Inquisition
by Angeline Hawkes-Craig

  

    A knock sounded on the door.

    “Honey? You okay in there?” Yvette paused. “Baby? Can I come in?”

    “It’s open,” a muffled voice responded from within the closed room.

    Yvette pushed open the door a crack, sending a burst of light from the hall through the darkened bedroom. Charity held a hand up to her ashen face to shield herself from the jolt to her senses.

    “Baby, you’ve been in here for two days now. When are you coming out?” Yvette sat on the edge of the bed and
brushed back the stray hairs splayed across Charity’s face.

    “ I don’t know, Mama. I feel so bad.”

    “Bad? Tell me what’s wrong, sweetie, so I can help you.” Yvette fussed with the blankets and then went to Charity’s dresser. She picked up the amber plastic bottle. “When’s the last time you took your pills?”

    “I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything very well,” Charity mumbled, drawing further down into the blankets.

    “I’ll get you some water. You need to take your pills, baby, you know that. I’m getting you some water so you can take your pills right now.” Yvette frowned and went across the hall to the bathroom and filled Charity’s tooth brushing glass with water. She returned to Charity’s bedside, pushed and twisted the childproof medicine cap and dropped two pills into Charity’s hand. Charity put them in her mouth.

    “Now, that’s a good girl.” Yvette smiled and handed Charity the glass of water. Charity drank it all.

    Charity lay back against the pillows and sighed.

    “Tomorrow we’ll go see Dr. Hubbard.” Yvette smiled and patted her daughter’s leg through the blankets.

    “It’s these damn thoughts, Mama. I can’t get rid of them. These images – flashes in my head – I feel like I don’t belong here. I don’t know this place. My room – it’s all so confusing.” Charity held her head between her hands and cured up in a fetal position leaning into the mattress.

    Yvette leaned over and hugged her sixteen year old. She wanted to take this burden from her baby. Would’ve
done anything to relieve her child of her confusion and depression and pain. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Dr. Hubbard will help. You need to sleep now. Just sleep.”

    “Will you stay with me?” Charity said in a weak voice.

    “Always.” Yvette smiled and lay down beside her daughter. Charity cuddled close and laid her head on her mother’s chest as she had done millions of times before in her life. She felt her mother’s loving arms surround her, holding her tight, and she sighed. For now, sleep would come.

    The next day Charity awoke slowly. She blinked as the sunlight streamed in through the crack in the blinds. She could hear her mother shuffling to and fro out in the hallway.

    “Mom?” she called.

    Yvette stopped and turned back to Charity’s room. She poked her head inside. “Sleep better?”

    Charity smiled. “Thanks for staying with me last night.”

    “Not a problem. Sort of miss having you curl up on me, you know, seeing how you’re almost grown and all.” Yvette smiled and gave a chuckle. Charity smiled.

    “Appointment is at two, this afternoon,” Yvette said. “It’s no one now. Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll fix you something to eat. Then we’ll leave for the doctor’s office.” Yvette patted the back of the door firmly as if to say ‘Up and at’em’.

    Charity’s smile faded. “A shower. That might be good.” She struggled to a sitting position and flung the covers back.

    “You can do it, sweetheart!” Yvette said peppily.

    “I can do it,” Charity repeated and laughed.

    Yvette smiled to hear her daughter’s laughter. “That’s the spirit!” She turned and went down the hall, and downstairs to the kitchen to fix Charity some soup. She listened to the plumbing rattling and gurgling in the ceiling. Good, Yvette thought. Charity was in the shower.

    It hadn’t been easy. Charity had suffered from chronic depression since early childhood. Mood swings, insomnia, too much sleep, food disorders – all of it. Yvette’s husband couldn’t deal with it. He mostly left Charity’s problems to Yvette. It was a heavy cross to bear, but she loved her child and was intent upon seeing Charity into a healthy adulthood. Or as healthy as she could expect. Dr. Hubbard had said that Charity might always suffer from depression. He had been trying to get Yvette to allow Charity to undergo past life regression therapy for years now, but Yvette had
bucked at the idea, partly out of religious conflicts, and partly out of the pure hokum that it all sounded like.

