Chapter Twenty-Six. Betty, 1964
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Before David Berkowitz’s arrest, [psychic Dorothy] Allison also was credited with giving an accurate description of the Son of Sam killer to a police artist and correctly predicting that he would be picked up on a traffic violation.”
—The Los Angeles Times
Two days after the football game, while the scrapes on Ivy’s knees were still fresh, Dr. Trimble announced he had a new experiment for his girls. “Come to my car.”
“Where are we going, sir?” Kathleen asked.
Dr. Trimble shook his head. “For the experiment to be pure, the only information you can have is what comes to you organically.”
Betty looked at the other women, knowing their fatigue was reflected in her own countenance. By contrast, after his long sleep and greedy refueling, Dr. Trimble seemed larger and his color was heightened. His belly strained against his shirt buttons, and his cheeks were heavy and florid.
As she picked up her handbag and cardigan, Betty tried to catch Douglas’s eye. He was administering the card test to a new volunteer, a pretty girl who smelled like roses and wore a blue sweater with a matching headband.
Dr. Trimble put on his long black coat and hat but before he led the women to the door, he did something peculiar. He stopped behind Douglas’s shoulder, watching as the final few cards of the test were administered.
“Did you enjoy that, Emily?” he asked.
“It was fun, sir,” Emily replied. She looked to be about eighteen, and had such perfect, creamy skin she could have been a Pond’s Cold Cream model. “I hope I did well after you brought me all this way.” Betty was surprised to hear that Emily had a British accent. It sounded so crisp and elegant.
Douglas pointed to something on his notepad while Dr. Trimble nodded.
“Excellent,” Dr. Trimble said. “Continue with her.”
Betty tried to catch Douglas’s eye as she exited the building, but he ignored her.
Dr. Trimble led them to his maroon Buick Riviera. There was room for three in the back and one in front. Betty knew none of them wanted to sit next to Dr. Trimble but then Ivy said, “I guess I could use the extra room,” and climbed into the passenger’s seat.
Dr. Trimble drove slowly, hunched over his steering wheel.
The silence felt thick and awkward, but Betty couldn’t think of anything to say.
She tried to take comfort in the feel of Helen’s shoulder pressed against her own.
At least she had the other girls; she didn’t know if she could bear being sealed in the vehicle with just Dr. Trimble.
He’d always unnerved her. But lately, she felt almost afraid of him. The more he tried to command and harness her psyche, the more desperately she wanted to recoil.
After forty minutes or so, Dr. Trimble pulled to the side of the road. Betty looked around. They were in a rural area. In the distance was farmland, with spotted cows grazing atop rolling green fields. Thick clouds were creeping sideways toward the sun, threatening to blot out the warmth and light.
“You need to trust me completely,” Dr. Trimble said. Then he handed them the Ping-Pong blindfolds. They tied them on, erasing their field of vision.
They drove a little longer, and Betty felt Helen’s hand touch her own, feeling so small and delicate it could be a child’s. She clutched it tightly, feeling her stomach churn, wishing this day were over.
The car stopped again and Betty heard Dr. Trimble grunt with the exertion of climbing out. One by one, he led the girls away from the car, guiding them by their elbows. Betty had no frame of reference; she could be anywhere.
When Dr. Trimble spoke again, his voice was so close to her ear that she flinched. “Each of you may have a different experience today, or you may have one unified vision. Whatever happens, you must remember every detail, even ones that seem insignificant. I’ll come back to pick you up in due time.”
He handed Betty earplugs and she dutifully inserted them, then he was gone.
At least, he seemed to be gone. He could be a few dozen yards away, watching to make sure they didn’t remove their blindfolds or disobey his instructions.
This experiment was an escalation of the blackout room, Betty realized. Maybe the other girls weren’t even nearby; Dr. Trimble could have led them to different locations.
She could be standing here all alone. She had rarely felt so vulnerable.
He would come back soon, she tried to reassure herself. And Dr. Trimble was a very reputable man; just yesterday, there was a photograph of him in the school newspaper along with the college’s President Sherman at a celebration of a generous new donation to the institute.
Betty slowed her breathing and tucked her hands into her pockets for warmth.
She felt her heels digging into the soft earth beneath her feet, so she slipped them off and stood in her nylons on the grass.
At least she wasn’t on a road; she could be on one of the rolling green hills she’d seen at their last stop.
Maybe cows were grazing nearby. She found the image comforting, and tried to coax it forward.
As her breathing slowed, she counted the good things that lay ahead: She’d awoken extra early to begin dinner preparations, and tonight she planned to light candles and play “Bring It On Home to Me” by Sam Cooke, which had been their wedding song.
Douglas hadn’t mentioned it yet, but surely he’d come home with flowers or a gift.
It was their one-year wedding anniversary.
They would have a quiet, loving evening together.
She thought about how this very morning, she’d opened the oval plastic case containing twenty-one birth control pills, plus the seven sugar pills that she swallowed during her monthly curse.
She’d been tempted to throw the case into the trash, but she worried her husband would see it and there would be consequences for her rebellious act. Surely it wouldn’t be too long before Douglas agreed it was time to make a baby.
Then the visions began—streaks that looked like lightning, followed by a light orange haze. She inhaled and smelled smoke. But not the vanilla aroma of Dr. Trimble’s pipe.
This was a fire.