whatever happened that night is gone! All that exists for Jeanette is now! This moment! The moment she lives in. For in the very next moment, it’s gone. Every moment is brand new to her. Her only constant is this room…and me.”