Shining among Darkness

By
WingzemonX

Chapter 05.
Evelyn

Despite the tightness of her schedule, Matilda accepted Cody's invitation to eat, since she would have to do it anyway, and the road to Moesko Island was still long. They went to a small home-cooked food restaurant near to the school, which Cody recommended extensively. They went on to talk a bit more about the issue, but mostly they took the time to catch up, talk about what they had done all that time, and update their phone numbers and emails. They also agreed when Cody could go to Eola and meet Samara; they chose one day of the following week, depending on how the girl responded during those days.

Matilda only took an exact hour to eat, and then she said goodbye and withdrew, even with some food on her plate. She had to take the I-5 south again, get to Tacoma, and then go back up north, forming a "U" on the map of her GPS, which would take two to two and a half hours, until arriving at Port Townsend.

For those moments she was already somewhat exhausted. She was awake early, and almost all that time she had spent driving on the road. She was tempted to sleep in Port Townsend or Olympia after her appointment since the mere thought of having to drive back to Salem made her rather lazy. However, in the morning she had to see Samara early, as Dr. Scott had programmed it; a significant part of her was convinced that he had done it on purpose, knowing in advance that she would have to make all that trip. But whatever it was, sleeping away from Eola that night was not an option.

She arrived at Port Townsend a little before three-thirty but had to wait for the ferry until four. During the waiting time, and during the same trip to the island, she took the opportunity to stretch her legs, send some emails, and rest a bit on the seat of his car. She also tried to rehearse in her head what she would say and do once arrived at the Morgan Horse Ranch, and meet with Samara's father.

The original intention was to review with him the opinion of the psychiatrist after those days of having spoken with her daughter, as well as inform him about what the plan would be to continue from then on. However, after reading the information that Eleven had sent her, the conversation would surely have to be diverted to that topic.

She also needed to talk to Mr. Morgan about the idea of Cody talking to Samara someday soon. Of course, she would name him as a colleague of the Foundation, which was not a lie. But she would not tell him exactly why she thought it could be useful. Nor did she plan to say to him what she had talked with Cody that morning and his theory about the true nature of Samara's Shining; it was indeed just a theory until now, after all. What Matilda least wanted was for him to start making ideas in his head that they were not, especially concerning the effects it might have had on his wife's mind.

The ferry left her on the island around four forty. Since they were approaching, Matilda was struck by the emblematic lighthouse that was rising in the distance, apparently not working for those times. The sky had gone completely gray, and lightning was heard in the distance. Not a drop of water was falling yet, but Matilda was sure it would not be so long before it started. The place was relatively small, and it did not take long to find the Morgan Ranch; it seemed to be somehow the best-known place on the island.

The place looked somewhat crowded, despite the time. Workers came and went, hauling horses, feeding them, repairing fences... She didn't know much about horses, but the ones she caught sight of, they seemed really beautiful, from their form to their trot. Could those have been the only ones who survived the incident with Samara?

Matilda drove the car to the main house and parked it right front it. Richard Morgan, a tall and stocky man with black hair, adorned with a few gray hairs, came out to meet her from the door, even before she got out of the vehicle. She recognized him immediately, having searched for photos on the internet previously. As soon as he saw her, a broad smile of joy crossed the man's lips.

"Dra. Honey, if I'm not mistaken," he said enthusiastically, as he descended the porch steps. "It's a pleasure to have you in front of me finally."

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Morgan."

"Call me Richard, with confidence."

He then offered her his big right hand, which she accepted in a firm handshake that ended up leaving her somewhat sore; however, she had to disguise it.

Mr. Morgan led her into the house, more specifically into the living room. Matilda took a seat in one of the large couches, while her host prostrated himself in an individual one. He wore a khaki jacket, and blue jeans, somewhat stained due to the manual tasks of the ranch, most likely.

"I'm pleased to meet you, doctor. You look even younger in person, with all respect."

"Do not worry," she answered calmly, although the effusiveness with which he received her really confused her a little.

"I do not know what you're doing exactly with that girl, but whatever it is, is working." Matilda raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "The horses feel much better and have behaved better. And the doctors have been told me that even my wife is getting better."

"Did they say that?"

