by B. A. Beers
Mark picked up the remote for the TV and pressed the ’power’ button, but the TV showed no sign of life. Turning the remote over, he removed the cover of the battery compartment, and discovered it had none. “I’ll bet you’re probably not even plugged in,” he said to a black screen. He replaced the cover, and returned the remote to its original location.
Walking over to his jacket, Mark removed his recorder and switched it on. “Theory,” he began, “isolation, solitude, shutting off the outside presence.” Scanning the room, he searched for any signs that would indicate the ‘now’. “No clocks, no calendars,” he spoke into the recorder, “not one thing to show the passing of time.”
Remembering the magazine binders that he had discovered in her office, he recalled that there were no current dates. “It appears that the ‘now’ was stopped dead in its track some years ago,” Mark continued. His thought’s returned to the carpet in the office where his footprints had left such distinct tracks. “Seems as if Mrs. Carter wants to erase all reminders of what has recently transpired to reinforce her feelings of delusion and isolation.”
Puzzled, Mark just couldn’t believe that Dr. Peterson would have released her if he had been aware of this problem. “I can only see two possible reasons why Mrs. Carter would have stopped treatment with Jon,” he spoke into the recorder.“One, that she was a great actress and hid this from him; or two, this is a recent psychosis that has developed since the treatment stopped. All I know is that she is in trouble and needs therapy started soon for this condition.” Mark found himself wondering what were the underlying factors of her condition for which she had sought Jon’s assistance. He continued recording, “Why was Sami seeing Jon? She mentioned ‘IT’, but to what was she referring?”
Again, Mark scanned the room. “Where is Mister Carter? Why are there no signs of the past? What has frightened her so badly that she has decided not to live in the present or the past? She appears to be in limbo. Is it the present that she fears or does her past hold her that strongly? The impression I get from her paintings leaves me wondering if she is running away from or toward something. What I can see, it appears she does neither. Her living conditions seem sterile, yet there are signs of the living through her music, books and the paintings. Does she work? Where are her coats and sweaters? There is no evidence that she leaves the confines of these walls. How do I reach her? Once I do reach her, how do I get her to face her problem? What method do I use to treat her? In all my years in practice, I have never seen such complete isolation and separation from the current world outside the sanitarium where those patients are unable to maintain their lives on their own. Yet, from what I have observed, Sami has survived and maintained. She appears to be living in a fantasy world, but what fantasy is she living? What is going on inside her head to be so unaware of the passing of time?” Pausing, Mark realized he had rapidly fired off a barrage of questions. Answers, he needed answers, not more questions!
Mark turned off the stereo and headed for the kitchen. Turning off the recorder and placing it on the countertop, he reached for the cooler that Grandma Jo had brought and grabbed another soda. He opened the can and took a drink while he eyed the kitchen. If I am correct with her lack of life outside these walls, the cupboards should be as empty as Old Mother Hubbard’s.
Opening the cabinet directly in front of him, Mark was surprised to find it loaded with food, no – not the right word, it was stuffed with food. Man, she has enough food to feed an army, he thought as he read the labels. Here too, everything was arranged by type and in alphabetical order. He could not figure out if she had been stocking up for the millennium or if this was normal for her. Confused, he wondered, Could I be wrong? She has enough food stored to keep her for years, he thought as he went from cabinet to cabinet down the kitchen toward the back door.
At the end of the kitchen there was a large pantry. Mark expected it to also be crammed with food, but, upon opening it, he was surprised to find the top half of the pantry filled with cleaning supplies – lots of bottles. There were too many for any normal person to have at one time. He laughed, thinking he could easily do his shopping here instead of at the grocery store. An assortment of brooms and mops on hooks hung on both sides with each broom having its matching dustpan. This definitely supports my supposition of her cleaning fetish.
Mark continued to scan the contents of the pantry. Reaching the bottom, his heart quickened. “No, it couldn’t be,” he said out loud. Leaving the pantry door ajar, he quickly turned to the back door. Thinking that he had heard a familiar sound earlier, he moved the window covering aside and peered outside. What he saw confirmed his suspicions, and possibly answered his earlier questions as to what held the fabric of her life together. There, sitting maybe six feet from the door was a dog, a Springer Spaniel!
Without thinking, Mark opened the door. Getting to its feet, the dog backed up slowly. Lowering its head towards the ground, the dog eyed him with great fear. “It’s okay,” he tried to reassure the frightened animal. Mark got down on his haunches, placing himself at the dog’s level, and spoke softly. “Come here, I won’t hurt you.” The dog eyed him nervously, glancing from Mark to the open doorway behind him and back. Like watching a tennis match, Mark thought as he waited for the dog to react. “You’re a baby, aren’t you?” Holding out his hand to show the dog that he had no intentions of hurting it and to allow the dog to sniff him, Mark tried to show it that he was an animal lover.
