“You’ve done very well, Martha, but we have more work to do. Make another appointment in two days. We’ll have another go at this.” He wrote a few notes and called the front desk to set up the appointment. “We’ll see you then,” he said as he ushered her out.
Back at his desk, he turned to his associate. “Well, Herman?”
Schoenfeld’s flushed face betrayed his excitement as well as the way he nervously fingered his blue patterned tie. “I’m absolutely certain you’ve a case of Dissociative Identity Disorder on your hands. She’s coming around rather rapidly I believe, perhaps too fast. I’m not sure.”
Carton tented his hands and shook his head. “These things are so rare. I hope I’m up to the challenge this woman presents and can handle this case to her benefit if D.I.D. is truly what she suffers from.”
“I’ll sit in on a few more sessions if you like. You may want to use hypnosis at some future juncture. It frequently helps them come to terms with the causative trauma. In any case, it certainly lets you know what those traumas were.” Dr. Schoenfeld gave a soft, uncertain chuckle. “You are one lucky man to be given a chance like this.”
“I’ve considered that, too, Herman. We will try hypnosis, but she’s not ready, not for a while yet. Give it a few more sessions. I’ll let you know when I think she’s ready.” He studied his colleague. “That’s a specialty of yours isn’t it? I could certainly use some help with this situation if you’re willing.”
“I’d be happy to help in any way I could. You know that, Mike.”
’“Great, sitting in on a couple of sessions with us, acquainting herself with another doctor will facilitate our level of understanding of her problems. It may seem rather drastic to her way of thinking. She is a nurse by profession, but nevertheless, an exceptionally frightened woman in need of intense therapy.”
“Of course, of course, we mustn’t overlook the medical-professional aspect.” Unable to disguise his excitement, Schoenfeld stood to take his leave. “Thanks again for sharing this most interesting case, I appreciate it.”
Carton held great respect for his fellow partner in psychiatry. Of anyone he knew, Herman was the best of the best. That he was exceptionally well-versed in hypnotherapy only added to his ability regarding this woman’s therapy.
Carton eagerly awaited her next appointment, his mind deeply into Martha’s case. As a doctor, he knew the excitement of treating a condition rarely seen and worried anew if he’d be equal to the challenge of helping this patient.
D.I.D. certainly wasn’t his strong suit since he’d never had a patient with it prior to Martha Lavery. He planned long hours of study into this particular mental aberration, wanting to be fully prepared.
***
Martha woke slowly. Rising from her bed, she noticed the heavy smell of stale smoke clinging to her hair. “Not again! What is this?” She ran to her bathroom mirror and scanned her face and body. Faint traces of heavy make-up clung to her skin. Her hair looked dull and reeked of stale smoke. “Oh my God, what have I done now? Where have I been? What on God’s green earth is happening to me?”
She raced to the shower and lingered there for a long, thorough cleansing. Her hair felt dry and her body burned from the severe scrubbing. “Dare I tell this to the doctor?” She knew she should. He needed all the details she could provide.
Pulling clothes from the closet, she noticed the shiny black, high-heeled leather boots lying in the back. Aghast, she stared at the length of them—they were long enough to reach nearly to her buttocks. “I never bought these! I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing slutty things like that!” Uttering a sick laugh, she shook her head. “Wonder where my fishnets have gone?” But she’d also bought a purse at some unknown time and not remembered that either. “Thank God, I’m seeing a psychiatrist. If I wasn’t, I’d be hunting for one now. And I’m taking Will to Biggie’s Burgers again this afternoon. Hope I can hold myself together for that.”
***
This time at Biggie’s, Will quickly entered the play area, joining the others in normal little-boyhood. Happy to see it, Martha watched the boy climbing, sliding, and running while he yelled, screamed, and interacted with other children his age and size. But when a boy, larger and loud-voiced, begin pushing Will about on the sliding tube, he quickly ran to her side, tears shining in his eyes. “That big boy’s bein’ mean to me, Grammy.”