    But Charity’s memories, images, flashes, as Charity referred to them, were not going away. In fact, the older she got, the stronger and more frequent the flashes became. Often Charity would awake in her own bedroom and not know where she was. Sometimes Charity would beg for her to put another log on the fire because she was so cold – when they didn’t have a fireplace in the whole house. Once when Charity was ten years old, she had drawn an entire floor plan to a seventeenth century house and labeled each room – including the one that was hers that she said she
shared with “the girls”. Yvette shuddered. Maybe it would do Charity some good to find out where these flashes were originating. Perhaps it was all an alter-universe Charity had developed while yearning to escape the crushing depression she suffered from since she was a little girl. Maybe by going to this other world, this other place, Charity would find relief.

    The microwave beeped. The soup was done. Yvette set some crackers out on a saucer and put the bowl and a
spoon onto the table. She heard Charity’s steps on the stairs.

    “What would you like to drink?” Yvette asked Charity, holding the refrigerator door open.

    “Juice is fine,” Charity said and sat down in front of the steaming soup. “I’m not really that hungry,” she said while eyeing the soup.

    “You need to eat something, sweetie.”

    Charity poked around in the bowl with her spoon.

     “Maybe just a little bit? For me? So I won’t worry so much?” Yvette asked. “Maybe just the broth?”

    Charity smiled a half smile. “Okay. For you.” She raised a spoonful to her lips and sipped at it. Pretty soon she had finished the whole bowl.

    “Must have been hungrier than I thought,” Charity said, wiping her mouth.

    Yvette smiled. “I told you so.”

    Charity drank her juice and went to get her coat. Yvette buttoned her jean jacket as she held the door open for Charity.

    “I’m not sick, Mama. You don’t have to hold the door open for me.”

    “Oh, I know. Just being nice.” Yvette winked at her and locked the door behind them.

    Charity got in the car and closed the door. Yvette crossed the garage and got in the driver’s seat. Backing out of the driveway, Yvette watched Charity as she stared absently out of the car window.

    “Daddy said he’d call when we got home,” Yvette said while driving.

    “Okay,” Charity said slowly. She had grown used to her father’s absences at her appointments. Better that way anyway – he tended to make her feel embarrassed for some reason. He looked at her like she was a crazy person with an odd expression of sympathy and maniac fear – like Charity was going to spring from her seat and physically attack him like a wild animal at any given moment. He had never understood. She didn’t blame him though. He did the best he could. She knew he loved her – he just didn’t know how to deal with the mental and emotional stuff. Charity blamed herself for her parents not ever having had any more kids. She guessed if she had had a full-blown crazy-ass daughter
for her first kid it would pretty much scare her away from wanting to swirl the old gene pool for a second go round at the whole procreation thing. After all, one crazy in the family is plenty enough.

    “Whatcha thinkin’ about over there?” Yvette said softly as she changed lanes.

    Charity snapped back from her distant thoughts. “Nothing,” she said quietly. “Just thinking that’s all.”

    Yvette gave her daughter a knowing glance and turned into the doctor’s parking lot.

    “Dr. Hubbard wants to do the past life regression therapy, or start it anyway. I said it was okay this time,” Yvette said as she turned off the car.

    Charity’s eyes grew wide. “You said yes?”

    “Yes. As long as this is what you want to do. You still want to do it, don’t you?”

    “Only for like eight years now. I can’t believe you finally said yes! Does Daddy know?”

    “Yeah. He said I should do whatever you feel like you need to do to get better.” Yvette picked up her purse.

    Charity chuckled. “He does know I might not ever “be better” in his sense of the word, doesn’t he, mom?”

    Yvette sighed. “He doesn’t like to think about it. I think he blocks it out of his mind.”

    “Glad someone can.” Charity opened her car door and got out.

    It seemed like forever in the waiting room. Yvette glanced over at Charity. She was asleep, her head resting at an odd angle on her hand, arm propped up on the armrest on the mustard yellow vinyl upholstered chair. Yvette only hoped that whatever it was that Dr. Hubbard wanted to do wouldn’t terribly exhaust Charity. She wasn’t sure how much real sleep Charity had had in the last few days.

    “Charity Grail. The doctor will see you now,” the nurse with the white clipboard said, standing in front of the open door that led into Dr. Hubbard’s office.

    Yvette picked up her purse and nudged Charity on the arm with an elbow.

    Charity awoke with a half snort and looked around the room. She saw her mom standing and the nurse in the
colorful printed scrubs waiting and she got to her feet.

    They sat down on the sofa across from the chair that Dr. Hubbard normally sat in. On the table before them,
was a model of a wood slat house and a garden. Charity leaned closer.

