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A man’s voice said, ‘Come in.’
The young woman opened the door and I followed her into a sitting room of sorts, where a man and a woman sat on an overstuffed brocade sofa facing a fireplace filled with a sweet-smelling wood. When we entered the room, they both stood, but the woman covered the stack of papers that sat before her with a writing tablet, as if she didn’t want me to see them. A plate with crumbs and a half-eaten pastry sat on a tray on the low coffee table. At the sight of the pastry, my stomach rumbled. If either of them heard it, they gave no indication. A coffeepot with an unused mug, along with a creamer and sugar bowl, also sat on the tray.
‘Thank you, Chloe,’ the woman said.
The woman stood three inches taller than the man. Her brown hair was laced with grey. It curled around her face, softening her strong jaw, prominent nose and full lips. She had the clear skin of someone who ate well and took plenty of exercise. She reached out to the man, who grabbed her hand, squeezed it, and let it go. All of this happened in an instant. I wouldn’t have noticed it at all had I not been paying attention.
‘Sarah Bennett.’ The man walked towards me with his hand extended. He took mine and shook it. ‘I’m Matthew Geisler. We’re so glad that you’ve come. This is my wife, Bethany.’
‘How do you do, Sarah? Please, sit.’
Bethany waved at the sofa across from them. On the couch between them lay yesterday’s newspaper. A horrible picture of me coming out of the courthouse graced the front page, with a caption underneath that read Jack Bennett Found Not Guilty!
Jack Bennett’s picture had been placed next to mine. He sat on a chair, dressed in a tweed blazer, holding his latest best seller in his hand. He smiled in that unique way of his that had disarmed everyone who had ever come in contact with him. He didn’t look like a murderer. I couldn’t argue with that sentiment, especially since the side-to-side placement of our photographs showed me in such a bad light. My pale face and gaunt cheeks accentuated the haunted look in my eyes. To the casual observer, I looked like a young woman burdened by the task of living, while Jack Bennett looked like the beloved son of the City by the Bay.
Jack Bennett’s books continued to fly off the shelves. The murder trial had fuelled the publicity fire that raged around him, and he had been exonerated of murdering his wife and his mother-in-law. The sensational trial had garnered him notoriety and wealth beyond measure. Jack Bennett had been tried and set free. His fans had sentenced me to a lifetime of contempt and loathing. Waitresses refused to serve me. Shop girls turned their noses up at me.
‘Let’s not worry about that, Sarah.’ Dr Geisler turned the paper over. ‘I know what that man did to you. That is of no concern to me. I believe we can help each other.’
Bethany Geisler poured thick, black coffee into the empty mug. ‘Cream and sugar?’
I nodded and took the mug when she handed it to me, hoping that the milky beverage would stave off the hunger pangs. If I didn’t get this job, I would have to use the last of my money to get out of town and go somewhere where no one recognized me.
Dr Geisler watched me as I sipped. The hair at his temples had started to turn grey. His cheeks were sharp, as if he hadn’t had enough to eat in quite some time. His dark hair came to a widow’s peak, making him look like a romantic character from a gothic novel. Bethany sat next to him, fidgeting with her wedding ring. She didn’t speak, but her gaze lay heavy upon me.
‘Zeke is here, Sarah.’ Dr Geisler watched me as he spoke.
Time stopped. The mug slipped out of my hand and onto the rug. Hot coffee burned my legs. A dark stain spread on the carpet near my feet. My mind raced back to the previous October, and the circumstances that had thrown Zeke and me together. He had saved me then, and I liked to think that I had helped him in some small way. I thought we had fallen in love and that our feelings for each other were mutual.
Zeke had been honest about himself. He had a job that he couldn’t discuss with me, a job that took him to unknown places for long periods of time. At least he had left me a note explaining why he had to leave. I, in my naivety, had accepted his conditions, thinking that I could love him and move on with my life when his mysterious job took him away to places unknown. I had been wrong. I had spent six months trying to forget him, making a practice of pushing all thoughts of him to the back of my mind. My efforts had been in vain. One mention of his name, and all the emotions came rushing back. ‘I’m sorry.’ I reached down to pick up the broken mug.
‘Don’t worry,’ Bethany said. ‘We’ll get that cleaned up. My husband didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘Forgive me for being blunt, my dear,’ Dr Geisler said.
Zeke. Here. Tears welled in my eyes. I wiped them away just as they threatened to spill over onto my cheeks. I cursed the desperation that drove me to be here. I needed a job. I needed Dr Geisler.
Bethany stacked the broken pieces of porcelain on the coffee tray.
‘You need to know that he’s been in an accident,’ Dr Geisler said. ‘He came here to recuperate.’
