7
"That was embarrassing," Proctor said softly, standing in the sitting room, staring at the bookshelf he'd been tossed against.
Constance stood at his side, equally bewildered, but adamant not to show it. "There is a reasonable explanation, of course."
"I know she threw me against those shelves. I know I stacked the fallen books on the floor there and there last night before turning in."
"She…is able to manipulate our minds."
"She's dumb as a doornail," he blurted, then apologized for his language.
"I do not believe she is as unaware as Aloysius thinks. If anything, I believe her to be somewhat canny. Her flaw is being unable to articulate herself in any normal manner, but I believe she comprehends extremely well."
He swung an arm toward the bookcase. "So…this was what, hypnosis?"
"Some form," she admitted thoughtfully. "Obviously you did not damage the shelving nor disturb any books, and there exists the possibility that you were never actually thrown that far at all."
"Oh, I remember it," he said, reaching back to press a hand over one of his kidneys.
"Are you bruised?"
He said, "Not a bit. I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror for quite some time, and there is not a mark on me, and not a bit of me aches." He saw the reaction in her eyes. "But I distinctly remember what it felt like…the pain."
She said, "When I encountered them in the gym, Aloysius attempted to break open a solid wood practice sword in order to prove that there was a blade within it."
"I saw it all. It's recorded," he said.
"But there was no blade. It was solid wood as it had been all along."
"Okay. You might be able to hypnotize a bunch of people without their knowing it and make them believe whatever you want them to, but how do you explain the footage? Why do I still see the gleam of a blade? I easily saw her pull that practice sword into two pieces and discard half like it was a scabbard. I can still see it if I play it back!"
"Because whatever tricks she used remain in place. Whether it is movement, sound, there is some trigger that allows her to fool us, and it was recorded as well."
He inhaled deeply, his eyebrows rising, and then he shook his head. "Then we go back to considering her potentially dangerous again."
"I never stopped," she said.
"The phone rang earlier," he mentioned. "The doctor says Tristram can come home."
"They are releasing him? Aloysius will want to pick him up himself."
The man looked at his watch. "He's been out six hours. That's more than he usually sleeps."
"I'm certain he is well-rested," she agreed. "I shall summon him."
The woman left the sitting room, her mind still turning over the notion that Amanda was able to somehow force hallucinations upon them all. There was her strangely tingly touch…which of course would not transmit over a digital surveillance feed. She climbed the stairs quietly, perturbed. Who would train or create a weapon in the form of a teenaged girl? Was she meant to infiltrate schools or shopping malls or wherever it was that children her age tended to gather these days? She'd stand out at a military base, or any other place inhabited almost entirely by grown adults. What could her true purpose be? His door was ajar, which was odd. Constance tapped very lightly as she pushed the door farther open before allowing herself a quick peek within. Aloysius was out cold, appearing to have fallen onto the mattress face-first but with his head turned toward her, mouth agape, still in the suit he had donned after his martial arts experiments as though he could not function in any other uniform. She couldn't help but smile. It was exceedingly rare to catch him in moments of such honest and innocent disarray. He reminded her of a cat in that should he discover himself even mildly compromised, it was his tendency to repair his reputation immediately and behave as though the unfortunate moment had never occurred.
Then he shifted and, to her grand dismay, she clearly saw that he was not alone.
Constance moved with utmost grace and silence closer to the bed. Pressed up against his side lay the teenager she had locked in the basement. Fortunately, she appeared to have drawn her borrowed robe back on, although it did little to conceal the fact she was nude beneath it. Horrified, the woman remained in place, her eyes huge. The lean, pale man breathed slowly and evenly, his head turned away from his guest. The teen appeared to have snuggled up against him for warmth and was not spooning his side at least.
But it was so unsettling!
Shielding her eyes, she hurried from the room and pulled the door over, deciding it needed to latch shut. Then she stood just outside, her forehead almost in contact with the wood, her heart beating rapidly, the hallways seeming cold. Finally looking up, Constance took a deep breath and blinked. Hesitating for only a moment, she lifted a fist and gave the door a single sharp rap, then waited.
There was a sound of movement followed by a sharp syllable of unpleasant surprise. The corners of her mouth turned upward ever so little with pleasure. She heard a question, a faint response, and then she knocked softly, but firmly, twice and asked, "Aloysius? Are you presentable?"
"Presentable?" she heard from within the room, the word spoken as though it had tasted foul. "Have I visitors?"
"Proctor took a call for you. The doctor says you may pick Tristram up and bring him home."
"Patience," she heard him spit, followed by the sound of heavy footfalls. The door popped open abruptly and the teenager was propelled across the threshold by one shoulder. "Take this and entertain her or something! Find her some clothes!" He slammed the door, and the woman smiled primly, her eyes glittering with merriment.
"Come with me, Amanda. I may have something that will fit you." And with that, Constance led the plucky girl farther down the hall.
Pendergast failed to comment on his guest's appearance when he finally appeared, clean-shaven, hair neatly in place, attire pristine. "Twenty minutes?" he asked Proctor, who was readying one of the automobiles. "I will not be gone long," he said. "Please prepare a room for her and try and keep her in it for me?"
Constance had hoped for a compliment on the job she had done dressing the girl and drawing her luxuriant black hair back in a broad, pale ribbon. Actually, she was still baffled by the fact that they were not the same size, and yet everything she had given her to don fit as though made for her—including the shoes.
He bent to address Amanda, "I need you to remain here until my return and to follow every command Constance gives, is that clear?"
The teen nodded.
The woman asked, "Do you think it's safe to bring him here? Now?"
He sighed. "Tristram will have to grow accustomed to our lifestyle. The reason I allowed the doctor to keep him for so long for observation was to help him understand that I, personally, will not always be about when he needs me, but I will ensure that someone trustworthy will be. He needs to learn discipline and the nature of my work."
She cast her eyes Amanda's way and mentioned, "This seems a bit above and beyond anything reasonable, don't you think?"
His eyes narrowed tiredly. "While always welcome, reason does not always play into every scenario…at least, not where my life has been concerned."
She offered a brave smile.
Pendergast paused to gaze into the depths of her large brown eyes, then lightly touched the curve of her jaw with a forefinger before departing.
Constance glanced toward her charge, wondering if the girl would be jealous, but she appeared consumed with boredom, which somehow made her all the more appealing in the sporty little outfit she wore; an eggshell blouse with three-quarter sleeves and a square-cut neck, a high-waisted coffee with cream skirt that fell just past her kneecaps, pale stockings, and simple flats that matched the color of the skirt. She looked a lot like any high-faluting schoolgirl, primped and preened and ready for a road trip with her family…if she existed with them sometime around 1910.
They watched the door close, and then Constance turned with a small sigh. "Would you care to play a game? I know several card games, backgammon, checkers and chess…?" she trailed off, suddenly wondering if the suggestion of chess had been heartless of her considering their guest's mental state.
Amanda stared at the door, looking displeased. Eventually she sighed. "TV?"
"We do not have a television in the house, but there is always music and a radio in the kitchen."
"Video games?"
The woman smiled and shook her head. "I could set up a badminton net in the gym, or perhaps we could play a version of croquet indoors?"
Amanda's face displayed her confusion. "Don't know these…big words."
"Would you like to learn?"
She shrugged.
"Now, what have we told you about that?"
"Sorry."
"I am sorry," Constance corrected her gently.
"'sokay," the girl replied, offering her a sympathetic grin.