by E. C. Diskin
The doctor sat in the chair across from her. “Did it bring back memories?”
“I wouldn’t say it brought them back. I don’t remember saying those things to you. I don’t remember Michael any more than before, but it was informative, and some things are coming back.” She hesitated. “I’m so sick of not knowing who I am or what I’ve done. We’re gonna get to the bottom of it, right?”
Dr. Newell smiled reassuringly. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do what I can. First, I want to know what medications you’re on and how you’re feeling.”
“Here, I brought them all with me.” She’d remembered at the last minute, just before she left the house. She pulled the pill bottles from her purse and placed them on the doctor’s desk. “Lisa freaks out on me when I skip a dose, but they’re not making things better. I’ve been skipping doses whenever possible. The headaches have dwindled and I feel too foggy when I take them. I can’t sleep; I can’t remember shit.”
The doctor put on her glasses and read the labels, taking notes. “You’re following up with the doctor on Monday, correct?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I think it’s fine for you to hold off on taking any more. These are some strong medications.”
“Okay.” Grace turned on the couch to lay back and said, “Let’s go.”
Dr. Newell smiled. “You’re awfully anxious. Now remember, Grace, this isn’t a guarantee. Hypnosis is kind of like meditation. We’re simply going to try and create a highly relaxed state of inner concentration and focused attention. Your willingness to focus and relax is key. You can’t be hypnotized against your will, and you’ll be conscious the entire time. I’m not inducing you into any kind of sleep state, so if you decide you want to stop at any time, you just say so. My hope is simply that if you relax and open up, you might be able to remember a little bit more.”
“I’m ready.”
“Also, I want you to know that some people believe hypnosis can lead to false memories. That our mind can simply create ways to fill in the gaps, and so it can be very confusing. But I’ve had good results with my patients, and the key is for you to lead this journey. I will not plant suggestions or ideas. I will simply walk with you, metaphorically speaking, and see what we can find.”
“Okay.” Grace adjusted her head against the pillow.
“What I’m going to do is simply try and get you to relax to a point that you’re still conscious but you’re able to tap into memories that you might be blocking. First, I want you to close your eyes. Focus on your breathing.”
Grace followed the instructions. Dr. Newell led her through several exercises, and before long, Grace felt relaxed enough to proceed.
“Now, Grace, it was two weeks ago that you ended up in the hospital. Can you tell me anything about that day?”
“I got in a car accident.”
“Can you tell me anything about that crash?”
“No. I don’t remember anything.”
“And what about before the crash? Do you remember where you were going or what you were doing that morning?”
“No.”
“Okay. Let’s go back a little bit. Your parents died a few years ago. How did you feel when that happened?”
“I was sad. That’s not right. More than sad. I felt guilty.”
“Why did you feel guilty about your parents’ deaths?”
“I wanted to be with Michael. I was fighting with them a lot.”
“How did you feel when you found out they were dead?”
“I was sad. But there was this part of me . . .” She stopped.
“What?”
“I loved Michael. I wanted out of that house. We wanted to be together and they forbade it. We were even talking about running off together.”
“When were you going to do that?”
“As soon as I finished the school year.”
Dr. Newell waited then.
“But when they died, I didn’t have to run away.”
“Is that why you felt guilty? Because there was a benefit for you when they died?”
Her voice cracked. “It was just a little part of me. There was this little voice in my head that realized we didn’t have to run away.”
“Is there any other reason you felt guilty?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you tell me about that?”
“I wasn’t there.”
“Where were you?”
“I slept over at Vicki’s. We snuck out with Michael and Wesley. We went to Cherry Beach.”
“What did you do there?”
“We made a bonfire, smoked some pot, and then . . . then . . .” It was like her mind was walking down a road and suddenly fell off into a ditch. She felt stuck for a moment, like she was at a fork and unsure which way to go.
“What is it?”
“Vicki and Wesley went off into the dunes for a while to fool around.”
“And what about you and Michael?”
“I loved him.”
“What did you two do when Vicki and Wesley left?”
“The fire started to go out. We went up to sit in the car. We kissed. We talked.”
“Did you talk about anything special?”
“We talked about confronting my parents, to force them to allow us to be together.”
“And did you do it?”
Grace shook her head.
“Is there something else? What is it, Grace?”
“It was my fault. They died because of me.”
“Why do you feel responsible for your parents’ death?”
“My mom and I got in a big fight.”
“When, that night?”
“No. A few days before. She said I was too young to be with Michael, to want to move in with him. She said, ‘Why do my girls make such bad decisions?’ It made me so mad.”
“Why?”
“Because she compared me to Lisa. I was nothing like Lisa. My mom didn’t know anything.”
“What do you mean when you say your mom didn’t know anything?”
“My mom was . . . she was oblivious,” Grace said, her voice now laced with anger.
“Go on.”
