The Reality Conspiracy Read Online Free PDF Page B

assist himself to his feet. He took the cassette from Karen and pressed another button on the mantel of the fireplace. A landscape painting rose in its frame like a theater curtain, exposing the television screen beneath it. Gudhausen pushed the tape into a hinged slot below the screen. He handed Karen a remote control.
    "Hit PLAY when you're ready," he said and he took a seat beside her.
    Karen pressed the button; a picture filled the TV screen. It showed a young girl slouched in a recliner. She wore jeans and a plaid blouse. With eyes closed and body relaxed, she appeared to be sleeping. Karen was aware of the washed-out quality of this third-generation video image. Too little light, subject poorly centered, background dark, almost invisible.
    "This is my office," she explained, perhaps unnecessarily. Karen gave a little start when she heard her own voice coming from the hidden speaker. "This is a portion of a recorded interview with Lucine Washburn, known as Lucy. She is twelve years of age, the daughter of Ed and Winona Washburn of St. Albans, Vermont. She has a younger brother, Randy.
    "This excerpt is taken from a videotaping of our seventh session together. The recording was made with the permission of the child and with the consent of both parents. In the previous two sessions, using hypnosis, I have leaned toward a diagnosis of MPD. However, I note for the record that the Washburns seem to be a close, happy, well-functioning family. I can detect no evidence of the parental abuse patterns that are almost invariably present in cases of MPD."
    "Hmmmm," said Dr. Gudhausen.
    Karen's taped voice continued. "Today's session is an attempt to record those personalities which have so far made themselves known to me."
    Karen hit the PAUSE button and said to Dr. Gudhausen, "She has been in the trance for about thirty minutes at this point. She has been resistant to showing her other alters."
    "Yes, of course, please go on." He was leaning forward in his chair, watching the screen with great concentration.
    Karen tapped the PLAY button and the girl began to squirm in the chair. On the tape's soundtrack, Karen's voice said: "Okay, Lucy, are you ready, sweetie?"
    "Mmmm. No. Afraid."
    "There's no reason to be afraid, hon. You're safe here. Your mom and dad are right in the next room, and I'm right here with you. No one can hurt you. There's nothing to be afraid of. I just want to take your picture, okay?"
    "He doesn't want it."
    "Who doesn't want it, Lucy? P-Man? Is it P-Man who doesn't want it?"
    "No. Mmmm. P-Man's asleep."
    "Is everyone asleep now?"
    "Yes, except not . . ."
    "Except who, Lucy?"
    "Except . . . except me."
    "Can I talk to P-Man now?"
    "No. Asleep."
    "Is Noonie awake? Can I talk to Noonie?"
    The little girl squirmed in the recliner. She balled up her fists, brought them to her closed eyes. Vigorously, she rubbed her eyes and yawned deeply.
    From off-camera Karen's voice said, "Is that Noonie waking up? Now can I talk to Noonie?"
    Lucy said, "No, no. Noonie's not asleep, Noonie's"—here Lucy's voice lowered; it sounded flat and deep—"Noonie's not asleep. Noonie's dead." The child smirked and giggled. Spit sprayed from her pursed lips.
    Karen heard the discomfort, the startled reaction in her own recorded voice. The tape would always remind her how she had lost her composure. This is where it all started to go bad , she thought, fighting the impulse to stop the tape and offer excuses to Dr. Gudhausen. Yet, she couldn't help tensing, gripping the leather arm of the chair, knowing the worst was still to come.
    She whispered to Dr. Gudhausen, "I' had never heard that deep voice before."
    "You're doing a fine job, Karen. Just fine," he whispered without taking his eyes from the screen. "Now, ssshhh."
    "Who am I talking to?" Karen's voice came from the television.
    The little girl's hands were on the collar of her blouse. She pulled it away from her throat as if it were choking her. The strange voice deepened more,