A New York Haunting: Pt. 07

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."

Ondine nodded. "Only my maid Hildy is allowed to interrupt me when I'm painting, and I instructed her not to do so this morning."

As if on cue, the sound of a door briskly opening came from the adjacent sitting room, and Mrs. Cornelissen's impatient voice called, "Ondine!"

Their panicked eyes met for a fraction of a second, then Ondine frantically motioned towards the corner. Scuttling on his toes, Anders leapt for the cover a tall, potted plant.

With her palette still on her arm, Ondine calmly crossed to the archway separating the adjacent chamber from the conservatory. "Yes, Aunt Adele?" She stepped into the next room, disappearing from his view through the leaves, but the conversation remained audible from his hiding place.

"We are preparing to depart. Are you certain you will not join us?"

"I'm afraid I must beg off. I'm feeling rather peaked today."

"That is most unfortunate. I would have thought the opening at the museum would have lifted your spirits."

"You are very kind to think of me," Ondine murmured. "An exhibit opening is a tempting diversion. I shall simply have to view it another day. I mean to paint a little longer, then rest while I read the book Dr. Schuller gave me."

"Oh! Did Dr. Schuller give you a book?" A hopeful tone was detectable in Mrs. Cornelissen's voice.

"He did, Auntie."

"Well, that does indeed sound like a fine plan --- and perhaps when he comes to dine tomorrow you can discuss it with him."

"Yes."

A few words of farewell were exchanged, then he heard the door open and close again.

Ondine reappeared, and he gingerly stepped out from behind the plant. She crossed to the far end of the conservatory and peered through the glass in the direction of the stable. A minute later, she turned around with a nod. "The carriage just left to meet Aunt Adele at the front of the house. She will be gone in a few minutes."

Anders' wary eyes surveyed the expanse of glass, through which his unsanctioned presence might be noted by any passerby on the property. As if reading his mind, the girl set down the palette and motioned towards the sitting room. Following her therein, his gaze traced over her slender waist highlighted by the polka-dotted apron ties --- the bow and ends of which bobbed against the skirt over her round bottom as she walked.

Ondine closed the double doors separating the two rooms. Noting the two tall windows in this room to be shrouded by gauzy, cream-colored panels, his immediate concern eased. But a different nervous excitement began to beat in his chest when she then stepped to the hall door and turned the key. They were alone together behind a locked door --- a veritable scandal.

Simulating calmness, he met her gaze. "Before we commence, I suppose I should ask if the ghost's visits have continued?"

Ondine nodded. "Knowing the cause of my distress has altered neither my incomplete awareness nor my fear during the visit... nor my lingering agitation after."

Anders squelched a sudden prurient speculation as to the variety of depraved sexual acts that had been visited upon the helpless girl's beautiful body over the past two weeks. "I pray to God this helps," he mumbled, unbuckling the flap of his knapsack.

"I as well." Crossing to the writing desk, she picked up a book. "I suppose I should put Dr. Schuller's gift close at hand, in case my aunt returns unexpectedly." She placed it on a small table next to the sofa. "I anticipated we would use this sofa?" At his nod, she asked, "Which direction do you want me to face?"

He considered. Streaming through the windows, the rays of late morning light imbued the room with a drowsy atmosphere, and he was inspired to consider a different approach than the darkness Dr. Schuller had favored. "Why don't you face the windows?" he suggested.

As she arranged the pillows against one upholstered arm, he extracted the notebook and the green crystal from his knapsack, setting them on the table next to the book she had laid there. He stole a quick glance at its title and saw with a jealous pang that it was a volume of Shakespeare's sonnets --- a far more romantic present from the psychoanalyst than the medical treatise he had been hoping it would be. Moreover, a ribbon bookmark protruding from between the pages suggested Ondine was already taking pleasure in the gift. Resisting the urge to check inside for an inscription from the enamored doctor, Anders instead fixed his attention on transporting the desk chair to the side of the sofa.

"Are you still seeing Dr. Schuller as a patient?" He endeavored to maintain a nonchalant tone.

