Unless her patient had a more subtly sinister plan in mind. Like lulling her into a false sense of security before striking. Or, even if Consuelo wasn’t faking, maybe that explosive component of her old personality was still lurking beneath a fragile surface. All it might take was a wrong word, a misinterpreted action—and just like that dramatic scene in the Lon Chaney version of The Phantom of the Opera. Consuelo’s mask of gentle sweetness would be ripped away, revealing the horror that lurked beneath.
When Anna entered the house that evening, the security system buzzed. Good. She punched in the code number and silenced it.
The meal Consuelo prepared was even better than last night’s. As they were getting up from the kitchen table Consuelo said, “I hope you don’t mind. I went out front to the mailbox this afternoon and got your mail.”
“Thank you. I forgot to get it yesterday.”
“Oh, when I went out, there was a package on your front porch.”
Anna frowned. “I wasn’t expecting anything. Where did you put it?”
“In the dining room.”
The rectangular package lying on the table was wrapped in brown paper. Anna picked it up, turned it over—and gasped.
It was addressed to Consuelo.
Gripping the package tightly, frozen with fear, Anna strained to hear a ticking sound inside it. When it didn’t explode, she relaxed a little. Maybe if I put it in water, like they do in the movies—But then another part of her said, That’s ridiculous! Open it up!
The latter voice won. Trembling, Anna tore off the wrapping. Inside was a thin cardboard box. The kind used to hold clothes given as gifts. She removed the top and peeled back flimsy, crinkling paper.
From the corner of her eye Anna noticed that Consuelo was standing beside her, watching as she pulled a man’s tie from the box. It was red and green, with smiling little Santa Clauses sewn on it. The kind of gift Charles used to get from his mother every Christmas.
The next item Anna removed was a woman’s brooch. She placed it and the tie on the table.
Peeling more paper away, Anna removed a small, frilly dress. It was just the right size for a four-year-old girl.
The last item in the box was an even smaller two-piece green outfit for a boy. The label said “3T.” On the front of the outfit’s top was the picture of a teddy bear dancing beside a Christmas tree. Printed in red letters above the scene were the words, “Beary Christmas!”
Anna let a few angry sobs escape before remembering she wasn’t alone. Straining to control her pain and fury, she looked at Consuelo. The latter was staring at the clothes with an expression of pain equal to her own. Consuelo said, “Why would anyone send me those things?”
Because she’s vicious, and wants to hurt you! And, maybe, me too. Anna examined the paper the box had been wrapped in. The address label was plain white. Computer-printed. No return address.
Anna blinked. There was no postage sticker or stamps on it either. That meant she, or someone she’d hired, had put it on the front porch herself.
Phoning her neighbors didn’t help. None had seen a gray-haired woman or any other stranger around that day. A call to Roy Krueger for advice got only as far as his answering machine. After leaving a message, Anna thought about calling the police. But, really, what could they do? Just come out, make a report, and leave. And even if they found her fingerprints on the wrapping paper or box, what was the worst they could charge her with? Trespassing? Nothing that would prevent her from doing something similar again.
Consuelo was unusually quiet the rest of the evening. Several times Anna tried to draw her out, but the younger woman was obviously too upset to discuss it.
“Please, Anna, don’t make me talk about it! It hurts too much!”
Before Consuelo went to bed, Anna told her to be extra careful about keeping the alarm system on tomorrow. “And if anyone comes to the front door, don’t open it!”
Afterwards, Anna hid the package and its contents in her own bedroom. That night, lying alone in her bed, for the first time since Consuelo came to the house Anna’s fears were not centered on her. Now it was worse. Now she was more afraid of someone else. And that new person was, potentially, even more dangerous.
The next day all the patients Anna saw at her office were in better emotional shape than she was. She couldn’t concentrate on her work. Feelings of anxiety, loss, and guilt kept bubbling up in her. Treating her like any other patient, the rational part of her brain advised her, You need to work through those feelings. Don’t let them control you.
But just having that insight was useless. Even knowing with clinical precision what was going on within her, it was still a terrible struggle to deal with it.
When Anna entered the house that evening, the aromas of another of Consuelo’s gourmet meals brought a small smile to her face. But then she heard someone sobbing.
Consuelo sat in the family room, face buried in her hands, crying.
“What’s wrong?”
Consuelo’s head jerked up, a terrified expression flitting across it until she saw it was Anna. “I went out to the mailbox after I finished making supper.” She handed Anna a padded mailing envelope. “This was addressed to me.”
Anna took it gingerly. The mailer was addressed just like the package yesterday. At least, she noted with relief, this one had stamps and had gone through the regular mail.
Consuelo sobbed, “I put them back in it.”
Anna extracted some papers from the open envelope. Newspaper clippings, dated about two and a half years ago. A quick glance at their headlines told her what they were about.
Holiday Tragedy. Woman Held In Death Of Family.
After a moment Anna said, “What did you feel after you read those stories?”
Consuelo’s voice was that of a frightened little girl. “Sad. Angry.”
“Angry?”
“Yes. It made me very angry at the person who did those terrible things!”
Anna looked fixedly at the other woman. “You know who that person was, don’t you?”
“Yes. It was me.” Suddenly Consuelo jumped up, her face flushed. “But I don’t remember doing them! I can’t understand how anyone could be so—evil!” Her hands went up to the back of her head and pulled vigorously on her long black hair. “Why did I do it? What kind of person am I? Maybe it’d be better if I were dead too, so I can’t hurt anyone else!”
“Sit down, Consuelo.”
Hesitantly the younger woman obeyed.
Anna looked closely at her, trying to decide what Consuelo was really thinking. It would be so easy to believe she was telling the truth. In fact, Anna told herself, that’s what I want to believe. But, she knew, merely wanting something to be true—even if you wanted it really, really hard—didn’t necessarily make it so. She was almost certain Consuelo was sincere. But she couldn’t be completely sure this wasn’t an elaborate, manipulative act staged for her benefit.
Anna said, “We’ve been through this before. You were ill when you did those things. Now, you’re well. You’re not responsible for what you did back then.”
“Then why do I feel like I am? Why do I feel so guilty?”