    “This is it, Mama! It’s my house! Look. It’s the house.” Charity grew excited.

    Dr. Hubbard had slipped into the room. He closed the door suddenly as if to announce his presence. “Ah! Glad to see you recognize it. Used the plans that you’ve drawn for me time after time to have that commissioned. Did they get it right?”

    Charity nodded. “It’s perfect. I can’t believe it!” She was so happy.

    “What is this place to you, Charity?” the doctor asked, sitting down and crossing his legs.

    Charity peered into the tiny windows and looked up. “It’s home,” she said with a tone so full of happiness
and longing that Yvette felt like crying. She couldn’t remember the last time Charity had sounded so happy.

    “But, you have a home, here, don’t you?” Dr. Hubbard
asked gently.

    “Oh, yes. I mean, yeah, I have a home here and it’s great and all.” Charity turned and smiled at her mother. “But, I mean, this is my other home, this is home-home.” She let out a long, drawn-out sigh that nearly broke Yvette’s heart. Her daughter had such a yearning in that sigh; it was a longing and deep feeling of homesickness.

    Yvette smiled at Charity. “Would you like to go back to that home, honey?”

    “I can’t. Not to stay anyway. It’s gone. It was a long time ago. It just comes to me in the flashes. It’s like I remember this home. I remember how it was then.” Charity turned the wood platform that held the model house around so she could look at the other side.

    “I’m going to help you to go back there, Charity.” Dr. Hubbard smiled.

    “To stay?” Charity seemed excited at the prospect.

    “No.” Dr. Hubbard shook his head. “Like you said, it’s gone now. Not to stay. To find out why you can’t say goodbye.”

    Charity nodded. “Yeah. It’s like I can’t leave, even if I want to, like I’ve never left. Like something keeps pulling me back home even though I know I live here and now – now.” Charity sank back into the couch. “Does that make any sense?”

    The doctor nodded. He got up and pulled a chaise lounge closer to where they all were sitting. He patted it, indicating that Charity should lie down. “I’m going to help you to relax. You’ll feel like you’re sleeping, dreaming,” Dr. Hubbard said softly.

    “I haven’t been sleeping so well lately,” Charity said and laid her head back.

    The doctor looked at Yvette who nodded that this was true. . The doctor turned back to Charity. “Okay. We’re going to relax now. Focus on this disk.” He swung a bronze metal circle suspended from a cord in front of Charity’s face.

    “Are you going to hypnotize me?” Charity said breaking the silence.

    “Yes. In a sense. I need to go deeper into your mind, past today’s Charity. I need to go to you at your old home.” Dr. Hubbard smiled and continued to swing the disk.

    Yvette sat back, arms folded, on the couch and watched in silence. It seemed like hours had passed. Yvette continued to watch.

    “Charity?” Dr. Hubbard asked. Yvette almost jumped, not expecting a voice in the stillness of the room.

    Charity didn’t respond.

    “Charity?” Dr. Hubbard asked again.

    “Hmm?” she said.

    “Where are you?” Dr. Hubbard asked.

    “Sleeping,” she said. “In Dr. Hubbard’s office.”

    “Good,” Dr. Hubbard said softly in a monotone. “I need you to do something for me.”

    Charity didn’t move. “Hmm?” she said sleepily.

    “I need you to go back home. To the old wood house, back home to the home in the flashes,” Dr. Hubbard’s voice kept the same monotone.

    “Okay,” she said sluggishly.

    “What is your name?”

    “Charity McConnell,” Charity said softly.

    After a few minutes, the doctor asked, “Where are you, Charity?”

    Her voice took on a thick British accent. It was different, but somehow it was still Charity’s voice.

    “I’m home. I’m helping mother make butter,” Charity said her voice jumping up and down as if she were speaking while churning.

    “Do you make butter often?” Dr. Hubbard asked.

    “Aye. Mother sells the extra butter at market. Eggs too. But our hens died last week,” Charity said sadly.

    “Your hens died? All of them?” Dr. Hubbard asked.

   Charity frowned. “Aye. Mother says I’m not to talk about it.” She grew silent.

    “Why can’t you talk about it, Charity?” the doctor asked gently.

    “Mother said not to speak of it. The town council might find out.”

    “Is that bad?” Dr. Hubbard asked.