“She spent all her time taking pictures, painting, observing, and yet she never saw me. She never knew what was happening in that house.”
“What happened in that house, Grace?”
Tears began falling from her closed lids. She didn’t attempt to wipe them away. She shook her head, but nothing came out. Her lips felt like they were fighting against the words.
Dr. Newell moved her chair closer to the couch. She reached out and held Grace’s hand. “You’re safe here. Nothing can happen to you anymore. It’s okay. Tell me what happened.”
“That house was a nightmare. Even after she was gone, it never ended.”
“Even after who was gone?”
“Lisa.”
“Go on.”
“We played in the woods. We had lots of woods. Everyone said we needed to know them inside and out so we’d never get lost.”
“Who’s everyone?”
“My parents.”
“Okay.”
“So she blindfolded us.”
“Your mother?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“Lisa.”
“And when you say ‘us,’ who are you referring to?”
“Mary and me.”
“Your sister. Okay, and how old were you at the time?”
“She did it a lot. I don’t remember them all. But the last time it was just me. I was, like, six.”
“And what happened?”
She felt like she was right back there, just six years old, standing in the middle of those woods in her daisy dress. “She spun me around five times and
said I needed to feel my way home. She said she’d stay right next to me. I would trip on a branch and tumble forward. She’d laugh, help me up, and say, ‘Oh, watch out for that branch.’ She said, ‘Follow my voice.’ So I did. I got smacked by tree branches and scratched all up and down my legs. ‘Come on, you’re doing great,’ she said. ‘Just a few more steps.’ And then I took a step and nothing was there. I fell into this hole, landing in something wet. The smell was rancid. I started screaming. Lisa just laughed. ‘You should have seen the look on your face,’ she said as I pulled off the blindfold. I was in the compost pit, surrounded by rotting leaves, banana peels, eggshells, coffee grinds.”
“Did you tell your mother?”
Grace shook her head. “Lisa ran ahead and told her I’d fallen in the pit. My mom assumed it was an innocent mistake. I didn’t say anything.”
“Did you think she wouldn’t believe you?”
She shook her head again, trying to walk through the woods in her mind. Mary was by her side.
“Is that why you get nervous or you hear that crying girl’s voice when you’re near the woods?”
“No.”
“Do you remember something else?”
They were climbing together, giggling. “Mom and Dad said we weren’t allowed up on the hunting platform.”
“Okay. Did you go up anyway?”
She nodded. “It was supposed to be our special place—our secret.”
“Whose secret place?”
“Mary’s and mine.”
“And how old were you?”
“I don’t know. Four? Five?”
“Did something happen up there?”
“Lisa came up. She scared us. Pushed us each back so far that we were sure we would fall. We both cried and climbed down. I never went back up.”
“It sounds like Lisa was not the easiest older sister. Was she always mean to you?”
“She was always making up games we had to play.”
“Were they fun games?”
“No.”
“Can you tell me of any other games?”
“Hide-and-seek.”
“Was that scary?”
Grace couldn’t answer.
“What are you thinking about now, Grace?”
She was trying to remember . . . or not to remember.
“Grace, where are you?”
“I’m in the basement.” Standing there with Lisa.
“Go on.”
“She said it was a good place to hide. But it was so small. I couldn’t breathe. The latches closed.” She started to feel agitated. Her voice rose. “She wouldn’t let me out. I was ripping the fabric from inside the lid. It won’t open! I can’t breathe.” Her breath started to come in gasps.
“What are you in?”
“The trunk. Stop it! Open! Open!” she screamed.
Dr. Newell squeezed her hand. “It’s okay. You’re not in there anymore. Take a deep breath. You’re with me now.”
Grace inhaled deeply and blew out the air.
“How long were you in there, Grace?”
She felt tears wetting her cheeks.
“You’re okay, Grace. You got out.”
“She let me out.”
“Who?”
“Lisa. She said it was a game. That I needed to stop being such a baby.”
Nausea rolled through her. She was in a tunnel. She could feel that sensation coming. “Ouch!” she cried.
“What is it?”
She started whimpering, a little girl’s voice. “I’m stuck.”
“Where are you?”
She reached down and grabbed her shin. “I’m bleeding!” she cried out.
“Where are you bleeding?”
“My leg, I cut my leg!”
“Where are you, Grace?”
“I’m in the chute.”
“The laundry chute? Did someone put you in the chute?”
Her own voice sounded like a child’s. “She said it would be fun. ‘Look at Susie!’ ”
“Who’s Susie?”
“My doll. She threw her down the chute and put pillows in the laundry tub. She said it would be like a ride.”
“And you got stuck in there. What happened?”
“There was a turn. My leg caught. I scraped it against something sharp.”
“Where’s your mommy, Grace?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where’s your daddy?”
“Don’t know.”
“How’d you get out?”
