Gillian Anderson - A Vision of Fire

Caitlin started walking toward the Pawars’ building, then turned and spoke as she walked backward. “Thanks, Ben. Thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “For everything.”

Caitlin stood in the hall outside the Pawars’ apartment door for an unusually long moment. The corridor was thick with the same still, unwelcoming atmosphere as the last time she was there. And then a click on the other side of the peephole: someone had lifted the cover to look out. When the door opened, Caitlin realized why Mrs. Pawar had used it. The wife of an Indian diplomat would not allow most outsiders to see her in a housedress with no makeup. The woman clearly wasn’t eating or sleeping enough. When they’d first met, stress had penciled dark smudges around her eyes, but these past days had hollowed her cheeks. Caitlin was mildly shocked by her appearance.

“I’m sorry you had to wait,” the woman said.

“Don’t worry about that,” Caitlin answered, stepping into the apartment. She waited until the door was shut before asking, “Is Maanik all right?”

Mrs. Pawar locked the door behind them. “The blackberries finally worked,” she replied, with no sign of being relieved.

“Finally?” Caitlin asked. She noticed Kamala standing sentry several paces back. Caitlin guessed that Mrs. Pawar was beginning to micromanage the household, trying to control anything she could in the face of a nearly uncontrollable threat to her daughter.

“Just after I sent you Maanik’s drawing, she began running around the room, shrieking,” Mrs. Pawar said as they walked down the hall to Maanik’s bedroom. “She could not hear me. Or would not, I do not know. Finally, her father managed to restrain her and I was able to use your cue.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Caitlin said. She gently took the woman by the arm and slowed them down. “Tell me something, Mrs. Pawar. Have either you or your husband been having nightmares?”

“To have nightmares one must sleep,” the woman replied, stalwartly fighting tears. “Our world seems to be coming apart. There is no haven—not abroad, not in this city, not in our home. No, Dr. O’Hara, there have been no nightmares.”

“I understand,” Caitlin said. She released Mrs. Pawar’s arm and they continued toward the bedroom.

Proximity and a familial relationship clearly were factors in what was happening. Whatever nightmares Caitlin had experienced as a result of being with Maanik and Gaelle had come from a connection made through hypnosis… or possibly Vodou. Forces that operated on a subtle, subconscious level—but even accepting that, she could not even begin to see how such forces could generate the same symbol from two very different hands.

In Maanik’s boldly colored bedroom, the rich scent of flowers and harsher smell of chemical fragrance failed to mask the stale, stagnant air. Caitlin spotted an air freshener incongruously plugged into a surge protector also feeding Maanik’s computer. About a dozen small bouquets were arranged around the room, most of them including stuffed animals, which suggested they had been sent from Maanik’s friends. Doubtless they’d heard she was going to miss a week of school and realized something more unusual than flu was going on. Perhaps the Pawars were claiming stress from the attack on the ambassador.

The ambassador was sitting on his daughter’s bed with his arm around her shoulders, at once comforting and protective. Her freshly bandaged right wrist rested in his open palm. Her left hand rested on the back of Jack London, who was curled up and snoring. The ambassador looked up as Caitlin approached. He nodded courteously but he did not have a smile in him. Maanik was asleep, breathing through her mouth with a slight rasp. In contrast to her mother, she looked as though she had been eating: her cheeks had a healthy color and her face seemed fresh. But there was a shadowy quality in her brow, a pinching of the eyebrows, that showed distress even in sleep.

“Thank you for coming,” the ambassador said as he gently withdrew his arm from his daughter. He stood, passing the responsibility of propping up his daughter to his wife, and shook Caitlin’s hand. She could see he was hiding his unease better than Mrs. Pawar, out of necessity. “I feel so helpless.”

Caitlin impulsively placed her right hand on top of his. “Mr. Pawar, we are getting there.”

He glanced back at the spent form on the bed. “I wish I could believe that.”

Caitlin persisted. “I just spent time with a young lady who has a condition similar to your daughter’s.”

“Were you able to help her?” Mrs. Pawar asked hopefully.

“I was able to learn from her,” Caitlin said. She searched through the photos on her phone and held up Gaelle’s sketch. “She drew this too.”

After taking it in they shook their heads in shock.

“That’s what this phase is about,” Caitlin continued. “To learn . There is no easy explanation for why both girls are experiencing similar symptoms or why they both drew this symbol.” She put away her phone. “And there may not be a quick and easy fix for Maanik. I sometimes work with a high school for children from war-torn countries. They saw terrible things before America offered them political asylum. They experienced trauma as intense as your daughter’s and it takes months, sometimes years, before they find ways to be teenagers again.”

“I do not want to hear that,” the ambassador said, as if his wish could somehow sustain him.

“I understand,” said Caitlin, “but I will tell you this—you are lucky because Maanik has your support and the support of everyone around her, and she is a fighter.”

The ambassador looked at the floor. “Understand this too. I don’t want my daughter to be a fighter. I want her to be my daughter.”

“Of course. That’s my goal as well,” Caitlin said patiently. “Which is why I have several important requests to make.”

“What kind of requests?”

“First, I would like to hypnotize Maanik again.”

Mrs. Pawar reacted instantly. “No! My daughter is not a laboratory animal!”

“We cannot protect her, Hansa,” Mr. Pawar said evenly. “We can only love her, and loving her means taking the next necessary step.” He looked back at Caitlin. “All right.”

Mrs. Pawar tensed when she heard his pronouncement but said nothing.

“Thank you,” Caitlin said. “I won’t do it now but it does need to happen imminently. And for my second request, I would like Ben to be present during the hypnotism. He is known to you and, more importantly, to Maanik, and his linguistic skills could prove invaluable.”

Now the ambassador’s eyes sought his wife’s support. He received it in the slight softening of Mrs. Pawar’s expression.

“I trust Ben like a son,” he said to Caitlin. “You may ask him.”

“Thank you again.”

The ambassador’s brow lifted slightly. “Have you finished with your requests?”

“Not quite,” Caitlin said.

“I admire your resolve,” he said. “Perhaps you should take my place at the negotiating table.”

“Ben would tell you, sir, that I never give up.”

He finally smiled. “I’ve missed hearing such a hopeful expression.”

Caitlin smiled back warmly. “Hold the applause until I’m finished.”

“With?”

“Request number three. Jack London.”

The ambassador looked at her as if she might be pulling his leg. “What about him?”

“I want to try something. Now. It will just take a minute.”

The ambassador opened his hands in a gesture of approval and sat with anticipation in the desk chair. He and his wife watched as Caitlin approached Maanik’s bed. She scooped her hands gently under Jack London. The dog opened his eyes and gave her nearest fingers a few licks. Carrying him, she walked around the end of the bed to Maanik’s right side, where she was leaning against her mother. Caitlin held the dog close to Maanik’s right hand, which was resting in her lap. Instantly, the dog snapped his teeth at Caitlin’s hand, at the fingers he’d just been licking. Caitlin moved in time to avoid more than a nip but had to drop the snarling dog. He landed on the bedspread in an aggressive crouch, barking loudly at Maanik’s hand, then leaped from the bed and ran around to the other side. He stood there shaking and barking, but also trying to edge closer to the bed and to Maanik. It was a strange tug-of-war, as though invisible hands were pulling him in two directions.