Worried that Will would now be easily cowed by aggression, she wondered if this might be another outcome of the assault he’d suffered at the hands of Fred Callahan. Anger boiled within her at seeing the end result of adult aggression against a child. Would the boy take up for himself as he aged, or would he be cowed in the presence of larger males? What would this do to his ability to interact with females? Her frustration mounted anew as she pondered these new considerations.
Driving home, Will sat silently in his safety seat and Martha felt the familiar sense of sickening defeat all over again. Reporting the details to Jeannie only added to the hurt. The pain and agony over Will’s assault continued and Martha fought the unusual amount of internal furor that had taken up permanent residence within her. Where did I get this anger? It’s so not like me.
In response to Martha’s worried report, Jeannie shook with renewed angst. “I’ll ask his therapist what to expect down the line for Will. How many ways will this assault affect his life?”
The futility of helping Will haunted Martha. At every turn she saw how the victimization of her grandchild affected his mind, his behavior, and the devastating effects on his family. Is this personal destruction permanent? She feared it truly was. Could anyone, even in a lifetime, ever forget being sexually molested?
Martha left her daughter’s home, facing another defeat. Her wild, unreasoning fury lingered as she drove through the sunny streets and mocked her. She did not see the clean streets, new flowers, or the freshening green of the new spring season as she drove by. She nearly hated the sight of innocent people walking by, laughing and talking, holding the hand of a little child—those souls whose lives had not been altered by an evil assault on an innocent one in their family. It left her feeling sick at the unfairness in life. She wanted answers, and there were none to be found.
***
Dr. Carton welcomed Martha into his office. “How do you feel today?”
“Oh, about the same, Doctor.” Martha felt extremely tense, but she couldn’t admit that to the doctor. After several visits, she knew the next step would be hypnosis. “I guess I’m scared, Doctor. I smelled of smoke again when I woke up this morning and I’m afraid about the hypnosis thing. I’ll find out things I never wanted to know. You know I will.” She couldn’t bring herself to mention the disgusting boots.
“Yes, you likely will, but not to worry, we do hypnosis quite often and it’s a very helpful tool. It could certainly make all the difference in your case. My associate, Dr. Herman Schoenfeld is familiar with your case now, and is an expert in hypnotherapy. If you’ll agree, I’d like him to do that therapy.”
“Well—” Martha hesitated, fearful of what they would learn. “Are you sure all this is confidential?” she asked, her eyes on his, seeking an answer she could believe. Being a rather private person made this step all the more traumatic and she felt a heavy foreboding that something dreadful would be brought forth, something she deeply feared.
“Of course it is, Martha, we want solutions for your problems, and today, with hypnosis, perhaps we may begin to understand the basic cause of your time lapses. Dr. Schoenfeld has joined us several times now. I believe we have a good chance to help you, especially if you’ll agree to undergo hypnotherapy. Many times, it’s the only method open to us.”
“I know I must, and I’m frightened. I admit it.” Her tautly held body and white knuckled hands bore out her statement, but she fearfully nodded her head in consent.
Dr. Carton picked up his cell and dialed. “It’s all set, Herman. We’ll begin today if you’re ready.”
They waited expecta
ntly until the man entered. Martha nodded to the small, unassuming Dr. Schoenfeld. His eyes, dark and warm, and his relaxed manner tended to instill trust in a wary patient. But then, what choice did she have if she wanted answers? Resignation filled her mind and, squaring her shoulders, she readied herself for the fearful unknown.
They began. Dr. Shoenfeld’s voice, measured and soft, calmed her. After a time, Martha easily slipped into a hypnotic state. The doctor gently and slowly began the regression to her childhood, aiming for the lost year. From prior discussions, both doctors felt certain the hired man had abused Martha during the year she’d been in first grade. After careful questioning, he reached the correct point in her regression and asked her, “What do you see, Martha? Is anyone there with you?” Both doctors noted the paling of her features and the tenseness of her mouth.
Martha, her voice, higher pitched and childlike, said, “I’m coming home from first grade. My daddy is out on the tractor, but the hired man is in the barn looking out at me.” Tears slipped down her cheeks and her body twisted.