"Yes, Dr. Scott phoned me early. He didn't say it, but I'm sure everything is thanks to you."

Matilda nodded slowly, although deep down, she was not entirely sure of that statement. She could theorize that Mr. Morgan supposed Samara continued to have some effect, even at a distance, on his horses and his wife. She had no basis yet to affirm this was not the case, but she didn't think that was the case. If there was an improvement in both cases, it could be due to other factors.

She was tempted to share such a conjecture, but maybe it was not the best time, considering it was their first meeting, and whatever that idea seemed to put him in a good mood, that was seen long ago needed. Therefore, instead, she just smiled and said:

"I only do my duty."

"And it is an excellent duty. Whatever you do, continue. No matter what it costs, okay?"

"I thank you, but as I told you in our first contact, we are a non-profit association."

"Then look at it as a donation, yes?" He finished right after with a subtle wink of his right eye. "So you can continue with your work."

That bothered Matilda a little, so she preferred to divert the subject to the final purpose of her visit.

"Let's talk about that later, if that's okay." She crossed her legs and adjusted her skirt. "I know I had told you that my visit intended to give you my first impressions after these sessions with Samara and decide the next steps to take. But before I get to that, I'd like to question you about something important."

"Whatever, tell me."

Matilda took a deep breath, held the air for a few seconds, and then released it slowly. To give the impression of always being safe and firm, could be very exhausting in the long run.

"Why did not you inform me that Samara is adopted?"

The smile on Richard's face abruptly vanished upon hearing such a question. If a moment ago he looked happy and confident, now he seemed surprised, even worried. He remained silent for long seconds, perhaps asking himself if he had heard correctly; however, there was not much room for misunderstandings.

"How did you know about that?" He questioned her after a while, with a slightly defensive tone that not surprise Matilda.

"We have our sources," was her answer. And it was true; sources of a particular kind, indeed. The same sources that had informed her about everything that Dr. Scott had decided to omit in the information he had given them.

Matilda expected Richard to question him more about it, but he didn't. Instead, he took a little longer for himself before spoke again. He settled back in his chair and rubbed his face nervously with one hand.

"Is that relevant to help her?"

"Maybe yes, or maybe not. But, your daughter's ability is exceptional, even by the standards of the children we used to treat. We need all the possible information, to be able to know the right method to help her. And her origin and history is an essential part of that information."

Richard snorted and drummed his fingers on the armrests of the chair. The subject seemed to be complicated for him... or perhaps not precisely for him. Matilda thought it was not him or Samara who worried him.

"Well, that's true," he said after a while. "Being a mother is what my wife wanted the most in the whole world; even more than his horses. We tried hard, but pregnancies could not come to fruition. After four attempts, we went to see a specialist in England, but it did not work either. In the end, we decided to the adoption."

A smile, almost nostalgic, drew on his lips, as he stared at no specific point.

"You must have seen her eyes light up the first time she saw Samara. I'd never seen her so happy before then."

"And you?" Asked Matilda, "was not you happy?"

Richard was silent for a while, thinking.

"Samara was such a beautiful baby. But maybe we were not meant to be parents. Maybe that was God's will, and we should not have gone against it."

Those words caused deep disapproval in Matilda, which she tried to disguise. She couldn't prevent remembering in those moments the words that Samara had told her the other day, about how she felt that her parents hated her. According to Dr. Scott, that statement was not entirely wrong... and Matilda was beginning to see that maybe he was right.

"Samara knows?" Asked Mr. Morgan.

"No, I don't think so."

"And will you tell her?"

"It doesn't concern me to do it. It will be better if Samara listens the true from you two." Richard didn't answer anything, but by his face, it did not seem that the idea tempted him very much. "Do you know who her parents were?"

"I don't. I think her mother died in childbirth, but..." He paused a little thoughtfully. "Maybe in that refuge for women they can tell you more."

"Refuge? What refuge?"

Without saying anything, Richard stood up from his seat and walked towards the stairs. He didn't go up but instead opened a door under them, one that evidently took to the basement, and then he went there.

Matilda, on the other hand, sat there, not knowing if she was supposed to follow him, or wait for him. He thought about that last mention to a women's refuge; what exactly did he mean? She hoped that it was what he had gone to do, with the intention of clarifying it.

