Cynophobia
The monthly meeting of the civic group unofficially named the Puritan Falls' "town team" was called to order once Patience Scudder, the current chairwoman, took her seat at the conference table.
"Before we get started," the librarian announced, "I'd like to thank Rebecca for the delicious refreshments."
"You're welcome," replied Rebecca Coffin, owner of The Quill and Dagger bookstore, who had brought an assortment of pastries from her shop's coffee bar.
"Now, on to business," Patience declared, wiping chocolate off her fingers with a paper napkin. "We've received five estimates for the proposed dog park on Hawthorne Boulevard. Ulster Landscaping's was the cheapest."
Ezra Graves, editor and owner of The Puritan Falls Gazette, asked, "How much money will we need to raise?"
"A thousand, maybe fifteen hundred, to be on the safe side. All of us know from experience these community projects always go over budget."
"We ought to be able to raise that amount without any problems," Dr. Sarah Ryerson said.
"Last year our fall fundraiser brought in over five thousand," added police officer Shawn McMurtry.
"That was an event to remember, wasn't it?" Rebecca asked. "Our Dia de los Muertos celebration!"
"The Day of the Dead party," psychiatrist Lionel Penn mused, smiling at the memory of having his face painted to resemble a colorful sugar skull. "How do we top that?"
It was a question that was asked many times, and yet the nine dedicated men and women who served on Puritan Falls' town team somehow managed to plan and pull off one fantastic celebration after another.
"Any suggestions?" Patience asked the group.
"Fifteen hundred dollars is not a large amount, so we don't have to go that big. A tricky tray or pancake breakfast ought to be enough," suggested Josiah Barnard, proprietor of the Sons of Liberty Tavern.
"How boring!" exclaimed Abigail Cantwell, owner of the Bell, Book and Candle. "We might as well hold a bingo game."
"What do you suggest then?"
"Why not a zombie crawl?"
"A what?"
"You know what a pub crawl is, don't you?"
"Yeah, that's when people form a group and go from pub to pub, getting a drink or two at each stop."
"Right. A zombie crawl is basically the same thing, but everyone in the group dresses like zombies."
"Great! We'll have a bunch of drunken zombies crawling around Puritan Falls."
"That's not what I'm suggesting. Our zombie crawl will go from restaurant to restaurant—your tavern, the Green Man, Chez Pierre's, Rebecca's coffee bar, Victoria's tea shop, the Chinese Lantern. Each place will have a special treat for the crawlers."
"That sounds a lot like trick-or-treating on Halloween," Lionel observed.
"Only these treats won't be free," Abigail explained. "The restaurant owners will donate the food, and the crawlers will pay for it. All the money collected will go toward the fence and landscaping for the proposed dog park."
"Since there are no alcoholic drinks involved, it won't be necessary to limit the group to those over the age of twenty-one," Shawn pointed out. "My kids would love to participate!"
Although he did not add that he himself would enjoy dressing up as a zombie and touring the village's eateries, everyone at the table knew the policeman was a big fan of horror as well as true crime television and detective fiction.
"I think Abigail has come up with an excellent idea for a fundraiser. I'm sure we'll raise the money we need," Sarah concluded. "And better yet, there's little planning and preparation involved, nowhere near the work required to pull off the Downton Abbey dinner we had at Christmastime."
"Well, shall we vote on it?" Patience asked.
The vote was unanimous.
"That's settled then," the chairwoman announced, eyeing up another chocolate croissant in the box of pastries. "I'll have our lawyer draw up a contract and forward it to Ulster Landscaping."
"In the meantime, I'll coordinate things with the restaurant owners," Shannon Devlin, owner of the Green Man Pub, volunteered.
"And I'll contact the theater department at the university in Essex Green and the cosmetology school in Copperwell. Perhaps some of their students would like to help with the zombie makeup," Rebecca suggested.
"One of my former patients runs a hop on/hop off business that caters to tourists in Boston. He's got about a dozen trolleys in all. Perhaps I can convince him to let us rent one for the day," Lionel offered. "That way people won't have to walk all over Puritan Falls. They can just hop on the trolley."
