Chapter Ten. Betty, 1964
CHAPTER TEN
“The Ganzfeld effect happens when your brain is starved of visual stimulation and fills in the blanks on its own … You might hear someone speaking to you or telling you to do certain things … You might feel that bugs are crawling on your skin or that your internal organs are moving around.”
—
Maybe Kathleen’s fear was contagious, because Betty felt a stab of unease as she stepped into the blackout room. She looked back at Douglas, who gave her the slightest nod. She exhaled, willing her body to relax. She had to do this.
“I’ll stay right here,” Kathleen whispered.
Dr. Trimble handed Betty earplugs, then held up the strange blindfold. “The half Ping-Pong balls prevent light from leaking in,” he explained as he tied the blindfold around Betty’s head.
“Keep your eyes open,” he instructed. “The field of white creates an unstructured and uniform visual field. Kathleen will be studying images and transmitting them to you. When visions come to you, describe them aloud.”
It wasn’t awful. Not at first, anyway. The recliner felt soft and welcoming and after a few moments, Betty seemed to be melting into it. In the absence of external stimuli, it was hard to discern the contours of her own body.
She hadn’t slept well last night, and as the minutes ticked by, she grew drowsy.
She saw strange flashes of red and orange light.
Then something changed. Images began to form, like scenes from a film.
She spoke them aloud as they floated through her mind: a sailboat riding the ocean waves, a vase of dying flowers, a train chugging down a windy track.
Then a different sort of vision intruded. It was of Silas Trimble. He was standing on the other side of the door, his face twisted with greed. His fingers were outstretched, like they yearned to reach into her brain, tracing its wrinkles and curves.
She couldn’t repress a shudder.
Dr. Trimble was Douglas’s mentor. He was a highly respected scientist, a legend on campus. She knew she shouldn’t entertain such thoughts, let alone speak them aloud.
Betty grew completely disoriented. Were her eyes open or shut? She couldn’t tell. Her breath hitched faster. She was about to open her mouth and call out when she felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder.
She gave a little scream, but it was just Dr. Trimble, here to untie her blindfold and end the experiment.
“You can come out now, Betty,” he said.
She blinked at the light searing her eyes. She couldn’t see Douglas or Kathleen; Dr. Trimble’s tall, broad form blocked her line of view.
He must have had a device in the room to hear her answers. Perhaps it was hidden beneath the recliner. Or maybe he’d had his ear pressed to the door the whole time. Or maybe—and this was the worst thought of all—he’d snuck back in, and hovered by her in the darkness.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied.
He led her out of the room, and she felt lightheaded with relief when she saw Douglas and Kathleen. Dr. Trimble hadn’t banished them; they’d stayed close to her.
“How was the experience for you, Betty?” Dr. Trimble asked.
She knew what he wanted her to say. He didn’t need permission to plumb her psyche, but he wanted her full cooperation.
She pretended to misunderstand.
“Oh, I enjoyed it, but it would be difficult to do every day.” She gave a little laugh. “What with taking care of our home and my classes.”
His compressed lips revealed it wasn’t the answer he wanted.
“I’ll speak to your professors,” he told her. “They won’t have any complaint about you missing classes.”
He was claiming her.
That night, Betty made their little home especially welcoming.
She drew the floral curtains her mother had sewn, plumped the sofa cushions, and put together a chicken casserole.
Good Housekeeping had taught Betty to layer the edges of the dish with biscuit dough that turned golden brown as the casserole cooked.
It made their home smell as mouthwatering as a bakery.
She had to rush to get ready, but by the time Douglas walked through the door she was freshly bathed, wearing his favorite belted blue dress, and mixing cocktails.
Always before, he’d greeted her with a kiss that felt like love. Tonight was different. The thing that had sprung up between them at the lab had followed him home. He kissed her, but gingerly. Like they no longer knew each other as intimately.
She kept up a light chatter during dinner, avoiding the topic of Dr. Trimble’s lab. It wasn’t until they lay down in bed together and he reached for her that Betty said what had been on her mind all evening.
“My prescription will run out next week.” He knew what she was talking about; she only had one, for birth control pills, which she’d been allowed to get once she was a married woman.
“I thought maybe I shouldn’t refill it.”
In the darkness of their bedroom, she couldn’t make out the expression on his face. He wanted children; of course he did. They’d settled on three or four. After she graduated, they’d begin trying. That was their plan.
Gripped by an urgency she couldn’t articulate, Betty felt desperate to start trying right away. This very night.
“It’s too soon,” Douglas said.
She scratched her nails lightly over his bare arm in the way she knew he loved.
“We could have a little one in time for the holidays next year,” she whispered. “A strong, healthy boy who looks just like you. Or a sweet baby girl with ringlets.”
Douglas sat up in bed.
“Of course we will, we’ll have both! But not right now, Betty.” Douglas’s voice rose. “Dr. Trimble believes you have the gift, Betty. He’s going to rewrite history. And we get to be a part of it!”
She’d only heard that kind of passion in Douglas’s voice once before, when he’d proposed marriage.
Tears sprang to her eyes.
“I know how important your work is,” she whispered. “But I could do everything for the baby. You’d go to work every day, like always.”
She waited while he thought it through. Douglas never made decisions rashly; his logical mind needed to sort through every variable.
“What if being pregnant affects your ability to be tested?” Douglas said. It was the worst answer he could have given. He must have felt dampness on his arm because he flicked on the nightstand lamp. “Sweetheart, are you crying?”
She couldn’t speak; great wrenching sobs clogged her throat.
Douglas hurried out of bed. When he returned, he was holding a glass of brandy and two aspirin.
“This will help, Bets,” he told her. “Things always look brighter in the morning.”
He wrapped his arm around her and fell asleep quickly, but Betty lay awake beside him for hours.
His decision was made. Betty belonged to Dr. Trimble.