‘What kind of an accident?’
‘It’s complicated.’ Dr Geisler hesitated, as if measuring his words, careful not to say too much.
‘He’s hurt his knee badly, and he has two broken ribs, which are healing,’ Bethany said, with a quick glance at her husband. ‘He’s got a nasty cut across his face, and another cut on his arm that may have caused some nerve damage.’
‘We can treat Zeke’s injuries with rest, diet, and exercise,’ Dr Geisler said. ‘He’ll be fine, Sarah. But he’s weak and tired. I don’t want you to panic when you see him.’ He picked up one of the notebooks that were stacked on the table next to him. He thumbed through it, as if looking for something important about Zeke. I knew that Dr Geisler was allowing me the time necessary to compose myself.
After a few seconds, he set the notebook back on the table and crossed his legs. ‘I’m sure you have many questions, Sarah, and I will answer all of them, but let me tell you a little bit about the job and what I would like you to do. I am a medical doctor, a psychiatrist. My specialty is healing severe psychological shock and trauma with hypnotherapy. I endeavour to do that at this hospital, although I have some patients – such as Zeke – who simply come here for a rest cure.
‘I’ve written a series of textbooks that need to be typed. I understand you have had some difficulty finding a suitable position. I also discovered you were taking typewriting classes at Miss Macky’s Secretarial College and were doing quite well. Zeke suggested I hire you for the job.’
‘You know an awful lot about me.’ Irritation crept into my voice.
‘It should come as no surprise that Zeke made arrangements for someone to watch over you during his absence. He read the newspapers during the course of the trial, but his hands were tied. For myriad reasons, he couldn’t come forward to help you. Although he couldn’t testify against Mr Bennett, he did want to see to your wellbeing.’
A woman slipped into the room, shutting the door behind her. She had thick, snow-white hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. She wore an ankle-length black dress, a relic from a bygone era.
‘Excuse me. Miss Bethany, the nurse asked me to fetch you. Mr Collins thinks there’s an intruder and he’s become quite agitated.’
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ Bethany said. ‘Sarah, I hope to see you later.’
She rushed out of the room with the white-haired woman, leaving me alone with Dr Geisler. He smiled at me. ‘I’m sure we can come to an understanding about your salary—’
‘Dr Geisler, I saw you at the trial. You were there every day, in the front row of the gallery. Not only did you watch my every move, you also took copious notes the entire time. While I appreciate the job offer – God knows I need it –I feel like you’re not telling me the whole truth. Why am I here?’
The room grew cold. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. The soft touch of invisible fingers caressed my cheek.
‘I know a secret.’ The voice came in hushed tones, an ephemeral vibration no one but I could hear. I tried to put it out of my mind and focus on Dr Geisler, but the room was icy. I shivered.
In one fluid movement, Dr Geisler had moved to my side. ‘What is it?’
Too close.
I recoiled, embarrassed at my spontaneous response. That’s when I heard the laughter.
My mind went to my pocket book where the glass bottle that held the opium tincture waited for me, the panacea for situations such as this. Two drops in eight ounces of water, and whatever I heard, whomever I saw, would disappear.
‘Are you cold?’ Dr Geisler grabbed my hand, a look of burning desperation in his eyes, as though he longed for something I did not want to give him. I realized then that Dr Geisler knew all about me. He knew what happened last October, when I encountered the spirit of my dead mother, Grace Kensington.
I jumped up, clutched my pocketbook, and walked with firm deliberation towards the door.
‘Sarah, please wait. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’
I ignored him. When I reached the door, I grabbed the knob, driven by the desire to get away.
‘There’s nothing wrong with you. I believe you are sane.’
I opened the door, ready to flee the Geisler Institute, the chance for employment, and even Zeke, until he said the words that stopped me in my tracks.
‘I can help you with your visions.’
I stood for a moment with my back to him, swallowing my tears. They came anyway, flowing out of my eyes, running in a salty trail down my cheeks. I wiped them away with the sleeve of my sweater before I turned back around.
‘Come sit with me, Sarah. We have much to talk about.’ Dr Geisler had moved back to his seat and gestured for me to return to mine. ‘Forgive my eagerness, but I do want to help you get your life back.’
Clutching my purse to my chest as if it were a shield, I returned and perched on the edge of the sofa.
‘I followed your case when you were at the asylum. I knew full well that you didn’t push your mother – Jessica Bennett – down those stairs. I am also certain she didn’t fall. Jack Bennett tried several times to have you declared insane and get you committed. He used his guile to convince my colleagues that you were insane. I am familiar with you because I am on the board at The Laurels. It was I who convinced my colleagues that Jack Bennett was sorely mistaken. Despite the horrible time you had on the witness stand, I don’t believe for one minute that you attempted to hurt yourself, ever. I don’t know what happened to you at Bennett House last October, but I would like to find out.’
