Part 25 (1/2)

”I don't want your money,” he said.

5.

His apartment was less impressive than she'd expected. It was a three-flight walk-up on Perry Street, in the Village. When he opened the door, she saw a place that looked like it had only been lived in for a few weeks.

”Most of my money goes to organizations I believe in,” he said, noticing her raised eyebrows. ”It's the main reason I write the books and do the show. That's the carnival aspect of Ability X. My income mostly goes to nonprofits that deal with, oh, the usual.”

”Animal rescue groups and homes for wayward girls?”

”Something like that. When you live mainly in your mind, you have modest needs.”

6.

”On the table,” he said, directing her to what looked like a ma.s.sage table near the window.

He drew the shades. He stood over her. For a moment, in the shadows, he reminded her of someone else.

Then, he sat down in a chair beside her.

”This'll seem awkward. Just try to relax. All right? This is called body work. Just think of it like a ma.s.sage. I need you to loosen your s.h.i.+rt. Would you mind taking it off?”

”Why?”

”Trust me or don't trust me. You've had ma.s.sages, I a.s.sume.”

”Yes. But usually...in a spa.”

”Tell you what, keep your cell phone on autodial for 911 if you're afraid of me.”

She was about to pull out her cell phone. Everything had begun to frighten her, but she'd begun feeling a certain numbness inside. She remembered the video of watching Hut looking at the camera, saying something, and then filming her in the most obscene way. Is this what insanity is? Is this what Amanda Hutchinson felt like? Is this how it crawls inside you? Is this what insanity is? Is this what Amanda Hutchinson felt like? Is this how it crawls inside you? Finally, she said, ”I'm not afraid of you.” Finally, she said, ”I'm not afraid of you.”

The look on his face was of utter seriousness.

”Clothing interrupts the Stream.” He said it so matter-of-factly that she felt as if any threat had been removed.

He wasn't even interested in her, in that way. She could sense it.

”If I were a doctor, you'd have no problem removing your clothes. If I were a ma.s.seur, you'd be naked before I could say, 'get on the table.' Think of me like that.”

She fought an internal battle, wondering if she had gone off the deep end. But finally, she unb.u.t.toned her s.h.i.+rt, and drew it off.

”I'll get you a towel,” he said. ”For modesty.”

He got up and went toward the bathroom. When he returned, he tossed a large white fluffy towel at her. It smelled fresh, as if he'd just done his laundry.

”I'll go make some tea,” he gestured toward the boxcar kitchen.

After he'd gone over to the sink, she slipped out of her skirt, but kept her underwear on. She wrapped the towel around herself, and it managed to cover most of her, b.r.e.a.s.t.s included. She had an awful feeling that she was stepping into a trap. That she had let a dream rape her, and now she was setting herself up for a man who was a virtual stranger to do the same. And yet, she had to see where this went. She had to know what was in his mind, his memories. She had to know more.

After he poured himself some tea, he returned to the living room, and sat down beside the table.

”Are you comfortable?” he asked.

”Mmm.” She stared straight ahead: her view was the bathroom door, with its mirror. She saw her face, and Michael Diamond as he sat down in a chair beside the ma.s.sage table.

”I want you to know that you are safe. I won't be touching you, but your mind will think I am. Have you ever gone to a Reiki therapist? They hold their hands just so, above certain points of the body. They believe they're directing their healing life energy to the subject. This is somewhat similar. My hands will be this far from you the entire time. I want you to be aware of it, because there will come a point when it feels as if I'm touching you. Do not break the Stream. I Stream into you. I want you to close your eyes. Now. All right. Think back to a time when you first remember seeing a flower. Yes, a flower,” he said the words slowly, carefully, and she felt his hand on the back of her scalp. As he kept his hand there-barely touching her hair-she began to feel an intense heat, as if his hand emanated an aura of warmth. He guided her through looking at the first flower, then the first friend, then the look on her mother's face when it was Christmas, and each time he took her mind somewhere new, she felt the presence of his hand again-not his hand itself, but the warmth beneath it as it hovered at the back of her neck, between her shoulder blades, down her spine, as he parted the towel, to the base of her spine, and then, slowly back up again.

She remembered other things from her childhood, remembered a fight her parents had, remembered when she and Mel had dressed up their pet schnauzer in baby clothes, and then the memories came forward as if, by touching her, he had begun opening doors in her mind that she'd been shutting behind her.

Soon, she had lost even the sound of his voice, but felt him there, his hand no longer moving just above the surface of her skin, but inside her in some impossible way-beneath the surface of consciousness, and his hand guided her along through memory, through doors that opened, one after the other, and behind them, memories. Then, more than memories-fantasies began coming to her-of flying in the air, of swimming like a fish through the water, and then she felt as if she were b.u.t.ting up against some door that wouldn't open, but his hand was there, with her, and finally it flew apart as if smashed, and behind it was a blood-red room, and she was there, and a man without a face, and he caressed her and touched her, parting her legs as he parted her mouth with his tongue, and in this red room, she felt no shame and had no care that they were being watched by the outsider, by the psychic who chaperoned her journey into her subconscious. The faceless man against whom she twisted and bucked in a s.e.xual fantasy of frenzy and animal l.u.s.t, now took on the form of Michael Diamond himself-for a flickering moment-but then, as if propelled by pathways of the pulse, she was ejected from her inner fantasy, and moved again to memory-to a row of iron doors that looked as if they were locked, bolted, and bound by some kind of interconnecting bloodroots, but she heard a distant sound of a series of pops, and the doors opened, all of them, and it was as if she were spying on herself, spying on her life with Hut, on the life they'd built, only she watched it like it was one of Matt's movies, she watched their life, and as she watched, she saw Hut for who he really was, not the man of her fantasies and not the man of her illusions, but a man who was cold with her, and brusque, a man who was selfish with his time and displayed little love even for his son-a handsome, vain man who watched her at times as if she were not entirely human to him...

She heard Michael Diamond's voice, ”Let's move beyond all of this, there's another place we need to go. You may be afraid, you may not want to go there. But fear isn't what it seems. Fear awakens us to our abilities, our senses that have been hidden. Fear is the key to the final door inside you.” She felt as if someone had taken her wrist, and tugged on it, pulling her into a dark place inside her mind, a dungeon where some beast growled in a corner.

”There's a place inside you,” Diamond whispered. ”A place where you've been, but you don't remember. It's been hidden from you. But you know it. I want you to face your fear and venture there again. With me.”

7.

Julie moved as if swimming underwater, with dark vines moving slowly as if pushed by some unseen tide, and the doors were there, before her.

One of them began to open.

When it did, she saw Hut.

His eyes, milky white, his grin impossibly wide. His arms outstretched.