Within six months Rikki was promoted to Operations Manager. She now had a spiffy office overlooking San Francisco and eight people working directly under her, including Janine Barnes, her assistant. Janine was five feet four, with large mischievous brown eyes, a curvaceous body, and a truckload of wavy dark brown hair.
She was the classic picture of a twenty-two-year-old still living at home and working in her first real job—sporty new two-door Toyota, cell phone, pager, lots of stylish clothes, inch-long fingernails that looked like terra cotta roofing tiles, and not a worry in the world other than falling off her pumps or screwing up her tan line.
Rikki had taken Janine under her wing because she was bright and efficient and had a good sense of humor, even about herself, which is a rare quality in anyone and almost nonexistent in young people. Rikki also liked her because, like most twentytwo-year-olds, Janine was far more concerned with her own life than with anyone else’s, including Rikki’s. To Janine, Rikki was sort of like a hip aunt who, outside of work, did what aunts do, whatever that was. Adult stuff. She didn’t want to know, and Rikki was comfortable with that because she didn't want to tell.
“Hi, Boss,” Janine said, pushing Rikki’s door open with her hip, a cup of coffee in each hand. She set one on Rikki's desk and plopped down in a chair.
Rikki put down a yellow pad and picked up the coffee. “Thanks,” she said, taking a sip. “Mmm, nutmeg. You put that in there?”
“Mm hmm.”
“Nice touch.”
Rikki put down her coffee and picked up the yellow pad. “Okay, let’s get to work. We’ve got a lot to do to pull this trade show together. I need you to call Service and tell Dave those machines have to be shop-worked by Tuesday. We need to have both a black and white and a color tech on site all day Thursday, so set that up with Ed and Greg. We’ve also got to get the reps to give us their final lists of attendees by the end of the day, so we can print the name badges and order the food. Get Cheryl in marketing on the line and find out when the giveaways’ll be here, and call Diane and ask her who she’s sending over to man the reception table.” She picked up her coffee. “Okay, that’s it for now.”
“I’m on it,” Janine said, getting right up. She stopped in the door and turned around. “Oh, Rikki, I forgot to tell you on Friday. Teri told me a bunch of people are getting together at Chevy’s after work today to say goodbye to Andy Grumman.”
“Oh jeez, I forgot. He took that job at Oracle. Sure I’ll go.” Rikki leaned back in her chair. “Hmm, too bad he’s leaving. I don't really know him that well, but I like him.”
“Yeah,” Janine said, drumming her tiles on the oak door. “I always thought he was kind of sexy ...” she grinned, “for an old guy.”
“Old guy. Andy couldn’t be more than forty. If he’s old, what does that make me, huh?”
“Just kidding, Granny,” Janine snickered. “I do think he’s sexy, though.”
Rikki mused as Janine walked out. Hmm ... Andy Grumman is kind of sexy.
* * *
That afternoon Rikki called to tell me she’d be home a little late. That was rotten news; therapy had been brutal and I wasn’t doing too well. Two new alters had come out for the first time.
Almost immediately after I walked into Janna’s office I felt a rumble like a Santa Fe freight train and poof, I was in the abyss and Wyatt was there. He stood up abruptly, put his toes at the edge of the border of the oriental rug, and began sidestepping around it. Janna sat patiently, watching. She could tell someone new was out; she could feel it.
“This is a square rug,” Wyatt said, in the voice of a bright ten-year-old. “I mean a rectangle.”
“What’s your name?”
“Wyatt.”
“Hi, Wyatt. Why are you walking around the rug?”
“It makes me feel good to walk around things.”
Janna said, “Are you anxious? You look very anxious.”
“Yes, I am.”
“And watching the pattern and walking around it makes you feel less anxious?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know why you’re anxious?”
“Because I don’t know you or this place,” he said, his eyes carefully following the woven border. “Eating cereal and walking on gravel are the same ... except with one you don’t get full.”
“Hmm,” Janna nodded, considering that. “So you don’t know who I am?” It didn’t surprise her. Often, new alters don’t know basic information.
“No.”
“Wyatt, see if you can get the information from inside, if somebody in your mind can tell you who I am.”
He didn’t speak for a few seconds but kept on sidestepping around the rug. “I don’t know.” Inside we were trying to talk to Wyatt, but he wasn’t listening, or just couldn’t hear us.
“Do you know where you are?” she asked.
“No. In a room in a house.”
“That’s right. Actually it’s an office in a building that used to be a house. My name is Janna Chase,” she said slowly, getting a little dizzy from following his movement around the small rug, “and I’m a psychologist ... I’m Cam’s psychologist. Wyatt, do you know what year it is?”
“Nineteen sixty-four,” he said confidently. “How did I get so tall? I must be on stilts or something, or you’re playing a trick on me.”
'“I’m not playing a trick on you, Wyatt. Do you know who Cam is?”
