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Janice heard about it over the bedroom radio.

The noon news report confirmed her defeat.

Not only was the court willing to permit the barbarity to take place, but according to the newscaster, Elliot Hoover had unqualifiedly endorsed the test.

Janice stood stunned in the middle of the bedroom, listening to the high-pitched, eager voice punch across the grisly details.

It would take place on Monday morning. At the hospital in Darien. The entire court would be transported there. Jury, judge, lawyers, and defendant would observe from a hidden room. Three psychiatrists would preside. The public would be excluded. A special room with TV closed circuit would accommodate the press.

Janice turned off the radio, hurried to the telephone, and dialled information. Bill might still be at the court building. And if not Bill, Scott Velie or Judge Langley. She had to reach one of them, had to stop this test from happening. She would deny her consent. After all, she was Ivy’s mother - she had some rights…

Paged, Bill Templeton did not respond. Scott Velie had just left, would be out of town for the weekend, someone thought.

Judge Langley might still be in his chamber, however, hold on, please—

The voice that returned was masculine, elderly, but not Langley’s.

‘Who is calling?’ it asked.

‘This is Janice Templeton.’

‘Oh, Mrs Templeton, this is John Cartright, the court bailiff.’

‘I must speak to Judge Langley, Mr Cartright. It’s urgent.’

‘The judge isn’t here at present, Mrs Templeton. Can I help?’

‘It’s about my daughter. About the test. I do not want it to take place. I refuse to give my permission.’

‘I’ll try to get your message to Judge Langley.’

Fingers of terror seemed to be reaching towards her, seeking to grip her as she quickly showered and packed enough clothing for a lengthy stay. Her hands moved automatically - she was scarcely aware she was directing them - while her mind raced. She must get to Ivy. She must stay with her. Be with her. Somehow she’d stop the test.

Her head reeled sickeningly as she lifted the heavy suitcase and dragged it down the narrow staircase to the living-room.

She went out into the hallway and rang for the elevator. While Ernie went inside to fetch the suitcase, Janice remained at the door, looking wistfully back into the living-room - a long, piercing, unmoving look - thinking of all she was leaving, and wondering if it would ever be the same again, if she and Bill and Ivy would ever again share the sweet and beautiful life they had made for themselves.

‘Dear God, let it not be the end,’ Janice cried to herself as tears bit at her eyes and she squeezed them shut against the thought of the terrible deprivation. ‘Don’t let it be the end,’ she prayed, while, at the same time, deep, deep in her heart knowing, as she had known all along, from the very beginning, from that very first day in front of the school and the man with the sideburns and moustache, in that moment of instant prescience, that one day the final act would have to be played out, on its own terms, finding its own way to its own ending.

‘Good morning. My name is Steven F. Lipscomb. I’m a Doctor of Psychiatry and have been chosen to lead the team of three-psychiatrists selected by the court to conduct this test.’

The slight, forward hunch of his body and the few remaining strands of grey hair put him somewhere in his sixties, though he might have been younger. The crow’s-feet at the corners of his weary, patient eyes, his calmness of manner and intelligence, coupled with an almost humourless sincerity, affirmed his place in the ranks of the medical profession.

‘After consultation with my colleagues Dr Nathan Kaufman and Dr Gregory Perez, we have decided to approach the testing of the subject individually, in succeeding shifts, Dr Kaufman to succeed me, Dr Perez to succeed him, should the testing fail to achieve results after a predetermined length of time.’

He was standing in a room that was calm, softly lit, barren of decor, and, save for a leather couch and a hard-backed chair, devoid of furnishings. The walls were an impersonal buff, which lent an added dimension to the somewhat limited space.

‘There is no special reason why I was selected to start the testing. It was a purely arbitrary decision and in no way is meant to imply that I am either better qualified or mote experienced in hypnotic techniques than my colleagues.’

He stood by the chair in the centre of the windowless examination room and seemed to address his own image reflected in a rectangular mirror constituting an entire wall. He knew, however, that he was not talking to himself, but to a tightly packed group of people who were exercising their legal right and mandate to watch him and listen to him from the other side of the looking glass.