"Good idea," Josiah Barnard said. "To visit all the restaurants in town is quite a hike, especially for seniors or families with young children."
"Anyone else have any comments on the zombie crawl or the dog park?" Patience asked, giving in to temptation and reaching for the croissant. "No. Then let's have a progress report on our upcoming Gatsby Night at Chez Pierre."
* * *
Lionel Penn placed a coffee cup on Judy Stanfield's desk when he walked into his reception room.
"Starbucks?" his administrative assistant asked with surprise.
"I had to make a quick stop at the mall on my way in, so I figured you might enjoy a treat," he explained.
"Caffè mocha! You're a doll, Doc!"
"What time is my first patient due?" the psychiatrist inquired, hoping for a few minutes to enjoy his own cup.
"We have a cancellation, so you can relax and take it easy until ten."
"That's music to my ears, Judy!"
"Since you have nothing to do for the next hour, maybe you can sign those insurance claim forms that have been piling up on your desk."
At ten minutes to ten, the psychiatrist's first patient walked into the reception room.
"Good morning," Judy greeted her. "You must be Fiona MacTavish."
"Yes," the red-headed young woman replied, nervously clutching the straps of her handbag.
"If you could just fill out this new patient questionnaire, I'll tell the doctor you're here."
Once the paperwork was completed, Judy showed Fiona into Lionel's office. The timid patient gave the impression of a sacrificial lamb being led to slaughter.
"Good morning. Won't you have a seat, Ms. MacTavish?" the doctor suggested, treating the frightened woman as though she were a welcome guest in his home. "Would you like a cup of coffee? Tea? A glass of water?"
"N-no, th-thank you."
"Just relax. This isn't a dentist's office. I don't have a syringe full of Novocain in my pocket or a drill in my desk drawer."
His attempt at humor elicited an uneasy laugh from his patient.
"I feel so foolish!"
"Don't. I'm here to help you, not pass judgment. Now, what's bothering you?"
"My problem is dogs," Fiona announced. "I'm terrified of them."
"As humans, fear is a natural reaction to things we perceive as dangerous. Fear of certain animals is quite common. Have you ever been bitten or chased by a dog?"
"No. I grew up in a pet-free home in a rural area with no immediate neighbors."
"Often parents unintentionally instill fear of animals in their children. In trying to protect them from getting bitten, some mothers and fathers teach their children to avoid dogs."
"Not my parents."
"Movies and books are sometimes to blame. I know someone who wouldn't go within ten feet of a dog after reading Cujo."
"My fear of dogs never used to present problems when I lived out in the country. It amounted to nothing more than an occasional nightmare. Then nine months ago I moved to Puritan Falls."
"Where many residents own dogs as pets."
"There's one dog, in particular," Fiona explained. "It seems every time I step out of my house ... there he is!"
"Have you spoken to your neighbors? Because it's against village ordinances to let a dog run free. It either has to be confined in a fenced-in area or kept on a leash."
"I don't think the dog belongs to them. I believe it's a stray."
"We do have an animal control officer. Why don't you give him a call and have him pick the dog up? For its own sake as well as your peace of mind. He might be able to find the animal's owner."
An animal lover at heart, Lionel's sympathy was with the dog. He would hate to learn the animal was hit by a car.
"What breed of dog is it?" the psychiatrist asked. "A pit bull? German shepherd? Doberman?"
"It's not a big dog; it's a little one, a terrier, I think."
"I find in cases like yours it's best to fight your fears by confronting them. My sister has a terrier; I can arrange to bring him into the office where, little by little, you can get accustomed ...."
"No!" Fiona screamed, violently shaking her head from side to side. "I don't want to come into contact with your sister's dog—or any other dog, for that matter. What I want is to stop quaking with fear every time I see that damned animal ... stalking me!"
Given his patient's aggressive response to his suggestion and her belief that a stray terrier was stalking her, Lionel deduced he had a bona fide case of cynophobia on his hands.
