by Diane Wood
“Who lives with you?”
“Mummy and George, Aunty Charlotte, sometimes a man.”
“Does the man have a name?” Dieter persisted.
“Mummy doesn’t like the man, and I don’t like the man, and George doesn’t like the man. Once he hurt George, and Mummy got really mad at him and he hit Mummy.”
“Nathalie, do you know what George’s last name is?”
“Um…Green—he says it’s like the grass.”
“Is that Aunty Charlotte’s name as well?”
A shrug and hands raised palms upward in a childish gesture. “I don’t know.”
“Nathalie, do you remember that I told you that nobody can hurt you any more, that you are completely safe and that you are allowed to remember anything at all and say anything you want?”
“Mmm…”
“Do you believe me?”
“I…but Mother said…” It was obvious that Nathalie, the child, was torn, her face worried, yet somehow trusting. In the end she replied in a rather unconvincing voice, “I guess so.”
“Nathalie, you said that the bad mother made your good mummy go away. Can you think about that time now?”
“No! No!” she whimpered desperately. “Mother will put me in the dirt again.” Nathalie was squirming on the sofa now.
“But your good mummy wants you to tell me everything you can remember,” he tried, hoping this didn’t bring repercussions. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise.”
She went quiet.
Dieter also remained quiet.
“I don’t like it here,” she whispered eventually.
“Where are you, Nathalie?” he asked tentatively.
“Downstairs.”
“How old are you, Nathalie?”
“I don’t like it down here. It’s dark and cold and I want my mummy.”
“Why are you down the stairs, Nathalie?” he prodded gently.
“Aunty put me here. She said I had to hide and then Mummy would find me. But she put stuff on my hands and my mouth.”
“What sort of stuff,” he asked.
“It’s sticky and too tight and it hurts. I can’t get out. I can’t get out!” Her voice had become a little louder and laced with panic, and now her arms were crossed at the wrist, emulating them being tied together. Tears trickled from her eyes.
Alex was worried. At the moment Nathalie seemed to be handling the journey, but what was being revealed exceeded anything she’d imagined, and she knew just by the sequence of events that it was going to get worse. Catching Dieter’s eye, she nodded. If she stopped it now, Nathalie would still have too many unanswered questions. Her eyes relayed her fears but acknowledged that Dieter should continue.
“What is happening now, Nathalie?” he asked as she seemed to stop struggling, her body tense and listening.
“Mummy,” she replied excitedly. “I can hear Mummy. She’s talking to Aunty. I think she’s coming down the stairs. It hurts my mouth and I can’t tell Mummy I’m here.”
“Can you see your mummy?”
“Yes, she’s calling me, but she can’t see me. Now the man is here too. I don’t like the man. He’s touching Mummy funny. They’re fighting and Aunty is watching, and she keeps looking at me. No! No! Don’t hurt Mummy…” The child was mumbling, struggling madly on Dieter’s sofa. This was followed by more stifled, mumbled moans.
“Are you all right, Nathalie?” Dieter asked worriedly. “Is the man hurting you?”
“Aunty is hurting Mummy. Mummy’s seen me, Mummy’s seen me! But they won’t let her come to me. Aunty is saying lots of things. She’s yelling at Mummy—she’s saying lots of words. She’s very angry with Mummy.”
Now Nathalie’s struggles seemed to become more desperate, although only her hands and arms moved. Then she was very still, tears pouring down her face, anguish and pain etched across her features.
“What’s happening now?” Dieter asked carefully.
And for a long time there was no answer.
Alex sat bolt upright in her seat, but Dieter indicated for her not to move.
“Can you hear me, Nathalie?” he asked. “Remember what I told you about nobody being able to hurt you. Not Aunty. Not the man.”
There was a low, keening sound deep in the back of Nathalie’s throat and a quiet sob or two. Then she went limp.
Alex’s and Dieter’s eyes met in mutual agreement that the session should end. Nathalie hadn’t moved, and both were worried.
