by Dani René
No, no, no. That means there’s poison inside me.
Panic surges, making it hard to breathe, but I know the water is the least of my concerns. This room is new, and new rooms aren’t good. If everything was okay, I’d be in my room, or Dr. Nickelsen’s office… not here.
“Am I in trouble?” I ask softly, swallowing past a dry throat. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I tried to help. I promise.” My voice shakes, tears welling in my eyes, but Dr. Nickelsen just sighs, shaking his head a little.
“I know you believe that, Nina. It’s one of the things we’re going to talk about, but first I want to talk about Mr. Cat.”
I hear the door shut behind me and I crane my head back to watch Tom walk over to us with my painting.
“Thank you, Tom.” Dr. Nickelsen nods at him, but Tom won’t look at me. He’s staring at the floor, silent. “Tell me about your painting, Nina.”
Dr. Nickelsen turns it around and Mr. Cat’s amber-colored eyes stare out at me from the paint. I’m not a great artist, but the eyes… I got those right. The blue-gray stripes of his fur aren’t quite right, but I didn’t have all the colors I needed, and I never got to finish the details that would have made it look like real fur. Not that it matters… because the painting is ruined. It’s marred with splatters of paint, a water stain, and something that definitely looks like blood.
“Nina?” Dr. Nickelsen prompts me and I feel my lip tremble as I fight the urge to cry.
“It’s Mr. Cat.”
“It’s very well done, Nina. You have a talent for painting, and I’m glad that I’ve finally got to see him for myself.” Stepping over to the wall, Dr. Nickelsen leans the painting against it before coming back to crouch beside me. He points over at it, tilting his head. “Dr. Sterling’s assignment was to paint something that was holding you back from healing, and I think you did the right thing in painting Mr. Cat. So, let’s start off easy, is he in here with us right now?”
Twisting and turning, I look around the room for any sign of Mr. Cat… but he’s not here. There’s a big, old-looking cabinet in one corner, a long chain, some strange metal circles embedded in the dark gray walls, and another therapy chair just like the one from Dr. Nickelsen’s office. Nothing else and nowhere for Mr. Cat to hide.
“Not right now,” I answer softly, and he nods.
“Good. That’s good, Nina.” Dr. Nickelsen takes a deep breath and his tone changes, still calm but more serious. “I told you we were going to advance your therapy, and I think it’s more important than ever that we try something new. Female hysteria is something that the field of medicine has, sadly, abandoned. Years ago many, many doctors were committed to resolving female hysteria, to understanding why it happened and how to cure it. Unfortunately, in the years since, medicine has turned to fancy terms like ‘schizophrenia’ and ‘dissociative identity disorder’ to explain away female hysteria. But it is still a problem.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Nickelsen,” I whisper, and he reaches over to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing back and forth.
“Oh, Nina… you don’t need to apologize. It’s not your fault that you have hysteria, but I am very glad your mother brought you here. Dr. Sterling is one of the very few doctors in the world who understands the truth behind all of those fancy ‘disorders’ that the medical community has created. He’s allowed me to advance my own research, to identify new and effective ways of treating the underlying issue of hysteria. And I’m confident that I can help you. You want to be better, don’t you, Nina?”
“I do. I really do.” I nod fervently, lost in the warmth of his eyes and the sincerity in his voice. If anyone can help me, it’s Dr. Nickelsen. I know it. I believe it with every fiber of my being.
“I’m proud of you, Nina. New things can sometimes be scary, especially for someone who doesn’t see the world quite like the rest of us.” He gently pinches my chin, tilting my head back slightly so that his face is all I can see as he leans over me. “When you first came here you were scared of my therapy methods, do you remember that?”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper.
“But then you saw how they helped you, how they made you feel better, right?” he asks, his gaze so intense that all I can do is nod against his light hold on my chin. “So far we’ve focused on pleasure therapy to treat your hysteria, but some patients respond better to the incorporation of pain in their treatments.”
Pain?
My heart starts racing, and I can feel the panic rising, but he doesn’t back away, instead he shifts his hold to my jaw, holding my face more firmly.
“Breathe, Nina. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” Dr. Nickelsen models it for me, breathing slowly, and the walls join in. Breathing evenly, out and in, and I try to do the same. “Good, Nina. You trust me, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“And you want Mr. Cat to go away? So that he can’t hurt anyone again?”
