Bouquet: Sequel to 'In Full Bloom': The Trilogy of the Rose (Volume 3)

by B. A. Beers

  Mark recalled Jon’s words. Jon had believed Sami was stable, even back to work and dating. “I think your analogy about her being a chameleon was spot-on,” he reported.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “In reading her file, Jon believed she was ready to leave treatment. I am sure she would have presented herself as stable to anyone who replied to your cry for help. The one thing I have learned this past week about her is her ability to please others,” he provided.

  “Is she Bipolar or has split personalities?” Linda asked.

  Mark thought about the terms. “I don’t like to label,” he stated. “I feel she is just hiding somewhere, cushioning herself from emotional suffering. It is almost as if she had closed the lid to the chest on herself like she has done on all the painful memories in her life.”

  “How do we get it to open?” Linda asked.

  “That is our task,” Mark affirmed, shaking his head. “I am working on it.”

  ***

  FIFTEEN

  “Can she hear us? Does she understand what we are saying?” Linda asked.

  “I am sure of it. To what extent she comprehends it, I don’t know. Some say it is like a dream, others say they want to answer, but cannot,” Mark informed her.

  “So, you have patients like her?” Linda asked.

  “Similar, but no two cases are alike. So, don’t ask me how long. I cannot tell you. What gives me the assurance that she will come around is her history of treatment with Dr. Peterson. In fact, I believe it was his hypnotic suggestion that gave her mind the pathway to enter this altered state of consciousness,” he replied.

  “She was like this before,” Linda reminded him, recalling her discovery of Sami on her bed prior to treatment, “before the hypnotic suggestion.”

  “When you found her in the fetal position, correct?” Mark asked.

  “Yes,” Linda responded.

  “Was she aware?”

  “Yes. She responded to me in one-word answers,” she replied.

  “That is interesting. They usually exist concurrently — fetal position and unconsciousness,” he informed her.

  “She is not in a fetal position now,” she observed, glancing at Sami.

  “I know. In fact, it gives me hope,” he shared.

  “How so?”

  “It shows me that she doesn’t fear physical harm. The fetal position is a defensive position to protect the head, neck and vital organs,” he educated her.

  “You mentioned altered state of consciousness, what do you mean?” Linda asked.

  “It refers to one’s level of consciousness with self and the environment. She is deeper this time than when she was under Jon’s hypnotic suggestion. She is not responding to any outside stimuli.”

  “How did you reach her the first time?” Linda questioned.

  “I didn’t. Molly did.”

  “Her dog?”

  “Yes. Molly’s touch triggered her to awaken,” Mark acknowledged.

  “And, the mention of AJ triggered this one?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Would AJ’s touch bring her out?”

  “Good question. It might,” he answered. “However, I bet we need to set the stage before we try it.”

  “Set the stage?”

  Mark sighed. “Sami is suffering right now. I believe it is Acute Stress Disorder, going all the way back to the trauma of losing her twin and denied the right to grieve for her. Her mother’s misguided good intentions of sparing her the emotional pain sent her spiraling. It is there that we need to begin. If we start with her guilt for AJ, it doesn’t address or correct her base problem. We need to stage a timeline and move sequentially up her life to repair the damages.”

  “How do you do that if she is unaware?” she asked.

  “As I shared before, we use all her senses,” he stated. “I really shouldn’t have been using the word unaware to describe her state. She is unresponsive, but very much aware, just not on a conscious level.”

  “I am lost,” Linda admitted.

  “I am sorry for that,” he offered. “I guess I am using you as my sounding board. My thoughts are jumbled.”

  “Don’t apologize. I find this all extremely fascinating. I am glad you feel comfortable in sharing with me. Now that I understand your intent for me, I will switch to the role of devil’s advocate,” she laughed. “A non-professional one, that is.”

  Mark chuckled. “Maybe, I should stop talking,” he suggested.

  “Too late to back out now,” she said. “Keep going. Tell me about this timeline and senses.”

  Mark looked into the rearview mirror and saw Linda’s smiling face. She was obviously enjoying her new role. “You are sure?” he asked. “My professional reputation is on the line here.”

  “How?”

  “You might discover just how scattered my mind really is and report me,” he smiled.

  “Don’t worry on that account, Mark. You have accepted me as a member of her support group. I feel you only have what is best for Sami in mind. Now, if your thoughts turn to more fiction than science, then maybe I will report you,” she informed him, smiling.

  “I might as well quit now,” he confessed. “Dealing with the mind takes creative thinking which sometimes calls for fiction or off-the-wall techniques.”

  “You do have the advantage, Dr. Stevens. As a novice, I lack the knowledge to know the difference,” she laughed.