* * *
Lionel and Sarah met Shawn and Penny McMurtry at the Green Man Pub for dinner and to take part in Shannon Devlin's first-ever trivia night.
"This is going to be fun," the emergency room physician predicted. "I've always wanted to enter a trivia contest."
At least it isn't karaoke, Lionel thought, rolling his eyes.
As the psychiatrist dug into his fish and chips, he listened to Sarah and Penny discuss plans for the upcoming zombie crawl.
"Shannon is going to make cupcakes with brains on them," Penny announced. "Josiah is going to offer an alcohol-free apple cider punch with skulls carved from apples floating on the surface, and Rebecca wants to have cookies shaped like severed fingers."
"What about the Chinese Lantern?" Shawn asked.
"Misfortune cookies!" his wife laughed. "Which will be dark chocolate-covered fortune cookies with spooky predictions inside."
"It seems the restaurant owners are planning to go all out for this event!" Sarah exclaimed.
"I think your two kids and some of their friends ought to decorate the trolley," Lionel suggested to the McMurtrys.
"We'd love to," Shawn agreed, including himself in the fun.
"We've certainly got a varied menu," Penny continued. "Everything from coffin-shaped grilled cheese sandwiches at Charlie's Bar and mummy-wrapped hot dogs at Burger Barn to eyeball cake pops at the Dugout Sports Bar and tombstone brownies at the Sailor's Rest Inn."
"It sounds like we'll definitely raise enough money for the dog park," Sarah said.
Mention of the dog park drew Lionel's thoughts from the zombie crawl to his new patient. He, more than most people, knew phobias were irrational fears and, by definition, not easy for "normal" people to understand. He could see someone being frightened of a snarling pit bull—given their undeserved reputation for viciousness—but a little terrier? Having grown up in a family that always kept at least one dog as a pet, he just could not put himself in his patient's place.
"I was wondering," he said, addressing his trivia teammates, "have any of you been out to Hawthorne Boulevard to examine the site of the proposed dog park?"
"I pass by that spot every day on patrol," Shawn answered.
"Have you ever seen a stray dog in the area, a little terrier?"
"No. Why? Is somebody looking for a lost pet?"
"It's not that. I have a patient ... well, I can't discuss the particulars."
"No problem. I know all about doctor-patient confidentiality."
"Yeah," his wife explained. "An education he acquired from watching the ID channel and reading Alex Cross novels."
"Do you have a more detailed description of the animal?" the policeman asked, ignoring his wife's comments.
"No need to put an APB out for him," Lionel laughed. "I'd just appreciate it if you'd keep your eye open when you patrol the area."
The house lights suddenly dimmed, and Shannon stepped onto the makeshift stage.
"Everyone ready for trivia night?" she called out to the crowd.
"Yes!" Sarah, Shawn and Penny shouted back.
Lionel simply rolled his eyes again and continued eating.
* * *
Fiona MacTavish pulled her Toyota Camry into her driveway, turned off the engine and waited. She glanced into the rearview and side mirrors and then turned her head in both directions. Only when she confirmed that there was no sign of the dog did she exit the vehicle. Once outside, she took a deep breath before sprinting around the car, over the concrete walkway, up the stairs and through the front door. Relief flooded over her when she entered the house and closed the door behind her.
Unable to resist the compulsion, she looked through the peephole.
There he was!
He did not bark or growl. In fact, he made no sound or movement at all. Rather, he sat there, with his head at a slight tilt, staring in her direction as though he could see her through the thick door. He resembled Nipper, the dog from the Francis Barraud painting entitled "His Master's Voice," which became a trademark for RCA Victor.
"Go away!" she whimpered in a strained voice the animal clearly would not be able to hear.
The dog remained, and the distraught woman collapsed in tears on her living room rug. Eventually, she cried herself to sleep, awakening on the floor the next morning, still wearing the outfit she had worn the previous day.
"I can't live like this anymore," she moaned. "I need help."
Not bothering to make a cup of coffee, shower or change her clothes, she got into her Camry and drove to Lionel Penn's office. Although she had no appointment, she burst into his reception room and demanded to see the psychiatrist.