“Yes!” I nod as much as I can, tugging against the cuffs as I try to show him how sincere I am. “Yes, Dr. Nickelsen. I want him to go away. He’s not a good friend. He hurts me, he hurts other people, and he says he’s trying to protect me but he’s not! He’s not nice!”
“Look at him,” Dr. Nickelsen commands, turning my face toward the painting. “Look at him and tell him to go away, Nina.”
I chew on my lip, dragging it between my teeth as I stare into Mr. Cat’s painted eyes. They almost look real, like at any moment he might blink and step out of the paint. Blood-stained and paint-mottled. I’m afraid of what will happen if I talk to him again, but I have to trust Dr. Nickelsen. I have to trust him so I can get better.
“G-go away,” I say, but I stumble over the words.
“Again.”
“Go away, Mr. Cat.” Better. Stronger.
“Again. Louder,” Dr. Nickelsen encourages, easing the firm hold he had on my face.
“Go away, Mr. Cat!” I shout, leaning up from the floor a little with the force of it. “GO AWAY! I don’t want you anymore! I don’t want you to be my friend!”
The painting doesn’t move, or blink, or… anything.
Because it’s not real. It’s not Mr. Cat.
“How does that feel, Nina?” Dr. Nickelsen asks, gently brushing his thumb under my mouth, the smooth edge of his nail tracing my lip.
“Brave,” I answer, but I sag back to the soft floor, sighing. “But it doesn’t matter, because that’s not him. He’s not here right now.”
“But you can imagine that the painting is him. You did such a good job on it, and it looks like him, right?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, and Dr. Nickelsen shifts on his knees, turning slightly to look at the acrylic Mr. Cat.
“Tell him you don’t need him anymore. Tell him you don’t need him to protect you. You have to really mean it, Nina.”
“I do mean it, Dr. Nickelsen. I promise!” A frustrated whine slips past my teeth because I’m failing him. I know it. I’m disappointing him because I can’t control Mr. Cat.
“Then say it, Nina! Tell him!” Dr. Nickelsen commands, raising his voice, and it’s a hard tone that I’ve never heard him use before. “Now!”
“I DON’T NEED YOU ANYMORE! I DON’T NEED YOU TO PROTECT ME, MR. CAT! GO AWAY, GO AWAY, GO AWAY!” I scream the words as loud as I can, and I can feel tears burning in my eyes before they spill over and I start to cry as I drop my head back to the floor. “Please, please, please, just go away.”
“But I promised you that I’d stay with you forever.” The purring voice just makes me cry harder. I don’t turn my head toward Mr. Cat, but I know he’s there. Just to my left, on the opposite side of Dr. Nickelsen.
Shaking my head, I clench my eyes tight and try again with the real Mr. Cat. “GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE! I DON’T NEED YOU ANYMORE!”
“You’re only saying that because he told you to, Nina.” He’s closer, too close. “I’m the only one who understands you, who knows how to keep you safe.”
“NO! You don’t keep me
safe, you don’t! You hurt people! You almost hurt Mom! Just leave me alone!” I try to shout the words through my sobs, and I feel Dr. Nickelsen’s hand on my arm, rubbing.
“Is he here right now, Nina?” he asks, voice still holding that hard edge. I just nod, sniffling, keeping my eyes clenched tight. “Where is he?”
“T-to my left.”
“Tom, please go sit on Nina’s left side.”
My eyes pop open at that and I turn to find Mr. Cat’s furry face just inches from mine. Jerking back, a short scream bursts from me as I try to scramble back from him, but the leather cuffs are chained to something that just lets me move a little bit.
“What’s he doing, Nina? Tell me!” Dr. Nickelsen commands, and I whimper as Mr. Cat glares at Tom. Then he moves, flicking his tail in irritation, as Tom sits down on my left side.
“Staring at Tom,” I whine. “Do not hurt him, Mr. Cat. Do you hear me? I hate you! I HATE YOU!”
Mr. Cat bares his teeth, too big and sharp, more like rows of little white knives sticking out of his gums. “Don’t say that, Nina,” he growls.
“Mr. Cat isn’t real, Nina. Say it.”