‘You have all received personal and professional data sheets on each member of the examining team which should amply acquaint you with our medical backgrounds and credentials. If further information is required, we will be happy to furnish it at the conclusion of the test.’

He knew that his voice was reaching the principals in this trial through a speaker and that they were probably totally absorbed in what he was saying, displaying neither the restlessness nor the lassitude his lectures ordinarily evoked in his students at the university. But even if there were some shifting about, some clearing of throats and coughing, he would not be aware of it since, like the one-way glass, the room was additionally soundproofed to preserve further the myth of seclusion and privacy.

‘Before bringing in the subject of this test, I’d like to say a few words about what we are endeavouring to do here this morning. Hypnosis is neither mysterious nor uncommon and is in wide use today among psychiatrists as a therapeutic means of alleviating the symptoms of certain mental disorders. “Hypnosis is the term applied to a state of heightened suggestibility induced by another person.’

He was also aware that his image, as well as his voice, was being transmitted to the recreation hall on the third floor via a small innocuous TV camera implanted in the upper part of the room above the mirror. Having earlier assessed the rec hall, he knew that more than a hundred people, some from distant parts of the world, were at this very moment hunched over their pads committing his every word to paper.

‘Before bringing the subject in, I’d like to add a few words about hypnotic age regression and the level of trance that will be necessary to induce a vivid flow of memories from her earlier life.’

Nineteen people were crammed into a space designed to hold ten. The jury had been given the best seats and were crushed together against the glass, with Judge Langley nestled ceremoniously in their midst. The DA and the defence attorney had the dubious pleasure of sharing a bench in the upper left quarter of the cubicle, directly behind the court reporter, whose steno machine and table took up the space of a person. Hoover, with guard in attendance, sat directly in front of Bill - a proximity that was more than disconcerting to him.

‘And after the subject is sufficiently relaxed and reassured that nothing harmful will occur to her, I will use …’

Janice had excluded herself from the ringside proceedings, electing to join the reporters in the rec hall instead. Her decision, Bill reflected with the same hopeless repetition of grief he felt whenever Janice entered his thoughts now, was clearly motivated by her need to avoid him. She had been successful at doing so ever since he had arrived at the hospital earlier that morning.

‘… and once I have determined that the suggestions are working, I will test her to ascertain the depth of her trance. Once that has been satisfactorily established, I will commence to regress her into her past life.’

He should have got to the hospital sooner, Bill knew, but when he had learned from Dominick that Miz Templeton had left in a cab with a heavy suitcase, all he could think about was tying one on. It was a bruising beaut that left him limp and trembling and with a terrifying headache that wouldn’t quit. Even now he felt as if a shaft of hot steel were running through his head from the left ear to the right.

‘Oftentime the regression will release a flow of free associations that frequently arouse memories of early emotional events of a traumatic nature. The subject may express feelings of pain or profound melancholy and may even cry out or display bizarre personality changes. I will attempt to keep her away from these painful moments, but understand, this is normal and to be expected in age regression and will not prove harmful or injurious to the child in any permanent way. Also, I will be able to awaken her and bring her out of trance at any point I wish.’ He could have called Janice, Bill thought. Evert drunk, he could have at least done that. Displayed some small vestige of parental concern. It had occurred to him of course, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to a telephone. He knew the things she’d say, which was more than he could face.

‘What we are attempting this morning is unique in the annals of psychiatry. To regress a subject to a time of early infancy and, even beyond that, to a prenatal period, while it has been achieved in experimental studies, is certainly uncommon enough, but to attempt to take a subject beyond a present life into a former lifetime has never, to my knowledge, fallen within the purview of serious psychiatric inquiry.’

They had talked, briefly, in the hospital cafeteria earlier. The place was packed with reporters, and a carnival atmosphere prevailed. He saw her sitting at a table, alone, drinking coffee. When she saw him, she rose and hurried to leave. He had intercepted her at the door and had said, ‘Janice, trust me for once, I know what I’m doing.’ She had seemed so tired, beaten, her face drawn and empty, her gaze averted from his. ‘No, you don’t,’ she had replied in a helpless voice, bereft of hope or accusation. ‘But even if you did, it wouldn’t matter. It really wouldn’t matter.’