Richard returned after a long time, holding on his hands what Matilda initially thought was a rectangular box. However, when he was closer, it seemed, in fact, more similar to a small suitcase, somewhat outdated appearance, with beige fabric lining. He walked towards her, and placed the box on the small coffee table, right in front of her. Matilda could contemplate it more clearly at that moment; it had some marks of moisture and dust, and in the upper left corner had a red rose, a pretty one.

"We got this suitcase when we adopted her," Mr. Morgan said as she inspected the box outside. "They only told us that it was from her mother and she kept it for her."

A suitcase that belonged to her mother? That was interesting.

Matilda took the liberty of opening the front latches of the box and removing its lid to check the content. In effect, it seemed to be a suitcase, containing several garments, all feminine. On top of all of them, however, there was a blanket, gray in color, with blue letters embroidered on it that said:

Property of Saint Mary Magdalen

Women's Shelter

That must be what he was referring to. Matilda took the blanket very carefully between her fingers and lifted it up to get it out. As soon as his fingers touched the fabric, a deep cold ran down her entire back, and then the whole body. The sensation lasted for about a minute, but then it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"Something happens?" Richard asked, already back in his seat.

"No, nothing," she said hastily, but not sure. Psychometry was another of those skills she was supposed to lack, but that just as often brought her some sensations, almost always not pleasant. "You never showed it to Samara?"

"In the beginning, we thought to give it to her when she became older. But after, we just didn't care anymore." The disdain in his tone was quite obvious. "Keep it. Do what you want with it."

Matilda was not convinced at first, but in the end, she took the floor, because that suitcase was the only clue to find Samara's biological mother, and perhaps also her father. But she would only borrow it temporarily; all these things belonged only to Samara.

They put that issue aside, although it was not so simple. They talked about the original topic that they were supposed to discuss and also commented about Cody and her intention to support them. Mr. Morgan no longer seemed as effusive as in the beginning, but still answered all his questions, and agreed with all his proposals. Matilda also asked for the doll that Samara had requested, and it was delivered without much trouble.

In the end, the visit to Moesko had been quite rewarding. However, she had brought with her some new questions to answer.

— — — —

At six with fifteen, Matilda and her vehicle were already on the ferry to return to land. She had so much to think about, and the journey was actually a bit short to cover everything. She was somewhat surprised by the coincidence that existed between Samara, Cody and her, in the sense that the three had ended up being adopted by other people at an early age. Of course, she had practically given herself up for adoption, but the same case was repeated.

And it was not the first time she saw this characteristic in one of the children of the Foundation; in fact, Eleven herself, from what she had told her, had lived much of her childhood apart from her mother. Would it be something recurrent in children with the Shining to have to be separated irremediably from their parents? She didn't seriously believe that there was a real relationship between one thing and another, but the coincidence seemed more than curious.

But whatever it was, analyzing that would not get her anywhere. Matilda preferred to take a look at the suitcase of Samara's mother, which was currently resting in the passenger seat. She placed the box on her legs and opened it again. Took another look at the clothes, but there was nothing out of the ordinary or something useful; no other garment caused her any different sensation when touched it.

Suddenly, under all the clothes, Matilda found something else; something different. It was a notebook, hard-paste something corroded. It had printed on it the drawing of a woman and a girl on its cover, simulating some kind of religious painting. A curious possession that stood out from the rest of the contents of the suitcase; would it be from Samara's mother? Would she have made that drawing?

Curious, she opened the notebook and began to leaf through it. She didn't pass on the first page when found something that surprised her. Written in beautiful cursive letters, it read:

For Samara

"Samara?" She exclaimed in a low voice, like a thought that escaped from his lips on its own.

If that notebook was from Samara's biological mother... Why was that same name written there? Samara was the name that his mother had chosen for her in the beginning? Did the Morgans decide to leave her the same name? Well, she had not changed her first name when she was adopted, nor Cody. However, both had already been older and conscious; Samara had been adopted, from what she had understood, when she was very, very young.

Maybe she was overthinking it. Perhaps, in fact, that was her name at birth, and just her adoptive parents did not want to change it. This could be that simple. Even so, for some reason, it caused her some confusion.

