Pretty Girl Thirteen. Liz Coley

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СКАЧАТЬ felt a glimmer of hope. Finally. Someone believed her. “I’m thirteen. Three years passed for them? No time at all passed for me. Like …” How could she explain? She snapped her fingers. “Like that.”

      “Hmm.” Dr. Grant snapped her own fingers, with a puzzled expression. She gestured to a large filing cabinet. “The case notes the department gave me are very sketchy. Why don’t you tell me about the last three days you remember, in as much detail as you can recall.”

      So Angie told her about packing for camp, about almost forgetting her toothbrush. She did remember details, like taking her journal, like needing new flashlight batteries, like looking up the weather online and seeing that it might be colder than usual, especially at that altitude, and deciding to take sweatpants. That couldn’t have been three years ago—it was all so clear. She remembered the early morning meet-up in the parking lot at school. She remembered sitting next to Livvie in the Suburban and talking about Greg and how excited she was to have a for-sure date for homecoming. Everything was crystal clear in her head—the first day of hiking in, the campfire songs that first night, ghost stories in the leaders’ tent, then s’mores and off to bed without brushing teeth anyway. Angie told Dr. Grant about waking up early and wondering whether anyone had started the breakfast fire. She remembered eating thimbleberries and looking for a private place.

      The doctor listened intently as Angie’s narration came to a sudden stop. She raised her brows with encouragement. “Go on.”

      But there was nothing else, like a door had slammed. The hollow silence echoed. Angie glanced around the office in dismay.

      Over the doctor’s shoulders, she noticed a pair of pine knots in the paneling. They watched her, like dark, staring, narrow eyes peering out of the wood. She tried to look away, but they nailed her with a rising sense of panic. Strange and familiar. The breath froze in her lungs. Trapped. The roar of storm winds filled her ears. Through the swirling gale, someone screamed, “Quick. Hide!”

      And then the room was perfectly quiet.

      “Angela … Angela?” the doctor asked. “Hide from what, Angela? What was in the woods?”

      Angie stared at Dr. Grant. “Hmmm?”

      Dr. Grant leaned forward. “You said, ‘Quick, hide.’ Hide from what?”

      “No, I didn’t,” Angie said. “I said, ‘Thimbleberries.’ That’s what was growing in the woods.”

      The doctor’s blond eyebrows pulled so tight they nearly touched. “After thimbleberries. It was quite clear. You became frightened and you yelled, ‘Quick. Hide.’ Who were you talking to? I thought you were alone.”

      Angie plucked another petal and dropped it on the carpet. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “Hmm. Okay. Maybe I misheard,” Dr. Grant said. “So you gathered and ate the berries. Then …?”

      “Then I was walking home.”

      “All the way from the campsite to home? You knew the way?”

      Angie shrugged. It was hard to care. “I guess. I don’t remember.” Three more petals hit the floor. “No, I don’t know the way. But I realized I was nearly home, just at the end of our street. My feet hurt a lot—I must have walked a long, long time.”

      “Did you notice anything else unusual?”

      Angie picked at the only thorn on the smooth-stemmed rose. “You mean besides it was September instead of August? Besides it was three years later? Besides I was taller and thinner? Besides I was wearing strange clothes instead of my pj’s? Anything unusual?” Her voice climbed the scale with each besides. “Nah. Not a thing.”

      “So everything had changed. Instantly.”

      A rising sob squeezed the back of her throat. “Everything except me. I’m still me when I close my eyes. I don’t know who’s been living in my body for the last three years, but I assure you it wasn’t me.” She waited for the doctor to say how silly and unreasonable that sounded.

      Dr. Grant didn’t even blink. “So where do you think you were?”

      “A rocking chair,” she answered reflexively. Then, “I don’t know why I said that. I have no idea.”

      Steepling her fingers under her chin, the doctor pursed her lips. “Curious. Angela, I think I would like to get your mother’s permission to try hypnosis. We may be able to push past the thimbleberries. How would you feel about that?”

      She felt—well, she wouldn’t call it hopeful. She was just being open-minded, that was all. “If you think it’ll help, go for it. I don’t see why you need Mom’s permission, though. I’m the one who needs help here.”

      “I’m glad you see it that way, Angela. I’m glad you understand that you need help. Still, I am going to pop out and advise your mother.”

      While she was out, Angie moved to the couch. Not knowing what to expect, she figured that if she fell over when she went under, it might as well be soft.

      Dr. Grant smiled without comment at Angie’s relocation. “Mom’s on board. Are you ready?”

      Angie nodded, wondering about the device in Dr. Grant’s hands. The doctor touched a switch, and Angie watched the light travel back and forth. It was vaguely annoying. Back and forth. Back and forth.

      “Am I supposed to feel different yet?” Angie asked.

      “Patience. Relax. Just breathe in and out,” Dr. Grant said in a swaying voice. “In and out. Imagine a pine tree, a perfect pine tree.”

      Angie let an image creep into her head, a perfectly symmetric dark green tree, like the kind a little kid draws. Like a Christmas-card tree.

      “There’s another one beside it,” the doctor said. Angie imagined another tree, taller.

      “Now there’s a woodsy smell,” she added. “Can you smell it? Breathe in and out, very slowly. In and out. In and out.”

      Angie did. She breathed slowly, and caught a hint of pine and wood smoke. “Yeah, I think I can smell something.”

      “Now add five more trees.”

      She saw them. Unreal.

      “Can you take a step toward them?”

      In her mind, Angie stepped closer to the trees. She stood and turned around in a circle, slowly. The knots in the paneling watched her relentlessly.

      “What are you looking for, Angela?” the doctor asked. “What do you see in the trees?”

      “No. Stop,” a loud voice said.

      “Angela, Angela.” The doctor had a hand on her arm.

      Angie blinked. The light was gone, and she was sitting in the beanbag chair. “How … when?”

      The doctor had an extremely serious expression on her face. “I think we have an unexpected complication,” she said.

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