Incarnate Read online

  Kim arrived at the Hascalls’ address, a nicely maintained trilevel with a big pot of geraniums out front. As she walked up the front steps, she heard shouting coming from the upstairs window.

  “Stop it! Stop it!”

  Kim couldn’t tell if it was Scarlett’s voice. She knocked on the door, but no one answered. Twisting the knob and finding it unlocked, Kim let herself into the house, heart pounding.

  Inside, the voice was louder, accompanied by grunts and the sound of something thumping against a wall. Kim took the stairs two at a time, reaching the upper floor in time to see two girls struggling, through the open door of a bedroom. Scarlett was standing on a twin bed made up with a lime-green comforter, holding a doll high in the air while she tried to cut its head off with a pair of kitchen shears.

  “Stop it, you crazy bitch!” the other girl yelled, making ineffective swipes at the doll. Scarlett jabbed at her with the scissors, narrowly missing stabbing her in the arm, and then returned her focus to the doll. She sliced through its neck, the head landing on the bedspread, where two other headless dolls lay, their plump stuffed bodies dressed in frilly costumes.

  The other girl bent down and picked up one of the severed heads from the floor, sobbing and yelling. She was beautiful, dressed in a Jarvis High Cheer sweatshirt, with long, glossy straight hair and lovely features. Scarlett’s younger sister, no doubt. Catching sight of Kim, she implored, “Please, make her stop!”

  A man came running into the room, shoving Kim aside. He was wearing enormous leather gloves that came up over his forearms. He clambered onto the bed and grabbed Scarlett from behind. She let out a guttural shriek and stabbed at him, but the force of the blow was blunted by the thick leather. The man wrestled her down, grabbing the scissors as she toppled onto the floor, where she lay breathing heavily. Abruptly, Scarlett’s demeanor changed. She went limp and then seemed to come to her senses, looking around the room in confusion and then dismay. Her features settled into despair, and she curled up into a fetal position.

  “Oh, hell,” the man said. He knelt beside Scarlett, removing the gloves and tossing them on the floor, and cautiously patted her shoulder. She pulled away from him, curling up more tightly. “Oh, Scarlett. Sweetheart.”

  “Daddy, she got all of them!” the younger girl wailed, and he got to his feet, obviously torn between his two daughters.

  “I’m sorry, honey girl,” he said, gathering Scarlett’s sister into his arms. “I had to get the gloves or she could have hurt us.” He surveyed the carnage of the ruined dolls, a dozen heads littering the floor. “I’ll buy you new dolls, I promise. I’ll replace them.”

  “You can’t! Those were from Mom. Scarlett wrecks everything.”

  “Who the hell are you?” the man said, just now registering Kim’s presence.

  “I’m Scarlett’s doctor.”

  He grimaced. “Dr. Patterson? From the hospital? Obviously you’re not making much progress with my daughter.”

  “I’m doing my best, Mr. Hascall,” Kim said, kneeling to examine Scarlett, who was lying still with her eyes closed. “What happened?”

  “My sister’s crazy, that’s what happened,” the girl said. “She’s gone full-blown bunny-boiling psycho!”

  “This is my younger daughter, Heather,” Mr. Hascall said. “I don’t know why Scarlett would . . .” His voice trailed off as he shook his head in dismay. “I mean, it’s never been this bad before. I’ve never thought she’d actually hurt us.”

  “She wasn’t trying to hurt me, Dad,” Heather groaned. Kim’s heart went out to her. Like so many siblings of mentally ill adolescents, Heather’s feelings were probably deeply divided between loyalty and love for her sister and the longing for a “normal” life.

  “Kim?” Scarlett mumbled, trying to sit up, blinking and running her hand through her tangled hair. “What are you doing here?”

  “I believe one of your alters took over just now,” Kim said as calmly as she could, trying to inject a note of clinical detachment into the situation. “What do you remember?”

  “I was— I was brushing my teeth. Oh, shit. Shit.” She picked up one of the doll heads, and her eyes went shiny with tears. “Did I do this? Oh, Heather, I’m so sorry, I’ll—”

  “Forget it!” Heather yelled, and ran out of the room. A few seconds later the front door slammed.