Quietly, Dieter said, “Can you hear me, Nathalie?” But he got no response. “Nathalie, it’s Dieter, and you’re back in my office now. I’m going to count back from ten and when you hear the number one, you will slowly wake up. You will remember everything that happened, but you will remember it as if it was a movie you were watching and you will not be frightened any more. You also have permission to remember anything you want. Nobody can hurt you now.”
Nathalie came out of it with a small gasp and sat up immediately—her eyes wide and her body tense.
“Are you all right?” Dieter asked gently, encouraging her to lie back down for a moment.
“I think so,” she mumbled a little shakily, “although I’ve got a headache.”
Alex was watching her every move.
“Oh God,” she said suddenly, standing up. “I remember things…my mother…my real mother.” Then she sat back down, sadness reflected in her face, tears in her eyes. “It’s really strange,” she whispered intently. “She was my mother, yet I hardly knew her.”
Pouring a brandy for each of them, Dieter moved them to lounge chairs beside a low coffee table. “How do you feel now?” he asked her as they took their seats. “It’s important to debrief as soon as possible after a hypnotherapy session, but I don’t want to push you.”
“She was so different to Charlotte, Alex,” she said, tears welling again. “She was dark like me and so beautiful…and…I miss her so much.” A sob escaped as Alex reached out and took her hand.
For a short while they sat in silence.
“Can you tell us what you remember?” Dieter asked after a few minutes. “I know it will be traumatic, but you need to acknowledge what you experienced.”
“Surely, she doesn’t—”
Dieter cut Alex off. “You’re here as an observer, Alex,” he said firmly. “Nat is my patient and if she wants to move on in her life, then she needs to deal with her memories.”
“It is okay, Alex, I want to do this,” Nathalie responded. “I know you’re only trying to protect me, but I need to do this.”
“Do you remember what you told me your name was?” Dieter asked.
“Nathalie Olivia Duncan,” she answered slowly. “I really am Nathalie Duncan.”
“Good, now tell me what you know from this session. Anything will do.”
“Well, I seemed to be quite young,” she began, closing her eyes and sitting back. “Maybe four or five…I don’t really know. I was very scared because I was in some sort of basement. I think my hands were tied together and then tied to a post or something. I had tape over my mouth, which hurt and made it hard to breathe. It was dark and cold. Charlotte put me there,” she remembered. “Even that small I knew that she hated me.”
She took a sip of brandy. “I think I was down there for a long time, but I’m not sure.”
“You gave an address during the session,” Dieter stated. “Do you think this cellar was at the house you lived in?”
“No, it wasn’t. The house we lived in didn’t have a cellar, I don’t know why, but I remember that. I don’t know where we were.”
“What happened next?” Alex asked carefully, aware not to step on Dieter’s toes.
“I remember hearing my mother’s voice at the top of the stairs, she was calling my name and she sounded frantic. I remember trying to answer her, but I couldn’t because of the gag. I remember being really scared that if I couldn’t call out to her, she’d never find me. Then the door opened and both mothers…oh, God,” she excl
aimed suddenly. “That’s why my nightmares always had two mothers—Good Mother and Bad Mother.” Looking at Dieter, she whispered, “Now I understand that much at least.” Then continuing with a sigh, “I think they were arguing as they came down the stairs. And the man was there.”
“Do you know who this man was?” Dieter asked. “Or what his relationship was to either your mother or Charlotte?”
“No,” she replied, trying hard to remember. “But I know that he used to be mean to George, and I don’t know how I know that.”
“What happened when your mother went into the cellar?” he asked, moving her on.
“She started calling my name, and I tried to struggle and call out, but I couldn’t. It was a big area and I was behind a box or something. Then the man grabbed her by the hair and was forcing her to kiss him.”
“What was Charlotte doing?”
“Looking at me and laughing. My mother pulled away and she saw where Charlotte was looking and tried to come to me. But they held on to her.”