Wyatt continued his sidestepping, carefully watching the intricate pattern on the blue-and-white rug. He said, “Big man with big shoes.”
“Yes, that’s right. Would it be all right if I asked you to stop what you’re doing and sit down for a few minutes?”
He stopped moving. “Okay. Should I sit on the floor?”
“You can if you want. Or you could sit on the couch.”
“Okay.” Wyatt sat down on the couch. He immediately began tracing the white crown molding around the ceiling, his eyes unmoving, his head following the perimeter. When the two windows came into view his focus dropped, and he followed their rectangular pattern over and over. “Your ceiling’s not straight,” he said. “Your room’s not straight. And your pictures aren’t straight.”
Janna laughed. “You’re probably right. It’s an old building.” She watched his expressionless face tracing the outline of the windows, first one then the other. “Do you think you could stop what you’re doing for a moment?” She paused. “If that’s okay.”
“Okay,” Wyatt said. His head stopped moving, and his eyes now focused on the river picture by Janna’s writing desk. “Wyatt?”
“Yes?”
“It’s not nineteen sixty-four.”
“It’s not?”
“No. Listen inside and see if you can find out what year it is.”
He sat still, his face showing intense concentration. “I don’t hear anything,” he said. “Nineteen sixty-four.”
Suddenly Wyatt's body jerked, slamming him against the back of the couch, and he slid down sideways onto his back, feet still on the floor, hands balled in fists tightly against his chest, and, bang, someone else was out, terrified eyes staring straight up at the ceiling, gasping for breath as if a steel beam were lying across his chest.
Janna sat up straight, totally focused, looking for a toehold. “Tell me what’s happening.”
No response. Just the terrified look and straining sound of desperate breathing.
Again, this time more sharply. “What’s happening?”
He sucked in air painfully, gasping a molecule at a time. “Huuuh ... huuh. Can’t ... huuuh ... breathe.”
“Why? Why can’t you breathe?”
“Let ... me ... huuuh ... go. Please ... huuuh ... let ... me ... go.”
Janna stayed cool. She knew this was an abreaction, a re-experiencing of some past event, and not an epileptic seizure as someone less experienced might have thought. She knew I wasn’t choking on something, that my airway was clear. At least it was in the present. But whoever was on the couch was not in the present. He, or she, was in my past.
Janna asked, “Am I talking to Wyatt?” The head shook twice.
“Who are you?”
He gasped, “Mo ... huuuh ... zart.”
“Mozart?” she said. “Is your name Mozart?”
“Yeeessss ... huuuh.” He sounded like he had something lodged in his windpipe.
“Listen to me, Mozart. You are not in danger right now. My name is Janna Chase, and I’m here to help you. Listen to the sound of my voice. Try to stay connected to the sound of my v0ice.”
“Blue ...huuuh ... dress.”
“Blue dress? Who’s wearing a blue dress?”
No response. Only the rasping sound of his tortured breathing.
“Mozart, listen to me. No one is going to hurt you now.”
“Underwear ... in ... huuuh ... my ... face ... huuuh,” he wheezed in a small, terrified voice.
“Mozart,” Janna said firmly. “Look in front of you. Focus your eyes on what’s in front of you. There are no underwear in your face. Nothing is in front of your face. Reach up and touch your mouth. There’s nothing in front of your mouth. Go ahead, reach up and touch your mouth.”
“Can’t ... huuuh ... move my hands ... huuuh,” he said, his arms still glued to his chest.
Janna decided to go with it. Let it play out. She’d let the rescue wait a couple of minutes. She leaned forward. “Why can’t you move your hands?”
“I ... huuuh ... can’t.”
“Why can’t you?” she probed.
“Huuuh,” he gasped. “She’s holding me down.”
“Who?”
“Her ... huuuh. Lady ... huuh.”
“What lady?”
The rasping sound intensified, his breathing becoming more labored.
Janna kept pushing. “Do you know who the lady is?”
“Huuuuuuh,” he gasped, tears streaming down his face. Mozart’s body began to writhe on the couch and he uttered a stifled scream that was muffled by the ghost of the lady in the blue dress, her vagina in his face. It was time for the rescue.
Janna’s voice softened. “Mozart, listen to the sound of my voice. Stay connected to the sound of my voice. It’s going to help you. You can move your hands. Nothing is holding your hands down. Look at your hands.” Mozart stopped writhing and slowly moved his head, glancing down at his hands.
“See?” Janna told him. “There’s nothing holding your hands down. Now keep listening to the sound of my voice. Try and unclench your fists and reach up and touch your mouth.” He did what she said, slowly, still gasping for air, and touched the back of his fingers to his lips. “See what I mean? Nothing is in front of your face.” The terror in Mozart’s young eyes abated slightly. Janna said calmly, “You can relax your breathing now. Whatever was keeping you from breathing isn’t there anymore.” Slowly his body began to relax and his breathing began to sound less strained. He was getting farther from the lady in the blue dress.