    “Aye. Very bad, sir. I am in enough trouble. Mother is very fearful. She says I mustn’t talk with anyone,” Charity’s voice took on a very worried tone.

    “What sort of trouble?” Dr. Hubbard continued to pry.

    Charity shook her head. “Mustn’t speak of it. Will make it worse.”

    “I can help you,” the doctor said.

    Charity shook her head again. “I don’t think so. Not now. The council has already summoned me. I’m to go to
them in the morning.”

    “Is it for an interview?” the doctor asked concerned.

    “Interview?” Charity repeated the word as if she didn’t know what it meant.

    “Do they want to ask you about things in particular?” the doctor re-phrased his former question for her.

    Charity nodded. “Aye. Trueness, my friend, she told her mother about the images in my mind I have of a strange world with metal wagons that go on wheels with no horses, and of great metal birds that fly in the skies with people in their bellies…and other images – she told her mother. Her mother said that I was bewitched and that is the reason why the crops failed this year.”

    Dr. Hubbard’s eyebrows rose. “Do you believe this?”

    Charity laughed. “No! Mother says the crops failed because there wasn’t enough rain this year.”     Yvette shifted uncomfortably on the couch. At least this “other mother” had some sense.

    “Do you have these images in your mind often?”

    “Aye! Such wondrous things I see. Don’t know where they come from! Mother says she thinks I have the most
vivid imagination.” Charity shrugged.

    Dr. Hubbard smiled. “So is this the reason your mother says not to mention the hens dying?”

    “Aye. What with Trueness’ mother saying I made the crops fail and people knowing about the things I see,
mother says that if I talk about the hens that the town council will say I am responsible for that as well.”

    “Are you bewitched, Charity?”

    “Ssssh! Thou mustn’t speak of such things! Someone might hear thee!” Charity’s hands tensed up into fists.

    “I’m sorry. Where do you believe these images come from?” Dr. Hubbard scribbled on his notepad in furious, scrawling writing.

    Charity paused for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip.

    “Not supposed to say. Forgive me,” Charity said softly.

    “I won’t tell a soul. I promise.”

    Charity’s head moved to the right and to the left as if she were making sure the coast was clear. “It was my aunt. She said that when I was a wee girl, she let me glimpse into her magic ball and I saw things that were to come…but after I was finished looking and she had hidden her witchery away, I still had the sight. I still saw the images. They don’t go away.” Charity sniffed.

    “Does your mother know?” the doctor continued to scribble.

    “No,” Charity said quietly. “I don’t think she’d believe me even if I were to tell her. Her sister is married to Reverend Blackstone.”

    The doctor whistled a low drawn-out whistle. “The Reverend, did you say?”

    “Aye. My Aunt Faith, she makes brews to aid in childbirth and other things. Not many know this, theones who do seek her counsel, keep her secrets,” Charity whispered.

    “Why did she tell you it was she who triggered these images?”

    “Because of the images. When they didn’t go away, I couldn’t sleep, and as I got older I started talking about the things I saw, she warned me not to tell others. She said they wouldn’t understand and theywould say that I was bedeviled.”

    “But you told…” the doctor flipped over a page and searched it quickly with his eyes, “You told your friend, Trueness?”

    “I didn’t think she’d tell anyone, especially not her mother! I thought she was my friend!”

    “But, you had talked about these images earlier when you were a child, and no one said anything about it then?” the doctor asked.

    “I was a child. People would laugh and think I was telling fanciful stories. They would chide my mother and tell her I needed more discipline and bible reading.” Charity breathed deeply. “But, I am a woman now – of marriageable age – people no longer dismiss my images as child’s fantasies.”

    “Now, you’re a witch.”

    “I hope not,” Charity said sadly.

    “Will your aunt help you?” the doctor asked.

    Charity’s face lit up. “I had not thought of that. Aye! I will go to my good Aunt. Surely, she canconvince the council of my innocence. I did not make the crops fail! I assure thee of this!”

    The doctor sighed. “Let’s take a break. Charity sleep now. I’ll talk with you some more in a bit.” The doctor pointed to the door indicating that Yvette should follow him out.

    Outside, he quietly closed the door.

    Yvette sighed loudly. “She doesn’t seem tired out yet.”

    “No. No, she doesn’t. I assure you I’m keeping my eye on that. The moment she seems overly tired I willstop. We’re making great progress.” The doctor smiled. “I’m getting a cup of coffee, would you like one?”

