“Yes,” Ridley said. “Longer than I planned. Longer than I was ready for.”
“Tell me what you see,” Julianne said.
“Nothing.”
“Why can’t you see anything?”
“Darkness.” Ridley’s voice suggested that speaking took effort and he wanted to do as little of it as possible.
“Is the darkness all around?”
“All around.” He nodded slightly. His back was rigid, but his neck muscles seemed so loose that they were barely capable of holding his head upright, requiring the support of the pillow.
“Why is it dark?”
“Lost my lights. Too long down here. Too long.”
“Why do you think it has been too long?”
“Tired. I’m tired. And...” His head rocked again, as if he were struggling to free his own thoughts, and then he said, “And it’s dark. It should never be dark.”
“Right. It shouldn’t be dark. So why is it?”
“Because my lights are gone.”
“Where did the lights go?”
“Burned out. I’ve been down too long.”
“Why did you stay so long?”
“Because I can hear her.”
Mark felt his breath catch. He’d been watching the video with skepticism, or trying to, but there was something in the surreal sound of Ridley’s answers that felt authentic.
“What do you hear?”
“Crying.” Ridley’s voice wavered and nearly broke. “She’s crying. And I know she’s right there, but I can’t find her.”
“You hear other things. There are other sounds. Tell me what they are.”
Ridley’s hands began to tremble and then the rest of his body joined in a single shudder.
“She’s asking me to stop.”
Mark felt a prickle along his spine.
“To stop what?” Julianne Grossman’s voice said.
Silence. Ridley’s eyelids fluttered but he didn’t speak.
“What is the thing that she wants you to stop?” Julianne asked.
“I don’t know.”
“She wants to be found, doesn’t she?”
These were the kinds of moments she’d mentioned to Mark, the moments that would render the video inadmissible in court. She was guiding him, coaxing him. An attorney couldn’t get away with those tactics on cross-examination even with a coherent witness, and when the witness was hypnotized, it stood absolutely no chance. The opposition would call it memory implanting, and that would be the end of it. That didn’t mean hypnosis wasn’t a valid technique, though, and it didn’t necessarily mean that she hadn’t gotten the truth from him.
“I think so,” Ridley said, his voice so soft that Mark leaned closer to the computer.
“Then why would she want you to stop looking?”
“She wouldn’t.”
“No, she wouldn’t. She would want you to continue, yes?”
“Yes.”
“You’re certain of this?”
“I’m certain.”
“Good. Very good. You know this to be true, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And since you know it to be true, then what does she want you to stop?”
“I don’t know.”
“Look around you. Tell me what you see.”
“Nothing! Nothing, nothing. It’s all dark, I can’t see.” His voice had gone high, had an edge of hysteria that raised the hair on Mark’s arms.
“Tell me about the place. Use all of your senses. Tell me what you can feel.”
“Stone and... and dampness.”
“You’re in the water?”
“No.”
“What’s the dampness, then? Are the stones wet?”
Ridley’s body shuddered again, but he didn’t speak.
“What do you smell?” Julianne Grossman asked.
“Blood.” This answer came without pause, none of the previous hesitancy or sense of effort, just a simple, matter-of-fact statement. Mark’s mouth had gone dry and though he wanted to see Julianne Grossman’s expression he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the image of Ridley on the screen.
“You smell blood. Yes. Good. Your memories are strong, aren’t they? Because the senses hold memories, and you are using your senses. They hold more memories, don’t they?”
“Yes.”
“Smell the blood, then. Use your senses to find the source. Are you bleeding?”
“I don’t think so.”
“So where is the blood coming from?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is the dampness that you feel water, or is it blood?”
“I don’t know.” His voice was still high, and now it had an angry quality, as if the questions were frustrating him.
“Can you still hear her voice?”
“No.”
“But she was speaking. Now she is not. Why did she stop speaking?”
Ridley’s voice dipped again, soft and low. “She’s too cold,” he said.
“She told you that she’s too cold?”
“No. I can feel it.”
“How can you feel her sense of the cold? How is that possible?”
“Because I’m touching her. And she’s too cold. She can’t speak anymore. She won’t speak anymore.”
“Where is she?”
“In my arms.”
“When did this happen? When did you reach her?”
“I don’t know. Time is... confusing.”
“Did you hurt her?”
On the screen, Ridley Barnes began to shiver. A single tear leaked down his cheek and into his beard.
“Did you hurt her?” Julianne Grossman repeated.
“Maybe.” His voice was childlike.
“You need to tell yourself the truth. You need to be honest with yourself. Did you hurt her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is the blood hers, Ridley?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Why are you touching her?”
“I’m moving her.” Each word sounded weighted with guilt.
“Why?”
“Because she shouldn’t be there anymore. Because they’re all waiting for her.”
“How long have you been with her?”
“Too long. Too long in the dark. She’s too cold, and we’ve been too long in the dark.”
“Is she alive, Ridley?”
“No. No, I don’t think she is.” More tears now, and the shivering was relentless. The neck pillow slipped loose and fell to the floor.
“Was she alive when you found her?”
“I think so.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Because she talked.”
“What did she say?”
“‘Please, stop.’”
“What did she want you to stop?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you stop?”
“I don’t know.” He was shaking, and his hands were opening and closing. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”
“Why did you go into the cave, Ridley?”
“To rescue her.”
“Did you do that?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Bad things happened. Things I didn’t mean to do.”
“What didn’t you mean to do?”
“I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I didn’t.”
“Of course you didn’t want to. But did you hurt someone?”
“Yes. I didn’t want to, but I did.”
“Did you kill?”
“Yes.”
“Did you kill Sarah Martin, Ridley?”
“I think so.”
This proclamation, loud and shrill, put the first dent in Julianne Grossman’s steady, unflappable voice. There was a silence, and when she spoke again it was clear that she was searching for the right words and tone, that the questioning was no longer as natural.
“Tell me how that happened.”
“She was his responsibility. They’ll all blame me but she belonged to him first.”
“What do you mean, belonged?”
“If it’s my fault, then it was his first.”
“Who are you referring to? Whose fault was it?”