  Mark shared her laughter, suddenly very thankful for the petite woman’s presence. “Thanks, Linda, for tossing your hat into the ring. I have a feeling your role in this will become vital to her recovery,” he shared.

  “I think you have that wrong, Dr. Stevens. I believe I played my role earlier in her life. I am one of the reasons she is in this state,” she offered sadly.

  “Lose the guilt, Linda. You won’t be any good to me if you keep it,” Mark directed.

  “I will try.”

  “Don’t try, do it,” Mark ordered. “Are you here out of guilt or do you genuinely care for her?”

  “She is my best friend,” she informed him stoically.

  Hearing the present tense, Mark relaxed. “Then, you are here for the right reason. Hold on to that thought,” he directed.

  “Okay,” she replied, holding her head higher. “Tell me about this timeline idea.”

  Mark glanced at the unconscious woman in the passenger seat. “We need all five cedar chests. They all need to be opened and explored. We will start with her journals. Open that box and find the oldest one,” he directed.

  Linda eyed the box and sighed deeply. “Memory lane,” she said, pulling the box to her. “Hold on tight, Mark. I think we are in for one hell of a ride.”

  ***

  SIXTEEN

  Mark heard Linda as she organized the journals in the box. “I always thought she was wordy, but this is ridiculous,” she stated, stacking the books around her on the bench. “There are a total of sixteen journals.”

  “The oldest?” Mark asked.

  “Hold on,” she replied. “I want to put them in order.” He heard her opening and closing book after book. “Found it,” she cried.

  “What is the date?”

  “September 21, 1977,” she answered. “She would have been twelve at the time. No, her birthday is in December. Mine is in September.”

  “Read it,” he directed.

  “Feels funny,” she stated.

  Mark shook his head. “You want to drive?” he asked.

  “No. Just give me a moment,” she requested, perusing the first couple of lines in the journal. “Ooh…“

  “Detach yourself,” Mark stated. “It will help you through it. See them as a novel, if you can.”

  “A novel where I know all the players,” she remarked.

  “You don’t have to do it,” he offered.

  “I know, but I want to help,” she confirmed.

  “Think of it this way. Sami hears you. Your voice is familiar to her. Havi
ng your voice added to her words will help her,” he concluded.

  “How?”

  “It will provide her with an anchor to hold onto,” he offered, hoping he was correct. “When you first appeared on the scene, I had hoped you would be the trigger to which she would respond. We both know that proved to be wrong. However, it could be a combination of things — her memories, your voice. If I add my voice to her words, there is no deep connection. I believe this is your role. I do not believe in coincidence. Your involvement is fate; give her words a ‘voice’, Linda.”

  “I hope I can do this justice. You are placing a great deal of faith in me,” she stated.

  “Yes, I know,” he responded, wishing to give her comfort. Sensing her doubt, he continued, “See them for what they are; they are words. Granted, they are her thoughts, but they are the past. A history, like I said before.”

  Long moments passed as Linda tried to understand her reluctance to read the journals.

  Mark spotted a road sign that indicated a rest area ahead and offered, “I am pulling over. I see that this assignment is making you suffer. I don’t want to cause you undue pain. We are switching places.”

  “No. Not necessary,” she called. “If I don’t do this, I feel I would fail her somehow. I want to help, truly. You are right; it needs to be me. There is no one else who shares her history. I must be the voice of her past.”

  Picking up the journal, she began:

  “September 21, 1977

  Samantha Ann Johnson

  Mrs. Wilson gave me this book to write down my thoughts. She said it would help me. I don’t know how, but I trust her. I don’t see how writing stuff down will keep my stomach from hurting. She tells me I have sores in my stomach. She promised she won’t tell my parents about my problems if I write it down or talk to a friend. Since I don’t have a friend who I can share with, here I sit. I don’t want to worry mom or dad. I will show her that I am writing so she keeps her promise. I wish I did have a friend I could share our secret. But, I am not allowed to think about it, so talking about it is out of the question. Mrs. Wilson told me that nothing should be kept a secret. But, I must keep it hidden. It is what they want. I vowed all those years ago to never talk about it. I will just stop going to the nurse. This might work. I feel a little better.”

  “She had ulcers at eleven?” Linda asked.

  “Sounds like it,” Mark answered. “The nurse should have reported it.”

  “I agree,” Linda affirmed, turning the page. “She did.”