    “Yes. Thank you. That would be nice.” Yvette looked at the closed door and then followed the doctor to the office break room.

    Coffee over, they returned to Dr. Hubbard’s office and went inside. Charity was sleeping peacefully. Yvette couldn’t remember when Charity had looked so peaceful.

    Dr. Hubbard sat down and flipped a clean sheet of paper onto his tablet. “Charity?” he questioned.

   “Charity, are you with us?”

    Charity stirred a little bit. “Hmm. Just sleeping.”

    “Where are you?”

    “In Dr. Hubbard’s office,” Charity said slowly.

     “Good girl. Do you think that we can go back to the other time? The time in your flashes?”

    Charity frowned. “Town council,” she said simply.

    “Yes. I believe you’re meeting with them in the morning?”

    “It is morning. Meeting with them soon.” Charity wrung her hands nervously before her.

    “Did you speak to your aunt?” Dr. Hubbard asked.

    “Aye. My aunt told me to say nothing and that she would talk to her husband and the council.” Charity sighed.

    “Good!” the doctor said cheerfully.

    Charity grew quiet and still.

    Yvette and Dr. Hubbard watched her silently. After a few minutes, Dr. Hubbard asked, “Charity, where are you now?”

    “Sshh. I’m in the council meeting. My uncle, Reverend Blackstone is preparing to speak.” Charity held a finger to her lip.

    “What is he saying?” the doctor asked.

    “Sshh. I shall tell thee what everyone is saying, just let me listen!” Charity had a strained look on her face.

    Dr. Hubbard waited, pen in hand.

    Charity spoke in a low tone – “He’s saying there is a charge of witchcraft brought against me by various townsfolk. Trueness, she’s here, she’s crying, Trueness’ mother, Ah!” Charity gasped loudly.

    “What is it?” Dr. Hubbard asked.

    “My aunt! My Aunt Faith!” Charity started to cry. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand.”

    “What is he saying now?” Dr. Hubbard asked.

    “Reverend Blackstone says proof of my bewitchment is the failed crops, our hens and other folks’ livestock perishing and Goody Brown’s baby boy dying last night! I did not even know she had been delivered of her baby last night! How could I have killed it?” Charity gushed in terror and disbelief.

    “What are they saying now?”

    “Reverend Blackstone says, that it grieves him to deliver these accusations against me as I am his beloved niece, daughter of his wife’s widowed sister whom they love and care for. He says that despite his great affection for me it is also his responsibility to save my soul. He says that his wife, my aunt, is much distressed to offer evidence in this case.” Charity gasped. “Aunt Faith!” she called out.

    “Is your aunt present?”

    “Aye! Aunt Faith!” she called out again. “The bailiff is telling me to be seated and to remain silent.”

    Silence.

    “Aunt Faith is telling the council about my images, all of them, even how as a little child I saw thesethings. I don’t understand how she can say these things!” Charity gasped. “She knows why I see the things I see! It is by her hand that I see these things! That I’ve been haunted by these things for all my life. She knows why! She isn’t telling about her part in this matter!”

    Yvette sat anxiously on the edge of her seat aware that the doctor might have caused more trouble for Charity by sending her to her aunt for assistance. Had they altered fate?

    Dr. Hubbard cleared his throat. “Are they going to allow you to speak in your own defense?”

    “No. No. I’m not allowed to speak. The Reverend says that the evidence presented here today against me is
adequate enough for my conviction of witchcraft! He’s asking the town council to decide against me!” Charity gasped. “But I’m not a witch!” she called out.

    Dr. Hubbard grew anxiously concerned as Charity began to struggle in the chaise lounge.

    “Charity? What is happening?”

    “They’re taking me, they’re taking me to the jail.” She continued to struggle against her unseen captors.

    Yvette shifted her weight nervously. She hissed, “Let her sleep! I’m afraid this is too much for her!”

    The doctor frowned and then nodded in agreement.

    “Charity? Sleep now,” he said and got up and went to his desk, writing furiously.

    Yvette sat back against the couch and sighed. She watched her daughter sleeping on the chaise lounge. Charity was restless, slept a little, but then began to thrash about.

    “Doctor!” Yvette whispered afraid to speak too loudly.

    Dr. Hubbard looked up and saw Charity struggling and thrashing. He jumped from his seat. “Charity?” he called out loudly.

    No response, only more struggling.

