Gillian Anderson - A Vision of Fire

The dog seemed about to jump back onto the bed when Mrs. Pawar raised her voice and Jack London froze. In rapid Hindi directed at her husband, she seemed to be arguing vehemently. Mr. Pawar started to argue back but checked himself and spoke in a low, calm voice.

Caitlin turned away to give them a semblance of privacy. She patted the bedspread near Maanik’s left hand. Jack London eyed her warily but soon jumped back to the place where he’d been sleeping earlier. He huddled against Maanik’s side and nudged his nose under the girl’s palm.

Caitlin heard a sigh from Mr. Pawar.

“I’m sorry,” Caitlin said.

“Do not be,” he told her. “How did you know he would respond like that?”

“I noticed him acting skittish last time, and in Haiti I saw animals reacting strangely around the other girl,” she said. She considered mentioning the rats in Washington Square but decided they had enough horrors to face, and there was hardly a shred of connection to the incident anyway.

The ambassador sighed sadly. “My wife wants to have him put down.”

“I would strongly argue against that,” Caitlin said quickly. “We don’t know what the connection is but it should not be broken.” She gestured at the restored tableau of mistress and pup. “My point in trying this little experiment is to show that there’s a little light here, a little bit of understanding. The dog is ahead of us, reacting to something that we don’t comprehend yet. But there’s hope that we can learn.”

The ambassador’s eyes were a bit brighter than they had been before. “I’m not sure what you mean but it is good to know that you think so. Now I must return to the United Nations. When will you come again?”

“This evening, if I can arrange it.”

“We will see you then,” he told her.

The ambassador grasped his wife’s hand and lingered just a moment as she squeezed back. Then he left the room.

“Excuse me,” said Mrs. Pawar. “I must give my husband something before he leaves.”

The woman started to stand, handing Maanik’s weight over to Caitlin. As the door closed behind her Caitlin carefully maneuvered the girl into a horizontal position, with Jack London adjusting to the new arrangement to stay close to her left hand. Placing Maanik’s head gently on her pillow, Caitlin glanced down—and jumped back.

Maanik’s eyes were open and regarding her. They were clear, alert, steady. Incredibly steady, like little machines that had suddenly locked onto her.

“Hello,” Maanik said softly. “I surprised you.”

“A little,” Caitlin admitted.

“You surprised me too.” A faint smile tugged at the girl’s mouth. “But I’m too tired to scream.”

Caitlin laughed nervously. “I guess that’s a good thing. Do you know where you are?”

Maanik nodded.

“Where?” Caitlin asked.

The girl looked around. “It is not the Taj Mahal, so it must be… my bedroom.”

Her parents had said she had a sense of humor. Caitlin was glad to see that it had returned intact. “Right. And do you know who I am?”

“I think so. Dr. O’Hara?”

“Caitlin,” she said, nodding. “And I’m happy to properly meet you.”

“Me too,” Maanik said.

“I’m unused to speaking like this with you,” Caitlin admitted. “I’ve only met you during emergencies.” Honesty, she’d always found, worked best with teenagers.

“I can try scaring you, if you like.”

“How would you do that?”

Maanik hitched up one side of her face and stuck out her tongue. “Howsh thish?”

Caitlin laughed. This was the easygoing girl she’d seen in the theater video. “How do you know about me? What do you know about me?”

“My parents said you are a doctor. A psychiatrist. Will I be cured soon?”

“Workin’ on it,” Caitlin said. “Can I get you anything? Food? Water?”

“I’m good,” the young woman said. Her left hand sought Jack London and began rubbing him behind the ears. He seemed normal, unperturbed. “How are my parents? Are they here?”

“Your mother’s in the living room. They’re doing very well under the circumstances.”

That seemed to bring Maanik down and Caitlin didn’t want that. She also didn’t know how much time they might have, whether this period of lucidity would last for an instant or endure. “Hey, are you up for a few questions? I have so many.”

“I’ll try to answer them,” Maanik said. “I’m a little confused.”

“Totally understandable. Me too.” Caitlin pulled the desk chair to the side of the bed and sat. “Let’s try this for starters. Do you remember what happens during your episodes?”

Maanik sat up, preparing to speak. “I remember nothing. I know about the screaming and scratching because my parents tell me. Oh, and”—she held up her right arm—“because I’m wrapped like the Mummy.”

Caitlin laughed. “So you don’t remember doing that.”

“Not at all.”

“Or speaking?”

“Speaking?”

“Not the way we’re talking now,” Caitlin said. “More like—acting.”

“No.”

Caitlin didn’t see the benefit of complicating Maanik’s grasp of the situation by mentioning other languages.

“You’re usually awake when the episodes begin,” she said. “What does it feel like when you—”

“Start to lose my shit?” Maanik cut in, eyeballing the door to make sure her mother couldn’t hear.

“You’re not wrong about that,” said Caitlin, enjoying the girl’s spunk.

Maanik looked away and continued patting the dog, whose eyes were shut. “It’s weird. I just, kind of… go away.”

“Go away how? Do you mean like falling asleep?”

“Not exactly.”

“Do you feel dizziness or do you sense anything different, visually or with any of your senses?”

“Well…” Maanik frowned in concentration. “It’s like I disappear. No, that’s not right. It’s like first I am in pieces, small pieces, and then I disappear.”

“I’m not sure I follow. Small pieces?”

“My ears are listening, my fingers are feeling, my nose is smelling, my eyes are looking, but they are not connected. It’s sort of like every part of me is candles stuck in a cake.”

“I like that description.” Caitlin smiled. “Go on.”

The girl suddenly grew solemn.

“Maanik?”

She was looking at Jack London. “Candles.”

“What about them?”

“Flickering.” She rolled the dog over with her left hand and rubbed his belly. He snorted in his sleep.

“What is it?” Caitlin pressed her. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Maanik said. “I just felt this sadness.”

Caitlin reached out and held the girl’s hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Maanik didn’t answer. The silence that settled on the room reminded Caitlin of the quiet in the hallway, unfriendly and oppressive.

“Maanik—can you hear me?”

The girl was staring at the dog.

“Are you worried about Jack London?”

She didn’t answer. Tears were now dropping onto the bedsheet. They were tears of sadness, great mourning. She turned away.

“Maanik?”

“My arm,” she said in a low monotone.

Caitlin leaned in a little closer. She was trying to look into Maanik’s face, to get the girl to see her. “What about your arm?”

“My left arm,” Maanik said. “It’s gone.”

“That’s not true. You’re petting Jack London with it. Your arm is fine.”

“No.”

Caitlin let her pause, sensing that something else was coming.

“My arm is bloody and ripped off and a terrible mess.” She began to squirm a little. “The animal… is dead.”

“Maanik, listen. What you’re seeing is not real.”