"I'm sorry," Judy apologized, "but he's expecting another patient any moment."
"I need to see him now!"
"What's going on?" Lionel asked, emerging from his office to see what the commotion was about.
"Dr. Penn, I desperately need your help. I saw him again. He came right up to the front door, and I ... I could see right through him. It's not a living dog, Dr. Penn; it's a ghost!"
"I know how upset you are, but I have another patient ...."
"PLEASE!"
Lionel turned to his assistant.
"When Mr. Stickel arrives, put him in room two," he told her and led Fiona into room one.
Fortunately, the psychiatrist had two rooms in which he treated his patients. The first offered a more traditional setting, complete with a doctor's desk and psychiatrist's couch. The second, sans couch, consisted of two Queen Anne wing chairs and a coffee table, which put many of his patients at ease, making them feel as though they were sitting at home telling their problems to a friend rather than consulting a mental health expert.
Lionel opened his medical bag, took out a hypodermic needle and gave Fiona a shot in the upper arm. Normally, he did not like to sedate his patients, but this was clearly an emergency.
"This will help you relax," he explained. "Now, lie back on the couch and try to get some rest. I'll check on you after I'm done with my next patient."
He dimmed the office light, stepped out into the reception room and closed the door behind him.
"She ought to sleep for a while," he told Judy, "but keep your ears open, just in case she doesn't. If she tries to leave the office, let me know immediately."
* * *
Even though Lionel Penn had prescribed medication to eliminate her hysterical outbursts, Fiona MacTavish was still plagued by the spirit of the unknown terrier.
If science has its limits, she thought, maybe a more arcane art will get rid of that little mongrel.
Willing to try anything, she entered the Bell, Book and Candle New Age shop. When the bell above the door, announced the arrival of a customer, Abigail Cantwell stepped out from the back room. Fiona's eyes widened with fear at the sight of her.
"Oh, forgive me," the shop's owner apologized with an embarrassed smile. "I've been experimenting with a makeup kit, trying to perfect my zombie look."
Fiona stared at the older woman as though she were not quite right in the head.
"You have heard about the zombie crawl we're having a week from Saturday?"
"Oh, that."
"Everyone in the village will be participating."
"Not everyone."
"Well, even if you don't dress up, you really ought to stop in at Victoria's Tea Shoppe. She's planning quite a treat!"
"I came here to see if you could help me," the customer announced, trying to get to the point of her visit. "Do you have anything that can ... banish ghosts?"
Fiona had expected a look of either surprise or skepticism from the storekeeper, but Abigail took her question in stride.
"I have several things that might do the trick."
"I think it's odd that you had no reaction to my mention of a ghost. I might just as well have asked you about the weather."
"Young lady," Abigail explained, "this is Puritan Falls. I'd find it a good deal odder if you hadn't seen a ghost!"
"It's not a human that's haunting me," Fiona continued, not sure if the shopkeeper was being serious or having a joke at her expense. "It's a dog."
"Human or animal, a restless spirit can be laid to rest in a number of ways. We just have to find the one that works in this case. I'm a cat person myself, but I must have something here in the shop to help a phantom pooch rest in peace."
* * *
Two more visits with Dr. Penn failed to "cure" Fiona's cynophobia, although she had not had another panic attack since she began taking medication. Despite the psychiatrist's persistent attempts to uncover an incident in his patient's childhood that would lead to a fear of dogs, he failed to do so.
"People aren't born with phobias," he assured her. "Something in their lives causes them. All too often it takes time to reveal the source."
"Time?" the patient echoed. "How much time?"
"I'll be honest with you. It could take months or even years."
Meanwhile, Fiona continued to explore other avenues on her own. However, sage, salt, candles and amulets had no effect on the canine revenant.
"Perhaps an exorcism will help. Do you know any priests who might be willing to perform one?" she asked Abigail.
"Exorcisms are for demons, not dogs. And the Catholic Church is hesitant to even discuss exorcism since William Peter Blatty's book and the subsequent movie came out."
"What about a séance?"
