by B. A. Beers
Releasing his arm from around Grandma Jo, Mark started to pace as he continued to talk, beating the stuffed file he still had in his hand against his leg. “There will be many avenues in her mind, but only one of them will be the right course. It’s like a maze, only one correct way in and only one correct way out. The only one who can bring Sami out from under the hypnotic state is Sami herself. Jon said that she would revive when she knew someone was there to help her. So, it appears our mission is to prove to her that we are here to help her, and to earn her trust.”
“According to Dr. Peterson, she can hear us and even answer us if she desires. We still have time to convince her to awaken before the need to move her to a hospital. Too long though, and dehydration could be the result and IV fluids would be necessary. I have witnessed cases like this in the past, with some patients remaining indefinitely under their mind’s protective control. They refuse to accept reality, preferring to live in the subconscious. It is rare, but it is possible we could lose her at this level. There are too many clues here that lead me to believe that she does want to live in the past. Yet, she did call. She did ask for help. Was that due to the power of Dr. Peterson’s suggestion or was that a true feeling from deep within her? How far will this go? How long will it take? I don’t know these answers yet, but hopefully, some of these questions may be answered in this file.” He sighed deeply, while still pacing in front of Grandma Jo.
“I have the feeling that normal methods of procedure are not going to work here.” Mark stopped and glanced at his watch. “From the note left on the door by the delivery company, ‘IT’ was left around 8:15 A.M. The time now is 5:15 P.M. We have already lost nine hours. The clock is ticking, so we’d better start moving,” he commented, looking directly at her with his eyes expressing a sense of urgency.
“I’m here and I have no plans to be anywhere else until we reach her. Let’s get started,” she answered the expression in his eyes.
Smiling, he held out his hand in her direction. She grabbed it and together they made their way back to the ‘war room’, Sami’s bedroom, each silently praying that the results of this battle would be victory.
Releasing Grandma Jo’s hand at the door of the bedroom, Mark saw Jan sitting beside Sami on the bed. Jan heard them enter the room and turned in their direction. “This is not the lady I remember so vividly,” Jan remarked. “Don’t get me wrong. This is Sami, but it is a very different version of the same person. The Sami that I remember was a fighter, though not at first, but she did grow into one. You do have a job on your hands, Dr. Stevens, but you will win. Having personally witnessed the results of your treatments, I believe you will bring her back to us.”
As she finished, Jan turned her gaze back to Sami. Feeling the need to withdraw from her side, Jan stood up. She perceived an almost tangible aura of despair emanating from Sami and she feared that, if she remained, she too could easily be drawn into the web which held Sami. Turning, Jan saw Mark staring at her closely. She tried to suppress her feelings, not wishing to divulge her personal reaction, which could possibly deter him from his course of action. She forced a smile on her face. Thinking quickly, for she wanted to get his attention away from her face, she stated, “I need to go and feed your dog.”
Mark shook himself like he was shaking off a bad dream. “Yes, of course, yes, good,” he stammered, wondering why he had goose bumps on his arms. He stepped aside to allow Jan to leave the room. Grandma Jo started walking with Jan to the front door. With them gone, he turned his attention to Sami. He had to struggle to keep from reaching out to caress Sami's face.
Suddenly, he felt Grandma Jo standing next to him. “Jan sent me back,” she said. She glanced at Sami and then to Mark.
Withdrawing his eyes from Sami, Mark turned to Grandma Jo. Noting her lips trembling, he plastered what he hoped looked like a genuine smile on his face. He winked at her, hoping to convey to her that ‘I am the man; I am in charge’. She returned the smile and relaxed a bit. He motioned for her to sit. She took his cue and sat down in the recliner. Keeping his eyes on her until she was seated, he nodded his approval.
Mark returned his attention to Sami. He knelt beside the bed, placing Sami’s file in front of him, and prepared his next move. Surmising that he should read the file first, but wanting Sami to know he had just spoken to Dr. Peterson, he placed both elbows on the bed and leaned in to be closer to her face. With his left hand resting on the file, Mark placed his right hand over his left to hide from Grandma Jo’s view that the first two fingers of his left hand were crossed. It never hurts to wish for good luck, he thought to himself.
He was so close to her that he could smell the freshness of her body. The combination of the aromas of shampoo and soap still clung to her as she lay there, and he savored the fragrance. Refocusing, his mind was struggling as he softly whispered in her ear, “I am here, sweetheart, and I vow to guide you out safely.” These words were barely audible, and he hoped that Grandma Jo had not heard them. He had not intended to voice the thought, but now they were out in the open.
“Sami?” Mark began, this time loud enough for Grandma Jo to hear. He wanted desperately for her to open her eyes right then and end the ordeal, but she did not respond either by movement or speech.