Matilda slid her fingers slowly over the letters written on the yellowish sheet. Nothing happened. Not that she really expected it, but maybe it would have been helpful.

She continued to leaf through, checking its contents above. She expected to find a diary or a sketchbook. However, it turned out to be something more strangely. It seemed like a compendium of legends and myths, newspaper clippings, literary works, stories of black magic, paganism, and satanic rituals. There were notes on the sides of the pages and at the bottom of these, but mostly they looked like scribbles written in a hurry and challenging to understand at first glance.

Matilda was not sure what it all meant. If she had to give a theory based on what she saw, would have to assume that the person behind that notebook had some kind of obsession with the dark arts. But not from the perspective of a practitioner, but from someone with eager curiosity.

Among all that jumble of information without a logical order, there seemed to be two recurring themes. The first was the conception as the result of interaction with dark forces alien to the human ones, mainly speaking of demons. Matilda was slightly alarmed to consider the fact that this thought might come from the mind of a pregnant woman. But the second issue was the intrigue: water. There were many legends and writings talking about water as a source of life and death; of its nature, both physical and magical.

Water, she thought to herself. Samara had told her that in her nightmares there was always water. Would it be a coincidence?

It was better not to draw more conclusions based on a notebook that was not even sure who it belonged to. Maybe it was not owned by Samara's biological mother, and it might belong to Mrs. Morgan, made during her delusions caused by the events that occurred before. Or, even, it could be Samara's own...

No scenario was more favorable than the other, but both were possible. After all, the suitcase was right there, in their house.

She was about to put that issue aside and rest what remained of the road to land. But when she gave the last turn over the page, it was found with something that was not like the rest. Stuck in one of the leaves, was a black and white photo of a young girl, maybe sixteen years old, holding a baby wrapped in a white blanket in her arms. The woman's dark hair covered most of her face, so that very little of her features was reached.

She was not Mrs. Morgan; that was for sure. From the photos she had found of her on the Internet, she had nothing similar to that girl, even if it was from when she was young. It could be another random cut like all the others. But, what if she was...?

Matilda put the notebook back in the box and put it back in the other seat. She was so immersed in everything that by the time she managed to react, was not only on the ground, but she was already driving down the road to the south, and it was already close to seven o'clock. When she was finally conscious, pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. She pulled out her phone and searched on the Internet for the name of the Women's Shelter that was printed on the blanket. Was not surprised to see that there was at least a dozen throughout the United States with that name; however, only one in Washington. In fact, it was in Silverdale, a town about fifty kilometers in the direction she was going; she passed by there on her way.

Matilda didn't believe in things like fate or luck... but that was close enough.

She thought for a moment about her next move. Looked at the time again; there was more than seven already; with luck, it would be a little before eight when she arrived in Silverdale, and she still lacked all the way back to Salem after that.

She could go another day...

Maybe it was too late, and there would be nobody to attend her...

And, what if it was not even the same refuge from which the blanket came?

Her fingers tightened nervously on the steering wheel. What if she asked Eleven what she should do? No, she couldn't be asking for advice whenever felt doubt with something. As it turned out, she apparently lacked a certain kind of mysterious experience; what would Eleven think if she called her at that time to ask about something like that? Especially considering that in Indiana it was almost eleven o'clock at night.

In the end, she decided to venture. Anyway, had to go through there, so if it were not the place or nobody attended her, she would just lose a few minutes.

For her good or bad luck, depending on how she saw it, she found the site fast, and there were still people attending because they closed the doors at ten o'clock; enough time. The place looked like some kind of old mansion, of enormous size and large patios. Matilda was not sure if indeed it had been any house before, but it definitely didn't seem made initially to be a shelter for women. She parked her vehicle on the opposite sidewalk, and got out in a hurry, but not before taking out the photo from the notebook, which she supposed could be Samara and her mother. She would try to see if someone recognized her and could tell anything about.

The place was attended by nuns; she had guessed by the place's name. At first, none of the women with black and long habits seemed very willing to take care of her. Her almost bureaucratic attire, perhaps made them think she was some kind of lawyer and preferred to get back; very reasonable. But after five attempts, she found one, about forty or forty-five years old, who agreed to see the photograph. As soon as she saw it, her expression betrayed her immediately: she had recognized the girl in the photo.

