through?”
She cocked her head, studied me for a long moment that stretched into three and then four—enough to get a little uncomfortable. She said, finally, “Here’s what I’ll tell you. I don’t have to have a heart attack to know how to treat one. In a way, it’s the same thing here. I don’t have to be an axe murderer to understand how to deal with one. But—” A smile flitted across her lips. “There is the old saying about shrinks: either you have to be incredibly normal to know what crazy looks like or it takes one to know one. Let’s just say that I’m comfortably in-between.”
“So . . . not too crazy?”
“I have my moments, but . . . no, not too crazy.”
I liked her for that. “So how come you’re not scared of me?”
“You mean, beyond the fact that you’re not holding a gun to my head? What’s to be scared of?”
“I dunno,” I said, feeling stupid. “A lot of other people are.”
“You mean because of what happened with your teacher? Betty Stefancyzk?” She shrugged. “I wasn’t here then. I don’t know anything more about it than she had a nervous breakdown. How that’s related to you, I don’t know. But if the reports I read are right, she’d been diagnosed with manic-depressive illness. Ten to one, she simply didn’t take her meds.”
“She said it was me in her note.”
“So what?”
“Well, I . . .” I thought of the power flowing out of my fingers with Lucy. And Aunt Jean. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Okay. So then let’s talk about the barn. How come that happened?”
“I . . . I don’t remember doing it.”
“So you were sleepwalking. What do you think you were painting? A nightmare?”
Yeah, but someone else’s.
I remembered what Uncle Hank had said about a murder, and for the first time, it occurred to me that maybe
that
was what I was seeing. Like what they talked about when you heard about haunted houses, a psychic residue. Except why
now
? I’d lived in Winter my whole life, and I’d never gone out to that barn or ever
heard
about a murder. I said nothing.
She said, “I guess it’s easier to talk about how everyone hates you and is scared of you, right? I mean, that’s a part of you, like your name.”
“If you say so.”
“Is that what you want me to put in my notes?”
“Look, I had a bad dream. I sleepwalked. That’s all.”
“But why there? And why swastikas?”
“I don’t know.”
“You think it has something to do with
Hellsing
?” At my frown, she said, “The Nazis. They’re all over
Hellsing
, right? And you like manga, so . . . maybe that’s where the swastikas came from.”
I didn’t think so. “I don’t think so.”
“So what’s your theory?”
“I don’t have one.” I pulled on my lip, then blurted, “Did you know that someone was murdered there?”
Her eyebrows arched. “Really? No, I didn’t. Tell me.”
I told what little I did know and then said, “I keep meaning to look it up, but I’ve been kind of busy.”
“Okay. And you think this means . . . what?”
“
I
don’t know. I’m not the doctor.”
She chuckled. “Touché. Well, I think that maybe you heard about this at one point in your life and it surfaced now.”
I was shaking my head before she finished. “You heard Mrs. Krauss. This is a little, tiny town, and there are things people don’t talk about. This is one of them. I’ve never heard about this, never.”
“You had to have known, Christian.”
“I don’t see how. It’s not something Uncle Hank would talk about. Heck, he barely knows anything himself, it’s been so long, and other than the fact that it happened in 1945, that doesn’t explain the swastikas. I mean, Nazis? In Winter?” I shook my head. “Never happen.”
After that, the hour—well, fifty minutes—was up. Leaving, I asked, “How do you know my uncle?”
“Ah. Well, you know that case your uncle’s working? The baby in the
She cocked her head, studied me for a long moment that stretched into three and then four—enough to get a little uncomfortable. She said, finally, “Here’s what I’ll tell you. I don’t have to have a heart attack to know how to treat one. In a way, it’s the same thing here. I don’t have to be an axe murderer to understand how to deal with one. But—” A smile flitted across her lips. “There is the old saying about shrinks: either you have to be incredibly normal to know what crazy looks like or it takes one to know one. Let’s just say that I’m comfortably in-between.”
“So . . . not too crazy?”
“I have my moments, but . . . no, not too crazy.”
I liked her for that. “So how come you’re not scared of me?”
“You mean, beyond the fact that you’re not holding a gun to my head? What’s to be scared of?”
“I dunno,” I said, feeling stupid. “A lot of other people are.”
“You mean because of what happened with your teacher? Betty Stefancyzk?” She shrugged. “I wasn’t here then. I don’t know anything more about it than she had a nervous breakdown. How that’s related to you, I don’t know. But if the reports I read are right, she’d been diagnosed with manic-depressive illness. Ten to one, she simply didn’t take her meds.”
“She said it was me in her note.”
“So what?”
“Well, I . . .” I thought of the power flowing out of my fingers with Lucy. And Aunt Jean. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Okay. So then let’s talk about the barn. How come that happened?”
“I . . . I don’t remember doing it.”
“So you were sleepwalking. What do you think you were painting? A nightmare?”
Yeah, but someone else’s.
I remembered what Uncle Hank had said about a murder, and for the first time, it occurred to me that maybe
that
was what I was seeing. Like what they talked about when you heard about haunted houses, a psychic residue. Except why
now
? I’d lived in Winter my whole life, and I’d never gone out to that barn or ever
heard
about a murder. I said nothing.
She said, “I guess it’s easier to talk about how everyone hates you and is scared of you, right? I mean, that’s a part of you, like your name.”
“If you say so.”
“Is that what you want me to put in my notes?”
“Look, I had a bad dream. I sleepwalked. That’s all.”
“But why there? And why swastikas?”
“I don’t know.”
“You think it has something to do with
Hellsing
?” At my frown, she said, “The Nazis. They’re all over
Hellsing
, right? And you like manga, so . . . maybe that’s where the swastikas came from.”
I didn’t think so. “I don’t think so.”
“So what’s your theory?”
“I don’t have one.” I pulled on my lip, then blurted, “Did you know that someone was murdered there?”
Her eyebrows arched. “Really? No, I didn’t. Tell me.”
I told what little I did know and then said, “I keep meaning to look it up, but I’ve been kind of busy.”
“Okay. And you think this means . . . what?”
“
I
don’t know. I’m not the doctor.”
She chuckled. “Touché. Well, I think that maybe you heard about this at one point in your life and it surfaced now.”
I was shaking my head before she finished. “You heard Mrs. Krauss. This is a little, tiny town, and there are things people don’t talk about. This is one of them. I’ve never heard about this, never.”
“You had to have known, Christian.”
“I don’t see how. It’s not something Uncle Hank would talk about. Heck, he barely knows anything himself, it’s been so long, and other than the fact that it happened in 1945, that doesn’t explain the swastikas. I mean, Nazis? In Winter?” I shook my head. “Never happen.”
After that, the hour—well, fifty minutes—was up. Leaving, I asked, “How do you know my uncle?”
“Ah. Well, you know that case your uncle’s working? The baby in the
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