Grace screamed. Her body bounced. She threw her hands up to shield her head from the downpour and closed her eyes even tighter, straining her whole face.
“What happened?”
“It’s wet and cold—”
“What is it?”
“It’s heavy. Thick. Slippery. ‘Move!’ She kept yelling to move my leg.” She curled up into a ball on the couch, wiping the tears as they came.
“What happened? Are you out of the chute?”
Grace nodded, wiping her tears. “She poured oil down the chute.”
“Did Lisa ever do anything else to you?”
She nodded.
“It’s okay, Grace. You’re okay. Breathe.”
She felt her breathing begin to calm. But when she began to speak, her tears exploded into sobs. “She tried to drown Mary in the tub. I came in and she was holding her head under the water. Mary’s arms were flailing. I screamed for Lisa to let her up. Lisa turned to me like I was an idiot. ‘It was only for a second, Gracie. You guys need to learn to hold your breath.’”
“What did Mary do?”
Her stomach turned at the thought of it. “We were four!”
“Did your parents ever know about any of this, Grace?”
She shook her head.
“And why didn’t you tell them?”
“We knew what she’d do.”
“Come on, Grace,” Dr. Newell said. “You’re doing great. Tell me what you mean when you say, ‘We knew what she’d do.’”
“I hate her so much.” Her voice grew stronger. “Mom never sees. She sees what she wants to see. She pops her pills and paints her pictures and cries for Mary. I couldn’t tell her.”
“So you were afraid of upsetting your mom, or you were afraid of Lisa?”
“She would have killed me. I watched her do it once.”
“What do you mean?”
She was silent for a moment—what did she mean? She waited for the memory to come. “She took me into the woods. She brought me to a dead tree that had fallen. Its thicker limbs were still intact, but the smaller limbs had snapped off. She wanted me to see something. We walked around the trunk and I saw a cat. It must have been a stray. It wasn’t moving. It was just hanging there, its head caught on the branches. Its eyes were open and its belly was moving. It was choking.” She stopped, gasping to catch her breath. “I moved the branches to help it get free. But Lisa grabbed my arm. ‘No, don’t touch it!’ I looked at her eyes. She was like a stranger. ‘I wanted you to see it happen.’ ‘Why? Why are you doing this?’ ‘It’s a cat, a stray, no big deal,” like how could I be so stupid. And then she said, ‘But how often do you get to watch something die?’
“I screamed and hit her. She put her arms around me like a bear. ‘Gracie. You don’t want to be next, do you? You’d better not say anything.’ I broke free and ran toward the house. Mom was in the yard painting. I was hysterical. She asked me what happened but I couldn’t catch my breath. Then Lisa ran up and said that I’d seen a dead cat in the woods and got freaked out.
“Mom hugged me and said that a coyote probably got to it. Lisa was staring at me. Watching me, watching to see what would come out of my mouth. I didn’t tell. If I told I might be next. And then I was really trapped. I should have
told. I should have dragged my mom into the woods and saved the cat. But I believed she could do that to me.”
“Grace, did your parents ever hurt you? On Wednesday, you showed me scars on your arm that Lisa said your father inflicted.”
“He didn’t do that.”
“Who did?”
She took a deep breath, like she was swimming for the surface of a deep pool and needed air. “I did.”
“Why?”
“Lisa would smoke cigarettes in the woods and burn herself. She said it made her feel better when she felt out of control. I wanted her to go. I just needed to survive until then. Every time she did something, I began cutting myself. It became like a survival badge. I’d look down when I was sad and see what I’d survived. I’d remember that I could handle it.”
“And did you ever tell?”
She nodded. “When Mom compared me to Lisa, I snapped. I told her everything.”
“What happened?”
“A week later they were dead.”
“Grace, are you saying your sister killed them?”
She was looking down on herself as she sat in the police station that morning, a social worker by her side, the woman’s hand on hers, squeezing as the officer, another woman, tried to explain what had happened. “Police said someone else did it.”
All the fights, the tension between her and Lisa came into full view. It had never stopped. Even after she’d moved out, even after their parents were gone. “I want to stop.”
“Okay, Grace. But keep your eyes closed for another minute. I want you to take a few breaths. You did really well. Just listen to my voice as I count from five to one. When I get to one, you can open your eyes.” Dr. Newell began counting.
Grace opened her eyes and sat up slowly. She wiped the tears that continued to fall. “She tortured me,” she said. “But I should have told. I should have told them what was happening so many times. That cat died because I didn’t tell . . . She made me as bad as she was.”
“It’s not the same, Grace. There is something to be said for self-preservation, don’t you think? At our core, aren’t we all just trying to survive? You were afraid.”
She sat back on the couch, both hands pressing against her face, plugging the leak. “But if you know someone is bad, maybe even evil, and you don’t do anything about it, what does that make you? At school they would say that if you ever saw a kid bullied and you did nothing, you were as bad as the bully.”