She told her that she should talk to the chief nun; she could help her about it and offered to guide her to her office. The sister went in first and asked to wait for a little in the hall. She was in maybe five or seven minutes. Matilda tried, wrongly, to hear a bit of what they said inside, but apparently only murmured slowly between them. When the door opened again, the nun who had guided her told that she could go in, and she did.

The office was dimly lit. The chief nun didn't wear a habit, but that did not surprise her very much. Instead, she wore a black dress, calf-length, quite old-fashioned. Her dark brown hair was wholly pulled back, and her lips were painted with a shade too intense for a nun. As soon as she entered, the sister looked at her with some severity from his desk; behind it, there were long windows with closed curtains.

"Let me see the picture, please," the chief nun exclaimed as the only greeting, and then extended her hand to the front.

Direct to the point, that pleased Matilda. She supposed that at that time of night, anyone would want to finish any pending soon. The other nun retired, leaving them two alone. Matilda went to the desk and handed the photograph in question to the woman. She put on a pair of thick black-framed glasses, which she used to take a look at the photo. Contemplated it for almost a minute without saying anything. Matilda, for her part, remained standing in front of her, because the nun had not even offered her the option to sit down. After a while, she finally lowered both, the photo and her glasses, and turned to see Matilda again, with a seriousness that Matilda seemed somewhat forced.

"Why are you looking for this girl?" The chief nun questioned accusingly, but Matilda did not react. The mere fact that she asked her that, coupled with the reaction of the first nun, confirmed that they indeed knew the girl on the photo. It was still a risky assumption, but if she added the blanket with the name of that place, and that in the picture the woman was carrying a baby, it was easy to add one plus one and give two.

Matilda decided to respond with all the confidence she was capable of transmitting, even though she did not really feel it.

"It's about her daughter, Samara," she remarked considerably on the name to detect any reaction. And indeed she had it, almost immediately: a slightly amused smile.

"Samara... I haven't heard that name for a long time," the woman in black said with a bit of nostalgia in her voice. She thought for a few moments. "What's wrong with her? How do you know that child?"

"Samara is fine. She grew well and healthy, and now she is a very pretty young girl. But right now she needs help, and it's important to me know everything you can tell me about her mother to give her that help."

"And you are...?"

We could have started there, Matilda thought inside her mind. She concluded immediately that the bad mood she felt must be because of all the accumulated fatigue of that day, and the same must be for the woman in front of her. For the same reason, she had to be careful in what said, and how said it.

"I'm Dr. Matilda Honey," she introduced herself, just before giving herself permission to sit down. "I belong to the Eleven Foundation. I'm from Boston, but right now I'm temporarily in Eola, Oregon, treating Samara."

"Treating what exactly?" There was genuine concern in her voice. "What happened? It must be something urgent to come from so far at this hours."

If only she knew all the real journey she had to do that day...

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you. Many of the details are confidential, as you must understand."

"Yes, of course," murmured the chief nun, not entirely convinced. "What kind of doctor you are?"

Matilda hesitated to answer, but she had no justification in which she could shield herself from doing so.

"I'm a psychiatrist."

A sharp sigh, something liberating from her perspective, came from the woman's lips.

"I was afraid of that..."

Matilda did not understand the reason for that comment, and before she could ask what it meant, the woman stood up and went to a door on the right side of the room. The door opened onto a small room with many file cabinets, where she began sniffing.

"They tell me I should pass all this to digital," she said from that room, aloud. "And I just wonder, what time do I go to do that? Also, I don't know how useful it can be to keep this record in the long term. Usually when one of these girls leaves, rarely someone comes asking for them... except you, of course."

She returned after a few minutes of searching, with an open file in her hands.

"Luckily we have no legal obligation to confidentiality. And if it's about helping that kid, I'll do what I can." She then placed the file right in front of Matilda. "Her name was Evelyn."

Matilda focused her attention on the file. Between papers, there was an exact copy of the photo she had brought, but in color. In it, she could see her dark brown hair and pale skin.

"Only Evelyn?" Matilda asked, curious.

"She never told us anything else. She was always very reserved with her past."