In his mind, he heard Pat’s voice again. Don’t push her, Mark. You have the tendency to jump right into the middle. Remember that everything has a beginning, middle and an end. You never start a book in the middle, you big lug.
”You are right, love, as always," he replied to the voice.
Mark decided for now, that logic, straight and true, would be the best. “Sami!” he began with authority.
Grandma Jo cried out, signifying to Mark that he had scared the socks off of her. He glanced over his shoulder at her. She was sitting back in her chair with her right hand over her heart. The expression on her face made him smile. She smiled back in return and indicated to him to continue, mouthing that she was all right now. He nodded and returned to Sami.
“Sami, my name is Dr. Mark Stevens,” he began again. “I am a colleague of Dr. Jon Peterson, and I am here on his behalf. I am aware of your case. I know you had some tough times.” He knew that this was an understatement, but for some reason it was hard for him to talk about it. He would know when the time was right.
“I’m here to help you, Sami. I just spoke with Dr. Peterson, and he told me that he provided you with a ‘watchdog’ in case you would ever need one.” He sat back, waiting for her to respond, figuring that the very catchword might spark some type of reaction. Nothing, no reaction; silence filled the room.
“Sami, I know that you can hear me. I know what you have been through. Dr. Peterson shared the reasons for his care with me. It is time now to wake up and face your problems. You are not alone. You have the support you need to confront ‘IT’.” Checking her breathing, he observed that it was still deep, with no visible signs that she was even aware that he was there with her.
“Sami, I have come to you armed with all the necessary tools to aid you in your battle.” Mark’s frustration grew to the point of wanting to shake the very still, unresponsive woman before him on the bed. He knew that anger was not the answer, and getting angry would only drive her farther into her cocoon. He needed her to respond. “Help me,” he whispered in a softer tone.
Mark lowered his head to the bed. Where do I go now, his thoughts screamed inside his head. Feeling a hand touch his shoulder, he looked up expecting Sami to be smiling at him, but found that she was still out. Turning, he glanced at the hand and then into Grandma Jo’s face.
Noting the anguish that was written on his face, her knees went weak. “We need to regroup,” she stated flatly. He nodded. Removing her hand from his shoulder, she headed for the doorway.
Turning back at Sami, Mark spoke three words to her, “I’ll be back.” Grabbing the file, he got to his feet, and followed Grandma Jo from the room.
When Mark entered the hall, Grandma Jo was standing by the hall bat
h. “Go in there and splash water on your face. Give me the file, and when you have finished, meet me in the kitchen,” she ordered. Taking the file, she turned her back to him and marched down the hallway. He followed her orders and entered the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Grandma Jo was dishing out large bowls of stew when he entered the kitchen moments later. Mark sat down in the kitchen chair that he had vacated earlier that day, noting that she had deposited the file there. Resting his elbows on the table, he held his head in frustration recalling the lack of success with Sami. Grandma Jo placed a bowl of stew in front of him with two large slices of homemade bread stacked neatly on top. He eyed the stew, but was unable to move.
Grandma Jo returned with a glass of milk and sat down in the chair next to him. “Eat,” she ordered.
He shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Then, drink the milk at least.”
Taking his hands from his head, he reached for the glass, brought it to his lips and took a large swallow.
“Mark, could I offer a suggestion?” Grandma Jo asked tentatively.
“Yes, we’re a team, remember,” he responded between gulps.
“Read her file. Find out what Dr. P. did,” she encouraged. “He is a remarkable man, and if he reached her before maybe he has some answers to your questions in that file.”
Eyeing the file, Mark knew, but hadn’t shared it with Grandma Jo, that Sami had duped Jon. Jon had thought he had cured her. Yet, there had to be more to the story than he had been told already.
Mark opened the file and began to read the case history. Caught up in his journey into Sami’s past, he barely heard Grandma Jo excuse herself. Precious hours passed while he absorbed the details of Sami’s case. They were making their way into his soul. Mark found himself appreciating Jon’s ability to direct Sami’s treatment over the course of two years. Drawing on her talent to paint, his method was to encourage her to express her feelings onto the blank canvasses. Her basic distrust in people was rooted in their lack of knowing and understanding what she had been through. She truly believed she was the only person on earth who had experienced such a traumatic loss.
The file contained an official report regarding the accident. Mark held back reading this report until he had finished the case history. He made mental notes, as he reviewed the file, picking up details that he thought would be helpful. Her file stated that she believed she should have died the night of the accident. It was the dog’s movements that had spared her life. Movements? What movements, he wondered. Continuing the review of the file, he observed that once she came to this realization, she became stronger and a rapid recovery began. Her determination and will returned.