Nathalie was on her feet now, her eyes wide. Then just as quickly she dropped back onto the seat, her head between her hands, staring into the distance, struggling to remember.
“Oh God,” she muttered finally, staring at the floor and becoming agitated. “Charlotte was yelling at her, she was so angry, and my mother was arguing back and trying to reach me. That’s when Charlotte lashed out. She had something in her hand…maybe a hammer. My mother fell. The man was laughing, but then Charlotte was crying and holding my mother, begging her to wake up. When she didn’t move, she started screaming at her that it was her fault, all her fault. While she was screaming, she was hitting her with the hammer, again and again. I’d closed my eyes, but then it went quiet and I opened them. Charlotte was coming toward me, and she was covered in blood. And then it all went black.”
Now Nathalie was rocking back and forth on the chair, her hands running through her hair, tears pouring down her face. “Oh my God, I watched her kill my mother.”
Alex was beside her in a shot, but Nathalie moved away.
“Leave her for a moment,” Dieter said assertively. “Her mind and emotions are on overload. She needs to work through this herself.”
Alex glared at him, but the psychologist in her knew he was right. What had come out of this session was enough to destroy anyone, and Nathalie had been fragile over Bella’s death to begin with.
“You need to go home now, Nathalie,” Dieter directed. “And you need to take strong sleeping tablets. You need time to rest and absorb the changes that have taken place. You had three or four years of lost memory that obviously involved terrible events, and bit by bit, much of that will start coming back to you. Because you were very young, some of it will only be impressions, but you need to be strong to deal with all of this. You need rest.”
She’d stopped rocking now and was sitting back in her chair looking totally drained. “Are you saying I’ll remember everything now?” she asked tonelessly.
“That’s unlikely and what you do remember will probably come in bits and pieces and might not immediately make sense,” he said, shaking his head. “We need to talk more and you’ll need more hypnotherapy. In the meantime you might experience flashbacks or something totally unrelated may trigger a memory that you’re not sure about. What we’ve done today is open up the opportunity for you to remember. We’ve taken away some of the fear Charlotte instilled to close off your memory. Some things that come back to you may not mean much, but that’s normal for childhood memories. There will still be constraints, because you were so young, and Charlotte did a very good job of brainwashing you. That’s where Alex will be able to help and support you. You need to tell her every time you remember something. She can help you expand on that memory and deal with any emotions they invoke. I want to see you again in two days.”
* * *
On the way home, Nathalie remained deep in thought. The image of her mother was burned into her consciousness, yet she was terrified that if she didn’t concentrate—didn’t keep it at the forefront of her mind—it might fade away, never to be retrieved.
Olivia had been young, with light brown skin and straight jet black hair cut into the nape of her neck. Her eyes had been the warmest brown and her features fine and delicate. But it was the light in her mother’s eyes when she’d spotted Nathalie in that cellar that lit her memory. It emanated a protective all-encompassing love unlike anything Nat had ever experienced. And then it was gone—snuffed out with a single blow. White-hot rage, so violent that she couldn’t sit still, flooded every fiber of her being. She wanted to kill Charlotte and the man who’d taken her mother from her.
Suddenly, of its own volition a mournful groan escaped her lips and she was screaming at Alex to stop the car.
Alex stopped dead.
Instantly, Nathalie was out of the car and running full tilt across the open park.
Alex tried to follow, but she knew she could never outrun Nathalie and besides within a few paces Nat had disappeared into the darkness of the night.
“Oh God, Nat,” Alex moaned, climbing back into the still-running car. “What the fuck have we done?”
Not sure what to do next, Alex sat in the car trying to peer into the darkness. Nat was in pain and confused. It was unforgivable that Alex should underestimate that, but all she could do now was cruise the exits and hope she’d calm down enough to get back into the car.
That didn’t work. An hour later there was still no sign of her. While Alex’s instincts informed her that Nat would be okay and would make her own way home when she was able, a lover’s protectiveness was making it hard to accept that.
