The seeds of doubt grow like weeds when given enough sun. Enough water. Enough nurturing.
Charlotte sat in my office at her next visit with her doubt about Bob sprouting from her pores. She had not seen him again, but he had called her to tell her about the problem with the alibi and his new lawyer. He would not come off his story that he was at that dinner. And yet there were no more flirtatious text messages. No more pictures of his erect penis. He was being careful like a guilty person is careful.
“I’m sorry things with Bob are troubling you. Sorry because I can see you’re anxious about it.”
I am. It’s very troubling. I mean, what is he hiding? I even asked him, I said, “Just tell me where you were that night. If you were with another woman, then I’ll deal with it.” He just kept saying he was at the club and everyone was persecuting him because of his run for the seat and his money and blah blah blah. He was overselling it, you know?
“Yes. It sounds very strange, and I can see why you are concerned.” I let that sit for a moment. “How has Jenny been since the group session?”
The same. She was doing so well before she remembered the voice. And now she just seems to have given up. It’s like she doesn’t believe in the therapy anymore and is just resigned to being in constant pain. God, it’s so hard to watch. And worry—all over again.
“I see. I thought maybe the session would have changed that. There was a somewhat graphic disclosure by one of my other patients. Another rape victim. I was going to stop it because I am always very cognizant of Jenny’s age. But I let it go. It was not that disturbing in and of itself. But it was of the moment of first penetration, and that is the one memory Jenny has regained of that night.”
Charlotte’s eyes got wide and she sat up on the edge of the sofa. I didn’t realize she’d told you in that much detail.
“Well, of course. What did you think happened in that session?”
I don’t know. I guess I thought she just remembered it and told you she remembered it. I haven’t wanted to ask her the details. But I did not realize she told you.… It just seems … so personal. Not that it’s wrong. Oh, I don’t know what I’m saying!
“No—it’s fine. It is strange to think that your daughter described this act to me, a man, in such a sterile environment.”
Charlotte stared at the sticker on the plant. Her face was scrunched up like she was thinking. And pained by her thoughts.
“Would you like to know what she said? Would it help you to share this knowledge?”
Maybe. Yes. Actually, I would like to know. Everything that was said. Everything.
This was all too easy.
I told Charlotte about an act of penetration. The act I described was not the rape of Jenny, although it was not far off. Rather, it was Bob Sullivan fucking his teenage secretary in the showroom. The rear entry. The hand braced on her shoulder. Her face pressed to the ground. The hand on the top of her head, fingers intertwined with her luscious hair. The powerful thrusting, back and forth like an animal.
Charlotte sat back and folded her arms. And on her face, I could see that I was right, that Bob Sullivan had fucked her exactly the same way. And that now she was wondering where he really was that night.
Five days later, the sprouts would bloom.
But let’s not jump ahead.
We were all very concerned about Jenny and the abrupt cessation in the progress we were making. I took the chance that I had done enough to fuel my little fire—that there was now enough smoke for my son to slip quietly out of sight. I decided to return to my selfish desires to save my patient.
“How have you been?” I asked Jenny at her next session. “Still feeling like you can’t solve that stubborn math problem? That you want to give up?”
Jenny shrugged.
“You seem sad today.”
Tears came. I handed her some tissues.
“Is it the memory? The one we recovered?”
No. I feel better about that. It really is like you said. Even though I hate the images that come into my mind—I mean my skin actually crawls when I remember his hands and … everything else. But it’s like I have those moments when my skin crawls and when I want to scream and cry and curl up and die even, and then they go away. When I think about other things, or do other things, the feelings go with them.
“Yes!” I was beyond excited. “The feelings have found their home. They have attached to the memory and can stop haunting your mind in search of it. That’s exactly how trauma recovery is supposed to work. And over time, as you let those feelings come out, and let the images come out, they’ll start to recede and fade. They’ll come out and see that you are safe and that they do not need to provoke you.”
Jenny nodded. But then she sighed.
“So what is it, then?”
I don’t feel right talking about it.
Then I knew. “Sean?” I asked.
Her face gave her away.
“You can tell me. Sean knows we speak about your relationship. And he speaks about it to me as well.”
Really?
“Yes.”
Okay. I don’t know. I feel like I’m bad for him. Like I’m making him feel bad.
