That’s when “mean Mother” would yell at me, and correct me…and shake me…and beat me…with Father’s sterling silver walking stick.
Sheriff Gray took over again. His eyes were like green daggers. They were the same color as Mother’s. “You had no rainbows—er …bruises,” he said, a vein in his neck pulsing. “Are we clear?”
Mother had a similar vein. It used to do that whenever I displeased her. First the vein, then the screaming, then the hitting.
I looked for reassurance in Uncle Sears’ eyes, but it wasn’t there.
“Shannon!” the sheriff yelled.
I jumped. “No rainbows!”
And just like that, my interrogator’s expression softened. “Excellent. Now I’m about to relax you a little bit more, sweetheart.” He stuck a needle into the IV bag tubing, and almost instantly, warmth slipped up my arm and cradled me. I was floating.
For nearly thirty minutes after this, Uncle Jackson talked softly, calming me, reassuring me, until the panic and fear fell away—making me trust him again.
“Now I want you to do something for me,” he said, smiling. “Look at the ceiling fan above us.” He switched off the bright light. “See it?”
I swallowed convulsively. “Yes.”
“See how the paddles blur as they whiz around and around?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Keep staring at them. Don’t look away.”
I did as I was told. “All right.”
After several minutes had passed, when everything around me started feeling warm and fuzzy, he said, “Imagine a cloud coming down and slipping inside you. It’s fog. White fog that’s so thick it covers everything. All the stuff that makes you sad, all the hurt; imagine the fog taking it away.”
I was drifting out to sea. “Away?”
“Yes, far and away,” he soothed. “Fog is good. Rainbows are bad. Rainbows upset you. We’ll just stuff them in the good fog. Would you like that?”
“Good fog. Yeeeessssssss.”
Five minutes later he said, “You can’t see the bad stuff anymore. You can’t even see us. I’m about to drop this conversation into the fog too—because it upset you. We don’t want you upset. We want nothing but good memories. All you see is truth, and the truth is that there were no rainbows.”
“No rainbows,” I said, trance-like.
“And you had an upset stomach. That’s why you stayed home.”
“Upset stomach,” I parroted. “That’s why I stayed home.”
“All you have now are good memories of your mother. The bad ones are gone. Forever. She was a very good mother. Okay? Keep looking at the fan. See the paddles go round and round?”
“Yes.”
“Go on, say it. Say, round and round.”
“Round and round,” I repeated, “and round and round….”
SHANNON: …and round, and round, and round, and round....
DR. ROSEN: Whispers to Trace. She’s under pretty deep.
SHANNON: …and round and round and round….
DR. ROSEN: Shannon, it’s time to leave Briar.
SHANNON: …and round and round and round….
DR. ROSEN: We’re going to take another trip, all right? Back to Cheltenham Manor. Say goodbye to Sheriff Gray and Uncle Sears.
SHANNON: …and round and round—bye-—and round and round and round….
DR. ROSEN: Good. Let’s pretend I’ve waved a magic wand. Just like before. The fan is gone. The fog has lifted, and you can see everything as it was.
Thirty seconds pass.
DR. ROSEN: Let’s go back to the morning after your mother fired Trace at the pool. Do you remember that day?
SHANNON: Sad voice. Y-yes.
DR. ROSEN: Why did you go to the carriage house?
SHANNON: Had to say goodbye.
DR. ROSEN: To who, sweetheart?
SHANNON: Trace.
DR. ROSEN: Exchanges a look with Trace. You were hoping he’d come back?
SHANNON: Whispers. Uh-huh. But he’s not there. I’m going to take a nap in the loft…I don’t want to miss him.
DR. ROSEN: Okay, fast forward, Shannon. Trace has arrived. Are you still asleep?
SHANNON: Smiles. Dreaming. Trace is in the sky. He’s floating, riding the motorcycle. The bike—it’s loud.
DR. ROSEN: What happens next?
SHANNON: Yawns, stretches arms. I wake up.
DR. ROSEN: You come downstairs and enter the back area of the carriage house. What do you see?
SHANNON: Starts to rock.
DR. ROSEN: Shannon?
SHANNON: Still rocking, begins to cry.
DR. ROSEN: Remember you’re not really there. You’re here with me. Safe. Now tell me what’s happening.
SHANNON: Sniffs, wipes eyes. I’m going to surprise him and sneak downstairs. He’s…. Sniffs again. He’s…. Moans. I don’t want to say! Please don’t make me!
TRACE: Whispers. Doc, I don’t like this.
DR: ROSEN: Presses a finger to his own lips.
DR. ROSEN: It’s all right. Go ahead. Tell me.
SHANNON: Keens.
DR. ROSEN: What’s there, honey?
SHANNON: Wheezes a few times. Mother’s dead! And Trace looks…scared. He has s-something in his hand—a…garden spade!
SHANNON: Rocks and sobs. He’s falling to his knees. He’s turning Mother over! He’s putting his finger on her neck. Whimpers. Now h-he’s—he’s crying and talking to her.
DR. ROSEN: What’s he saying?
SHANNON: I don’t know. Moans. He’s bending over her, blowing into her mouth. Now he’s pressing his hands up and down on her chest. But the blood—it keeps…. Cries. He’s running away!
DR. ROSEN: What are you doing now?
SHANNON: Crying, rocking. Running to Mother. Have to—she feels…weird. F-floor s-queaks. Blood. Everywh—Ow!
DR. ROSEN: What happened?
SHANNON: Screams.
TRACE: Shoots to his feet. That’s it. Bring her out now.
DR. ROSEN: Time to go, Shannon.
SHANNON: Hysterical. Mother! I’m sorry. I won’t write them anymore. I promise I won’t. Mother! Please, don’t go! Don’t leave me! I’ll be good, I swear!
TRACE: Damn it, Doc! Bring—her—out!
DR. ROSEN: Shannon, I’m going to count backward.
SHANNON: Wailing.
DR. ROSEN: When I get to one, you’ll awaken, refreshed, and unafraid. Ten, nine—
SHANNON: Moooommmmy!
DR. ROSEN: Eight, seven, six—you’re calm.
SHANNON: Moaning and whimpering.
DR. ROSEN: Five—four, three—you feel refreshed. Two—one. Snaps fingers. Awake!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Fall
TRACE
____________________________
Dr. Joseph Rosen turned the recorder off and the tape rewound. Silence ruled while the bald old man waddled across his cluttered office. After tweaking the blinds open, he quietly excused himself, and disappeared down the hallway, leaving Shannon and me alone.