The Big Lie.
Darrel and his detective have this wild hypothesis that my memory of the hiking trip when I killed a man is false. That most of the details that I remember are from other hiking trips, and the part where I’m hurling a stone at him simply never happened.
My gaze shifts to the magazines stacked neatly on the coffee table. “My mother is a dentist, Darrel. How can she have those kinds of skills?”
“You saw what she did to me in those videos. She may lack professional training, but she’s exceptionally good at hypnosis.”
“They gave you an injection first.”
“What makes you think she hadn’t given you a psychotropic drug in your food or drink before hypnotizing you?”
I refuse to answer.
He strokes my hand. “It must be extremely hard to allow the possibility that your parents messed with your mind. I get it, Stella. I do.”
Suddenly, I know why I struggle so much with this. “The thing that I find impossible to believe isn’t the ‘messing’ as such, but the specific purposes of that messing.”
“What do you mean?”
“With you, they tried to extract some esoteric knowledge. With me, if your theory is right, they manipulated my mind to make me think I’m mentally ill. What kind of parent would do that to their child? Why would my parents do that to me?”
He starts to answer but then shuts up.
I glare at him. “What? Say it. I can handle it.”
“No. Not yet.”
The door to Dr. Biel’s office opens again, and this time it’s my turn.
Darrel and I stand up. He lets go of my hand.
“It’s going to be OK,” he says again. “I’ll be waiting here.”
I go in. Dr. Biel motions me to sit in the comfortable armchair across from her.
“May I call you Stella?” she begins in a soft voice.
“Yes.” My vocal cords betray me, so I repeat it. “Yes.”
“Today, Stella, we’re not going to investigate whether or not you have DID, or any other mental illness. That’s for another time.”
Thank God!Now that I have a tiny sliver of hope that I’m not crazy, I want to enjoy it for a little bit. I’m not ready to have it crushed just yet.
“Instead,” she carries on, “we’ll try to bypass a potentially false, implanted memory from six years ago, and access the real one that might’ve been suppressed. Does that sound all right to you?”
I nod hesitantly, trying to steady my breathing. What she suggests sounds terrifying. But it needs to be done.
She smiles. “I want you to know that everything we discuss in this room is strictly confidential. The trust between a patient and her therapist is paramount. I’m bound by professional ethics and the law to protect your privacy.”
“Great,” I say.
“Nothing you say to me will be shared with anyone else without your explicit consent.”
“Understood.”
“All right, then,” she says, her tone reassuring. “I want you to take a deep breath and focus on my voice. I’ll begin by guiding you into a hypnotic state.”
I close my eyes, focusing on the sound of her voice and my own breath, as my body slowly relaxes. Dr. Biel continues talking. Her words lead me deeper and deeper into a state of calm.