    “Charity!” he called again louder. “Wake up now, Charity!”

    Struggling. Thrashing. Kicking. Suddenly Charity began to gasp as if she couldn’t get enough air.

    “Charity!” Yvette was out of her seat and next to her daughter now. “Doctor, what’s happening?” She put a
hand on the doctor’s arm and pulled on his coat while grasping Charity’s shoulder at the same time.

    The doctor got up to push the intercom button. “I don’t know. I’ve never had this happen before,” he said to Yvette.

    Charity gasped and clutched at her throat.

    The she lay still.

    The doctor frantically called for his nurse over the intercom as he felt Charity’s neck and wrist for apulse. “Damn!” he called out and began to perform CPR.

    “What’s wrong? What’s happening?” Yvette stood by, hand over her mouth, horror creeping through herbeing.

    “She quit breathing. I don’t know. Maybe a heart attack. Ambulance.” Dr. Hubbard stopped to breath for Charity, “On it’s way.” He continued with the CPR compressions.

    Yvette was terrified and pushed to the side as the nurse entered the room with the paramedics close onher heels. They shocked Charity over and over, finally obtaining a pulse.

    “Got it!” one paramedic yelled out.

    Dr. Hubbard’s face was ashen. “I’ll meet you at the hospital. Nancy is calling your husband as we speak.”

    Yvette nodded and was hustled out of the room with Charity and the ambulance crew. Once at the hospital,Charity was tended to by numerous buzzing and shouting doctors and nurses; ultimately, ending up in a quiet room, white
and thin against the sheets, tubes and machines beeping and flashing.

    She was comatose.

    Yvette sat at the end of the bed simply staring at her daughter. Charity’s father had arrived sometime in the first hour after having been called at work. Alone at last and in the stillness of the room he asked, “What happened?”

    “I don’t know.” Yvette began to cry. “Dr. Hubbard was doing the regression thing with Charity and we were discovering so much information that Dr. Hubbard was going to be able to use to help Charity and then she started to thrash and kick and then – this.” Yvette waved her hand in Charity’s direction.

    “What does Dr. Hubbard say is wrong?”

    “I don’t think he knows. He said this never happened before. I talked to him briefly on the phone and he said he had some ideas and his workers were chasing them down. That’s all I know.” Yvette began to cry harder.

    Another doctor in a long white coat entered the room carrying yet another clipboard with charts. He cleared his throat to gain the attention of the distraught parents. “I’m Dr. Ford,” he said softly. “I’m afraid I have some bad news about your daughter, Charity.”

    Yvette clutched her husband’s arm.

    “Charity’s body continues to function because of the machines she is attached to, but all tests confirm that she is brain dead. There seems to be no sign of physical trauma, no aneurysms or signs of stroke. So, we don’t know for a fact what has caused this yet. It is simply as if she is not here anymore.”

    Yvette shook her head in the negative. “No! NO!” she yelled. “Something is wrong with your tests! She was fine a few hours ago. How can she just – just die?”

    Dr. Ford lowered his head. “We might know more if and when an autopsy is performed.”

    “That’s for dead people!” Yvette screamed.

    “We need you and your husband to decide if and when we remove Charity from life support. There will be someone coming in to discuss organ donation with you and your husband. I know it’s a hard and terrible time to talk about this, but it is important. Would you like me to send in a priest or a minister of your faith?” the doctor asked and looked genuinely sad.

    Yvette shook her head no. The doctor left. Yvette ran her hands through her hair. How could Charity just begone? It was a decision they could not make just yet. Yvette slept in the chair at the end of Charity’s bed while her husband walked the hospital halls. A few hours passed. Charity’s father slipped back into the room quietly and stood watching Charity’s beeping machines.

    Dr. Hubbard knocked on the door.

    “Come in,” Yvette said, straightening herself up from the curled up position in which she had fallen asleep. “Oh, Dr. Hubbard.”

    “Hello, Yvette. I’ve talked with Dr. Ford,” Dr. Hubbard said slowly. “I wish I had some answers foryou.”

    Yvette nodded.

    “I’ve had everyone in my office searching the web for something pertaining to Charity McConnell,” Dr. Hubbard began.

    “Not her again. I’m tired of hearing about her and her other mother and the wonderful other home, blah, blah, blah.” Yvette threw up her hands. “I want to know what is wrong with Charity Grail, not her make-believe little friend, the witch.”