Not wanting to break eye contact or make any type of move until the dog responded, Mark waited several minutes in the standoff. The dog’s head suddenly perked up, as if deciding that the intruder posed no threat. Mark watched in wonder as the dog slowly made its way to his outstretched hand. After sniffing his hand a few times, it responded by slowly wagging its tail. Mark did not move or speak, not wanting to break the dog’s growing trust in him.
The dog inched a bit closer to him, giving Mark the opportunity to scratch it behind the ear. It moved its head deeper into Mark’s hand, wanting him to continue this action. Mark did as directed. Chuckling, he spoke to the dog, “I was right; you are a big baby.” By now, the dog was wagging its tail so hard that its hindquarters appeared to be dancing.
Mark didn’t have time to brace himself as the dog came crashing into him. He ended up on his back, laughing, as the dog licked his face. A quick examination indicated that the dog was a female, and he captured her face between his hands. “Hey, girl,” Mark said, “you’re something I didn’t expect.” The dog laid down in front of him and rolled on her back, wanting her tummy scratched. He obliged, as he took the time to scan the spacious back yard.
The grass was dormant, as it would be this time of the year, but Mark could imagine it all green during the summer season. Two mature citrus trees, one orange and one grapefruit, covered with fruit provided ample shade. Throughout the back yard were scattered rose bushes. Mark liked the simple way the yard was laid out. No pool though, he noted. That was unusual, as the Arizona’s, blistering hot summers almost required this outdoor heat-buster.
Mark looked to his immediate right and spied a doghouse nestled against the house under the patio cover. “So, this is where you live,” he observed, still scratching her tummy. Next to the doghouse were two bowls, one bowl was half-full of water and the other was empty. On the side of the empty food bowl in large black letters were five letters – M O L L Y! “Well, I have discovered your name,” he said softly.
Glancing down at Molly, Mark observed that she didn’t have the appearance of an outside dog, none of the usual signs that showed she lived in a harsh, outside environment. Her coat wasn’t matted, but rather it shone from recent brushing. In fact, this dog looked extremely healthy and happy.
Mark noted a single, glider chair on the patio that had a clothesbasket next to it. The basket held, from what he could see on top, items for Molly. He stopped petting her, and got to his feet. Molly followed suit. Shutting the back door, he walked over to the glider with her close at hi
s heels. I’ve made a friend, he thought. He sat down in the glider and looked in the basket. Sure enough, he found a brush on the top. She watched him as he pulled it out, and she automatically positioned herself between his knees to offer her back to be groomed.
“You like this, don’t you?” Mark asked, while he brushed her coat. He continued for several minutes, then cleaned the hair out of the brush before returning it to the basket. Locating an outside covered trashcan, he deposited the handful of hair. On his return, he picked up her water bowl and went into the house to fill it. Closing the pantry door as he went by, he went to the sink and filled the water bowl with tap water. Molly greeted him happily as he appeared with the bowl. Patting her head, he walked back into the house telling her that he would visit later.
Passing by his recorder on the countertop, Mark stopped and picked it up. Clicking on the recorder, he began, “Now that was something unexpected. She has a dog, not just any breed, but a Springer, just like Ollie. This is a small world. It gives me my first sign of hope. She is not that far removed if she allows an animal in her life. Maybe, just maybe, Molly is my lifeline to reach her.” Mark switched off the recorder hoping he was right.
***
ELEVEN
With renewed hope Mark went to check on his girls. This thought made him hesitate. “Am I getting too involved?” he asked himself out loud. "Should I back out now before it’s too late?” he wondered. “Oh, to hell with it. No power on earth could convince me to retreat now. I am here for the duration,” he firmly stated to the empty room.
As he entered the living room, the phone rang. Mark was startled by the shrill sound that echoed through the house. This abrupt interruption had made him suddenly aware of the tension he was feeling. Calling out to let Grandma Jo know that he would answer it, he made his way to the phone.
Picking up the receiver he repeated the same greeting as earlier. “This is Dr. Stevens.”
“Mark?” the response came from a male voice.
“Jon? Thank heavens.” Mark said, as he felt his shoulders relax. He could hear a muffled laugh through the phone.
“I hear you need me.” Jon’s tone was light, but laced with concern.
“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one.”
“Jan told me very little,” Jon continued, “but I take it the mysterious package has arrived.”
“What package?” Mark asked confused, forgetting that he had discovered one at the front door as he entered that day. Glancing around the room quickly, he spotted it. “Wait a minute, I do remember picking up a package when I got here,” Mark bent over to retrieve the object. “What has this got to do with it?” he asked, staring down at the package he held.
“It’s a mystery to me, too,” Jon responded. “But, it was very important to her. She referred to it several times during our sessions, but never went into details,” Jon added. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s out cold. From what I can tell, she has been since she acknowledged to me that ‘IT’ was here.” Mark heard Jon suddenly gasp, followed by laughter.
“By God, it worked,” Jon cried, “after all these years!”
“What are you talking about?” Mark asked with rising anger. “This is not a laughing matter.”