Janna waited a few moments and then said, “Mozart, can you look over at me?”
He turned his head and his eyes focused on hers for a second and then started to close. He was drifting off to sleep.
“Can you stay with me a little more? Try to stay with me.” His eyes opened again slightly, the lids heavy with exhaustion.
“You’re going to be all right, Mozart,” she said. “That happened a long time ago. You were reliving something from a long time ago. You’re not in any danger anymore.” She smiled at him warmly and said in a soothing voice, “You’re safe now.”
Mozart’s eyes closed and he fell asleep.
Janna sat back in her chair, watching my limp body. “Cam?”
A swirling apparition spiraled down through a dark and winding tunnel to the softly lit room where I lay peacefully sleeping on a huge white bed with fluffy pillows the color of saffron. A finger tapped me gently on the chest, once, twice. “Cam?” My eyes opened slowly, responding to the tap and the feathery voice. “Cam?” I tried to focus, to see who the lovely voice belonged to, but couldn’t.
“I can hear you,” I said, my own voice sounding very distant. “Who's calling my name?”
“Janna. It’s Janna,” the voice wafted in past a lattice-crust blueberry pie cooling on a country windowsill.
“Janna?” I said, my voice thick, the sweet intoxicating aroma of the pie filling my nostrils. The name sounded vaguely familiar.
“Cam,” the voice said again, this time sharper, and a frown crossed my face as the pie rose off the sill and floated out the window across a meadow and into darkened woods. “Cam.” My name. She’s calling my name.
“I can hear you,” I said again, feeling my larynx vibrate with the words. “I’m trying to open my eyes.”
“Your eyes are open, Cam. Try to focus them on my face.”
This time the voice was much closer. The soft pillows shrank and vanished and my face was pressed against the leather of Janna’s couch. Focus, focus, focus, focus, focus. And at last, there was Janna’s face sideways in front of mine. She’s not sideways. . .. you're lying down. Right. What am I doing lying down?
I said aloud, “What am I doing lying down?”
“Can you sit up?”
Slowly I began to rise to a sitting position, my eyes watching Janna’s image tilting clockwise, leaving the horizontal and becoming more and more vertical until I was actually sitting up straight.
“We’re both vertical,” I said. I shook my head hard a couple of times. “What’s going on?”
“Try to get the information from inside.”
I scowled at her. “Why don’t you just tell me what the hell is going on?”
She smiled patiently. “A lot’s been going on. Try to get some information—”
“From inside,” I said, annoyed. “I know. All right. Give me a minute. Walking around a rug. Dizzy.”
Janna nodded. “Uh huh. Anything else?”
“Wyatt.”
“Right. Wyatt, a new alter ... at least one I didn’t know about ... was walking around the rug.”
I frowned and put my hands on my chest. “Heavy breathing, like being trapped under something ... something pressing on my chest.” I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. “A blue dress. Blue cotton dress. Underwear. A vagina.”
“Good.”
“No, not good! I don't like this.”
“What else? Who was wearing the blue dress?”
I closed my eyes for a second and a flash of anger hacked at my brain like a machete. My eyes popped open and I glared at her. “Who do you think?” I spat.
“I don’t know.”
“Who gives a damn anyway? Just because somebody says something doesn’t mean it’s true!”
“That's right, but—”
“But what?!”
“Who was it? Listen inside.” We were quiet for a minute.
“White hair, okay? That’s what I’m getting. White hair. I don’t even know where it’s coming from. Goddamn, I hate this!”
“The grandmother,” Janna muttered to herself.
“I don’t know where it’s coming from!”
“Listen inside. I know this is hard for you, but just listen.”
When she said “listen,” she stretched out the “s” and it glided from her lips and wrapped around me like a silk shawl, and the rage evaporated. I closed my eyes again.
“Mozart. Music? No, a name. A kid ... named Mozart. An alter named Mozart.” I looked at her quizzically. “I have an alter named Mozart?”
Janna nodded. “That’s what he said his name was. He sounded pretty young. And very distressed. He needs to know about the Comfort Room. You and some of the others should find him and bring him to the Comfort Room. Wyatt, too. Try to do that now. Per and Bart, Dusty, Stroll ... look around for Wyatt and Mozart. They need to go to the Comfort Room.”
A moment went by that we were silent. Then, “Okay, we found them both.”
“Can someone take them to the Comfort Room?”
“Yes. We’re all taking them down.”
“Good.”
Neither of us said anything for a couple of minutes. My eyes felt cold; I blinked them and they stung.
Janna got up and crossed to the couch and sat down at the other end. I turned my head to look at her and realized my neck hurt.
“You’ve had a rough session,” she said. “How do you feel?”
“Alone on a high wire ... without a net.”
Janna reached toward me to touch my shoulder, but withdrew her hand and placed it on the couch near me.
“You’re not alone, Cam,” she said softly. “And I’m your net.”