‘In agreeing to conduct this test, I do so with no pretence of a belief or faith in its ultimate success. I am here at the behest of a government agency to perform a function I have been trained and am licensed to perform.’

Bill’s clothing clung to his -skin. The room was like a pressure cooker. Why was the garrulous old bastard going on so? Why couldn’t he shut up and get the damn show on the road - get the damn thing over with?

‘An hour ago I met with the defendant, Mr Hoover. He has told me five facts about his daughter’s life. Details of events of a special, intimate nature that made a memorable impression on Audrey Rose and that are known only to Mr Hoover, myself, and my colleagues. If we indeed achieve our purpose here this morning, I will ask the subject to recall these events. Her ability to do so, or not to do so, might well prove conclusive.’

It would be over - soon. Soon the issue would be settled -once and for all. Soon they’d all be together again. And once it was over and behind them, they’d find their way back to each other. There would be a distance, a strain for a time, but in the end there’d be forgiveness. Their love would help Janice stretch to forgiveness - in time.

‘I will now bring in the subject.’

All was silent in the recreation hall, as more than a hundred pairs of eyes unblinkingly fixed on one of three strategically placed television monitors, each purveying the same angle of Dr Lipscomb as he walked to the examining-room door and opened it to admit Ivy.

The contact between eyes and screens was palpable, like a high-tension electrical current, Janice thought, fighting to concentrate on the technical aspects of the test. She had conditioned her mind to accept the test as the next inevitable step in a progression that was unstoppable. She would not cry, she had counselled herself. Tears would serve no purpose now, would be of no use to Ivy or to herself. It was too late for tears. But the sight of Ivy on the screen, entering the room and allowing the doctor to lead her by the hand to the couch, so shy, so trusting, so vulnerable, caused Janice to catch her breath. For an instant, she feared panic would overwhelm her, and she had to struggle to suppress it.

Ivy’s lovely blond hair had been bobbed to a feather cut by Janice, and her facial skin still bore the high colour of her recent injury, and yet, even over the coarse black and white transmission which reduced everything to indiscriminate shades of grey, her beauty remained undiminished.

Sitting back comfortably on the couch with one foot tucked up under her, Ivy betrayed no nervousness and seemed in total control of herself.

‘Relax, Ivy,’ Dr Lipscomb said in a softly insinuating monotone. ‘Relax and allow every muscle in your body to become limp and loose. As we discussed the other day, you will not be harmed in any way, but simply feel very tired, very tired, so tired that you will wish to fall asleep for a while. Nothing harmful, nothing bad is going to happen to you. You will not mind falling asleep for a while, for soon you will begin to feel so tired, so tired that you will not mind falling asleep. Will you mind falling asleep, Ivy?’

‘No, it’s all right,’ Ivy replied, wide awake. ‘I won’t mind.’ No, Ivy wouldn’t mind, Janice thought. Although the psychiatrists in all their smug wisdom thought her a child and easily deceived, Ivy had quickly fathomed the purpose of the test and had confided it to Janice.

‘They want to hypnotize me to find out if Audrey Rose is making me do all those crazy things.’

‘You don’t have to go through with it,’ Janice had told her. ‘Nobody can be hypnotized against her will.’

‘But I want to,’ she had replied with eyes grave and anxious. ‘I have to know what’s wrong with me. I can’t stand being the way I am.’

It was truly amazing, Janice had thought, how Ivy too had become a willing part of Audrey Rose’s conspiracy. First, Scott Velie, then Bill, then Hoover, then Judge Langley, and now the victim herself, all being whipped into a unity of purpose by a force incomprehensible to them. Was it possible that only she, Janice, knew what was going on, that only she had divined the meaning and intent behind Audrey Rose’s latest ploy?

It surely seemed so. At every turn Janice had been rebuffed.