My well-honed defences locked into place. The events at Bennett House were in the past. There they would stay. Nothing would ever induce me to revisit that fateful night last October.
‘Not now, my dear. Not today. Not until you are ready. Are you familiar with hypnosis?’
I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak.
‘I’ve an idea why you see things. I’ve an idea what you see. After all you’ve been through, you don’t trust people. I don’t blame you. The people who you loved and trusted, the very people who should have cared for you, tricked you into the asylum. You had no business being there, of that I am certain. I give you my word that no harm will come to you here.’
‘How can you help me with my visions?’
‘I don’t think they are visions,’ Dr Geisler said. ‘I think you see through the veil.’ He paused, and watched me, gauging my reaction. ‘Ghosts. I think you see them. And if you do, there are things you need to learn so you can have a normal life. You must learn to keep the spirits at bay. They want to be heard, for whatever reason, and if they discover that you can see them, they will never give you a moment’s peace.’
The knowledge that this strange man spoke the truth welled up from some hidden place deep within.
‘Picture two worlds: that of the living and another world across the veil, where souls go,’ he continued. ‘They aren’t up in the sky or down below. They’re around us all the time. Some souls hover between the two worlds. They need help crossing over.’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘I’ve had a lot of death in my life. My mother died giving birth to my sister, my father died of pneumonia, my sister died in 1919 of the influenza. I have much to be grateful for, but there was a melancholia about me, a sadness which, I believe, came from all that death. I came to a realization not too long ago that this sadness resulted from the loss of my family and caused me to rethink my priorities. The occult has always intrigued me. Injustice infuriates me. I believe that you are a medium who has been treated unfairly by a society that doesn’t even know people with your abilities exist. I want to help people like you.’
‘How?’
‘I would like to hypnotize you. I can teach you to control what you see by making suggestions to your subconscious mind while you are in a deeply relaxed state.’
‘Hypnotize me? I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Would I be awake?’
‘You would be wide awake, just relaxed. You will remember everything. There’s no secret or hidden agenda.’
I shook my head.
‘You don’t have to decide now. I don’t want to do anything until you trust me and want to participate. Meanwhile, I do have a job for you. If you get to know me better, start to feel comfortable, and you want my help, we can discuss this further. I do need a typist, so let me tell you about that. Let me tell you about the job, what I expect of you, and we can go from there. Does that sound fair?’
‘Can you tell me about Zeke?’
‘Of course.’ At Dr Geisler’s earnest tone, I relaxed and melted back into the sofa. ‘My wife doesn’t know about Zeke’s work. As far as she’s concerned, he’s here to recuperate and rest. You know his work – well, he can’t be in the public eye. It’s not safe for him to be in a regular hospital, as you can imagine.’
‘He’s not suffering from any psychiatric injuries?’ My voice came out like a croak. ‘He suffered from nightmares before.’
‘He has no psychiatric injuries. He needs rest and physical rehabilitation. My wife is a skilled rehabilitative nurse. She will do all she can to help Zeke.’
‘How come he never—’ I couldn’t say it out loud, couldn’t acknowledge with words that Zeke never contacted me directly.
‘I’m sorry. That is a question best directed to Zeke.’
Dr Geisler crossed the room to where a pitcher and several glasses rested on a bureau. He poured a glass of water and brought it to me. I took a few sips, not realizing how thirsty I’d become until the cold water hit the back of my throat.
‘Will you stay? I’ll pay you one hundred and fifty dollars a month, plus room and board. We’ve a nice room for you. You’ll be close to Zeke, and Mrs McDougal’s a good cook. I think you might be happy here.’
‘Yes, I will stay.’ What other choice do I have?
‘I’ll have Mrs McDougal show you to your room. She will fix you some breakfast, and we can get started right away.’
We shook hands to seal our arrangement. As if on cue, Mrs McDougal appeared.
I had found a place to hide.
* * *
I followed Mrs McDougal into the foyer. The desk by the front door stood empty now. She led me up the far staircase, wide enough for four people to walk abreast. A large window at the landing and the sconces that were situated along the walls provided the only light in the second-floor corridor. With a flick of the switch, Mrs McDougal turned the lights on. The walls up here were the same honey-coloured wood as downstairs. I counted the closed doors as we passed them, so I wouldn’t end up in someone else’s room when I navigated the corridors by myself.
‘Has this house always been a hospital?’ I asked Mrs McDougal.
‘Oh, no. It used to be Dr Geisler’s family residence. When Dr Geisler and Bethany married, they decided to turn it into a hospital. Bethany is very passionate about helping people. She’s a nurse, you know. Dr Geisler wants to cure their minds. They are both very noble people.’