"No. He has arranged for me to be seen by a psychoanalyst in Boston. But he does seem to dine with us quite frequently --- no doubt to make sure I don't harm myself before the new doctor takes responsibility for me." She laughed wryly.

Anders debated whether to warn her of Schuller's desire to court her --- but he held his tongue. His jealousy was no excuse to interfere in a matter that was not his business. He watched her seat herself and rotate to extend her legs upon the sofa cushion. Black-stockinged ankles were visible below her hem.

"My aunt and I are going to Boston next week for the appointment. Even though I now know about the ghost, I reasoned it would be safer to comply with their wishes than to refuse and thereby draw their attention to your interest in the case."

The case. Yes, his interest in the case --- that was indeed the extent of involvement to which he could aspire. The perverse thought occurred to him that if he succeeded in exorcising the spirit of Peter Van der Veen, her release from the ghost's anti-matrimonial dictate might propel her directly into the arms of his unknowing rival, Dr. Schuller. Or, for that matter, any of the other lurking suitors to which Fulton Fordyce had alluded. Sighing inwardly, he took a seat and opened his notebook to the outline he had prepared.

With her face toward the windows, Ondine lay back against the pillows, then at once sat up and reached behind herself to undo the knot of her apron ties. Reclining once more, she draped the unfastened ties over her lap.

Anders stole a quick admiring look at her nubile figure. The freedom of her movements bespoke the absence of a corset, for which he was appreciative, recalling her restricted, corseted breathing during Dr. Schuller's hypnosis attempt. With the elevation of her head and torso upon the pillows, the effect was akin to a chaise lounge. The pale blue velvet upholstery of the sofa was embossed with a pattern of leaves and vines forming an apt frame for her uncontrived beauty.

Adjusting the chair alongside the sofa next to her, he sat facing in the opposite orientation from her, his hip adjacent to hers, and his back towards the windows. On the wall before him was the eerie painting he had noted during his first visit to the house with Dr. Schuller --- Circe Invidiosa it was called, Ondine had said. The sinister expression in the goddess' eyes as she poured the luminous green potion unnerved him.

Anders turned his gaze away from the perturbing canvas. This was no way to commence the experiment. He cleared his throat, consulting the script he had written in his notebook. "Are you comfortable, Mrs. Van der Veen?"

"Yes." Upon her lap, her restless fingers fidgeted with an apron tie.

The hazy light from the windows illumined her face, accentuating her andalusite eyes which were fastened upon his with a disconcerting intensity. Was he deluding himself to hope there was some unacknowledged current between them? Or was she simply availing herself of his assistance in banishing the ghost? She had briefly clutched his hand in the cab home from Five Points --- but perhaps she had merely been frightened.

He dragged his eyes away from hers and reached for the green crystal, forcing his attention to the task at hand. Between his thumb and forefinger, he held the end of a foot-long string emerging from the base of the crystal and suspended it just above the level of her eyes, some fifteen inches away. In a quiet voice, he began speaking. "I would like you to focus your attention upon this crystal."

Ondine's lashes flicked as her eyes shifted slightly upwards to the dangling object --- it glowed with an unearthly luminosity in the rays of sunlight.

"Let your eyes absorb the pure jade color... the color of growing plants, the color of renewal." He rolled the string to and fro between his fingertips, causing the crystal to rotate in the air. The reflected tiny rectangles of light danced across her eyes, rendering the green hues in her irises yet more vivid. "Let your eyes trace the smooth planes and straight lines of the crystal structure, perfectly formed by Nature."

A gentle motion now set the crystal swinging like a pendulum. "Keep your eyes fastened upon the crystal... back and forth... back and forth. Let your breathing slow."

Her eyes followed the rhythmic motion, blinking intermittently.

"As you breathe in and out, you will find yourself growing more relaxed and your eyelids growing heavier. Allow yourself to relax more and more with each breath."

For several minutes, he maintained a steady tempo of the swinging crystal as he murmured on. By-and-by, he was encouraged to observe a series of telltale changes in her eyes: the blinks grew slower and more infrequent, the whites of her eyes took on a faint reddish hue, and her pupils --- which had been constricted in the bright room --- began to dilate.