“Oh, I’m real,” Mr. Cat says with a dark chuckle. “Should I show him, Nina? Should I show the doctor like I showed Liz?”
“NO!” I scream, and Dr. Nickelsen grabs my face hard, fingers digging into my cheeks as he forces me to look at him.
“You don’t tell me no, Nina. You’re my patient and I—”
“I was talking to Mr. Cat!” I interrupt, wincing at the harsh tone in Dr. Nickelsen’s voice.
He’s mad at me. He doesn’t like me anymore.
“He never liked you, Nina,” Mr. Cat adds, and I hate that he can read my mind. I hate him.
“Say he isn’t real! Now!” Dr. Nickelsen raises his voice and I know I’m in trouble. Tears roll down my cheeks as I look up at him, wanting to make him happy, wanting to be good.
“Mr. Cat isn’t real!” I shout, and Mr. Cat growls, prowling beside my head.
“Don’t say that, Nina.”
“Again,” Dr. Nickelsen commands.
“MR. CAT ISN’T REAL!” I scream as loud as I can.
Dr. Nickelsen nods, his face hovering over mine as he relaxes the hold on my cheeks. “Again.”
“YOU AREN’T REAL, MR. CAT! YOU’RE A HALLUCINATION! THERE IS NO MR. CAT!”
“Shut up, Nina!” he yowls, his growl so loud that I can feel the bass thrum of it.
“Liar, liar, liar,” the walls whisper, hissing, the dark gray paint moving behind Dr. Nickelsen’s head. I hiccup as I try to catch my breath, but I lose it again on another sob.
“NOT REAL! IT’S NOT REAL!” I scream. “FLOOR! CUFFS! TOM! THEY’RE REAL! MR. CAT IS NOT REAL!”
Mr. Cat hisses at me, and I cry out as a sharp pain erupts on my arm. He scratched me, and I jerk my face out of Dr. Nickelsen’s hold to look at it. I can see the marks, the blood welling up to the surface. It looks real, it feels real.
“What is it, Nina?”
“He scratched me. D-do you see it? Is my arm bleeding?” Is it real? Is it?
“Where?” Dr. Nickelsen asks and I try to point toward it with my chin, lifting my left arm off the floor for a second. Tom reaches over, forcing Mr. Cat to step back as he runs his hand over my skin. The callouses on his fingers feel rough as he drags them over the cut and back, making it sting.
“There’s nothing here, Nina,” Tom says, and I’m relieved that he’s still talking to me, even though I can see the blood on his fingertips and the little smears on my skin.
“Say it’s not real, Nina. You have to believe it,” Dr. Nickelsen urges, cupping the side of my face to make me look at him again. “Come on.”
“It’s not real,” I repeat, but I know I don’t believe it. It hurts too much not to be real.
“Try again,” he says.
“It’s not real.”
Dr. Nickelsen sighs, letting go of me as he sits up straight, and his eyes narrow slightly. He’s thinking. Probably trying to decide if I’m worth the trouble.
I’m not. I’m not worth it.
“Let’s get her up,” Dr. Nickelsen says, and both he and Tom stand up. I catch Tom’s eyes as he looks at me, and he looks so sad. He’s disappointed in me too. I’m disappointing both of them because I can’t make Mr. Cat go away.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! It hurts, but I know it’s not real! I promise!” I call out to them, sniffling as Tom walks to a box on the wall and opens the front panel. A second later I hear a whirring noise and the sound of clanking chain.
Then I see it, a thick, metal chain hanging from ceiling to floor, and as it gets shorter, sucked into the track in the ceiling, I can tell it’s moving closer. To me.
It doesn’t take long for the machine to pull the thick chain up, eventually revealing a hook at the end of it — just like the one in the shower. That’s when I understand. There’s a thinner length of chain connected to my leather cuffs, wrapped securely around the hook, tethering me to it, and as the thick chain glides along the track in the ceiling I know it’s going to lift me.
“Up,” Dr. Nickelsen commands, helping me to stand as the chain stops directly above me, but it keeps rising. Getting shorter and shorter, until my arms are pulled high above my head. “Okay, stop there.”
Tom halts the machine when my arms are still able to bend slightly, but I know I can’t move.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Nickelsen,” I whisper, angry butterflies whirling in my stomach as he steps in front of me.
