by D. J. Palmer
“You’re right,” he said. “Adam deserves better.” And so did Penny.
He was about to find out if better was possible.
At the designated hour, Eve showed up (at least, he assumed it was Eve). The correction officer who brought her gave Mitch a big smile along with an equally enthusiastic thumbs-up. He’d been part of that scuffle when Mitch took on three-hundred-pound John Grady, aka the Mountain Man. In a place like Edgewater, respect wasn’t given—it was earned.
“Afternoon, Doc,” the guard said. “I’ll be back in an hour to take her to her room. You need anything, just press the button or give a holler.” The button—affixed to the underside of the table in every therapy room—sounded an alarm in the event a patient became violent, though Mitch expected no such trouble from Eve today. “How’s the leg?” asked the guard.
“Couldn’t be better,” Mitch said, extending the appendage and feeling an unpleasant twinge at the side of his knee.
“Hey, we got your back here.” The CO sent a wink. “You’re all right in our book.”
Mitch decided not to tell him about the retraining seminar he was organizing at Whitmore’s suggestion. He thanked the man for his support, and as he settled into his seat for his session, Mitch began to feel better.
After gesturing to the chair across the table from him, Eve took a seat with a sullen look on her face.
“Are you talking to me today, Eve?”
He used her name, seeking acknowledgment that he had the right alter.
“Sure. Whatever,” she said. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”
“Mind if I record?”
“No, fine,” said Eve.
“I’d like to try something today, if we could,” Mitch said. “I’m going to give you a new medication.”
Mitch had carefully examined Penny’s medications and saw no risk in adding a low dose of ketamine into the mix—and lots of potential upside. At a higher dose than Mitch was using, ketamine would inhibit glutamate signaling and function more like a traditional anesthetic. But at a low dose, the drug—best known in the club scene and newly FDA approved—was actually one of the biggest breakthroughs in depression treatment in recent years. Mitch had tried it himself with positive results, which is why the idea had come to him. More and more doctors were using it in therapy to allow the mind to make free associations, even unlock blocked memories.
If administered properly in a low dose, Special K, as the club kids called it, acted like a flash mob—flooding the brain with NDMA receptors that actually ramped up glutamate signaling. The effect was to produce feelings of euphoria and reduced anxiety. It was also thought to help fire up dormant pathways in the brain, which could give Mitch access to another one of Penny’s alters, much like the crayons and drawing paper had coaxed out Chloe. The question was how to find the right corridor in the maze of his patient’s mind.
Mitch had spent much of the night thinking about Penny and her alters, what each represented. From what he understood, Penny, the primary self, subjected her needs to those of others. Ruby was like Teflon. Spoke in a British accent. Appeared one day when her father was making breakfast, around age twelve. She was free, happy, delightful, witty—in many ways the opposite of Chloe, who compensated for her worries about judgment and failure with excessive effort. And Eve—Eve was all about maintaining power and control. And why is control so important to her? Mitch had given that question careful consideration. It was Adam, of all people, who had unwittingly supplied him with a potential answer. The drugs muted Adam’s pain—like taking hits of joy, as he described it.
Hits of joy, that is, before the drug took complete control over him.
The need for control often starts off as a healthy response to anxiety before it morphs into something all-consuming, following a trajectory not unlike that of Adam’s drug use—first a little, then a lot, and then too much. If Mitch could lessen Eve’s anxiety, and therefore her need for control, he felt he might increase his odds of reaching Ruby.
The effects of ketamine were short-lived, especially in the dose Mitch would give her. He handed the small vial to Eve and explained his request, giving her a brief primer on the drug. He left his objectives intentionally vague, anticipating Eve would take countermeasures, even if subconsciously.
“I think this will be a useful tool for us to get more out of your therapy,” he said, and it wasn’t a lie.
“Whatever.”
The compact spray bottle made it effortless for Eve to self-administer the narcotic. The effects of it were almost immediate.