  “September 27, 1977

  Mrs. Wilson lied. Why do adults lie? She called my mother and told her about my visits to her office. Mom told Dad. They are worried. I told them I was fine now. No more pain. I lied. The pain comes and goes. I am keeping crackers with me all the time. They seem to help when it gets bad. I did tell Linda about my pain. She said she always knew I was crazy. Oh, well. I guess I am. I don’t know what to write in this thing. School stuff would be boring. Don’t want to write about my feelings. Don’t want mom to find this book. Just makes my stomach hurt. This is stupid.”

  “I don’t remember calling her ‘crazy’,” Linda offered. “But, I cannot deny that I probably did.”

  “October 10, 1977

  Maybe this isn’t such a silly idea. I find myself staring at this book almost every day, refusing to open it while I sit, munching on the crackers. Going through so many of them that dad joked about buying shares of the company. I used my allowance to buy my own box. I am avoiding Mrs. Wilson. Don’t want her to upset my mother again. Decided to go ahead and write down stuff to see if she lied about it helping me.”

  “November 2, 1977

  Funny, I feel better just knowing I can pick up this book at anytime. Don’t actually have to write anything, it is just seeing it that helps. Down on my cracker intake, so Mrs. Wilson didn’t lie to me. I think I am just experiencing puberty. That was the health topic today. School is weird. They had the boys go in one room and the girls in another. Ms. Swan said it was to keep down the embarrassment. Anyway, they told us all the stuff that mom already shared with me about the changes in our bodies. What I find interesting is the mood swings during this time. Hormones are to blame. Could be the reason for my stomach problems, and not the secret? I am just becoming a woman.”

  “December 10, 1977

  Wish mom would not make a big deal out of my birthday. She doesn’t understand that I have no wish to be reminded of this day. Too many bad memories. No, she has to gather all my ‘friends’ and do a pizza party at a place that has a huge pipe organ. I told her no, but I had no vote. I gave up and provided her with three classmates’ names. During the whole thing, she didn’t even notice that I never talked to any of them. She was too wrapped up in her own world. Happy Birthday. Right! What a joke. Only good thing was the paints I received from Linda.”

  “You are the one who got her interested in painting?” Mark asked.

  “Didn’t know she painted,” Linda replied.

  “You haven’t seen her work?”

  “No.”

  “She is good,” he commented. “I find it hard to believe you have been friends with her that long and you didn’t know about her talent.”

  “We didn’t have that type of friendship,” she replied.

  “Tell me what type you had,” he directed.

  “I told you. I was a user. When we were together, I was the focus — my friends, the activities I liked. I never asked; I always told. I didn’t give her the option. If she wanted to be a part of my life, it was on my terms. It took therapy for me to see it; I was unhappy and I wanted everyone around me to be the same. Drugs, alcohol, you name it. I was a rich kid. I had money, car. . ., “ she informed him.

  “You pulled Sami with you?” he asked.

  “Yes. I didn’t realize until college it was only part-time for her. Away from me, she was a different person. I didn’t see it. I was too self-absorbed,” she answered.

  “She did the drugs and alcohol?” he asked.

  “Yes. She never complained or gave me grief about it,” she answered, looking at the books next to her. “I now know what a very bad influence I was on her. I told you I didn’t want to travel down this memory lane. I guess I have always known I was her only friend. I had no idea that she was different away from me until college. Tell me how she was able to do that. How can you be two separate people in one? That is why I asked about the split personalities.”

  “At first, I thought as you — thinking she had Dissociative Identity Disorder, the professional term for split personalities, but I believe that is not the case anymore. She is a player, and she adapts to the situation. She is not a different person. The journal’s entries will not be helpful since she stated that writing about her feelings made her stomach hurt and caused her to fear that her mother would find them,” he offered.

  “She could have changed her mind,” she offered, placing the book back on the stack. “Should I try a later year?”

  “You could try, but I doubt it will change,” he stated. “I feel we would learn more from your memories than those journals.”

  “My memories?” she asked. “I have already shared them with you.”

  “You told me how you controlled her, how you got her to follow you, but nothing about your memories of your time together,” he stated.

  “I would rather read her journals,” she countered.

  “I understand. You see them as a safe topic, but open up. Tell me,” he directed.

  “What do you want to hear?” she asked, glaring at him in the mirror.

  Mark sighed. “Do me a favor?” he asked.

  “What?” she barked at him.

  “Focus on Sami,” he urged, “her actions, not yours.” Seeing Linda ease, he continued, “She told me she attended Central High School,” he offered.

  “Yes, I graduated from East,” she informed him.

  “Not about you,” he reminded her, wanting to hear about an event they experienced. “She shar
ed that she cruised Central Avenue.”

  “No, not with me. Cruising Central was too dangerous and was banned in the mid 80’s. Police sent them to Metro Mall,” she informed him.

  “Really?” he asked, confused at the misinformation.