"I know a few mediums, but I honestly don't see how they would contact a dog. And what response can you expect to get, barking? No. Let's try something else. I have a book of Wiccan spells somewhere around here. Perhaps one of them will prove effective."
Unfortunately, like everything else Fiona had tried, the Wiccan cleansing spell proved to be a dud.
* * *
When Fiona woke on Saturday morning, she was determined to give Abigail Cantwell just one more opportunity to help banish the phantom animal that had become the bane of her existence. When she turned onto Essex Street, shortly after eleven o'clock, she was amazed to see crowds of people strolling along the sidewalk, most headed toward The Quill and Dagger. Every one of the pedestrians was dressed in rags and wearing face paint, some of which had been applied by aspiring makeup artists.
"I forgot today is that zombie crawl Abigail told me about," she moaned. "It's going to be difficult to find a parking spot."
After a Subaru Outback filled with what looked like cast members from The Walking Dead pulled out of a spot two blocks from the Bell, Book and Candle, Fiona put on her turn signal and quickly parked her Camry. She got out, locked the door and headed toward the New Age shop. When she got there, she noticed the store's lights were out and the front door was locked. A hand-printed sign was taped to the window: OUT TO LUNCH, BE BACK AT THREE. Abigail was at that moment riding in the trolley on her way to Victoria's Tea Shoppe.
I guess I'll have to come back tomorrow.
On impulse, she crossed the street to The Quill and Dagger.
I might as well get a coffee while I'm in town.
"Rebecca," she heard Sarah Ryerson call to the woman at the coffee bar, "you're going to miss all the fun!"
"No, I'm not," the zombified Ms. Coffin replied. "One of my employees is going to come in early and man the fort for me so I can join the crawl."
Fiona failed to immediately recognize the doctor's companion since both looked like extras from the set of Night of the Living Dead.
"Fiona!" Lionel exclaimed. "You're not wearing a costume."
"No, I just came into town to run a few errands. I'm not part of the crawl."
Judy Stanfield and her husband arrived at that moment and spared the psychiatrist's patient the need to explain further. In the midst of the merriment, Fiona slipped away and headed toward her car. She walked a distance of ten yards, passing zombies shuffling along Essex Street before she came to an abrupt halt. Standing between her and her Camry was the ghost of the terrier.
She stood, frozen with fear, unable to move until Brittany McMurtry pumped into her.
"Sorry," the teenager apologized before joining her friends bound for The Quill and Dagger.
Unwilling to make a scene on the busy street, Fiona turned around and walked in the opposite direction. Taking a shortcut through the Common, she would save time walking back to her house. As she hurried along Danvers Street, she periodically looked over her shoulder. Thankfully, there was no sign of the ghostly dog.
With safety less than two blocks away, she turned onto Hawthorne Boulevard where she encountered another group of zombies. They differed from those on Essex Street in that they all looked as though they had run into a zombie killer with a flamethrower. Their costumes were charred and their makeup gave their skin the appearance of having been severely burned. They even gave off the stench of burnt flesh.
Ugh! And they call that having fun! she thought with a grimace, trying not to gag.
Once safely inside her home, Fiona took one of the pills Dr. Penn had prescribed for her, lit sage candles from the Bell, Book and Candle, made herself a cup of hot cocoa, curled up on her sofa and began streaming a romantic comedy. Halfway through the movie, she closed her eyes and dozed off. She slept so soundly that she failed to wake when one of the candles set the kitchen curtain on fire.
The flames spread quickly and within an hour, fire engulfed the kitchen and headed toward the living room. The acrid smell of smoke finally woke the sleeping woman. When she realized her house was ablaze, her first instinct was to get out.
I can call the fire department from my neighbor's house, she thought, remembering that her cell phone was in her purse, which was on the counter in the burning kitchen.
Coughing from the smoke, Fiona threw open the front door and froze. The dog was less than three feet away. She quickly stepped back inside the house and slammed the door shut.
If I can just make it through the kitchen, I can escape through the back door.