“Sorry.” Jon tried to control himself. “You see, on Sami’s last day of treatment when she literally cut me out of her life, she asked me to do one last thing.”
“What?” Mark asked hesitantly.
“She thought that this package might arrive eventually and she would have a problem with its arrival. She asked that she have in her possession, now let me see, what did she call it?” Jon thought for a minute, “Oh yes, a ‘watchdog’ to protect her from harm.”
“A what?” Mark could not believe his ears.
“A ‘watchdog’ were her words, not mine.” Jon was now quite serious.
“Okay, I believe you.” Mark flinched at the tone of Jon’s voice. “So, what you are telling me is, that this package is the ‘IT’ that she was referring to on the phone?” he asked hoping to get back on track.
“Yes,” Jon replied. “On Sami’s last visit she begged me to help her some way, on the remote chance that a certain package would arrive. She didn’t think she could handle it on her own. At that time, I stressed to her, if she felt that way, our sessions should continue, but she refused. She is a very strong woman, Mark.”
Mark wanted to interrupt Jon and tell him of his findings here at the house, but decided to wait until he had the whole story first.
“I gave in to her,” Jon confessed. “I supplied her with her ‘watchdog’. I placed her under hypnosis and gave her a hypnotic suggestion that was very simple. Basically, it instructed her to place a call for help, indicate that ‘IT’ was there and sleep until help arrived. To tell the truth, Mark, I did not believe that the suggestion would work, yet from what you have told me so far, it appears that it did.”
“Yeah, it worked all right.” Mark spoke without realizing it. “So, how do I get her out of this?” he asked, a little on edge.
“That, my friend, is up to Sami,” Jon replied. “I didn’t offer any code word in my suggestion. When she is ready, and believes that she is not alone and that help is there, she will wake up. I suggest you talk to her and convince her that it is time.”
“Okay, I think I can handle that end, but Jon, I have questions.” Mark had to ask them knowing that it would make a huge difference in his approach. “Why was Sami under treatment, and why did she stop her therapy?” Mark held his breath.
“I was wondering when you were going to ask,” Jon began. “It’s the main reason I have her file with me.”
“You...you have her file there?” Mark stuttered unbelievingly.
“Yes,” Jon stated firmly. “Sami’s case was not really unique, but her recovery was amazing. I am attending a conference here that is based on her condition. I wanted to share my results in her case with the committee. Mark, I only have a copy of her file with me, the original is at my home there. When I talked to Jan, I instructed her to go to my home, get it and take the file to you. Read it; it should answer most of your questions.”
Mark paced the floor as he listened. Scanning the room he was standing in now, he was thinking that Jon needed to update his report. His findings here showed that she still definitely had problems. He turned his attention back to Jon’s words.
“The report will show that Sami was referred to me for severe depression and blackouts, brought on by survivor guilt and isolation.” Jon paused for the impact of his words to hit Mark.
“Go on,” urged Mark. He was now ‘all ears’.
“Roughly six years ago, Sami lost her whole family in a terrible car accident. Her husband, widowed mother and unborn child died that night. She and her dog were the only survivors of that accident. In fact, the dog was one reason she sought help. She feared that her blackouts would hinder her care of the dog.”
“So, that explains Molly’s presence,” Mark said absently.
“Yes,” Jon replied. “So you have met the dog? Mark, she is very attached to that animal.”
“I see,” Mark pondered. “What else?”
“Well, as I said earlier, Sami is a very strong woman and during our sessions, I was able to draw her inner strength back to the forefront. I even suggested that she might express herself by painting. In fact, I believe there may be one or two of her paintings, that she had given me, at the clinic. With two years of treatment, I had her back to work and back to the living. She was happy and adjusted to her misfortune. I even believed that she was out socializing and dating.” Jon spoke, confident in his knowledge and power.
Mark could actually see Jon patting himself on the back, congratulating himself on a superb job. “Jon,” he began slowly, “I hate to burst your bubble, but I do believe you were fooled.”
“No, I couldn’t have been,” Jon’s voice cracked.
“Well, hold on to your seat, because from what I have witnessed
here, I believe she is still living and existing in 1994.” Mark waited for a response.
“Damn!” Jon exploded. “I told you she was strong, but I wouldn’t for a minute believe that she would lie to me. In her last Christmas card, she told me about her work and how she believed she had finally met a special someone in her life again. She even went further by promising me that I would be invited to her wedding.” Mark heard Jon take a deep breath in order to calm himself. “Well, it appears I have failed,” Jon said weakly.
“Don’t take it so hard, Jon.” Mark tried his best to sound reassuring. “We all have cases where we believe one thing, but the patient has other ideas.”
“I know that, Mark, but I was just so sure about this case. Help her, Mark. If anyone can reach her, I believe it would be you,” Jon stated emotionally. “The reason I insisted the clinic hire you to replace me is that you have the patient’s welfare in mind and not the bottom line.”