“Is the hired man, Pete Sykes, there, with you, Martha?”
“Yes. He makes me come in the barn.” Her voice quavered. She shuddered violently. “Mommy’s in the house, but I can’t go to her. He said I have to stay with him.”
“What is happening to you now, Martha? You can tell me, it’s all right. You are safe here and will not be hurt if you tell us what is happening.” Schoenfeld kept his voice low and firm.
“No—no, I mustn’t tell. He said he will stick me with a pitch fork if I do. It’s real big with long, sharp, shiny things. It’s awful! He said he’ll hurt me real bad if I tell my mommy or daddy.”
Drs. Carton and Schoenfeld listened to the voice of a small child emanating from Martha’s mouth. Dr. Schoenfeld, his voice soothing and calm, said, “No, Martha, Pete Sykes can’t hurt you. I won’t let that happen. Is he touching you? Is he touching you in private places?”
“Yes—he’s poking into me down there!” She gestured at her pubic area. “It hurts me bad! Sometimes I bleed, but I can’t tell my mommy or daddy. They don’t believe me anymore. Oh please—don’t—don’t!”
From then on, the Drs. Carton and Schoenfeld listened to evil, depraved, things they’d never wanted to hear told in the frightened, pain-filled voice of a small child in agony. Sweat broke out on Dr. Carton’s brow as he heard the sickening details of this child’s suffering.
Finally, Dr. Carton shook his head, saying, “We’ve done enough, Herman. My God! Bring her back now.”
Dr. Schoenfeld called to Martha, told her it was time to come back now, and worked to help her relax as he completed the process. “At the count of three, you must wake up.” He began to count and at three, Martha’s eyes took on the look of present reality. She straightened in her chair.
“Well, Docs, did you help me?” she sneered softly.
Looking deeply into her eyes, Dr. Carton saw the certain look of a terrible knowledge he’d never seen in Martha. “Who am I talking to?” he asked. His heart raced, thinking of the phenomena he believed had happened.
She uttered a harsh laugh. “Guess who, Doc?” She crossed her legs. “I’m Serena. You wanted to meet me, didn’t you? Well, here I am.” She thrust out her breasts and gave him a highly suggestive leer, accompanied with a half-laugh.
Dr. Carton nearly stammered. “Tell me about yourself, Serena.”
“Cut the crap, Doc. You already know what I’m about. That pathetic wimp, Martha, needed me. I kept her from going crackers. She needs me now too, don’t you know? Or do you?” A look of slyness emanated from her eyes. Then, glancing at Dr. Schoenfeld, she sniffed, “And who’s this little pip-squeak sitting in here with us?”
Carton introduced Dr. Schoenfeld. “He’s here to help with the hypnosis. Looks like it worked all too well.” Then, his voice firm but gentle, he asked her, “Please, I would like to speak to Martha now.” He feared Martha might be submerged overly long and needed to assess her mental status after the traumatic event they’d just witnessed.
“No sweat, doc.” Serena turned away, twisting in her chair.
When she turned back, both doctors easily recognized Martha. They were stunned to have seen this phenomenon. Neither doctor had ever seen that particular occurrence before today, and it took them a moment to find their voices.
Dr. Carton said, “Martha, you did very well. We will be able to help you. In time, you’ll remember everything. Would you like to know what’s happening, and why?”
“Of course—but, will it be something terrible? I’m not so sure...” Her face paled, her eyes deepened to a darker green, and both doctors could see the icy dread they held.
“Nothing that was your fault, but something did happen to you as a child. We need to help you put everything together. We now know you have an alternate personality. One created in childhood to help you survive some very traumatic events, none of which were your fault.” Dr. Carton repeated, carefully leading Martha toward enlightenment and guilt avoidance.
“We need to end this session for today. We’ll take it up again, perhaps in our next meeting.” He ordered a new appointment for Martha and gently took her arm to usher her out of the office.
“Thank you both. I feel lighter somehow. Then, will I have to undergo hypnotherapy again?” The biting edge of fear had crept softly into her voice, though she managed a smile for her doctor.