“I know you’re trying, Nina, and honestly, I’m sorry that I haven’t changed your therapy before now. As your doctor, I should have seen that you needed more help.” Unbuttoning the cuff on his sleeve, Dr. Nickelsen starts to roll it up his forearm as he continues. “But therapy is all about progress, and we’re going to make progress today. Both of us. No matter how long it takes.”
Chapter 8
“Is this where it hurts?” Dr. Nickelsen asks, prodding a spot on my left arm.
“He clawed me a few inches above that,” I mumble, ashamed that my brain is so broken. If the marks were real, then Dr. Nickelsen would be able to see them. He’d see the bloody smears around them. I wouldn’t have to direct him to it.
“Here?” he asks, rubbing his thumb right over the cuts. I wince, hissing air through my teeth as they sting.
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay. Tom, please come over here so you know the right spot.”
Tom moves to stand beside Dr. Nickelsen, looking at the place that is so clearly injured to me, and I shift my weight to my other foot, flexing my fingers on the other side of the thick cuffs. I feel a tug and lean my head to the side to look at my hand… my bandaged hand.
“Look!” I shout, waving my hand as much as I can. “Look up! Do you see a bandage on my hand? It’s my right hand!”
“Yes, Nina. We had to bandage it after the incident in the art room.” Dr. Nickelsen’s voice sounds tired, but all I feel is excitement.
“SEE! That’s where Mr. Cat clawed me while I was trying to get him away from Liz! If you can see that then you have to be able to see the marks on my arm!”
“You cut your hand on the glass, Nina,” Dr. Nickelsen says with a sigh, but I shake my head.
“No, no, it was Mr. Cat. He—”
“Stop.” Dr. Nickelsen raises his hand, silencing me. “We’re not talking about what happened in the art room yet. Right now, we’re discussing the scratches you see and feel on your arm.”
“But—”
“Nina,” he cuts me off again, his voice stern, and I bite down on my lip. I’m trying not to cry as he presses on the cuts, letting Tom touch the same place, and even though it hurts I don’t make a sound.
They don’t believe me.
“Of course they don’t, Nina,” Mr. Cat growls and I look over to see him staring at the painting I made of him. “They never liked you.”
GO AWAY! I scream the words in my head, but Mr. Cat doesn’t eve
n look at me.
“Okay, Nina. We’re going to try something.” Dr. Nickelsen walks over to the cabinet, opening the doors where I can see a lot of different things. Shiny leather, wooden paddles, thin poles, and a bunch of other things on the shelves. He takes out a long, stiff, leather stick, and then closes the doors again. “Your mind is a very powerful thing, Nina. Your arm hurts because you believe there’s an injury. That’s why you can see it and feel it. Your mind is creating pain because you expect it to hurt when we touch the place where you think Mr. Cat scratched you.”
“Why would I do that?” I ask, confused, and Dr. Nickelsen sighs.
“Female hysteria is a very complicated thing. It shows up in so many different ways, and there’s varying levels of treatment for it. The pleasure therapy helped you for a while, but… you clearly need more.” Dr. Nickelsen snaps the leather against his palm and it makes a loud pop. “This is called a crop, and we’re going to use it to help your brain tell the difference between imagined pain and real pain.”
I shake my head, trying to move away from Dr. Nickelsen, but the chain only lets me move a foot or so away. I tug at it, trying to pull it down, to get more slack, but it doesn’t budge an inch.
“Tom, you’re going to need to hold her. Brace her from the front and keep your arms high on her back.” Before Dr. Nickelsen even finishes talking, Tom is already in front of me, following Dr. Nickelsen’s directions as he guides me back into place and pulls me tight to his chest.
“Don’t do this, please? Please don’t do this. I’ll be good, I promise! I won’t talk to Mr. Cat ever again! I’ll never ask to go to art class again! Please!” I beg, feeling the panic surge as my tears soak into Tom’s shirt.
“You have to trust me, Nina. This is going to help you,” Dr. Nickelsen says from somewhere behind me, and I feel every muscle in my body go tense.
He’s going to hit me with that. He’s going to hurt me.
“I told you they just wanted to hurt you,” Mr. Cat says, but I can’t see him in my narrow field of vision between my arm and Tom’s broad chest.
“Okay, Tom, press on her arm where she believes it hurts.”
