“And how is Adrienne dressed?”

“She’s not dressed. She has a garland of flowers in her hair, that’s all.”

“And you walk down some kind of aisle?”

“Ummmhmmmn.”

“Are there candles?”

“Yes. Candles and chanting. And then the minister stands before us, asking, ‘Do you take this man… ?’“ Her voice faded, and she seemed to lose concentration.

Duran prompted her. “The minister asks, ‘Do you take this man’—and then what? As I recall, that was your cue—”

“Right,” Nico said.

“That was your cue to—what?”

“Kneel down.”

“And?”

“Open my mouth.”

Nico’s discomfort was palpable now, and Duran was worried that the discomfort would devolve into hysteria, as it had on some earlier occasions. So he changed tack. “Tell me about Rosanna,” he said. “Who is she?”

“The groom.”

Duran waved the answer away, as if it were a fruit fly. “Right. In the movie, she’s the groom. But… who was she—really?”

“You mean, outside the movie?”

“Unh-huh.”

“She was my sister. Rosanna was my big sister, and then there’s Adrienne. Adrienne is my little sister.”

“I see…”

“Because when I was ten, Adrienne was only five. So that meant I was a lot older!”

“You have two sisters, then.”

Nico shook her head. “No,” she said. “Just Adrienne. I don’t have Rosanna anymore.”

“Why not?”

“She died.”

“Oh… I’m sorry,” Duran told her, and fell silent for a moment. Then: “How?”

“How what?”

“How did she die?”

“She died in the movie!” Nico whispered.

“Ohhh, that’s right,” Duran said. “She died in the movie! But it was just a movie.”

“Nunh-unh. It was real!”

“What was?”

“The movie!”

“How do you mean?”

“It was real! They pulled back her hair and—”

“Who?”

“A man.”

“What man?”

“The man in the red hood. He was wearing a robe, and there was a hood on it.”

“A robe?”

“Everyone was wearing a robe—except me. And Rosanna. Adrienne and Deck.”

“What was Deck wearing?”

Nico frowned with childlike concentration. Finally, she said, “Straps.”

“What?”

“He was supposed to be the priest—a really important priest! But he wasn’t dressed like a priest.”

“What was he dressed like?”

“I don’t know,” Nico said. “He was just wearing straps. Leather straps. And the cobwebs.”

“Okay,” Duran told her, “but… you said they pulled Rosanna’s hair back.”

Nico nodded. “Unh-huh.”

“And… when this happened—where was she?”

“On the floor.”

“What was she doing?”

“She was just… on her hands and knees.”

“Why?”

“Because there was sex!”

“She was having sex?”

Another nod.

“With who?” Duran asked.

“Some men.”

“But… wasn’t she very young?”

Nico shrugged. “Twelve.”

“Okay. She was having sex, and—then what?”

“I told you. The man in the red hood pulled her hair back…”

“And?”

“He cut her.”

“Where did he cut her?” Duran asked.

She touched a finger to her throat. “There…”

“And then?”

Nico made a keening sound, and turned her face toward the cushions.

“Don’t look away, Nico. You have to face it. Just tell me what happened.”

“Rosanna’s eyes got so big—she was so scared! Because the blood was foaming out of her, and she couldn’t even say anything—she just made a noise—

“And where were you when this was happening?”

“Under Deck.”

“Okay, but… if it was just a movie—if it was just pretend—”

Nico shook her head, violently. “No,” she insisted, pushing up on her elbows, her voice swelling with panic. “It wasn’t ‘just pretend.’ It was real. It was really real! Deck kept the movie in a special box—with a lock. And, sometimes, he made me watch it with him, but—you couldn’t see Rosanna anymore—except in the movie. Because Rosanna was gone. Rosanna died in the tunnel, the tunnel they said was a church…”

Duran tried to calm her, shushing softly. “Sshhhhhh… it’s okay. You’re here with me, now. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

Slowly, the tension seeped out of her, and her head fell back on the cushions. Duran could see that she was exhausted.

Talking quietly, he guided her slowly out of the trance, retracing the steps they’d taken through the imaginary terrain that was so familiar to them both. The path. The stream. The trailhead.

“Take a deep breath,” he told her. “The air is delicious. So sweet and crisp and cool.”

Her chest rose and fell. And rose again.

“When I count to five,” he said, “you’ll wake up, and you’ll feel relaxed and refreshed, okay?” Without waiting for a reply, he began to count: “One… two… three…”

Nico’s eyes fluttered and opened, revealing dark, unfocused pupils that dwindled in the light. Duran handed her a Kleenex.

“You’ve done some really good work, Nico. I’m proud of you.”

She blinked furiously at the light, until Duran came into focus. Then she swung her feet off the couch, sat up, and cleared her throat. Her face was flushed, but her eyes were shining and clear.

“So it was okay?” she asked.

He nodded. “Absolutely. And we’ll talk again on Friday.” With that, he helped her up, and showed her to the door, where she gave him a big smile, and a lingering kiss on the cheek.

“You really make my day, Doc.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why I’m here,” he joked. Then he got serious. “There’s one thing, though.”

“What?”

“Your lithium—take it, Nico.”

She rolled her eyes, and looked away.

“Promise me,” he repeated.

Reluctantly, she nodded. “I hate it,” she said. “It makes me feel dead.”

“It keeps you grounded. And you need that. You want to be on a roller-coaster all the time?”

She shook her head.

“Then take your medication.”

When the door closed behind her, Duran went back to his desk and typed a brief summary of the afternoon’s session.

October 16. Sullivan, Nicole, 30

When he’d finished his summary, Duran attended to the tape recording that he’d made. Removing the cassette from the machine, he wrapped it in a length of bubble wrap, which he then secured with rubber bands. This done, he slid the package into a JetPak, and addressed it to the Mutual General Assurance Company in New York City.

Then he sat back in his chair. The nearest mailbox was a block away, a long block away, at the corner of Porter and Connecticut. He’d have to take the elevator down, and—

He didn’t like to leave the building.

There it was. He didn’t like to leave the building. But of course, he had to.

Package in hand, he went into the hallway and pressed the button for the elevator, thinking that the best thing to do was to think about something else.

Like SRA. (Talk about a mess… )

Nico’s story was shocking, of course—but it was wholly unoriginal. If you read the literature, there were hundreds of accounts of “organized” child abuse. And almost all of them were the same—a lurid narrative that strained credulity to the breaking point.

The elevator arrived. The doors drew apart, and Duran stepped inside. Pressed 1. Began riding down.