Read The Door to December for Free Online Page B

the word.'
     'Essentially, meditation is nothing but redirecting the mind inward, blocking out the material world, seeking peace through inner solitude. I doubt if he was teaching Melanie Zen meditation or any other brand with solid philosophical or religious overtones. He was probably just teaching her how to sit still and turn inward and think of nothing.'
     'Self-hypnosis.'
     'That's another name for it.'
     'Why did he want her to do that?'
     'I don't know.'
     She got up from the chair, nervous and agitated. She wanted to move, walk, work off the frantic energy that crackled through her. But the kitchen was too small. She was at the end of it in five steps. She started toward the hall door but stopped when she realized that she couldn't walk through the rest of the house, past the bodies, through the blood, getting in the way of the coroner's people and the police. She leaned against a counter, flattening her palms on the edge of it, pressing fiercely hard, as if somehow she could get rid of her nervous energy by radiating it into that ceramic surface.
     'Each day,' she said, 'after meditation, Melanie spent several hours learning biofeedback techniques.'
     'While sitting in the electrified chair?'
     'I think so. But ...'
     'But?' he persisted.
     'But I think the chair was used for more than that. I think it was also used to condition her against pain.'
     'Say that again?'
     'I think Dylan was using electric shock to teach Melanie how to blank out pain, how to endure it, ignore it the way that Eastern mystics do, the way Yogin do.'
     'Why?'
     'Maybe because, later, being able to tune out pain would help her get through the longer session in the sensory-deprivation tank.'
     'So I was right about that?'
     'Yes. He gradually increased her time in the tank until, by the third year, she would sometimes remain afloat for three days. By the fourth year, four and five days at a time. Most recently ... just last week, he put her in the tank for a seven-day session.
     'Catheterized?'
     'Yes. And on an IV. Intravenous needle. He was feeding her by glucose drip, so she wouldn't lose too much weight and wouldn't dehydrate.'
     'God in Heaven.'
     Laura said nothing. She felt as though she might cry again. She was nauseated. Her eyes were grainy, and her face felt greasy. She went to the sink and turned on the cold water, which spilled over the stacks of dirty dishes. She filled her cupped hands, splashed her face. She pulled several paper towels from the wall-mounted dispenser and dried off.
     She felt no better.
     Haldane said ruminatively, 'He wanted to condition her against pain so she could more easily get through the long sessions in the tank.'
     'Maybe. Can't be sure.'
     'But what's painful about being in the tank? I thought there was no sensation at all. That's what you told me.'
     'There's nothing painful about a session of normal length. But if you're going to be kept in a tank several days, your skin's going to wrinkle, crack. Sores are going to form.'
     'Ah.'
     'Then there's the damn catheter. At your age, you've probably never been so seriously ill that you've been incontinent, needed a catheter.'
     'No. Never.'
     'Well, see, after a couple of days, the urethra usually becomes irritated. It hurts.'
     'I would guess it does.'
     She wanted a drink very badly. She was not much of a drinker, ordinarily. A glass of wine now and then. A rare martini. But now, she wanted to get drunk.
     He said, 'So what was he up to? What was he trying to prove? Why did he put her through all this?'
     Laura shrugged.
     'You must have some idea.'
     'None at all. The journal doesn't describe the experiments or mention a single word about his intentions. It's just a