The chief nun returned to her seat, leaning entirely against the back of her chair. Matilda took a look at the first page of the file, which was apparently a standard registration form, with Evelyn's primary data. However, beyond the name and age, sixteen years old, there was no other relevant information, not even her birthday.

"She arrived here with seven months of pregnancy," the chief nun informed her. "Misaligned, scared, bringing only an old suitcase and what she was wearing."

"Mr. Morgan, Samara's adoptive father, told me she died in childbirth," Matilda pointed out as she continued to review the file.

"Well, it's not like that. The labor was calm and without complications."

The psychiatrist raised her face and looked at the nun, somewhat surprised.

"And how did she die then?"

"She didn't die. She is still alive... As far as I know."

Now that took her by surprise. In retrospect, she realized that the only thing that made her suppose the mother had died, was the same assumption from Mr. Morgan.

"She's here?"

"No, twelve years ago we had to intern her; for her safety and for Samara's. She's in the Psychiatric Institute, right here in Silverdale."

"Have she been there for twelve years?"

"At least I know she was there ten years ago. And from what they told me, I doubt she has come out in the last couple of years; not by their own will."

"Why did you intern her?"

"Postpartum depression, it's how you call it, right? Or so we thought it was at the beginning, but soon it was obvious that it was more complicated than that." The woman in black rubbed her eyes a bit with her fingers, and then let out a sharp and unobtrusive yawn. "Since she arrived here, her behavior was quite strange, almost paranoid. She did not sleep and was scared all the time. She said that her baby was talking to her, even when she was still in the womb. Constantly repeated that someone would come and take her daughter away and she couldn't allow it."

"The father?"

"Maybe," the nun answered with a shrug, "though she never spoke about him directly. She seemed convinced that he didn't exist, that her baby was the daughter of something else... something that whispered to her from the sea."

"The sea?"

"Strange, right? But you are the psychologist; you tell me what it could mean."

Matilda felt that almost like an attack, but again, she attributed it to fatigue. Likewise, without knowing the exact details of her condition and the hallucination characteristics, she had no way of knowing what that meant precisely; it could literally be almost anything.

"She put everyone nervous," the chief nun continued, "but in general she was harmless, sweet and kind to everyone. But, when Samara was born, her condition worsened. Evelyn was sure there was something wrong with the baby. She was afraid of Samara and insisted she talked to her and showed her things that only she saw..."

Matilda shuddered a little, though discreetly, after those last words.

"She was so persistent, and many of the sisters of that time began to fear her too. But they were just ravings of that poor girl. Samara, in fact, was a girl so well carried, so quiet. She never cried or causes problems. Well, except when she was bathed. In those moments, she cried so hard, it scared us all. We never knew why. It seemed as she was afraid of water."

Again, another fact that made her jump, even mentally.

"Fortunately, if you can call something in this like that, was those same cries that woke us up that night..."

The almost lugubrious way in which she had mentioned that last statement, left Matilda on the lookout. The chief nun stood up then, and walked to one of the windows, opening the curtains with a tug of the cord. Matilda stood up too, and walked quickly to her side, and peered in the direction she was looking. Below, in the inner courtyard of the house, lit by a dim lantern, was a medium-sized circular fountain with a statue of a cherub with a vase from which sprang a stream of water.

"Evelyn tried to drown Samara, right there in the fountain," the nun added suddenly, leaving Matilda stunned. "They told me that while she was singing to her, she was trying to submerge her in the water. But the sisters stopped her before she did it. She kicked, shouted and scratched at the sisters who held her. It was horrifying. Evelyn screamed again and again that she had to kill her to save her. We had to call the authorities, and they took care of Evelyn, and we took care of arranging Samara's adoption."

Matilda remained silent, staring at the fountain. She didn't know what caused her more commotion: the story, or how everything seemed to fit in some way with several points of the present.

"You look disturbed, dear," she heard the chief nun speaking to her with a sweeter tone, and only then did she manage to emerge from her immersion. "Would anything help if I told you that it is not the worst thing that has happened in the lives of these girls?" Again, another sigh, but this was more of weariness. "They all come here damaged, physically and emotionally, and often we do not have the means to help them as they need it. That was Evelyn's case."

"I know you should have done as much as you could to help her."

