by Ted Dekker
Oh no… Oh no…
Knuckles rapped on the wood and she jumped back, thinking that maybe it wasn’t over.
Oh no… Oh no!
Her heart was thudding in her ears as the door swung open. She stared up into the face of the Kern Lawson, who was chewing on a toothpick, expressionless except for what might be slight curiosity.
He glanced at the room behind her, then fixed his eyes on her again.
“Good morning, Alice.”
She blinked at him.
“You look like you could use some sleep,” he said.
“I…” She wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m fine.”
“Better now?”
“Not really. No.”
“No,” he said. “Not really. But you will be. Let’s go, shall we?”
“Go where?”
“You have an appointment with destiny, my dear. A little ther-I-py to help you see your way to the ugly truth.”
He walked into the room and Christy followed, not sure what to make of the man. Somehow, he didn’t seem as strange to her. More like the man she’d first met than the one who’d spoken to her last night.
Lawson walked to the door, waved his hand over a pad on the wall, and pulled the door open, facing her.
“Tell me, Alice. Did you see anything last night?”
She stopped in the middle of the room, at a loss. Play along, Austin had insisted. She had to get out, but right now she was helpless.
No games, just play along.
“I had a dream,” she said.
“I see. And what did you see in this dream?”
“That I was ugly.”
A smile slowly formed on his face. He withdrew his toothpick and flicked it across the room.
“Good. Progress, and so soon.”
She looked at the toothpick lying in the middle of her bedroom floor. She was making progress; let him think that. The sooner she convinced him she didn’t belong here, the better.
“The problem is, my dear ugly duckling,” he said, grin now gone, “you still aren’t making the proper distinctions between what is illusion and what isn’t.”
“Of course I am. I looked, didn’t I? I saw the real ugliness that I secretly imagine in myself. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Ah.” Lawson wagged his finger. “But you still don’t understand, sweetheart. You weren’t having a hallucination in the bathroom last night. You’re actually having one now. As we speak.”
For a brief moment, her heart stalled.
She wanted to play along, but doing so felt obscene.
“Of course I’m not. You’re saying this room isn’t real? That you aren’t real? That’s not possible.”
“I’m not saying this room and I aren’t real, Alice. I’m saying the you that you see right now isn’t the real you. You’ve suffered some kind of trauma that makes your mind see yourself differently than you really are. I’m guessing that you saw the real you last night.”
She couldn’t help but to glance down at her hands. Christy’s hands.
“Your mind sees only what it can handle. But not seeing the truth is keeping you locked up in delusion.” He paused. “When you walk into the bathroom, what do you see?” he asked.
“What do you mean? A plain bathroom.”
“And the walls?”
What was he getting at?
“Just walls.”
“Color?”
“White.”
“You see? At this moment, you see this room, you see me, as we really are. Plain as day. But you see yourself as Christy, a far more palatable rendition of the true you. And when you’re in your delusional state, you don’t see that the bathroom is actually walled in mirrored glass, all the way around, every square inch.” The administrator grinned, pleased with himself. “It’s one of the things we do here—a little physical change can often trigger a change in thinking.”
“That was only a delusion!”
“So you admit that you are delusional. Good. But I can assure you, the bathroom doesn’t have white walls. You just see it that way because your mind can’t bear to see you for who you are. It can tolerate one little mirror, maybe, but not a room full of them. It’s too much. Last night you were able to emerge from your delusion long enough to see yourself for who you really are. When you woke, the real you had retreated and the false you had reasserted itself. Capisce?”
The tremors took hold of her bones, deep down where no one could see them yet.
“That’s impossible.”
“Not at all. Entirely common in my trade.” His eyes shifted in the bathroom’s direction. “Now that you’ve heard the truth, you might even be able to take a peek and see for yourself. Maybe it’s too early.”
His eyes alighted on her.
“Would you like to try?”
His suggestion, that she really was the girl she’d seen last night, was screaming though her mind, stopping up her lungs, tilting the world.
Something’s really wrong with you, Christy. Something is very, very wrong with you.
“It’s all right, Alice. Let’s take this step by step.” He extended his hand, palm down. “Come with me. Let’s get you to your appointment with Nancy.“
She pushed back her fear. He was messing with her. He had to be. She couldn’t possibly be the girl she’d seen last night and still have all the memories she had of herself as Christy. The orphanage, Austin, high school…
“Alice?”
She walked forward and took his hand.
“That’a girl.”
Lawson led her from the room, turned to their right, and walked down the empty hallway. His hand was large and warm, and she felt comforted by his gentle grip.
“You remember Nancy, don’t you? The kind lady who interviewed you yesterday?”
“Yes.” She kept wondering if the bathroom would have mirrored walls if she took a peek now, as he’d suggested. But that was absurd.