  “She’ll be all right,” Mr. Hascall said heavily, helping Scarlett stand up. He gave her an awkward hug. “I’ll clean this up, honey.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” Scarlett said in a small voice, holding back tears. “I would never . . .”

  “I know you don’t mean it, honey. Why don’t you two go on downstairs? There’s still some coffee left, maybe you can fix a cup for Dr. Patterson.”

  “You can call me Kim.” She looked around the room at the massacre, the headless dolls in their satin and lace. The violent episode could be explained by psychosis or another disorder, but the way that Scarlett had reacted when her father restrained her—as though a switch had been struck, instantly restoring her to normalcy—didn’t line up. Unless it had been the behavior of an alter who retreated when challenged. It was the only theory that made sense, Kyle be damned. “Mr. Hascall, could I speak to you for just a moment?”

  “That okay with you, honey?” Mr. Hascall asked his daughter. She shrugged morosely and headed down the stairs.

  Once she was out of the room, Hascall’s expression changed from anguished concern to hardened anger.

  “Before you say anything, Doc, I want to make one thing perfectly clear. My daughters have been through hell. Both of them.”

  “I understand that. I know you want the best for Scarlett, and it must have been really frustrating not to receive a consistent diagnosis all this time.”

  “You have no idea,” Hascall muttered. “I wouldn’t wish what our family has been through on my worst enemy.”

  “I assure you, I’m committed to doing my best for Scarlett,” Kim said.

  “Yeah?” Anger flashed in the man’s exhausted eyes. “How you gonna do that? Forgive my skepticism, but you barely look old enough to have a medical degree. What makes you think you can make a difference when people with a lot more experience than you haven’t been able to do a damn thing?”

  Kim cast about for the words that might convince him. “I have— I really care about Scarlett,” she finished lamely, earning a bark of derision.

  “Well, it’s just great that you care. But caring hasn’t kept my daughter from getting suspended from school or kicked out of her extracurricular activities. It hasn’t kept the neighbors from crossing the street when they see us coming. What we don’t need is more false hope, because let me tell you, it’s killing us.” His voice broke with emotion, and he cleared his throat angrily. “So unless you really think you can make a difference—you can pack up your caring and concerned bullshit routine and get the hell out of my house.”

  Kim started to speak, then merely nodded. “I know this has to be hard on all of you,” she said quietly. “But I have some ideas that are . . . that may not have been tried before. I just need you to give me a chance.”

  She held her breath for a long moment while Hascall seemed to deliberate with himself. Finally, he turned and stalked out of the room. “You’ve got one shot,” he muttered over his shoulder.

  Downstairs, Scarlett had set out mugs of coffee along with a pitcher of milk and a sugar bowl. They took their places around a scarred, but clean, oak table. Keenly aware of Scarlett’s father’s distrust, Kim launched directly into the speech she’d worked up on the way over.

  “As I told you when we spoke on the phone a couple of days ago, I believe that Scarlett may have a condition called dissociative identity disorder. I didn’t give you a full explanation of the condition then, and I would like to do so now.”

  Hascall gave her a terse nod.

  “Sometimes, DID sufferers . . . they can find themselves at the mercy of one, or even several, alternate personalities, or
‘alters.’ You can think of these alters as fuses in a breaker box. When things in the mind get too difficult to process . . . pop, the mind blows a fuse to make life easier to handle. It’s a protective response, really, not so different from many other things the body does when presented with a threat. We instinctively close our eyes when looking at the sun, for instance, or pull away from a burning flame. Only in this case, it’s the mind that reacts to protect itself.”

  Scarlett dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I don’t care what it is—I just need this crazy to stop!”

  “You’re not crazy, Scarlett,” Kim said gently. “It’s actually an extraordinarily effective response. Listen, the attack at the Burger Barn? What happened just now with the dolls? You just—blew a fuse.”

  “Great,” Scarlett barked, dropping the wadded tissue on the table and reaching for another one. “So whenever I get stressed-out, I go ballistic? I can’t live like this.”

  “You don’t have to,” Kim reassured her. “The better we understand your alters, the better you’ll be able to control them.”

