Gillian Anderson - The Sound of Seas

“Screw you!” Anita said, still holding Jacob. “You did this!”

“I did not,” the woman replied. “ They did. And medicine will harm him.”

“They who?” Ben asked.

“I do not know them,” Madame Langlois admitted. “But they have vast power. Greater than yours.”

Ben approached her. Anita moved to the door of the bedroom, a protective eye on Jacob, an angry turn to her mouth.

“We should get him to a hospital where he can be monitored properly ,” Anita told him.

“I don’t disagree,” Ben said. “But I want to make sure we don’t do more harm. His mother’s in a hospital and they have no idea what to do.” He turned to Madame Langlois. “Why shouldn’t we get help?”

“Because help cannot help.”

“Why?” Ben pressed. “Madame Langlois, please help us here!”

The Haitian woman stayed where she was. She raised her hand again, extending her forearm into the hall, the two fingers once more extended. Anita and Ben both tensed as the single wall-mounted light near the front door threw a dim shadow on the long rug. But the shadow did not grow or move. It stayed, simply, the shadow of a finger.

“The serpent sleeps—they sleep within,” she said. “Nothing happens now.”

Ben was neither reassured nor enlightened. He took a step forward and Enok moved toward him protectively. “It’s all right,” Ben assured him. He looked at the man’s mother and continued in a conciliatory tone, “Who are ‘they’? At least tell me that. Tell me what you know, even if it’s very little.”

She lowered her hand. It flopped at her side. “They tell you when they wish,” the woman said.

“Of course, you charlatan,” Anita said. “You and your ridiculous conjuring, your tricks. What the hell did you do to Caitlin in Haiti?”

“Showed her things.”

“You got in her head!” Anita charged.

“Anita, please—” Ben said.

“No, I’ve had enough,” she said. She went to move around Ben, saw the landline in Caitlin’s room, moved toward it. Ben took her wrist, stopped her. She wrested it away. “I’m calling 911. We need an ambulance and we need cops.” She pointed toward the hallway. “They’re leaving.”

“They can’t,” Ben told her. “We need them.”

“Why? To create more bullshit drama? Shaking, pointing, probably releasing some kind of hallucinogenic—”

“Anita, I’m angry too, but Caitlin helped to create this problem, this dynamic,” Ben said.

Anita looked at him with disbelief. “Are you high, Ben?”

“Dammit, no. Caitlin sought it out, invited it in. She ran headlong into this, ignoring every goddamn stop sign. I know, I was there. I was the one pointing at the flashing exit signs. What we really have to do is learn more before we do anything.”

“How, Ben? I’m listening.”

“And I’m thinking . Jacob’s breathing normally?”

“For a kid who’s unconscious, yeah.” She glared at Ben. “And that crap about Caitlin seeking this? She and I talked about that too. She was trying to provide care for a bunch of kids. She didn’t ask for her boy to be endangered.”

“You don’t have all the facts,” Ben said.

“Okay, I’ll ask again: What am I missing?”

“This ‘thing’ Caitlin was dealing with,” Ben said. “It targeted children of trauma. Jacob was caught in the backwash as soon as his mother got involved, that very day. Whatever it was got some kind of claws in him. She realized the first time she looked at this that there were forces neither of us even remotely grasped. But as you say, there were children at risk so she went ahead. I didn’t want her to go to Haiti. I didn’t want her to go to Tehran. Things came back with her, Anita. Things we thought—no, things we hoped —were gone. But they’re not, and doctors—doctors as smart and experienced as you, Anita—can’t help her or Jacob.” He moved closer. “Anita, I’m sure that right now Caitlin is trying to fix something , again.”

“She’s. Unconscious.”

“As far as the doctors know,” Ben said.

Anita made a sound of disgust. “You’re just guessing now, and it’s a dangerous guess.”

“Actually, I’m praying that’s the case. If it is, then we have to let this play out, at least a little longer. If Jacob shows even a hint of change, then we do it your way.”

“Define ‘hint,’ because he looks pretty pale right now. ”

“Paler,” Ben said. “If his temperature rises or his breathing slows or he shows symptoms that are something other than the kind of reaction to a bad dream.”

“He was awake, remember?” Anita said. “This—this show may have put him in a reduced metabolic state.”

“And drugs are not the answer,” Ben said. “There is something bad out there, something doctors won’t be able to fix.”

Anita exhaled angrily and looked back at Jacob, who was sleeping again. They moved away from the door, into Caitlin’s room, and spoke softly.

“I just don’t like it,” she said. “And I don’t trust those two. Caitlin’s in a coma and I think this woman knows why. I want her to tell us.”

“I believe she will, in her own time and in her own way. She helped Caitlin heal the girl in Haiti. And she cared enough to make arrangements to fly up here.”

“‘Cared enough,’” Anita sneered. “About what?”

“What do you mean? She sensed there was a problem—”

“She may have already been here,” Anita said.

“What are you, the INS now?” Ben asked. “You want me to check her papers?”

“No, I want you to consider the possibility that she may have caused this, all of it. Starting in Haiti and continuing here.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know!” Anita said. “A shakedown. She saw a gullible, well-off woman down there, got her bony little talons into her, saw a way to make some money. I mean, she’s just over there, waiting. Offer her money, see if she talks.”

“I don’t believe that’s why she’s here,” Ben said. “I think she’s being careful. She could be afraid.”

“Yeah, of being found out,” Anita said.

Now Ben was getting frustrated. “I’ll say it again, Anita: there are phenomena at work. Genuine get-thee-from-me-Satan stuff. You heard Caitlin last night. You heard her here, in this apartment, when she was physically downtown. Christ, she gave you a message for me!”

“It was a phone, a device, an open line, something,” she said.

“Do you really believe that?”

“I do. I have to.”

“You saw the snake—”

“I saw a smoky shape,” Anita said. “Now that I think of it, maybe there was something in that cigar—”

“Which Madame Langlois didn’t light.”

“Not all psychoactive drugs are delivered by heating,” Anita replied. “The bark of Virola trees are used to create powdered hallucinogenic snuff—she puffed it our way then led us with her fingers, the simplest kind of hypnosis. You said it yourself: Count Dracula stuff.”

Ben shook his head. “You’re not hearing me. I’ve been with Caitlin when things have happened. Weird things.”

“The only weird thing is that I’m not tearing loose on these two and demanding answers,” Anita said. “And I’m not the only one.”

Ben gave her a quizzical look.

“Arfa doesn’t like them either,” Anita said.

“Right, where is the cat?”

“Exactly,” Anita said. “He doesn’t like other animals in the apartment. If there was a real snake out there, he would’ve been hissing and spitting.”

“My point exactly,” Ben said. “It was not a ‘real’ snake.”

Ben turned away from her. He was typically rational, yet here he was trying to argue against a traditional explanation. He shook his head.