“How do you feel?” Mitch asked.
“Yeah, feel good,” she said. “I mean … yeah … kinda nice.”
“Okay,” said Mitch.
He had Penny’s file folder on the table, from which he produced a grainy photograph, taken by the police on the night of the murder. The image focused closely on the red rings surrounding her wrists. He was thinking of what Whitmore had said about the unusual marks, wondering if ketamine might help release a memory to explain them.
“Do you recall being handcuffed on the night of your arrest?” he asked.
Eve focused closely on the image. “Oh God, my wrists are so fat and ugly,” she groaned. Then, looking up at Mitch, said, “Yeah, I remember.”
“Did it hurt? Did you say anything to the police about the handcuffs being on too tight?”
Mitch put the picture away. There was no way he’d show her any of the other images from the crime scene. Eve contemplated the question, seeming more relaxed by the second.
“No,” she said quietly with a shake of her head. “Don’t think so.”
“Got it. What do you remember from yesterday?”
“Yesterday?” She sounded unsure why yesterday would matter at all.
“Yes. Can you tell me about your day yesterday?”
“Well…” Eve began. “I did the morning stuff … breakfast, clean up, a little outside time … oh joy, oh rapture. I had a meeting with you in here and it smelled terrible … ammonia or something. The help really needs to be more careful with their cleaning products.”
The help? Mitch barely stifled a laugh. She remembered his second attempt with the ammonia, the one that failed, but she’d omitted the crayons, which had also failed to trigger a switch after that first success. He’d have to go back further.
“What about the day before? Anything stick out in your mind?”
He was thinking of Chloe and her drawing.
“Hmmm,” said Eve. “No … I had group in the morning. God, I hate group. So many people here have really big problems.” She paused to send Mitch a playful smile because she understood she was one of them. “I met with my lawyer, and then I met up with Mother in that bright room … and you were there.”
“And?”
“And we talked and that was it. No, lunch, now that I think about it.”
“Nothing unusual?”
“Nope. After Mother left I got something from the vending machine, went back to my glorious cell, and hung out until dinner. It really is action-packed around here.”
Either Chloe was lodged in some compartment deep in Penny’s subconscious, or this girl was a marvelously deviant liar.
“Do any of these places have special meaning for you, Eve?”
Mitch read from the list of locations Chloe had recited in her trance, ones he had transcribed into a small black notebook.
“Michigan … Florida … Key West … Alabama … Alaska … Charlotte … Chicago…”
Eve shook her head at them all.
What could it mean? he wondered.
“Do you ever think of yourself as a bad girl?” Here he was quoting Chloe.
She sent him a lopsided, somewhat mawkish grin.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Do you think I’m a bad girl? Do you think I’m a brutal killer, Dr. Mitch?”
Mitch gave it some thought, happy to see the ketamine was still working. Everything about Eve appeared more relaxed.
&nb
sp; “My job isn’t to judge you, Eve. It’s to help you.”
He fired off some questions from the Competency Screening Test, curious to know if she’d pass.
“Do you know what you’re charged with?”
“Murder in the first.”
She was far too cavalier for any jury’s liking.
“Do you understand what you’re alleged to have done?”
“I killed my birth mother, Rachel Boyd, with a knife. Or was it a candlestick in the billiard hall?”
Clue.
Eve.
Lord help me.
Mitch could go on, but all the answers she’d give would confirm what he already knew. She could stand trial for murder and she understood right from wrong. She could resist the urge to kill. But could Ruby?
“I’d like to try something else, if I may,” he said.
Eve eyed him apprehensively. “News flash, I’m not into that,” she said sharply, and Mitch’s face immediately reddened.
“No, no … nothing…” He bumbled for the words, and Eve sniggered.
“I’m just kidding around. What do you want to try? You’re fun, Dr. Mitch. I like you. Really. So…” She clapped her hands. “Let’s have some fun.” Her eyes gleamed wickedly. She leaned forward in her chair, and Mitch got that cat-playing-with-a-cornered-mouse vibe. “What is it you want?”