"Thank you," the nun smiled at her, and then walked back to her desk, though she did not sit down in her chair. "I don't know what else I can say about it. If it is a mental illness what the little girl is suffering from, I am afraid that maybe she could have inherited it from her mother. That works like that, right?"

"Sometimes. Have you had contact with Evelyn?"

"Directly, no. Not since they took her away twelve years ago. Since then, only once every two or three years, I get some small news about her, but nothing hopeful."

"Do you think I can see her?

"In psychiatric?" She quickly checked her small wristwatch. "At this time it is very likely not. Try tomorrow."

"I must be in Salem early tomorrow."

"Then I suppose it could be another day," the nun concluded, shrugging her shoulders, and picking up the file again. Matilda was tempted to ask to lend it with her, or at least let see it more calmly, but the chief nun took it back to the archivist without hesitation.

It was okay, Matilda supposed. Likewise, by the little she had seen, there was not much information that could be useful, beyond what the chief nun had just told her.

"I don't know how much talk with her can help you with your problem. I don't know if she is capable at this time of engaging in a coherent conversation."

"I don't lose anything with trying," she answered, and then Matilda headed for the exit herself. "Thanks for your time, and excuse the intrusion."

— — — —

That was more than she expected to get that day. She hurried out of the shelter and headed straight for her vehicle. The mercurial lights were already on, and the sun was practically hidden. She sat in the driver's seat, and there she remained, motionless, something gone.

She had to recapitulate a little. The first thing: Samara's biological mother was alive; in fact, she must have been her same age at that time. What should she do with that piece of information? Maybe she had to keep it secret, at least to Samara. Her condition was quite unstable to inform her right now that she is adopted, and her real mother was alive. Besides, as she had told Mr. Morgan before, that was something that didn't belong to her.

In the second place, there were two strange facts in the story that the chief nun had just told her, and that they had made her react. Starting with the fact that Evelyn claimed that her baby spoke to her and showed her things. That could easily be explained as delirium. However, it took on another meaning if she considered that the baby in question had such extraordinary ability, one she still did not even know how to call.

But it was difficult to understand. It was practically impossible for a newborn baby to show such abilities at such a young age, much less when she was not even born. Further, according to the Morgans, such incidents began to emerge little by little over the last couple of years. Had Samara really been responsible for that? It was hard not to see the resemblance between this case and what Mrs. Morgan suffered. Although of course, it could be a coincidence.

And then there was the story of the fountain, and how her mother tried to drown Samara. The story alone was pretty disgusting. But what struck her most was that it agreed with the nightmares Samara had told the other day.

With water... there's water always. Sometimes it feels like I'm drowning and I can't get out.

In the file that had been given to her about the case, it was commented that sometimes Samara had shown a particular aversion to the water, especially in high amounts like in tubs, swimming pools, and the sea. Could something of that be related? It was rare, to say nothing ordinary, for someone to keep memories of such an early age, in which they aren't even able to understand in the least what surrounds them. Would it be another coincidence? And what about the cuts and notes in the notebook that also touched the water issue?

The case had complicated even more than she expected. Was that what Eleven meant, with which she had to investigate Samara's past more thoroughly? That's what she said when she told her she lacked the right experience?

Her head hurt, and she felt very exhausted. She had to make notes of everything she had discovered that day, and analyze them more calmly the next day. For now, she went to the nearest store to buy the most loaded coffee she found, and shortly after was on the road, with the last rays of the sun and some rain starting.

She didn't know how convenient it would be for her case to speak with Evelyn if indeed she was still there. She also didn't know if she was exceeding her obligations and functions, putting her nose into something that didn't concern her. Perhaps the best thing was to leave everything like that, and not disturb it more than the account, and prevent to bring negative consequences both to Samara and her new parents. Matilda would choose not to do so, and then decide based on how the sessions with Samara progressed.

In truth, she felt tired; she just wanted to get to her hotel and go to bed, even if she had to do it with her clothes on.

END OF CHAPTER 05

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

—Richard Morgan is wholly based on the respective character of The Ring (2002) and The Ring 2 (2005), without any change beyond the temporary change mentioned in the Notes of Chapter 01, which places the events between Samara, his parents, and Eola Psychiatric, in a more current era. This applies in turn with the whole story told, both by Richard and by the refuge nun, about Samara and her biological mother.