  “You don’t get it!” Scarlett snapped. “I’ve done therapy. I’ve taken my meds. They don’t work!”

  Hascall, his face contorted with anguish, took his daughter’s hand. She squeezed back hard. They shared a glance, a bit of Scarlett’s defiance and fury abating, as though he was absorbing it.

  Hascall turned to Kim. “I’m going to ask you again. What makes you better than the nine other doctors who promised to help my daughter?” he demanded.

  Kim’s heart broke for the gruff man in front of her who just wanted to help his daughter.

  “When I was a little younger than Scarlett,” she said quietly, “and . . . struggling, myself, hypnosis helped me. Although it’s against hospital policy,” she added quickly. She was walking a fine line, wanting to make it clear that she had to tread very, very carefully, or risk exposing the hospital to legal challenges and even lawsuits—and endangering her own career, as she had done once too often in the past. But at the same time, Kim couldn’t turn away from a chance to offer Scarlett real help. “Which doesn’t take away from the fact that it can be, in the right circumstances, very effective. That’s why I’m here now to talk to you, instead of waiting for our next appointment . . .”

  “Why is it against hospital policy?” Hascall asked. “I mean, is it even real? I don’t believe in hypnosis.”

  “That’s okay,” Kim said, with all the conviction she could muster. “I do.”

  Scarlett looked from her father to Kim. “If it’ll help, let’s just do it. Please.”

  * * *

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, SCARLETT was lying on the sofa in the darkened living room, the drapes pulled tight. Hascall had given his grudging permission before leaving for work, but not before a terse admonition that Kim had better watch her step. “My girls mean the world to me,” he’d muttered, and only the desperation in his eyes kept it from sounding like a threat. He’d wanted to stay behind, but his daughter had convinced him she’d be fine—and that he couldn’t miss more work. Kim could see how close this family was to coming apart, and it only made her more determined to get to the bottom of Scarlett’s condition. If the girl was faking the alters, hypnosis could expose the ruse.

  Kim had guided Scarlett through some standard relaxation exercises, and now Scarlett was breathing deeply, her eyes closed, her hands folded on her stomach.

  “In front of you is a dandelion,” Kim said softly. “A white one, full of tiny seeds. So many seeds it looks like a perfect white circle. As you watch, the breeze lifts a seed away . . . and then another . . .”

  She kept her volume soft and as steady as the flow of her words, employing a near monotone so as to lull Scarlett into ever-deeper relaxation.

  “As the seeds drift away, they slowly reveal something. A single letter. Then another. And another. As the breeze carries the seeds away, a word is finally clear enough to read and . . . that . . . word . . . is . . . sleep.”

  As Kim pronounced the final word, Scarlett’s head sank a little, and she gave a tiny sigh.

  “Scarlett,” Kim said calmly. “You find yourself in an empty room. It’s a safe place. Nothing can harm you here. There are several doors on the walls, and as you slowly turn, you can see that each one is closed. They won’t open without your invitation. There is no reason to be afraid. Can you nod, please, if you understand?”

  After a moment, Scarlett nodded faintly.

  “Good. Now, I’d like you to step away for a while so I can chat with the young lady I met before. Isabel. Izzi. When you’re ready, the door will open and Izzi will come through, and you can simply rest while I talk to her.”

  Scarlett moaned softly and shook her head, all the while her eyes remaining closed. Then, suddenly, her face twitched violently. She lifted her head, eyes flying open and scanning the room frantically before settling on Kim. She looked terrified.

  “Hi,” Kim said soothingly. “I’m Scarlett’s friend, Kim. Is that you, Isabel?”

  Scarlett’s lip trembled and she made a tiny mewling sound. It took her a couple of attempts before she could speak, her voice childlike and small.

  “Isabel isn’t here right now. I’m Henry.”

  “Nice to meet you, Henry,” Kim said, keeping the surprise out of her voice. “How old are you?”

  “I’m . . . five.”

  “Wow. Five years old. And you’re being very brave, aren’t you? Just like a grown-up.”

  Tears ran down “Henry’s” cheeks. “Grown-ups don’t get afraid,” he snuffled.

  “What are you afraid of, Henry?”

