Cohen, making a supreme effort to sound calm, began to talk her slowly out of her trance. “That’s great, Joanna, good girl. You’re relaxed now and warm and happy. As soon as you feel strong enough I want you to open your eyes and look at me…That’s lovely…Good girl.”

Sam watched as she slowly opened her eyes. She seemed not to see the room nor the anxious men kneeling beside her on the floor. Her gaze was focused on the middle distance, her expression wiped smooth and blank. Cohen smiled with relief. “That’s it. Now, do you feel well enough to sit up?”

Gently he took her shoulders and raised her. “I am going to help you stand up so you can sit on the couch again.” He glanced at Sam, who nodded. Carefully the two men helped her to her feet and guided her across the room; as she lay down obediently Cohen covered her with the blanket. Her face was still drawn and pale as she laid her head on the pillow. She curled up defensively, but her breathing had become normal.

Cohen hooked his stool toward him with his toe, and, perching himself on it, he leaned forward and took one of her hands in his. “Now, Joanna, I want you to listen carefully. I am going to wake you up in a moment and when I do you will remember nothing of what has happened to you here today, do you understand? Nothing, until we come and ask you if you would like to be regressed another time. Then you will allow us to hypnotize you once more. Once you are in a trance again, you will begin to relive all the events leading up to this terrible time when you died. Do you understand me, Joanna?”

“You can’t do that.” Sam stared at him in horror. “Christ! You’re planting a time bomb in that girl’s mind!”

Cohen glared back. “We have to know who she is and what happened to her. We have to try to document it. We don’t even have a datefix-”

“Does that matter?” Sam tried to keep his voice calm. “For God’s sake! She nearly died!”

Cohen smiled gently. “She did die. For a moment. What a subject! I can build a whole new program around her. Those hands! I wonder what the poor woman can have been doing to injure her hands like that. No, Dr. Franklyn, I can’t leave it at that. I have to know what was happening to her, don’t you see? Hers could be the case that proves everything!” He stared down at her again, putting his hands lightly on her face, ignoring Sam’s protests. “Now, Joanna, my dear, you will wake up when I have counted to three and you will feel refreshed and happy and you will not think about what happened here today at all.” He glanced up at Sam. “Is her pulse normal now, Dr. Franklyn?” he asked coldly.

Sam stared at him. Then he took her hand, his fingers on her wrist. “Absolutely normal, Professor,” he said formally. “And her color is returning.”

“We’ll send her home now, then,” Cohen said. “I don’t want to risk any further trauma. You go with her and make sure she is all right. Her roommate is a technician at the labs here, that’s how we got her name for the tests. I’ll ask her to keep an eye on things too, to make sure there are no after-effects, though I’m sure there won’t be any.”

Sam walked over to the window, staring out at the snow as he tried to control his anger.

“There could well be after-effects. Death is a fairly debilitating experience physically,” he said with quiet sarcasm.

It was lost on Cohen, who shook his head. “The lass won’t remember a thing about it. We’ll give her a couple of days to rest, then I’ll have her back here.” His eyes gleamed with excitement behind the thick lenses. “Under more controlled conditions we’ll take her back to the same personality in the period prior to her death.” He pursed his lips, took a handkerchief out of his pocket, and wiped his forehead with it. “All right. Here we go. Joanna, do you hear me? One…two…three.”

Joanna lay still, looking from one to the other, dazed. Then she smiled shakily. “Sorry. Didn’t hypnosis work on me? In my heart of hearts I thought it probably wouldn’t.” She sat up and pushed back the blanket, swinging her feet to the floor. Abruptly she stopped and put her hands to her head.

Sam swallowed. “You did fine. Every result is an interesting result to us, remember.” He forced himself to smile, shuffling the papers on the table so that her notes were lost out of sight beneath the pile. The tape recorder caught his eye, the spools still turning, and he switched it off, unplugging it and coiling up the wire, not taking his eyes off her.

She stood up with an effort, her face still very pale, looking suddenly rather lost. “Don’t I get a cup of tea or anything, like a blood donor?” She laughed. She sounded strained; her voice was hoarse.

Cohen smiled. “You do indeed. I think Dr. Franklyn has it in mind to take you out to tea in style, my dear. It’s all part of the service here. To encourage you to return.” He stood up and went over to the door, lifting her anorak down from the hook. “We ask our volunteers to come to a second session, if they can, to establish the consistency of the results,” he said firmly.

