Author's note:
Due to the mystery/suspense plot, the individual parts of this novel are unlikely to make sense as stand-alone reads. Please see note at the beginning of Part 1 for more information.
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Chapter 25. HYPNOSIS
Upon his safe return to the boardinghouse, Anders' first instinct was to collapse in exhaustion on the bed, but he forced himself to write down everything Sophia Occhi had said while it was yet fresh in his memory.
The next day, he adhered to his usual Saturday morning routine --- a stint at the anatomy lab and a rowing session with his teammates. All the while, his preoccupied mind alternately mulled over the medium's words and pondered how to approach the experiment in hypnosis. After leaving the boathouse, he proceeded immediately to the medical school library, where he spent the remainder of the afternoon reading various treatises and books on hypnotism.
How could he, an utter novice, possibly hope to succeed in an endeavor at which an expert psychoanalyst had failed? Apart from his reading and a brief discussion with Dr. Schuller, his experience with hypnotism was limited to witnessing the unsuccessful attempt with Ondine and observing a successful session with one other subject during which Schuller made suggestions to the patient to refrain from gambling.
Ondine had attributed the failure of the previous attempt to her nervousness in the presence of the psychoanalyst. Anders was both moved by and apprehensive about her implied ease around
him
--- moved because his lovesick heart was grasping at
any
sign of a like sentiment on her part, and apprehensive because he feared her regard for him had been won under false pretenses. If she was nervous around Dr. Schuller because she sensed his amorous interest in her, then assuredly she would be aghast at Anders' debauched musings about her.
His own feelings aside, was a patient's 'nervousness' even a relevant factor in the success of hypnotism? Despite her implied trust in him --- misplaced or not --- he might be as unsuccessful in inducing a trance state in the girl as Dr. Schuller had been. Perhaps she was simply not suggestible.
An alternative, dismal interpretation of her words invaded his consciousness --- that her lack of nervousness in
his
presence was simply a reflection of a profound indifference towards him. Perhaps her nervousness around Schuller was a telltale manifestation of her romantic regard for the man.
Anders smothered the bitter thought and swallowed the knot in his throat --- it was irrelevant. He had promised to attempt to hypnotize her --- and he would keep his promise. His vow to help her was
not
predicated on his feelings being requited.
Returning to his room at the boardinghouse and reviewing his notes, he outlined a strategy for the proposed procedure. There were three components of a hypnosis session: induction, a middle 'work' phase, and exit.
The work phase varied depending on the goal of the hypnotic treatment --- it might be a time for 'suggestion' intended to combat phobias and bad habits, as in the case he had witnessed at Schuller's clinic. Or it might be used to facilitate 'regression' when attempting to recover repressed memories --- essentially free association in a trance state. The latter was closest to what he and Ondine hoped to achieve, although not for the usual purpose of understanding her present behavior, but to investigate the two purported forces behind the haunting.
Anders flipped the pages in his notebook back to his approximated transcript of the medium's words, trying to make sense of them. An unpunished wrong... two forces feeding the ghost... the man's... the woman's. Was the unpunished wrong committed
against
Peter or
by
him? Did it have to do with his brother Hugo? A business associate or rival? Had some injustice against Peter been perpetrated by a woman? Or had a woman been victimized by him?
He shook his head, frowning, then scribbled some questions he wished to put to Ondine tomorrow.
*****
In his dream that night, Ondine and he were running through the teeming, dark streets of the Five Points neighborhood, fleeing a gang of knife-wielding thugs. But as they dodged people, rubbish, and carts, they were separated from each other. Panicked, he tore through the crowds on the sidewalks and streets in search of the petite form clad in men's clothes, eagerly grabbing every candidate he found. However, each time he spun the person to face him, it was not she.
At length, he spied a small boyish figure standing at the end of a blind alley, facing away. He hastened into the shadowy passageway, his heart pumping in his ears as he stretched a hand towards the slim back. Grasping a shoulder, he turned the silent person around. It was indeed a girl with dark hair, but when her eyelids lifted, featureless white eyes glowed at him in the darkness. "Jeg elsker deg, lille reinsdyr," she crooned. In a pulsing cadence matching his heartbeat, the white of her eyes expanded and expanded, erasing her face, then her body, then the entirety of the surroundings. His vision was filled with uniform whiteness.
