Malice (25 page)

Lysander’s face was burning. “You motherfucker! You started this. You set this crazy fucker off like a ticking time bomb, and now he’s after me.”

Avery laughed. “No, Lysander. It wasn’t me who started this, it was you.”

Lysander frowned, feeling suddenly numb from the neck down. He swallowed hard, his eyes blinking stupidly. He shook his head.

“After McMurphy and then Sheila Crow,” Avery went on, “I believed it
was
me. I thought I had spun things out of control. All these years carrying around the guilt. Do you have any idea what that kind of guilt does to a man my age? You should see my medicine cabinet.” His fingers played with a pleat in the leather chair. “Not until that day I had you in my office did I realize it wasn’t me. Some horrible little voice inside me said: Thank God! Thank God, Jack, ‘cause now you’re free. A free man.” The muscles in his face seemed to settle all at once. “No, Lysander, you started this, a long, long time ago, and now it’s come full circle.”

Lysander stepped back and his heel hit the trash can, making a hollow sound. He wobbled and caught the edge of the desk. His other hand went to his temple. It was throbbing wildly. “But how?” he asked. “I don’t understand.”

“You know, Small said the same thing.” Avery pointed at the chair in front of him. “I’ll show you.”

The induction took some time. Lysander’s mind was a churning mess as he sank into the soft leather chair, and he had to let all that go enough to fall into a suitable state. Avery brought him deeper and deeper. Finally, when Lysander relaxed, the room settled into a dull haze. His body felt heavy and distant.

The Wellman was back. Lysander could see him up ahead, pail in hand—a twin brother in almost every respect. He stood before the deep reservoir of everything Lysander had ever known, ready now to pull up whatever was asked for. First, Avery brought Lysander to his youth, then to the security of his mother’s womb and finally back to that other life.

“You will no longer be a detached observer as you were before. You are a participant now and you will report to me exactly what you see.”

Lysander nodded sluggishly.

“Tell me your name.”

“Parris Locke.”

“Where are you?”

“I am on a hill overlooking town.”

“What town?”

He laughed incredulously. “Millingham, of course. Where else?”

“Go on.”

“I am with Anna. The tanner’s daughter.” Lysander snickered, and his voice had become deeper. “She is below me socially. She thinks we will marry. I have told her we will, but I know my family would never allow it. They have already picked out my wife. She is the governor’s youngest daughter. She is round and uncouth, but at least she is my equal.”

“The girl you are with now, the tanner’s daughter. Do you recognize her from your current life?”

There was a slight hesitation. “Yes. It…it is Samantha.”

“Move forward to the next major event in your life. Tell me what you see.”

Lysander stiffened in his chair. “I am Millingham’s head selectman. My job is to maintain order and report to the governor on the state of the town.”

“And how are you faring in your new role?”

A long pause, then, “Not well. There is drinking and unlawfulness. Many prefer gambling in the taverns to attending mass.”

“So what effect does this have on you?”

“The governor is unhappy. If the people are not following God’s laws, they are easy prey for the Devil. The very existence of the colony depends on it. The governor has threatened to remove me unless I can regain some measure of control.”

“Did you marry the tanner’s daughter?”

His shoulders drooped. “No. I married Governor Winthrop’s daughter, that ungrateful wench. And she knows I did it only to become governor one day myself.”

“Tell me, who is Governor Winthrop’s daughter in your life now?”

“Summer.”

“And what became of the tanner’s daughter?”

“She married Hugh Parsons. I think she too is unhappy.” Lysander’s face grew pained. “There are rumors that he beats her.”

“How does this news make you feel?”

“I should have listened to my heart. I know that now.”

“Sounds like you’ve gained some perspective from the experience. What did you do with this new wisdom? Did you try and win her back?”

“How can I? She’s married now!”

“Let’s go back to the governor. How is it you intend to please him?”

“I am not sure. But I must find a way of frightening the people into obeying me. Into obeying God.”

“Move to the moment when something important happens. Tell me what you see?”

“A crowd has gathered to hear the sentence. I sit at the head of the town council.”

“Sentencing for what?”

“Witchcraft. A young woman, Rebecca Goodman. She is a healer who lives on the edge of town. It is said that her look can kill. All those she has treated have died. Even in her jail cell apparitions of children are said to have conversed with her and then fled through walls of solid stone.”

“Do you believe this?”

There is reluctance in Lysander’s voice when he speaks. “No. But it has united the town in a way I had never foreseen. This woman is innocent, but it is the perfect opportunity to show the governor that I am able to rule with law and order.”

“If this woman is innocent then how can you sentence her?”

“She has confessed.”

“Confessed? Why?”

There was a long pause and Avery wondered whether Lysander would answer the question.

“Several were accused,” he said finally. “She was the only one who confessed.”

“Was she tortured?”

“Of course.”

“How?”

“A burning poker was inserted into her eyes and her wrists were slashed. Not enough to kill, just enough to weaken her resistance.”

“Apart from Rebecca Goodman, how many others were accused?”

“Four.”

“Those others, do you recognize any of them from your current life?”

A long pause, then, “Yes.”

“Who are they?”

“Sheriff Crow, Glenn Shore, Deputy Morgan. Pearl Shore.”

“Pearl?”

“She is my grandmother now. She was the witch’s mother then and her attempts to save her daughter drew the suspicions of the council.”

Avery sighed heavily. “Did you burn the eyes out of these four?”

“There was no need. Rebecca seemed in my judgment the most likely to confess.”

“Confess to something she was innocent of.”