“I see.” She looked doubtful as she slipped into the warm jacket and pulled the scarf around her neck. As she groped in the pocket for her gloves, she gave a sudden cry of pain. “My hands! What’s happened to them? There’s blood on my scarf-there’s blood everywhere!” Her voice rose in terror.

Cohen did not blink. “It must be the cold. You’ve been a naughty girl and not worn your gloves, that’s nasty chapping.”

“But-” She looked confused. “My hands weren’t cold. I wore gloves. I don’t even get chilblains. I don’t understand…”

Sam reached for his raincoat. He suddenly felt very sick. “It’s the heavy snow coming so soon on top of a warm spell,” he said as reassuringly as he could. “I’ll prescribe something for you if you like. But I suggest scones and cream and hot tea might be the best medicines to start with, don’t you think?” He took her arm. “Come on. My car is out back.”

As he closed the door of the room behind them he knew that he would personally see to it that she did not return.

1

London-1985


Basically I like the idea,” Bet Gunning leaned across the table, her eyes, as they focused on Jo’s face, intense behind the large square lenses of her glasses.

Jo was watching her intently, admiring Bet’s professionalism after the relaxed lunch at Wheeler’s.

Their eyes met and both women smiled appreciatively. They had been friends for five years, ever since Bet had taken over as editor of Women in Action. Jo had been on the staff then, learning the trade of journalism. She learned fast. When she left to go freelance it was because she could name her figure for the articles she was producing.

“‘Anything Ethnic,’ ‘Medieval Medicine,’ ‘Cosmic Consciousness’-my God, what’s that?-‘Meditation and Religion’-you’ll have to keep that light-” Bet was going through the list in her head. “‘Regression: Is history still alive?’ That’s the reincarnation one, yes? I read an article about it somewhere quite recently. It was by an American woman, if I remember, and totally credulous. I must try to look it up. You will, of course, be approaching it from quite the opposite standpoint.”

Jo smiled. “They tried it on me once, at the university. That’s what gave me the idea. The world authority on the subject, Michael Cohen, tried to put me under-and failed. He gave me the creeps! The whole thing is rubbish.”

Bet gave a mock sigh. “Okay, Jo, show me the outlines. I’m thinking in terms of a New Year or spring slot so you’ve got plenty of time. Now, what about illustrations? Are you fixed up or do you want them done in house?”

“I want Tim Heacham.”

“You’ll be lucky! He’s booked solid these days. And he’d cost.”

“He’ll do it for me.”

Bet raised an eyebrow. “Does he know that?”

“He will soon.”

“And what will Nick say?”

Jo’s face tightened for a moment. “Nick Franklyn can go take a running jump, Bet.”

“I see. That bad?”

“That bad.”

“He’s moved out?”

“He’s moved out. With cream, please.” Jo smiled up at the waiter who had approached with the coffeepot.

Bet waited until he had withdrawn. “Permanently?”

“That’s right. I threw his camera across the room when I found out he’d been sleeping with Judy Curzon.”

Bet laughed. “You cow.” She sounded admiring.

“It was insured. But my nerves aren’t. I’m not possessive, Bet, but he’s not going to mess me about like that. If it’s off it’s off. I don’t run a boardinghouse. What do you think about the title of the series?”

“ Nostalgia Dissected ?” Bet looked up, her head a little to one side. “Not bad. I’m not totally convinced, but it certainly puts the finger on your approach.” She beckoned to the waiter for the bill. “Aren’t you going to tell me any more about Nick?”

Jo put down her coffee cup and pushed it away. She stared down at her hand, extending it over the tablecloth, flexing her fingers as if amazed they still worked. “It is three years, four months, and eight days since I met Sam again and he introduced me to his brother. Doesn’t that surprise you?”

“It surprises me that you counted, lovie,” Bet said slightly acidly, tossing her American Express card down on the waiter’s tray.

“I worked it out last night in the bath. It’s too long, Bet. Too long to live in someone’s pocket, however well one gets on. And, as you know, we don’t all that often!”

“Bullshit. You’re made for each other.”

Jo picked up her coffee spoon and idly drew a cross in the surface of the sugar in the earthenware bowl in the center of the table, watching the crystals impact and crumble with a concentrated frown.

“Perhaps that’s it. We’re so awfully alike in a lot of ways. And we are competitive. That’s bad in a relationship.” She stood up, the drab olive of her dress emphasizing her tanned arms with their thin gold bangles as she unslung the canvas satchel from the back of the chair and swung it onto her shoulder.