When he blinked, the whiteness resolved itself into a sunlit blanket of snow punctuated by protruding rocks and the dark green spires of pine and spruce trees. He was standing atop the mountain in Trysil --- far below him, over the edge of a rocky precipice, he beheld the tiny shape of his grandparents' lodge. The wind whispered among the needles of a nearby tree, twizzling outward a fine white mist and liberating a pinecone which fell upon the snow below the shimmering boughs. Realizing he was on his skis, he slid forward to pick it up, and as he turned it in his hand, he discovered between the scales a green beetle entombed in sap. "Mor," he murmured. The snow began to tremble beneath his skis then abruptly gave way, sending him plunging from the mountaintop. He was falling... falling... his scream trailing behind him in the icy air.
*****
It was Sunday morning, and he was due to meet Ondine in her 'art studio' in the mansion. Anders' nervous excitement was such that he almost left the boardinghouse without his notebook. As he retrieved it from his desk, he also realized he had not selected an object to assist in the induction process, like the gold pen Dr. Schuller had used to focus her attention. Such was its fundamental purpose --- the psychoanalyst had told him --- to focus the subject's attention.
But a physical object did not appear to be essential, from what he had read. Some hypnotists claimed to simply stare into the subject's eyes and command them to sleep. Anders questioned his own ability to remain focused if he simply gazed into Ondine's beautiful eyes. No, he needed a prop. What could he use? A pen might evoke the specter of the failed attempt and swinging a pocket watch seemed too theatrical. He quickly cast his eyes about the room, assessing the objects on the dresser, the bookshelf, and his desk. It came to him all at once, and his eyes flew to the row of crystals on the windowsill --- the crystals he had grown back in Rochester.
After a moment's hesitation, he grabbed the oblong, jade-colored crystal he had grown from Mohr's salt. It already had an embedded string from the original seed, and moreover the color might symbolically enhance communion with the ghost.
To minimize his exposure, he approached the Cornelissen mansion from the rear, walking up a side street from Madison Avenue. The grounds at the back of the manse were enclosed by a tall, wrought-iron fence, through which Anders identified the stable and carriage house. Gilt and scroll-decorated drive gates stood open. No one was in sight as he passed between them and cautiously entered the estate, but soon he glimpsed a harnessed brougham standing idle in the courtyard next to the carriage house.
The conservatory was at the southeast corner of the dwelling, he recalled, necessitating a circuit past the rear of the mansion. Nervously, he scanned the windows as he crossed a small garden. What if someone witnessed his stealthy advance? Ondine's aunt or uncle? Or a servant loyal to them? Many of the windows appeared to be covered by shutters or drapes, but he could not swear to the others. His heartbeat accelerated as the glass and metal-framed, greenhouse-like addition came into view. Only a few yards more.
A moment later, Anders perceived inside the conservatory a figure in front of the easel --- it was Ondine, her brush moving in wild strokes as she painted. Simultaneously, she noticed him and hastened to open an almost undetectable door in the glass wall, beckoning him with a quick hand wave. He stepped inside and removed his hat.
"Mrs. Van der Veen." He bowed his head.
"Mr. Røkke."
Endeavoring to maintain a tactful professionalism, he absorbed the sight of her pale, haunted beauty. How lovely she was! Today, instead of an elaborate coiffure, her long dark hair was divided into two shining braids which were pinned atop her head --- a simple style reminiscent of a shopgirl or serving maid. She was clad in an ankle-length, gray wool skirt and white shirtwaist, the sleeves of which were rolled up to her elbows. A paint-daubed palette rested on one arm --- her small thumb protruding through the hole. Over her clothes was a blue apron with white polka-dots and multiple smudges of variably colored paint.
A quick look at the canvas in progress on her easel showed an unrecognizable subject rendered in a jarring array of pink, red, gray, and green brushstrokes.
He cleared his throat. "Erm --- has your aunt departed? I saw a brougham waiting by the stable."
She appeared startled, her eyes darting towards the garden. "If she has not left, she should be doing so any minute."
"And your uncle?"
"I expect he's in his library. He does not concern himself with my whereabouts."
Anders glanced into the adjoining room which he recalled being described as Ondine's sitting room. No doubt in a mansion this size, every member of the household could have half a dozen personal sitting rooms, let alone one. "And the servants? Once we start the session, we don't want to be interrupted."