“Yes, likely many more times,” Dr. Carton answered.
She waved goodbye, and walked out into the brightness of a fine, spring day.
In the confines of his office, Dr. Carton clamped his hand on Dr. Shoenfeld’s shoulder. “Whew! How about that? I’ve heard of it, of course, but never had a case of D.I.D. I’ve never seen anything like that in my entire career.” He sat leaning back in his chair, feeling amazed, saddened, yet completely elated.
“Thanks for allowing me to participate, Michael. I’ve never seen anything like that in my practice either, nor met anyone who has. It’s that damned rare, and I’ve been practicing a long, long time.” Dr. Schoenfeld turned to leave. “I’ve a patient waiting at the moment, but I’d certainly like to sit in on your next therapy with Martha.”
“Carton laughed uncertainly. “Sure thing, Herman, sure thing. I value your company on this journey, and that’s the truth. Thanks again.”
***
Martha drove erratically through the streets, her thoughts spinning wildly out of control. “Ye Gods—an alter—what is that? You can bet I’ll be studying that aberration.” She barely saw where she drove as her mind dealt with Dr. Carton’s findings. “Maybe I’ll understand why these crazy things have been happening. I need to find out, but dear God, I’m afraid to know.”
She swerved to miss a pedestrian. “What would Bob think if he knew what a nut case I am?” She had another date with him, too. “I’m getting in way over my head with him.” Feeling helpless and frightened, she heaved a deep sigh.
She had no idea of her direction and paid little attention as she drove through the streets. Ignoring the fine weather, swaying trees, and flowering shrubs along the byways, she passed cars, busses, and nearly decked a man crossing the street. “Oh man, I’ve got to watch it or I won’t live long enough to find out what’s wrong with me!”
Martha found herself at Jeannie’s, not even realizing she’d driven that way. She went in. “How’s Will?” She spoke automatically, barely able to form a coherent sentence, while an inner turmoil raged inside her mind.
“He’s better, a little maybe. I heard him laugh at something on TV yesterday. A cartoon, I think it was.” The hopeful sound in Jeannie’s voice helped Martha regain her senses. Hearing about Will helped her return to normal thought.
“So glad to hear that, even a small advance helps, doesn’t it?” She hesitated. “Jeannie, I should tell you something, not to worry you—but I learned something today. As a small child, something happened to me and I’m just now finding out about it.” She held up her hand to stop
Jeannie’s questions. “I’m seeing a really good doctor, and at least I know I’m not going crazy. For a while, I really thought I was, but I couldn’t tell you. You’ve so much on your mind, you don’t need more.” She paused, wondering how far to go with her news.
“Mom!” Jeannie cried, her hands shaking. Tears filled her eyes. “What’s going on to make you say such things?”
“I’ll tell you everything in time. I don’t know enough about it myself, yet. The doctor said I’ll be just fine, once we get it out in the open. So that’s a load off.” Martha found she could laugh about her problems, something she’d never imagined just a few days ago. She also found being able to inform her daughter a little helped lighten the mental confusion of the past few months.
“Try not to worry, if I thought it would turn out wrong, I don’t think I could have burdened you with it, but it’s good to be able to talk about it now that I have a clue.” Martha picked up her still strange-looking purse and, subduing her wild thoughts about that item, laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow—and I think I have a boyfriend!”
“Mother!” Jeannie gasped, her tone exasperated. “You are full of surprises!”
“See ya.”
Martha took her leave without further explanation to Jeannie. Driving home, she felt the haziness overtaking her and barely made it into her bed. She felt unbelievably tired, but how good it had been to unburden herself, if only the smallest amount. “Maybe I’ll be all right,” she murmured as she drifted into a deep slumber. Her last thought was, What mischief will my alter commit tonight while I sleep?
***
Martha had another date with Bob. Basking in the glow of the unusual sensations he sent zinging through her body, she wanted more of it, so much more. On the other hand, if he knew about her mental condition, would he want anything to do with a woman suffering from a raging case of psychic aberration?
The Vigilante Page 8