  “I’m afraid of the dark. It’s dark here. And cold.” Kim could see that Scarlett’s skin was breaking out in goose bumps, even though the air in the family room was warm and comfortable.

  “Where are you, Henry?”

  “In the spaceship. I can’t get out!”

  Scarlett started breathing more heavily, almost hyperventilating, rubbing her eyes with her fists. Kim cautiously reached for her, but when she touched Scarlett’s knee, her face suddenly turned cold and serious, the Henry alter vanishing instantly. Scarlett slapped Kim’s hand away, the contact hard and vicious.

  Kim forced a reassuring smile, withdrawing her hand. “And . . . what’s your name?”

  Scarlett’s face, contorting in sly anger, glared back. Kim had to resist recoiling from the sudden shift in her mien: her eyes were shadowed and suspicious, her lips curled in a scowl.

  “I’m Dr. Patterson,” she tried. “I’m a friend—”

  “You’re a liar. Like the others. Pushing scripts to keep that whiny bitch in her place.”

  Kim leaned in, moving slowly so as not to provoke the alter. “You seem angry . . . what is your name?”

  “Julian.”

  “Are you the one who cut the heads off those dolls, Julian? Did you hit Scarlett’s boss with the fry basket?”

  Scarlett laughed mirthlessly. “Well, it sure as shit wasn’t Scarlett, was it? Anyway, what are you going to do about it? I could kill her anytime I want—just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  Kim tamped down the anger building inside her and leaned in even closer. She needed to let him know that he couldn’t intimidate her. “Okay, Julian,” she said coldly, “listen to me right now. You don’t control Scarlett, because she’s stronger than you. Because you’re nothing without her. Do you understand me? So why don’t you go hide and let me talk to Isabel.”

  “You bitch, you’re nothing—” Julian’s words came out garbled, which seemed only to incense him further. “I am strong—”

  “Go away now,” Kim cut him off decisively. “I want to speak to Isabel. Now.”

  Scarlett’s face twitched again, and her body trembled, fear etched across her face. Her hands clawed at air as she twisted back and forth.

  “Isabel . . . ?” Kim tried. “Izzi?”

  “I—I can’t breathe.” Scarlett’s voice came out odd, almost as if she had liquid in
her lungs.

  “I’m here to help you.”

  “You . . . can’t . . . I’m . . . dead.”

  Kim wanted to recoil from the burbling, wet, unnatural sound of Scarlett’s voice, but she forced herself to look Izzi in Scarlett’s eyes.

  “You’re not dead . . . Julian, is that you again? Are you trying to scare me? Because you can’t. You aren’t Izzi. Come on, I know you’re not.”

  For a moment they were locked in a staring contest, Scarlett’s eyes cloudy and confused. Then, without warning, she shot out her hand and grabbed Kim’s cell phone off the coffee table. Startled, Kim allowed her to take it, curious to see what the alter would do.

  Scarlett stabbed at the screen with shaking fingers, gulping as though she couldn’t get enough air. Her fingertip brushed against the speaker icon, but instead of the sound of ringing, voice mail picked up immediately.

  “Hey!” The voice was bright and flirty. “It’s Izzi. Leave me a message. If you wanna buzz in my jeans.”

  “Julian, I know it’s you,” Kim said, keeping her tone firm to belie her own uncertainty. “You’re not going to scare me by impersonating Isabel Wilcox. Anybody could have found that number.”

  Scarlett’s breathing grew increasingly labored, a faint, rasping gurgle seeming to come from deep in her lungs, as she dialed a second number. It rang, once, twice, before a weary male voice answered:

  “Wilcox residence.”

  Scarlett gripped the phone tightly with both hands, shaking violently now. “Daddy . . . help . . . me.”

  “What?” The man’s voice roared through the phone. “Who is this? What the hell do you—”

  Kim snatched the phone out of the girl’s hands and hung up, then dropped the phone in horror. She stared at Scarlett, seeing her face rippling with emotion, her eyes rolling up in their sockets.

  “Come get me,” Scarlett moaned. “I’m in the bay . . .”

  “It’s—it’s time to wake up, Scarlett,” she finally said, voice shaking. “I’m going to count down from five. With each and every count, you will wake up a little more. Five . . . four . . .”