“Yes.” The look of guilt on Lysander’s face was unmistakable. “I did not create this mess. It was brought to me.”

“But you knew she was innocent and still you continued. You tortured her!”

“It wasn’t me.” There was pleading in Lysander’s voice.

“Who then?”

“Another member of the council did it.”

“Who are they in this life?”

“Peter Hume.”

Avery fell back into his chair. His head was reeling.

“Events were all happening so fast,” Lysander was saying. “I hoped she would be left in jail for a while, until tempers cooled, but the entire town was clamoring for blood. They’re animals. Even the council wouldn’t listen to reason. I was in charge and they looked to me for action. If I had backed down, my career would have been finished.”

Avery laid his clipboard down. “Go to the time when Rebecca Goodman is executed. What do you see?”

“I am sitting at the head of the council. There are five of us. We have convened and rendered our decision. Rebecca Goodman will be burnt before us. The announcement is a formality however. Already the pit and stake have been erected. Things had gone too far. Someone had to die. The town would have accepted nothing less.”

“And you didn’t try to call it off.”

“I did.” A dispirited look suffused Lysander’s face. “I tried, believe me, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“Describe what you see.”

“Rebecca is led out in a cart. People are pelting her with rotten food. She looks very weak. In my heart I hope this will all be over soon, but I must not show it. I must remain stoic and confident in the decision. Her forehead bears the mark of the condemned. The all-seeing eye. After she is tied to the stake I signal to the guards, who light the brush beneath her. Black smoke begins to rise, swirling around her like a shroud. I can see her body contorting, trying to escape the flames. It’s horrible. She is screaming. Aha, look! Do you see? Some are turning away. They are not so bloodthirsty anymore, are they? The flames rise high into the air. She seems to waver and then falls limp. Only the cords hold her to the stake now. There is relief that this horrible business is over.” Lysander’s body stiffened, his hands clawing the seat, as though he were trying to get away.

“What is it? What do you see?”

“She is still alive. She was dead but now she is…this is not possible…She is glaring at us. She has no eyes, but she is glaring nevertheless.”

“Glaring at who?”

“Us. The council. How is it she is not dead? She is saying something. A curse. But we cannot make it out. Now she is looking directly at me, and there is such hatred in her blackened face. I cannot look away. The smell of burning flesh is all around us. Like cooked swine. I can feel her anger, growing. I can almost see it spiraling around and above her. It was not supposed to turn out this way. Not like this. What have I done?” Lysander’s head jerked violently as though something had hit him in the face. His hands flew up over his eyes.

“What is happening?”

“Blood. Everywhere. Spraying out. My eyes…Oh God, they’re burning.”

A full minute passed. Avery was growing concerned the session was beginning to spiral out of control. Any more and he would have to end it. “Tell me what you see now?”

“The flames envelope her until there is nothing more to see. She is gone at last.”

Avery could see thick droplets of sweat beading on Lysander’s forehead. His clipboard was on the desk and he picked it up now. Flipping through his notes, he spotted a discrepancy with the sessions he had given Reverend Small all those years ago. The reverend had mentioned only four council members, not five. After a few moments, he asked. “What are the names of the council members?”

“Parris Locke, John Endicott, Richard Bellingham, William Hibbins, Simon Bradstreet.”

“Do you know any council members in your current life?”

“Yes.”

“Who are they?”

“James McMurphy, Diane Crow.”

A long pause.

“Peter Hume.”

Avery glanced up from his notes. “Yes, that makes four. Who’s the fifth, then?”

Silence.

“If you need a few moments—”

“Jack Avery.”

Were Lysander fully in the here and now, he would have seen that Avery’s face had become the color of curdled milk. He shuffled uncomfortably in his chair, overcome with a sudden coughing fit. The door to his office swung gently open as though a subtle gust of wind had caught hold of it and bent it to its mindless will. Even when part of Lysander realized that no wind had opened that door, that someone had entered the room, that Avery was scrambling out of his chair, still he couldn’t move. The only way out of his hypnosis, Avery had told him during that first session, was to fall asleep, and when he woke up again, he’d feel like a million bucks.

He heard the sound of shuffling feet and then a swooshing sound as though a racquet had been swung through the air with great speed. A gurgling came next and the sound of something thudding heavily against the floor.

Now, someone was walking, no, limping, toward him. Although the lids of his eyes were firmly closed, he didn’t need to see to know exactly who it was. He could hear him pulling something out of his pocket. Then the metallic snap as the top of a lighter was flipped back. A flame was billowing before him. He could feel a displaced patch of warm air tickling the front of his eyelids, swirling about as it rushed to escape the heat of the flame. Then a rough hand touched his face and pulled his left lid up over his eye. The reverend’s gleeful face wavered in the semidarkness, orange in the flame’s glow. He reached behind his ear and freed a cigarette tucked behind a patch of thinning gray hair. He clamped it between chapped lips and held the flame up to the end until it glowed red in the darkness. Then he held the glowing ember up to Lysander’s eye.

“The book of Revelation,” the reverend said. “Recite it for me.”

Lysander remained silent. His body was still so tightly held in that hypnotic trance that he couldn’t have moved even if he’d wanted to. The cigarette inched toward his eye, so close now that it dried the thin layer of moisture surrounding his cornea. Sweat poured down Lysander’s brow. The reverend giggled and pulled the cigarette away.

“Time to go night-night,” he said. He flicked the lighter again and held the flame by Lysander’s eye, the lid still propped open by the long nails of Small’s right hand.