He stopped at the fourth door on their right, released her hand, and twisted the knob.
“You’re doing well, Alice. Just a little deeper now.”
He opened the door and ushered Christy into a cozy room with a couch and an armchair. Tan walls with bookcases. An aquarium on a credenza, paintings… The first inviting room she’d seen since arriving.
Nancy Wilkins stood from her chair behind a wooden desk looking as pretty as she had yesterday. Dressed in a blue blouse with a black skirt.
She smiled warmly and removed a pair of glasses from her face. “Hello, Alice. Good to see you again.”
“Hi.”
“Have a seat.” She motioned to the sofa.
The door closed behind her. When she sat, she saw that Lawson had left them alone. His departure was more comforting than his hand. With Nancy, at least, Christy felt heard.
The psychiatrist settled into the armchair and spent a few minutes asking her about her experience so far, not once addressing Christy’s concern that she didn’t belong here. Naturally she didn’t. Many patients felt the same way. It was par for the course in their world.
Play along. Just play along.
With Lawson’s suggestion still gnawing at her mind, she took every opportunity to glance at her arms and legs, reassuring herself that he was wrong.
When Nancy asked about the night, she decided that talking about it wouldn’t hurt her. She put it out there in summary, avoiding the details, focusing only on Lawson’s conclusion that she was, at this very moment, delusional.
“But I know he’s wrong,” she said. “I mean, really… Do I look fat to you? This is me, right?”
Nancy smiled kindly. “Of course you’re not fat, Alice. These are only perceptions and labels. Dr. Lawson is only trying to help you see the truth.”
“But you see me. How can I be that girl I saw last night?”
The psychiatrist folded one leg over the other, elbows on the armrests, lightly tapping her fingertips t
ogether.
“I don’t know who you saw last night or who you see now,” she said. “But you’re going to learn that the illusion is as powerful in its effect as the truth. When you have a delusion, it will feel just as real as any other perception of reality. Remember that.”
Christy considered each word as she spoke them aloud.
“The illusion is as powerful in its…”
“Effect,” Nancy filled in.
“As…”
“As the truth.”
“As the truth,” Christy repeated. “The illusion is as powerful in its effect as the truth.”
“Good.”
“Then how do you know which is the illusion?” she asked.
“Very few people do.”
That was odd. Most people were confused? But before she could think about the matter more, Nancy redirected the session.
“I’d like to help you see into your repressed memories, Alice. Often, understanding what happened to us and why it happened helps us deal with hidden emotional blocks that imprison us.”
Her pulse surged. “What memories?”
Nancy hesitated, then smiled warmly.
“Memories of your childhood.”
“My childhood?” She had no memories. How much did Nancy really know? “I… How?”
“Using a tool we call hypnotic therapy, which is a fancy way of saying we calm the mind enough to allow memories to surface. You’ll be entirely aware the whole time—it’s not like what you see on television. You can stop it any point you like. I will only help you relax and see into yourself.”
The appeal of knowing more about her childhood blossomed in her mind.
“Would you like to try?”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I would.”
—
THE EASE with which Nancy Wilkins methodically and gently led Christy away from her current concerns and into a place of deep peace felt at once strangely beautiful and surprising.
No swinging pendulum, no bright lights, no crystal balls.
She’d only asked Christy to enter a room with gentle music playing, then led her down a flight of steps that led to a door which opened to a beautiful garden, where they spent some time around a pool.
Then down another concrete staircase, even deeper under the ground into a magical place with doors. It was through those doors that Nancy asked her to see her childhood.
“Open the door, Alice. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
She put her hand on the round metal knob and turned it. The door slowly swung open on creaking hinges.
“Tell me what you see.”
“I… I can’t see anything.”
“Is it dark?”
“Yes.”
“Can you step inside for me?”
She hesitated. “It’s dark.”
“It’s okay, Alice. Nothing will hurt you. Just put one foot in front of the other and step inside. I’m right here behind you.”
Christy took a tentative step over the threshold. Then another, and another before stopping three feet in.
“I can’t see anything.”
“Can you see your feet?”
She looked. “Yes.”
“What does the floor look like?”
“It’s hard. Concrete or maybe cut stone.”
Nancy paused for a moment, then spoke again, tone light and low.
“Good. Now look around and tell me if you can see anything?”
Slowly her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Walls took shape.
“I’m in a basement with concrete walls. It’s dark.” She could feel her heart rate begin to rise, a steady, dull thumping sound faintly echoing off the walls.
“Take a deep breath, Alice. It’s all going to be okay. I’m right here. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes.”
“It’s important that you stay calm, because you know that I’m right here, and we can leave any time we want to. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now I want you to walk forward and tell me if you can see anything else that might help you understand where you are.”
Christy slowly walked forward.