Again, Adam’s words came to Mitch.
Just talk to me …
“I’d like to speak to Ruby if I may. Is that possible, Eve?”
Eve did not look eager to accommodate.
“Why Ruby?” she asked, sounding confused.
Mitch heard a subtext in her question: Do you like her better?
He knew not to treat any alternate identity as more “real” or important than any other. He had to make Eve believe that Ruby was significant in Penny’s psyche, but no more so than anyone else.
“I think she’s an interesting person, from what I’ve read of her,” he said. “But she’s so hard to reach, and I was hoping you could help me. Honestly, it can’t happen without you.”
More subtext to Eve: You are in control here.
Eve went silent for a time.
“You think it could help me? Really help?”
Mitch heard: I’m open to it.
“I do.”
“I’m coming back,” she announced.
Translation: I still dictate the rules.
From Mitch’s understanding, some people with DID could switch on command, some couldn’t. He wasn’t sure where Eve was on that spectrum, but he’d soon find out.
“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” said Mitch.
Eve looked down at her lap, head bowed, but Mitch could see a smile grace her lips, one that was tender and warm. When she looked up at him, he knew she was gone.
“Hello,” the girl said in a British accent. “Who are you?”
“Well, hello there, Ruby,” said Mitch with a broadening grin.
CHAPTER 32
“WHO ARE YOU?” RUBY asked again. She languidly scanned her surroundings, didn’t act or sound the least bit concerned, which Mitch figured was the ketamine still working its magic.
“My name is Dr. Mitch,” he said.
“Okay, Dr. Mitch,” Ruby answered cheerily. “So … um … where the heck am I?”
Is this a game? Is it real? Mitch could only speculate.
“You’re in a therapy room at a hospital. You’ve been here for some time.”
“A hospital? Am I okay?”
“You’re fine. More than fine.”
She assessed him warily. “Well … if I’m so fine, why am I here then?”
Her cocked eyebrow all but said gotcha.
“We can get to that in a bit,” said Mitch. “First I was hoping we could talk. I’m recording the conversation, is that okay?”
Ask Eve … ask Ruby, treat each alter as an individual and with respect.
“Yeah, fine to record,” she said in that lilting accent. “Okay, then … what do you want to talk about?”
“Maybe tell me a little bit about yourself for starters?”
She looked a tad uncertain. “Well, name’s Ruby. I’m sixteen. I live in Swampscott, Massachusetts … love the ocean, like roller coasters, and want to be a VSCO girl.”
“A VSCO girl?” Mitch asked, eyebrows arching. “What’s that?”
“Like you don’t know?”
Judging from her surprised voice and expression, Mitch might as well have said he’d never heard of dinosaurs.
“Honest, I don’t,” he confessed.
He couldn’t place her accent. To his ears she sounded like Hermione Granger, and it was possible that Ruby came from Penny’s interactions with the world of Harry Potter. Grace had said she was a fan of the books and movies beforehand, so it wouldn’t shock him if some amalgam of them gave rise to Ruby. No matter her origin, she fulfilled a very specific purpose in Penny’s psyche.
“VSCO girls are girls who favor crop tops, like their shorts short, and always have a scrunchie on the wrist.”
“A scrunchie?”
“You know, for the hair,” she said, tugging on her own long locks, which came free from the band used to hold them in a ponytail. She spun her head from side to side, flinging her hair from shoulder to shoulder, carefree and wild, which put a bright smile on her face.
“They know all the hot trends. Hydroflask bottles, I mean where do you think that got started? VSCO girls, that’s where. Whatever they post or share, it goes viral. Just how it is.”
“So are you a VSCO girl?” asked Mitch.
Ruby tossed back her head with a laugh.
“I will be,” she clarified, a determined look coming to her face. “I’m starting a YouTube channel. Got Insta of course, just need more followers is all.”