Eventually, returning to Nathalie’s flat, she poured a large drink and, using every ounce of willpower at her disposal, sat in the semidarkened room to wait.
* * *
Nathalie ran and ran, stumbling and falling in the dark. Picking herself up, she plunged onward—oblivious to the scrapes and bruises she was collecting. Bitterness and anger drove her forward, kept her legs pumping. Her utter sense of loss caused her to sob and cry out as she staggered and weaved through bushes and trees and over tufted grass. Each time she hit a tree or bush she lashed out at it, punching and kicking and screaming her pain, until eventually there was no more power to drive the broken engine, and she fell to the ground moaning and sobbing, wet with sweat and bloody from dozens of cuts and bruises.
There she stayed, welcoming the pain in her lungs and legs, welcoming the coldness of the night as the sweat coated her in an icy layer. If only it could all end here and she could just go to sleep and never wake up.
And then a bitter certainty came over her—if she died tonight, Charlotte and all her evil would escape justice, and her pain and George’s pain and her mother’s death would all go unavenged. Even worse, Charlotte would be free to take George’s children and start the whole cycle all over again. That was not going to happen.
It was four a.m. before Alex heard Nathalie at the door. By then she was terrified. But when Nathalie staggered in declaring, “I have to know what happened and why,” she knew that at least mentally, Nathalie would survive. Physically she was a wreck, with blood smeared over her head, arms and hands.
Alex flew to embrace her. “God, Nat,” she said desperately, kissing and touching her bloodied face. “I’ve been so worried.”
“I’m sorry…I don’t know…”
“Sssh,” Alex whispered, gently touching her face. “It’s okay. You’re safe and that’s all that counts, but you’re freezing,” she stated, stripping her of her damp clothing. “You need a warm bath before we do anything else.” With tears in her eyes, she gently guided Nathalie toward the bathroom.
After the bath Alex gave Nat sleeping pills, dressed her wounds and made a hot drink. Most of the cuts were superficial, but Alex knew that there’d be extensive bruising, particularly on Nat’s hands, feet and legs.
When they climbed into bed there was no discussion of the evening’s events.
<
br /> “Make love to me, Alex,” Nathalie whispered as she clung to her. “I want to feel you inside me. I want you to love me.”
Alex knew it had nothing to do with sex, as she gently touched and stroked her lover. It was all about reassurance and affection and comfort. Within moments Nat gave a gentle shudder and drifted into a dreamless sleep in the safe, warm cocoon of Alex’s arms.
It took Alex considerably longer to fall asleep. Nathalie’s session with Dieter played over and over in her mind. From what had come out, it seemed very likely that Charlotte Silver had killed Nat’s mother and that Nat had witnessed the whole thing. Alex doubted that Charlotte would have had to work too hard on a four- or five-year-old child to force her to bury that sort of memory. Recovering from that memory would take a whole lot more effort.
Chapter Fourteen
Confrontation and Confession
The next morning, Nathalie and Alex each contacted their workplaces to extend their leave. Josh was happy for Nathalie to remain off. He told her that very little had developed with the murders but that Internal Affairs had been in contact and had cleared Nathalie of any wrongdoing in the death of Bella Pittolo.
Later that morning Alex rang her mother and told her what had been happening with Nathalie.
“I hope Nathalie can find out more about her childhood from that woman,” Norma said. “But I doubt she’ll admit to anything Nathalie has remembered through hypnosis. Please, just promise me you won’t put yourself in danger. Charlotte Silver, or whoever she really is, is obviously ruthless and won’t hesitate to hurt you both if you become a threat.”
“I won’t be taking any chances,” Alex agreed. “But it appears to be the only way Nathalie will get to the truth.” Alex parted with the promise that she’d keep in touch every couple of days.
* * *
Stiff and sore and with her myriad cuts and scratches stinging furiously, Nathalie was trying to focus on how to approach George. Quickly she placed another call to the house. Again Belinda answered, telling her that she really didn’t know where George was, but she would leave some more messages for him.