When we came to a stop at the sixth door, Mrs McDougal pulled a skeleton key out of her pocket, slid it into the lock, and pushed the door open. The boarding house where I had been staying had two or three beds crammed into tiny rooms no bigger than closets, and one bathroom, with no hope of hot water, shared by a gaggle of complaining women. This room was large enough to dance in, with floral wallpaper in pale shades of yellow. I walked across wool carpet the colour of sweet cream to the window that took up the entire wall, and pushed aside the heavy curtains.
Below me, San Francisco pulsed with its own life. A milk truck drove by, a woman pushed a baby carriage, the mailman passed her, nodding as he lifted his cap. I walked through another tall door into a bathroom with a claw-foot tub deep enough to float in. I wondered if there would be enough hot water to fill it.
‘The hot water heater is turned on at three o’clock every afternoon, so you can bathe after that time. We’ve plenty of hot water once the heater is turned on, so go ahead and fill your tub. You’ll have hot water until we wash up after dinner. If you require hot water before that, you’ll have to ask one of the girls to bring it up to you from the kitchen. I keep a kettle on the stove at all times.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be fine with the cold water,’ I said.
‘I’ve seen to the unpacking of your things. Once you decide where you’d like to hang your paintings, I’ll make arrangements to have them hung for you.’ Mrs McDougal took a gold watch from her pocket. ‘It’s nine o’clock. Would you like some breakfast? You look like you could use a good meal. We eat well here, despite the rationing and the shortage of meat. My sister keeps chickens and has a nice victory garden on her roof. She lets me plant what I need for the house there too. Even though I can’t, for the life of me, get meat, we do have plenty of fresh vegetables.’
‘Breakfast would be lovely, if it’s not too much trouble.’
‘I’ll leave you to freshen up. Can you find your way downstairs? Just follow the corridor to the back stairs and that will take you to the kitchen.’ Mrs McDougal paused at the door. ‘I know it’s none of my business, Miss Bennett, but you were so brave, the way you testified at the trial. Jack Bennett got away with murder, just as sure as the day is long, but never mind that. You’re here now, and that is all that matters.’
Hot blood rushed to my ears.
‘Oh, I’ve gone and embarrassed you. Forgive me.’
‘I’ve had a hard time getting settled—’
‘You’ve no reason to worry. You’re in good hands. Dr Geisler is very easy to work for. You come down to the kitchen, and I’ll have some food ready for you.’
I splashed icy cold water on my face and reached for one of the plush ivory towels, surprised to find that my hands shook.
‘Take a drop or two, Sarah. They won’t hurt you, and they will help you cope.’I could hear Dr Upton’s voice. Enough of those thoughts. I had been given a new beginning. Hard work and the satisfaction that comes from a job well done would see me through.
With fresh resolve, I went to unpack, only to find that, true to her word, Mrs McDougal had already seen to it. My suitcase had been taken away and my meagre belongings had been arranged in the armoire that rose all the way to the ceiling. The seascapes I had taken when I fled Bennett House were now on top of the highboy, propped against the wall. One depicted the blue-green sea and the summer sky, while the other captured the dark blues and greys of the winter sea.
The books that I carried with me, Rebecca, The Murder at the Vicarage, and The Uninvited – last year’s best seller by Dorothy Macardle – had been placed in the small bookcase nestled in the corner of the room. I ran my fingers over the familiar worn spines, glad to have a touchstone from my past during this new phase of my life. A small writing desk rested in front of the window. I opened the drawer to it, and saw the pile of letters from Cynthia Forrester, held together with a white ribbon, all unopened.
Cynthia Forrester, the reporter from the San Francisco Chronicle, had told my story after Jack Bennett’s trial with a cool, objective voice. I took a chance and trusted her. She now had a byline and a promising career as a feature writer, and the hours we spent together while she interviewed me had kindled a friendship between us. After the story was published, Cynthia had reached out as a friend, with phone calls and invitations to lunch and dinner, all of which I declined. She wrote several letters, which I never opened. One of these days, I promised myself, as I pushed the drawer shut.
Not ready to go downstairs yet, I moved over to the window and pressed my forehead against the cold glass. Below me, the traffic on Jackson Street moved along. I studied the houses across the street, noting the blue stars in the windows, the indication of how many sons and fathers were overseas fighting. Every day, mothers, sisters, and wives scoured the newspaper, hoping their loved ones would not make the list of fatalities. Every day, some of those same mothers, sisters, and wives would receive a visit from the Western Union boy, bearing dreaded news, and the blue stars that hung in the windows would be changed to gold.