“Instagram?”
“Yeah, if you think I’m gonna work a desk job, you’re plumb mad. I’m going to be free of all that. All I need are good pictures, build me a following, and then I’ll get the ad dollars. VSCO girls are no dummies. Don’t care what the memes say about them. They know what they’re doing and I’m going to do it, too. I told Mum all that, so she knows my plan. She’s not happy, mind you, but it’s my life, right?”
Unlike Chloe, who’d regressed in age, Mitch put Ruby at the same age as Penny, though perhaps a bit more refined than a typical American teen.
“Your mom is?”
“Grace … Grace Francone,” Ruby said proudly. “She adopted me when I was little, so Ruby wasn’t my original name.”
“Oh, what was your original name?”
“Isabella Boyd, I’m told. But Mum and Dad wanted me to feel like I had a new name for my new family.”
Mitch wished he could delve deeper into Ruby’s mix of fact and fantasy, but didn’t want to risk upsetting her in a way that might summon back Eve.
“And who’s your dad?” he asked.
A misty look swept into her eyes.
“My dad’s name was Arthur, but he’s dead,” she said softly.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“I was there when he died,” she added. “He dropped to the floor at the pizza shop he owned. I called nine-one-one, but there was nothing anyone could do to help him. He’d had a heart attack, you see, so it wasn’t my fault.”
Mitch heard: I still blame myself. As he remembered it from Grace’s retelling, no 911 calls were made until she arrived on the scene. It was more fact and fantasy colliding in Penny’s mind, mixing up truths, and Mitch could not help but be reminded of the manipulative prowess of a sociopath.
“What about your birth mom, do you know anything about her?” he asked.
Ruby shook her head. “No. Nothing. But don’t go feeling sorry for me there, Dr. Mitch. I mean, whatever. People will say stupid things like, ‘Those aren’t your real parents,’ Arthur and Grace and all. I’ve heard that before, and it’s a bit stunning at first, but then you realize it’s just ignorance. They don’t get it. So whatever. My mum chose me
. She found me, right, and could have left it at that, but she fought to get me, she wanted me so much—”
Unable to finish the thought, Ruby bit her bottom lip, swallowed hard.
“Because … because she loved me.”
Her voice broke, but after one deep breath it seemed her composure returned.
“It’s not like I don’t think about it, you know—my past, my birth mom, all that. But there’s a difference between being curious, wanting to know where I got my eyes, or my hair, or whatever, and being devastated about it. Want to know what’s devastating? My dad dying, that’s what. He’s gone. I can’t talk to him … can’t ask him for help with my homework, or just … I dunno, watch a show together, or eat his silly mouse cakes again.”
Ruby’s gaze softened as if she were back in that memory.
“He’d make pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse, even though I was like, whatever, Dad, I don’t need my food shaped funny to eat it anymore, but he kept doing it because that was him. He just had a silly way about him, and now he’s gone. That’s hard. Being adopted.” She shrugged. “What’s wrong with having more than one set of real parents? Who says it has to be one way over another? I don’t have to fit someone else’s mold. I can choose whichever mold works best for me, for my life, like Mum chose me, right? Same as I can choose to be a VSCO girl. You read me?”
“Loud and clear,” Mitch said.
He was about to take the conversation on a darker turn, engage Ruby on matters of the law, see what she thought of the crime of murder, if there were circumstances in which it might be justified. Before he could get going though, an alarm rang out. The strobe lights went flashing, and that meant guards were on the move. None of this was jarring to Mitch, who’d grown accustomed to the noise, but Ruby looked quite surprised and unsettled.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” he said. “Probably a little incident in the hospital is all.”
“What kind of incident, like a fire?” She sounded nervous at the prospect.
Fire … fire makes her nervous, thought Mitch.
“Probably more like a fight,” he said, thinking the truth would be less alarming than a blaze. “There are guards on duty, it’ll be handled.”
