Angel Of Doom. James Axler
head. “I can be useful…”
“We know that,” Brigid answered her. “I just want to talk to you. One-on-one.”
Smaragda looked into the emerald, shining eyes of the tall woman, seeing a warmth that made her dislike herself even more, not wanting to deserve any of that for all that she’d failed to do. And yet the offered hand was irresistible and she rose, guided to a doorway.
* * *
EVEN IF BRIGID BAPTISTE were not possessed of a photographic memory, enabling her to recognize the signs of severe emotional trauma, she would have noticed the turmoil that wrapped up the frost-haired Smaragda. Taking her into the hallway, away from the presence of others, she managed to give the young woman some privacy. The corner of the corridor was well lit, but no one was using it.
“I’m sorry for dragging down the debriefing…” Smaragda began.
“You aren’t,” Brigid told her. She braced Smaragda’s face in both of her hands, locking eyes together. “Just look into my eyes and concentrate on my voice.”
“Why? What are you doing?” Smaragda asked.
“First, I’m going to get your complete testimony without causing you more conscious mental harm,” Brigid explained. “I’m hypnotizing you now, lulling your senses, making you feel more and more comfortable. As the notes of my voice strum gently in your ears, I am commanding your visual attention. With sight and hearing focused, calmed, you will become more attuned toward the cues that interfere with your detailed memory, as well as separate yourself from your emotional barriers.”
Smaragda’s dark, red-veined eyes slowly unfocused with Brigid’s continued description of the hypnosis process, calming her, fixating her until Brigid was able to draw her hands away from the girl’s cheeks.
Smaragda stood stock-still and the Cerberus archivist began asking her questions and receiving honest answers. The trick to hypnosis was simply a case of distraction of the conscious mind, taking away filters of behavior and emotion that would otherwise interfere with clarity of communication.
The shell-shocked soldier was much more forthcoming in her responses, and didn’t seem as if she wanted to fold herself away under the table. And since this was Brigid Baptiste, not a single syllable, not a single impression, would be forgotten or lost in the translation. Her brilliant mind absorbed every fact and description uttered by Smaragda, as well as opinions and impressions on things she could only speculate about.
The whole hypnotic session took only fifteen minutes for the direct questioning and Brigid was partially of a mind to continue, digging into Smaragda’s self-loathing and attempt to take care of it, like a surgeon having discovered a tumor in the midst of an operation. However, Brigid realized that if she attempted to dig too deeply, she could cause as much harm as she’d attempt to undo. No, meatball surgery on the traumatized young woman was not going to be on the menu today.
Smaragda’s healing would have to come from a more conventional source, but even as Brigid closed out the hypnotic session, she complimented the woman on her observational skills and her ability to bring vital intelligence to New Olympus. Positive reinforcement on the subconscious level could be a minor salve, but it wouldn’t upset the Greek woman’s thoughts such as an attempt to bury her feelings of self-loathing and survivor’s guilt. Putting that down deeper in Smaragda’s mind would be exactly the opposite of removing a tumor; it would be pushing a packet of septic and diseased flesh into a vulnerable set of organs, waiting for one moment to split and infect the rest of her, poisoning everything else she did.
No, Brigid couldn’t sublimate the raw feelings on Smaragda’s part. She could only attempt to leave an impression that she actually had done some good.
With a snap, Smaragda blinked her bloodshot eyes.
There was a moment where the soldier seemed unsteady on her feet, but Brigid assisted her with a firm hand on her shoulder.
“What happened? It feels like I fell asleep,” she said.
Brigid nodded. “In a way you did. I hypnotized you.”
Smaragda’s brow wrinkled as she looked up at the tall Cerberus woman. “Hypnotized. You didn’t do something like make me cluck like a chicken if someone says ‘dinner’ or something, right?”
“Nothing like that,” Brigid answered.
Smaragda managed a brief flicker of a smile before she cast her gaze to the floor. “At least I was good for something.”
Brigid put her arm around the soldier’s shoulders. “Come on, let’s get back to the meeting.”
This time she sat Smaragda right next to Edwards. The big man seemed confused for a moment.
“She’s too hard on herself, just like you,” Brigid murmured. “Maybe keep an eye on her and take your mind off of your ill-perceived failures.”
The CAT member nodded. “All right. I can take a hint,” he added with a mock growl.
“How’d you screw up?” Brigid heard Smaragda ask as she returned to the head of the table. At this point, Kane and Grant put away the cards they were toying with as they’d waited for her to return. She chuckled at the two of them sitting back up and looking interested, as if they were schoolboys afraid of being busted by their teacher.
“I thought you would be getting more information from Diana and Ari,” Brigid said.
“We did. But after we got all of that, and showed more of the vid, we had time left over,” Kane told her.
“What did you get?” Grant asked her.
“I got deeper information on the situation,” Brigid said. “And it contrasts with the interview in only a few minor errors and differences.”
“I told the truth,” Smaragda interjected.
Brigid nodded. “You did. But human memory is, for most people, a fickle thing. The human mind alters perceptions upon reflection, adding details that might not have been there in the original case, and ignoring others that seemed irrelevant at the time. A study in the late twentieth century proved that eyewitness testimony was only accurate in one instance out of ten where there were other forms of corroboration such as audio and video recording.”
“Really?” Kane asked.
Brigid nodded. “In my instance, that kind of filter for memory is missing, most likely a genetic anomaly.”
“Like a doomie.” Edwards spoke up.
Domi shook her head. “Brigid’s too smart for that. Doomies can’t handle the future. They get crazy. Brigid looks straight back.”
Brigid managed a weak smile. She didn’t want to correct her friend and oft-times student Domi. She could see the future, but only via educated calculations based upon prior data, a cause-and-effect form of premonition. She didn’t engage in it too often, only for the purposes of planning for battle and avoiding dangers. And even then, her calculations were not one hundred percent.
“Did Myrto see anything?” Diana asked.
“She described the fog she mentioned in detail,” Brigid stated. “And as our initial evaluation of potential myths, there was a Stygian aspect to the cloud. And yet there was something equally familiar to us. During a recent expedition to Africa, we encountered a similar unnatural darkness. To every one of our senses, it was something that was a truly physical entity. Not even a flashlight or high-tech optics could cut through it.”
“What was it really?” Aristotle asked.
“It was a psychic projection. One that was so strong, it even numbed tactile senses,” Brigid stated. “So, what Myrto saw could have been something similar. A form of smoke screen.”
“Why not just use an actual smoke screen? Wouldn’t that take a lot of energy?” Aristotle persisted.
“Because they were facing soldiers.