It was foolish to try to find a way through the inferno, but the alternative was to fight her worst fear. Preferring to take her chances with the flames to battling the dog, Fiona made a mad dash toward the kitchen door. She did not get far before her shirt caught fire. It was not the pain of burned flesh that brought her down but the smoke that choked her and prevented her from breathing.
I'm going to die!
No sooner did the thought enter her mind than an unfamiliar voice penetrated the darkness.
"Come with me."
"No. I ... can't. There's a ... a dog ... out there."
"I know. It's my dog, Darnley. But you needn't be afraid. He's the one who led me to you. It's because of him you're still alive."
Strong arms then picked her up off the floor and carried her to safety. Once she was outside, she collapsed onto the grass of her front lawn. Her last conscious memory was of a man, dressed in a flowing black cape and top hat, standing over her and of a ghostly terrier licking her smoke-blackened face.
Nearly two hours later, Fiona regained consciousness in the emergency room of Puritan Falls Hospital to find Dr. Sarah Ryerson shining a small flashlight in her eyes. Although the physician was appropriately attired in her white medical coat, her pretty face still bore faint traces of zombie makeup.
"You're awake. How are you feeling?"
"My arm is killing me."
"I'm not surprised. You've got a nasty burn there. Let me give you something for it."
"There was a fire," Fiona mumbled, the memory of the day's events flooding back.
"I know," Sarah said, injecting the patient with a mild painkiller. "I'm sorry about your home."
"What happened to the man who carried me out of the burning house?"
"I don't know. From what I've been told the fireman found you alone on the front lawn when they answered your neighbor's 911 call."
"No. There was a man in a cape. He saved my life. He and ... his dog."
* * *
"I wanted to run from the house, but I couldn't," Fiona told Lionel Penn at her next appointment.
"You remained in a burning building because you were afraid to cross paths with a ghost dog?" the psychiatrist asked.
"I was physically unable to move. It was as though both my legs were paralyzed."
"Yet you were able to run into the kitchen."
"I tried to get out the back door."
"Considering your cynophobia might have resulted in your being burned to death, I think it's time we try something different. I'd like to put you under hypnosis."
"You think that will work?"
"I can't guarantee it, but I have had some positive results in the past."
"Okay. I'm willing to give it a try."
Lionel lit a candle and placed it on the desk in front of his patient. He spoke softly to Fiona, encouraging her to close her eyes, relax and let her mind go blank. Once she was in a mental state that made her receptive to his suggestions, he continued.
"I want you to think about the first time you saw the dog."
The psychiatrist deliberately made a vague reference to the animal, letting his patient make the appropriate connection.
"Do you remember it?"
"Remember it? I'll never forget it."
"I want you to tell me all about it. Don't leave any details out."
"I was six years old," Fiona began in a dull monotone. "I went to a magic show with my mother. I was sitting in the third row when the Great Lafayette stepped out onto the stage. Mommy and I ...."
The patient's calm demeanor instantly changed.
"There was a fire," she cried, her breath becoming labored.
"Yes. Your house burned down, but you must go back to ...."
"No. The theater was on fire. Mommy and I tried to get out, but there were so many people, and the thick smoke made it difficult for us to see the exits."
"What about the dog?" Lionel prompted.
"He was with the magician inside the burning theater. They were trying to lead us to safety. I pulled on my mother's arm, begging her to follow them, but she was ...."
Fiona's scream not only startled her doctor and his assistant sitting in the reception area, but the piercing sound also brought her out of her trance.
"Is it over?" she asked, breathing heavily.
"Yes," Lionel answered.
"What happened?"
"You talked about going to a magic show with your mother."
"But I've never seen a magic show, either with or without my mother."
"Tell me," the psychiatrist asked, exploring a theory that his patient associated the appearance of a dog with the theater fire and her parent's death, "how did your mother die?"
"I don't follow you. My mother is alive and living in a senior citizens' home in Florida."
* * *
At home later that evening, Lionel found it difficult to concentrate on the movie he rented from Netflix. Perplexed by his patient's strange account of childhood events that never actually happened, he reached for his Surface tablet.
