"But the hospice job didn't work out either?" I asked, guiding her back to what I needed to know.
"Nothing worked out," she said, hollow–voiced. "I had a boyfriend. We were engaged. But he broke it off. I never knew why—he just came over to my apartment one day and told me. It was hard. Very hard to tell my mother…"
"She knew the man? The one you were engaged to?"
"No. She didn't really know him. But he was a neighbor. And his father was a 'son.' That's like a deacon in another church. His whole family was very highly respected."
"And after that?"
"After that, I suffered. But not like Job. Not from illness. And not heroically either. Just…suffered. I got pregnant. And I didn't even know who the father was. I had an abortion. And I got…hurt when they did it. I can never have a baby now."
"Did you think—?"
"I knew it wasn't a punishment," she interrupted. "God doesn't do that. It was a mistake, that's all. Another failure. Like me. I worked sometimes. I was a waitress. And I did office temp too. But I was always bad at it. Bad at everything. I knew I wasn't stupid but I just…didn't care, I guess. I knew I would always lose whatever job I had, so I always got lousy jobs so I wouldn't care when I lost them. I did the same thing with men. Do you understand?"
"Yeah I do," I told her. Stone truth that time.
"I started pulling again," she said. "All the time. Even in public. I never did that before—I never went so far. Then I realized I couldn't even stop that. And I knew I had stopped it once. So I would never get better. I had no friends. No real friends. Nobody to talk to. I started to cut myself. Not to die, so I could feel something. See?" She pulled up the sleeve of her blouse, showing me the perfectly parallel cuts on her left forearm, as neat as tribal markings. "I have them on my legs too. It always made me feel better…I can't explain it."
"Do you ever poke yourself?" I asked her "Like with the tip of the knife, or a pin or anything?"
"Yes. I did that too. I did everything to myself. And one day, I cut myself and I didn't feel anything. Nothing at all. I watched the blood run down my leg and I didn't feel anything. I was going to cut my throat. The artery—I know where it is. But I…couldn't. So I found a vein."
"Did you leave a note?"
"Who would I leave a note to? There was nobody."
"How did—?
"I failed at that too," she said quietly. "I passed out, but I didn't die. I was supposed to pay the rent that afternoon. The landlady always came by to get it—she wouldn't take checks, it always had to be cash. When I didn't answer the door, she just opened it up. She had a key. She called the paramedics, and I woke up in the hospital."
"A psychiatric hospital?"
"No, a regular one. Later, I went to a…home, I guess it was. It didn't have bars on the windows or anything, and it wasn't a hospital. I don't know what to call it."
I could feel Heather's eyes, but not Kite's—like he wasn't giving off any heat, just a piece of furniture. When I looked past the woman, Heather had turned her back to me. She was looking at the hologram, standing hip–shot, one hand under her chin, like she was studying a painting. I looked where her eyes were trained. The child's kite was gone. Now there was a bird, hovering high, face to the wind. A hawk, maybe, watching the ground. I couldn't see where the hawk was looking—Heather's hips blocked that part.
"All that time," I asked Jennifer, "you never—"
"All what time?"
"From when you walked out of Brother Jacob's house in Buffalo to when you tried to kill yourself. How long was that?"
"Nine, ten years."
"You never thought about what happened? Never thought about Brother Jacob?"
"No. If I had, I would have gone to a judge."
"Sued him?"
"No, the church has a judge. Every congregation has a judge. Any neighbor can file a complaint against any other neighbor, even a minister. Judges have to investigate the complaints, and then they report to the Council."
"That's still in the church."
"Yes. The Council is always seven: three judges, two deacons, and two neighbors. They're elected. If the judge files a report, the Council decides if there's guilt. And if there's guilt, the Council decides on the punishment."
"Which can be what?"
"You can be fined. Or suspended. Even banned from the church, depending on what you did."
"But you never—"
"No. I never thought about it. Not about going to the judge. I mean, about…it."
"You never called Brother Jacob, or wrote a letter?"
"No. I mean, not after that time when I found out—"
"And he never contacted you."
"No. I just went into a void, I guess. I don't really know—I don't understand that part so well."
"So how did you—?"
"When I started the counseling, I just told them the truth. I failed at everything, and I didn't know why. After a while, they said there were…gaps, like. That's when I went for hypnosis."
I could feel Kite stiffen next to me, but he didn't make a sound. "By yourself?" I asked her.
"Yes. Oh! You mean…no, I mean, it wasn't my idea. They found the therapist for me. The hypnosis, that was just part of it, not the whole thing. And it was a doctor. A real one, I mean. Not a Ph.D. doctor, like I have for my regular therapy."
"How long were you in—"
"I still am," she said, cutting into my question. "I guess I will be for a long time. It was…months before I even started to remember."
"But then it all came out?"
"I don't know if it's all out," she said, her voice resigned. "I don't know…yet. I remember stuff more and more all the time. But what I told you, that much I know is true."
"We've been doing this for a while," I said, glancing at my watch. "I need some time to absorb everything before we talk again, all right?"
"Yes," she said. Her eyes confronted mine. "Do you believe me?" she asked, her voice so thickly veined it vibrated a little.
"I don't think you're lying," I said carefully.
"Heather will show you out," Kite said to her, suddenly coming alive. "And I'll call you as soon as we have another appointment."
"All right," she said quietly, getting to her feet. Heather was at her side instantly, a pudgy hand on the woman's forearm. I heard Heather's heels moving away on the hardwood floor. Closed my eyes.
I heard a faint rustle from Kite's direction—he was getting to his feet. He moved away, soundlessly. I kept my eyes closed.
The tap of Heather's heels, coming close. Blood–orchid perfume. Sharp intake of breath.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
I could feel her voice on my face. I didn't open my eyes. "Yeah," I told her. "Just…processing it all."
"He's an evil man," she said.
"Brother Jacob?"
"Yes. An evil man. A liar. That's the worst thing you can be."
"The worst thing?"
"Lying is the root. Every time. But he wasn't just lying for himself, was he? He made her a liar too. He changed the truth for her."
"Heather, have you ever talked to her?"
"Well…sure."
"I don't mean here. Anyplace else? Just you and her, alone?"
"No. I mean…when would I?"
"I don't know. I was just asking."
"I'd tell you if I had. I'll tell you everything, if you want to know."