Mark read Jon’s final report detailing the hypnotic suggestion of the ‘watchdog’ and how Jon believed that he had been successful in Sami’s treatment, and had won the battle. “Jon, I can see now why you believed you had won.” Mark drummed his fingertips on the table as he spoke to the empty room.
Finally turning to the accident report, he spotted the date and time: January 17, 1994, 20:47. It hit him like a freight train. The accident was six years ago today. The arrival of the package coupled with the knowledge of the date could have worked double jeopardy on her. He remembered there were no calendars on the walls, and no indication that she should know today’s precise date. Yet, he felt, if she was anything like him, she would instinctively know the date of the passing of loved ones.
He fought to control his own emotions and to concentrate on reading the police report. The report was brief, as normal, but the words revealed enough:
‘Eight vehicle pileup on Hwy. 17, mile marker 311, southbound.
Poor visibility due to heavy snowfall and hazardous road
conditions, caused an eighteen-wheeler truck to jackknife.
Eight DOA’s at site, four victims transported to hospitals.’
Mark stopped reading. They didn’t have a chance, he thought. He could very well understand her feelings of believing she should have died that night, also. He believed that if he had survived an accident like that, his own emotions would have been just as raw. He sat up straight. Emotions! He recalled in Jon’s evaluations, that Sami believed no one could understand her loss. Well, little lady, I think I do. Maybe, that is how I need to reach you.
Mark closed the file and headed to the bedroom with a plan formulating in his mind. When he entered the room, Grandma Jo turned to him, noting the determined look on his face. “Well,” she asked, “have you decided what you are going to do?”
“Emotions,” Mark said.
“What?”
“Break down the wall with emotions,” he continued.
“I don’t understand,” she replied.
“I tried approaching her with facts. Now, I will try reaching her on an emotional level,” he explained.
Grandma Jo nodded her approval. “Yes, you are right. Women tend to think with their hearts first and then their heads.”
Mark leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Wish me luck.” He headed toward the bed.
“Be honest,” she whispered.
This time Mark sat on the edge of the bed. “Sami,” he said softly, glancing down at her. “I want to share with you a little something about me. The reason I am telling you this is because I want you to know that I understand. For you see, I have lost someone very important to me. I need you to believe that you can trust me, and that I can identify with your loss.” His eyes closed as he traveled back, in his mind, four years.
“I’ll never forget that dreadful day,” his voice cracked with emotion. “I was driving home from work. It was cloudy, rainy and just plain dreary. I had a miserable day. Rain usually brings out the worst in people. I had a record number of emergency calls that day, six, one immediately following another. I felt like I had been pulled apart at the seams. I was anxious and longing to get home to recap my day with my beloved wife, Pat.”
“Due to the congested traffic and bad weather, I arrived at our beachfront home, in Calif., over an hour late. I parked my car in the garage, and hurried into the house. Entering the house, I found none of the lights were on. It was extremely dark, almost eerie. I stepped back into the garage to verify that her car was there. It was; a few raindrops still clung to the hood. She was home and had been for quite awhile. At that moment, I became frightened. I shut the door, and called out, ‘Honey, I’m home.' No return greeting from her."
“I searched every room, turning all the lights on as I went. My search yielded nothing. She wasn’t in the house. I had to swallow back my rising fear several times. I checked the answering machine, and there were no messages. I checked the front of the refrigerator for a note – nothing. I checked my pager – no pages. She had vanished without a trace.”
“I went back to her car. Her keys and purse were still in it. There was no sign of a struggle. I removed her purse and keys, and tried to remember if the garage door was open or closed when I got home. It had been closed. Thinking she may have gone to one of the neighbors, I checked the front door. It was still locked. Checking the sliding glass door to our enclosed, covered patio that overlooked the beach, my heart caught in my throat for it was open. I stepped onto the patio, and I found her asleep, curled up in our large, overstuffed, double glider. She was still dressed for work. I called out her name softly. She awoke and turned to me with very red and swollen eyes.”
“I rushed to her, extremely worried, but not able to talk to her. Picking her up, I sat down with her in my arms. She began to cry again. I held and gently rocked her for awhile, waiting for her to talk, as I knew she would. My concerns of the day completely vanished. I held her like that for some time, trying to console her, letting her cry. I can still hear the waves crashing on the beach, while she cried unabated. Eventually, she began to calm down, and the whole story came rushing out.”
He paused to check Sami for any sign that he might be getting through to her, but there was no change.
He continue
d. “She had taken my suggestion to make an appointment with our family doctor, Dr. Porter. She hadn’t been feeling well in the previous couple of months, tired and sluggish, with on and off pain in her side, and numerous crying sessions. She figured that she was just overworked and had pulled a muscle doing exercises. Dr. Porter had examined her, drawn blood and taken X-rays. He had given her some muscle relaxants, and told her to get more rest. I remember her coming home, feeling much better.”