    Dr. Hubbard let Yvette get it all out of her system. “I think we found something that might be of interest.”

    Yvette just shrugged.

    “We searched the court records for the early 1600’s to the late 1600’s and early 1700’s for all of the colonies. Since Charity never gave us an exact date or place, I had to make some guesses as to when and where she lived. The town council part with the Reverend in an authority position and the type of names of the characters she described led me to believe she was somewhere in the American colonies from the time of the first recorded arrivals. We searched for the
surname McConnell, the scant birth and baptism records and the more reliable death records.” Dr. Hubbard took a deep breath. “Since we knew that Charity McConnell’s mother was a widow, we were able to search the death records for a name that would match the details we had. That gave us a location. We then could find the place to search through court records or whatever records there might be still on file,” Dr. Hubbard started to continue, but Yvette interrupted.

    “So what does all of this have to do with OUR Charity?” Yvette seemed confused.

    “I believe the two Charitys shared some sort of mind link spanning time and dimension. They are the same person slit into two different manifestations of themselves in two time periods,” Dr. Hubbard stated. “So, both Charitys had links with each other – with Charity

   McConnell having flashes from the future and Charity Grail seeing flashes from the past. The mind link connects them, one shared mind, so to speak.”

    Yvette frowned. “So, what does this all mean?”

    “We found out what happened to Charity McConnell after she was jailed,” Dr. Hubbard said slowly. “It’s not good.”

    Yvette’s eyebrows rose questioningly.

    “The following morning, Charity McConnell was hung as a witch until dead.”

    “They hung her?” Yvette’s eyes grew wide in horror. “But, she was just a girl!”

    “A woman by their standards – and – according to them, a witch with uncanny powers to see and cause bewitched things to happen.” Dr. Hubbard sighed. “I believe the moments we observed Charity thrashing about were Charity McConnell’s last moments.”

    “Both Charitys were being hung?”

    “Both of them. And although we were able to bring back the body of your Charity, the mind link was severed by Charity McConnell’s violent death, leaving your Charity comatose.”

    Yvette interrupted again, “And brain dead.” She choked on a sob and clutched at her husband’s arm.

    “I’m afraid so.” Dr. Hubbard wiped a trickling tear off of his cheek. “When Charity McConnell died, she took the shared link with her, severing Charity Grail’s mental existence.”

    Yvette shook her head dumbfounded. “If we would have woke Charity up while she was thrashing around, we
could have saved her?”

    “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think it would have happened on its own eventually. Just a matter of when Charity would have recalled her past experiences on her own. We’ll never know for certain.”

    “So, we hastened her death. She might not have ever remembered all of this without us poking around in her head and making her remember and relive things?” Yvette sounded angry now.

    “Perhaps. But, at the rate that Charity was beginning to recall things in her past experiences, I don’t think it would have been too much longer until she recalled Charity McConnell’s death,” Dr. Hubbard said painfully. “At least we know what happened this way, having gone through the session with her. Better than just discovering her, gone, some day.”

    “From what happened?” Charity’s father shouted fiercely. “We don’t know what the hell happened! We don’t know squat. You come in here with all this historical records mumbo-jumbo and death records and past life hocus pocus shared mind link shit and you expect us to accept that our daughter is now brain-dead because some imaginary friend got strung up?”

    “Mr. Grail. I know you’re angry. It’s perfectly normal.”

    Mr. Grail interrupted abruptly, “Normal? Normal? None of this is normal. Not from day one has Charity been normal!” He stormed out of the room.

    Yvette buried her face in her hands and wept.

    “I’m so sorry, Yvette.” Dr. Hubbard turned to leave.

    Yvette stopped crying for a moment. “Dr. Hubbard?”

    “Yes?”

    “Before you go, I just want to say, thank you.” Yvette blew her nose. “I don’t understand it, any of it, but Charity is at peace now. Her whole life,” Yvette sighed, “Was nothing but unrest for her. Pain and sorrow. Now, at least, she’s at peace.”

    Dr. Hubbard nodded, looked at Charity laying white against the sheets, the beeping, flashing machines connected to her thin body in a jumble of tubes and lines, the wave pattern for her brain waves running across the screen in a flat, unwavering line – and hoped that Charity McConnell had told them the truth, and prayed that Charity Grail really was truly at peace now.

 ©2003 ANGELINE HAWKES-CRAIG

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