Okay,” she says. “Basically what you need to understand is that I live here, in the twenty-first century, but I also have a life in the fourteenth century. And it’s as real as this one.”
Even though Dr. Klein had warned him, he’s surprised to hear her say it.
“I know how that sounds,” she goes on, “but I promise I’m not insane, and I’m not lying. It’s been happening for years. I’ve lived two lives, in two different centuries, for almost as long as I can remember.”
Hannah’s voice is so calm and matter-of-fact; it’s like she’s telling him that her favorite color is blue. Jordan stares at the blank wall of the quiet room while he tries to take this in, but he can tell Hannah is looking at him. Trying to gauge his reaction.
I want to hear what you have to say, he’d just told her. And I want to believe it.
He keeps his face open. Neutral. Whatever happens, he wants her to trust him. He’s on her side.
Hallucinations are perception-like experiences that occur without an external stimulus, says the DSM-5, the bible of mental disorders. They are vivid and clear, with the full force and impact of normal perceptions, and not under voluntary control.
“Basically,” Hannah says, “I’m able to go back and forth in time.”
Without meaning to, Jordan blurts, “But that’s impossible.”
“A lot of things seem impossible,” Hannah says, unperturbed. “But it’s really just because they can’t be explained. No one knows why a muon does what it does, for example.”
“A what?” he says. He suddenly feels like his head’s spinning.
“It’s a subatomic particle that basically disobeys the laws of physics. Scientists can’t figure out what’s going on with it. Just like doctors and therapists can’t figure out how I go back and forth in time.”
“Okay,” Jordan says cautiously. Maybe he should ask the dark-haired girl in his dorm, the one who’s always reading a physics textbook, if she knows anything about muons. Or maybe he should ask Hannah if the Middle Ages are as awful as his high school history class made them sound—like they were nothing but privation, bloodletting, and lice.
“Life’s definitely a lot easier here,” Hannah goes on, almost like she’s just read his mind. “I’m not hungry all the time, for one thing. There’s running water and electricity, which are basically miracles, and I don’t always have to wear the same filthy dress.” She gets up and begins pacing around the room. “But in my other life, we have a strip of land we plant in spring, and this year we were going to get a goat—Mary wanted to name her Sally—and Mother said we might be able to get a pig we can fatten up on acorns…”
Her eyes have a distant look in them now, and her hands flutter in the air as she speaks. “I don’t have anyone here,” she says. “There, I’ve got a family. We have a little cottage. My father’s gone, but there’s my mother and my brother and my sister…”
Suddenly Hannah’s crying, and Jordan doesn’t know what to do. He wanted to help her by listening, but it seems to have backfired.
“It’s winter now, and everyone’s dying. There’s sickness in the village. I’ve lost two brothers already—”
“But you’re here now, aren’t you?” Jordan interrupts, his voice gentle. “And I’m here with you. You’re not alone. You’re safe.”
She clenches her fists. “But they aren’t safe! My family’s starving, I don’t know what happened to Otto, and a guard stabbed Mary! She’s going to die if I don’t get back to help her!”
Hannah’s volume rises by the second; she looks like she’s about to get hysterical. Jordan fingers the Call button on his lanyard—should he press it?
He doesn’t have to. A passing nurse hears Hannah’s screaming and comes into the room. When the nurse tries to lay a calming hand on Hannah’s arm, Hannah spins away and takes a swing at her.
“I have to get to Mary!”
Jordan backs away. Hannah’s gone again, caught up in whatever hallucination she keeps having.
The nurse tries to talk her down, but that doesn’t work. Another nurse appears with a needle. Hannah cries and slaps at them. She fights them, but she can’t win.
“I’m sorry,” the second nurse says as she plunges the needle into Hannah’s glute. “You poor, poor thing. I don’t know how else to help you.”