"What was the name of that magician?" he asked himself, trying to jog his memory. "It had something to do with the American Revolution. It wasn't Washington. Was it Revere? No. Jefferson? Adams? No. Hancock? That doesn't sound ... Lafayette! That's it. The Great Lafayette."
The results of his search took the psychiatrist by surprise. German-born Sigmund Neuberger, who went by the professional name of the Great Lafayette, died in a theater fire in Edinburgh, Scotland, in May 1911!
Obviously, Fiona's story under hypnosis was not a real memory. Nonetheless, Lionel continued reading.
Neuberger, at the time one of the highest-paid performers in vaudeville, initially escaped the blaze, claiming his dog had led him to safety. Yet the terrier, a gift to Neuberger from Harry Houdini himself, had died four days before its owner opened his magic act in Edinburgh. So attached was the Great Lafayette to his pet that he held an elaborate funeral for the animal.
Knowing there were still women and children in the theater, the brave magician ran back into the burning building to help rescue them. He never came out alive. Instead, his body was later buried with his beloved pet. The article concluded by saying that ten people besides Neuberger died that day, the youngest being a six-year-old girl named Fiona MacTavish.
"I'll be damned!" the psychiatrist exclaimed.
For several days, Lionel debated whether he should tell his patient about what he had learned.
"Maybe Fiona googled her own name and read the story about the Edinburgh fire," he hypothesized, grasping at what seemed to be a logical explanation. "Lots of people do it. I've googled Lionel Penn and learned it was a name given to a model train set. The story about the Great Lafayette might then have been buried in her memory and surfaced under hypnosis."
He liked that explanation. It was neat. It was simple. It was safe.
* * *
Lionel picked Sarah up at her home and together they drove to the grand opening of the new dog park on Hawthorne Boulevard. The entire town team was in attendance. Shannon Devlin and Josiah Barnard were manning the refreshment table, and Rebecca Coffin and Abigail Cantwell were selling dog collars and gourmet puppy biscuits, in an effort to raise funds for the next community event: a Polar Express train ride at Christmas.
Many villagers were there with their pets, including the McMurtrys, Ezra Graves, Martha Prescott, Roseanne Dwyer, Jacqueline Astor and Victoria Broadbent. But it was the dogs themselves who enjoyed the day the most. Beagles playfully mingled with poodles. German shepherds sniffed the butts of golden retrievers. Chihuahuas yapped with pleasure, Yorkies danced on their hind legs and Dalmatians tugged on their leashes. Amidst the excitement—human and canine—Lionel spotted a former patient in the crowd.
"Fiona MacTavish," he called when he saw the redhead get out of her Camry and accompany a dachshund across Hawthorne Boulevard.
"Dr. Penn," the former Puritan Falls resident answered, returning his greeting with a wide smile.
The psychiatrist stooped to pet the little dog.
"Yours?"
"Yes. I saw him at the animal shelter in Copperwell. He needed a home, and I needed ... well, I adopted him. Whatever happened to me under hypnosis has done the trick. I don't have cynophobia anymore."
"Obviously not," Lionel agreed, glad he had not told her about the Great Lafayette and his terrier.
"I want to thank you, Dr. Penn," Fiona said with sincere gratitude. "I don't know what I would have done without you. You're a miracle worker!"
"Please," he said, blushing, as he rose to his feet. "I just did my job. I don't need any thanks."
As he rejoined Sarah Ryerson to listen to Patience Scudder's speech, Lionel admitted to himself that he had nothing to do with Fiona MacTavish's recovery. Rather, it had been the work of Sigmund Neuberger, the Great Lafayette, and his beloved terrier. They had failed to save her life in the past but had succeeded in doing so more than a century later.
Although this story is fictional, Sigmund "the Great Lafayette" Neuberger was a famous magnician who died in a theater fire in Edinburgh, Scotland, in May 1911, while attempting to save people inside the building. He had a beloved dog named Beauty, a gift from Harry Houdini, who died four days before he opened in Edinburgh.
Why isn't Salem afraid of dogs? Whenever he meets one, he lets them know who the boss is!