“It’s dark ahead. I can’t see anything ahead of me, only on the sides. The sides are stone or concrete. They’re wet.”
“Is it warm or cold?”
“Cold.”
“Good. That’s good. You’re doing well, sweetheart. Just keep walking forward.”
She did, one tentative foot in front of the other. She knew that she was under hypnosis, only looking into the deepest parts of her mind, but it felt so real. Almost as if she were there.
“I can’t see anything ahead of me…”
“Look back at the door that you came through, Alice. Can you do that?”
She twisted and looked back. The door was there, gray. Metal she thought.
“Yes.”
“You see, it’s right there.”
Christy swung back around and peered into the darkness.
“Yes.”
“Keep walking forward.”
She’d taken two more steps when a faint outline emerged from the darkness. She stopped.
“I see something.”
“Tell me what you see.”
“I…” She took another step. “It’s… it’s bars.”
“You see bars on the wall?”
“No. The bars are the wall. I… I think I’m in a prison cell.”
“Are you sure it’s a prison?”
The bars come into clearer focus. Beyond them was a dark hallway made from the same kind of concrete as the walls in the room she was in.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’m in a prison somewhere.”
“I want you to ask yourself where you are, because you do know. Just ask yourself where you are.”
Christy thought about it and immediately had an answer. She felt her hands begin to tremble.
“I’m underground, in a room. I can’t leave this place. I’m… I’m stuck here.”
“Take a deep breath, Alice. Try to stay calm. Remember, the door is right behind you. We can leave anytime we want to. Okay?”
She looked back again and took comfort in the door, gray against the darker walls.
“Now tell me again, where are you right now?”
“I’m in a big house. In the basement. I can’t leave.”
“Why can’t you leave? Is someone making you stay?”
“Those are the rules. I can’t leave.”
“What will happen if you do leave?”
“I… I don’t know. Something horrible. I don’t want to think about it.”
“It frightens you?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t need to be frightened now, Alice. We’re just remembering. It’s very safe.”
Christy tried to calm herself and managed to do so, thinking about Nancy sitting close by.
“Okay.”
“Good. Now I want you to walk up to the bars and touch them.”
“I can’t.”
“I think you can. They aren’t real. It’s important that you touch them so that you know they can’t hurt you.”
They were just bars. Just iron bars running from the ceiling to the floor.
Christy edged forward, lifted her hand, and placed her fingers on the cold steel. Nothing happened.
“I’m touching the bar.”
“Good. See, it’s going to be all right. Can you see anything else?”
She looked down a long, dark hall that reached into darkness in both directions.
“No. It’s just a dark hall. Like a tunnel.”
“You’re in the basement of a big house that has passageways and a room with bars. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me who owns the house?”
She thought. And she knew.
“A man.”
“Do you know hi
s name?”
Nothing came to her but the dark shadow of what she knew was a man.
“No. I’m sorry… I can’t remember.”
“That’s okay, Alice. Now, I want you to listen very carefully and tell me if you can hear him. Can you do that for me?”
Almost immediately she heard a whisper.
“I hear something!”
“What do you hear?”
The voice became clear, thin and innocent, a girl singing just above a whisper.
“Oh, be careful little eyes what you see.” A sweet giggle sent a chill through Christy’s bones. “Be careful little eyes what you see. For the Father up above is looking down in love, so be careful little eyes what you see.” The little girl’s voice morphed into to a low, guttural, accusing tone on the heels of the song. “Ugly girl. Still too ugly to be seen. Just as ugly as the day you got on your knees and begged for mercy.”
The fear that welled up in Christy’s chest plunged her into a raw panic. She spun, screaming, running for the door, chased by a low chuckle.
Beyond her scream, she could here Nancy’s voice, just barely: “It’s okay, Alice. It’s okay, just take a deep breath. You can come out. It’s okay.”
Christy reached the door and grabbed the knob knowing that it would be locked. She twisted it anyway, awash in dread.
The knob refused to budge.
Fear had closed off her throat and she had to push hard to get words out.
“I’m trapped! I’m trapped!”
“Open the door, Alice. Just open the door.”
“I can’t!” It refused to move. She had the horrible realization that she would be caught in this hellhole forever, and it made her want to rip the skin from her face so that she wouldn’t be so ugly.
“I can’t!”
Something slapped her face. “Wake up, Alice.” Again. “The door’s open, wake up.”
She suddenly became aware that she was back in the office, bent over her knees, sobbing and retching. Nancy was gently stroking her back, comforting her.
“Shh, shh, shh. It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re safe. You’re here with me. It’s okay.”
Christy caught her breath and forced herself to calm down. A steely resolve slowly began to replace the terrible emotions that had thrown her into hysteria.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. Let it out. Everything is going to be okay.”
Anger more than resolve. Bitterness.