“In what way?”
He’s just so angry. He really thinks Mr. Sullivan raped me, and he …
“He what?”
He’s just really angry. When we meet now, I feel like I can’t talk to him about anything, because he just goes back to Mr. Sullivan and the fact that he hasn’t been arrested and that he’ll never get punished, because I was given the treatment so my remembering his voice won’t even matter.
“I see. And do you still feel that the voice you remember is from that night in the woods?”
It’s the same as before. My brain thinks so. But I don’t really feel weird around him or anything. I should, right? I saw him at my dad’s work last week, and I got nervous because of the memory but I didn’t feel anything else.
“Do you think Sean knows they’ve questioned him?”
What?
“Your mother didn’t tell you? Oh—maybe she’s afraid of your dad finding out.”
Oh my God! That explains why he walked the other way when I saw him! Jenny hung her head in her hands like she was ashamed. Oh my God!
“It’s fine. Really. He’s not being questioned because of anything that happened in here. He did something in his past. And then he lied about where he was that night. The police know nothing about our work. About your memories. I promise.”
It’s happening, isn’t it? There’s going to be a trial and everyone will see how messed up I am in my head! And Sean … Oh my God!
“What are you afraid of for Sean?”
He just … He’s just so angry. He said he …
“What did he say, Jenny?”
I shouldn’t tell you.
“It’s okay. Do you trust me?”
Yes … it’s just … he’s, like, my best friend. Sometimes I think he’s my only friend.
“Then help me help him. Tell me what he said.”
Jenny looked at me then, like a little mouse trying to not be heard even as she opened her mouth and let out the words. He said he wanted to kill him.
“Well,” I said dismissively, “people say that all the time, don’t they? Just this morning, I yelled at my dog and said something like that. ‘I’m going to kill that dog!’ Right? People say it, but they don’t really mean it. It’s an expression.”
No. You don’t understand. He said that he pictures Mr. Sullivan like one of the terrorists he was sent in to kill. He says he feels that way about him, like he has to die for what he’s done and so he doesn’t do it again. And then he said … he said he pictures Mr. Sullivan holding that stick and carving my skin with it. He just, like, sits there and lets himself imagine it, like an obsession. He said he has a gun. Said he knows how to fire it with his left arm. Like he’s been practicing.
“Really? When did he get this gun?”
I don’t know. He just said he would kill Bob Sullivan if he wasn’t brought to justice. He said he had a gun now and he would just do it. I told him I would rather die myself than see him get in trouble like that. And he just … he just held me really tight and …
Jenny was crying again. Oh, my twisted emotions! Crying was what she needed to do. She needed to keep feeling anything and everything. Can you see how this works? The feelings had found one memory and attached to it. Now we could use them to lead us to the others; we could follow them back to where that memory was hiding and see what else was hiding there. It was just a theory. But I believed in it.
And yet, the agony for my poor soldier! The fact that this was weighing so heavily upon him broke my heart. He was identifying these facts with what had happened the night he lost his arm. The terrorist behind the red door, needing to be brought to justice. To be killed. I was suddenly anxious to get him in for a session.
And then there were other concerns.
“Jenny,” I said in a steady voice, “when you say he held you, what do you mean?”
He just holds me sometimes. It’s not like anything bad. He says I’m like his sister, but also like one of his soldiers, you know, the ones who are under him. The rookies. He says he will die protecting me. Fighting for me.
“I see. That’s a relief, actually. I was afraid that your friendship might become something else, and that would not be good for either of you.”
But I still love him. He’s the only thing I look forward to now.
“Well, we are going to change that.” I leaned forward and took hold of her hands in mine. “We are going to finish what we started. You will remember everything from that night. We will put all the ghosts back to bed, and then you will get on with your life. Do you hear me?”
Jenny looked at me, a little surprised. I had never touched her before, or spoken to her with any emotion. I had not lost control. Rather, I was giving her a small dose of what she got from Sean.
“Do you hear me?”
Yes.
“Do you believe me?”
I don’t know. I’m scared to hope for that. I’m scared to find it. I feel like I’m poison, and if I can just keep myself away from people, I won’t hurt anyone.
“No, Jenny,” I said. “You are not the poison. You are the cure.”