Tell Me, Pretty Maiden (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #7)

“I’m afraid not. I call her Mary because I have to call her something.”


He nodded, then pulled up a chair beside the bed. “Mary, you and I are going to have a little chat.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” I said, but the girl reached over and grabbed my hand, holding me as if she were lost in an ocean and I was her lifeline.

“All right. I’ll stay. Nothing bad is going to happen to you,” I said. I sat at the bottom of the bed where she could see me. I glanced up at the doctor. “It’s so hard when we don’t know if she can understand us.”

“Mary,” Dr. Birnbaum said quietly. “Blink your eyes if you hear me and understand me.”

The eyes sort of twitched, but you couldn’t call it a proper blink.

“I take that as a confirmation,” Dr. Birnbaum said. “But you observed that she was trying not to blink. It may be that her conscious mind is attempting to block all communication with other people. If only I can succeed in hypnotizing her, I am sure some of these layers of resistance will fall away.” He reached into his pocket and took out his watch, which he then dangled in front of Mary’s face. “It’s a pretty thing, isn’t it, my dear?” he said. “And listen. It has a charming tone to it.” He pressed a knob on the side and the watch immediately struck ten with a sweet, bell-like sound. Mary almost smiled.

“Now, young lady. I want you to keep your eyes on my pretty watch. Keep looking at it as it goes back and forth, back and forth.” He started to swing the watch gently in front of her face, all the while talking in a soft, monotonous voice. “Your eyes are getting heavy. You are falling asleep.”

I don’t know how well it was working on Mary, but I found myself drifting off. I shook myself awake with a jerk. Mary appeared to be lying there peacefully with her eyes closed.

“Can you tell us your real name?” he asked.

Silence. Her lips tried to mumble something but no sound came out.

“And where do you come from? Tell me about your home. Is your mother there? Your father?”

It seemed a spasm of pain crossed her face.

“Does she understand you, do you think?” I whispered.

Birnbaum held up a warning finger to me.

“Your parents are no longer with us, I suspect. So who looks after you now? With whom do you live? I want you to picture yourself at home, my dear. See your room. Your bed. Now the kitchen. Food on the table. Good food.” Dr. Birnbaum talked on. She lay there, not resisting but not answering, either. It was impossible to tell whether she understood him or not but definitely the tone of his voice was getting to her. “That night, my little one. Something happened to you that night. Where are you? Take yourself back. You go out in your pretty dress and shoes. Were you wearing a cape? It was cold. You are expecting a nice evening, a party, a theater—but something happens. Something goes wrong. Somebody comes.”

I saw her suddenly go rigid. Then her hands came up in front of her, jerking like puppet arms. She was fighting to push somebody or something away. Those horrible animal noises came out of her mouth.

“Who is it?” Dr. Birnbaum demanded. “Who do you see? What are they doing to you?”

Then through her torment I thought I heard a word. It was part of a tiny childish cry, a small whimpered word amid the moans, but I could have sworn she said “Annie.”

“Annie?” I asked, forgetting that it was Dr. Birnbaum who had her under his spell. “Is that your name? Annie?”

The thrashing became so intense and the moans so piteous that Dr. Birnbaum put his hand firmly on her shoulder. “When I count to three and snap my fingers you will wake up. One. Two. Three.”

He snapped his fingers. The moans stopped as if they had been switched off and she opened her eyes, looking confused.

“Annie?” Dr. Birnbaum asked gently. “Is that your name? Annie?”

But her face registered no recognition.

“That is enough for the first time, I think,” he said.

“So she understood you?”

“That I can’t tell yet,” Dr. Birnbaum said. “But the tone of my voice certainly opened her subconscious mind and unlocked the terrible event for a moment. As you saw, what happened to her is too terrible for her to confront, even in her memories. I cannot think what it could be. We must approach it cautiously or it may drive her over the edge forever.”