Hillary_Tail of the Dog (10 page)

“Well, it was important to keep us...to keep you safe,” she replied.

“I won’t try to hurt myself.”

“I know,” Monica said.

“How’d I do it before?”

“Do what?”

“Try to hurt myself?”

“You never tried to hurt yourself,” Monica replied.

“What? But...but that’s what Dr. Bentley told me,” Hillary said, confused.

“Maybe you misunderstood. You were trying to escape.”

“Escape? Monica…do my parents even know that I’m here?”

“Your parents? Oh, that’s right, you don’t remember.”

“Remember what? Tell me, Monica, please...”

“No...no, I can’t, it’s not my place.”

“After all I’ve been through, don’t I at least deserve the truth?”

“I think so, yes, but I’m not your doctor,” Monica said.

“And we both know how well my doctors treat me.”

“What are you saying? Did Dr. Bentley do something to you too?”

“He didn’t touch me, but he pulled the sheet off me and stared at me. He had…he was…hard,” Hillary answered in disgust. “I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before he touches me too.”

Monica was thoroughly revolted. She had always liked Dr. Bentley and his sweet wife, Patty. She wondered briefly whether she should give Patty a call. She would appreciate someone warning her about her husband’s indiscretions. It was just a fleeting thought, though, as Monica was fairly certain that Patty had no idea Hillary was there and under Dr. Bentley’s care. Monica herself wasn’t even supposed to know.

“Monica?”

“I can’t, Hillary...my job is to keep you clean and comfortable, keep an eye on you. I’m not supposed to discuss anything with you. I personally think you should know everything, but it’s just not my call, even if Dr. Morrison did horrible things to you, it’s still not my place.”

“Is it because you don’t like me? Because Dr. Morrison says I’m sexier than you?”

Monica’s heart sank. That was a low blow, whether or not it was intentionally meant to be. She wanted to get out of there, pack up, leave and never return. She wasn’t supposed to be part of the project anyway. She didn’t owe this girl anything. Why should she care what happens to her husband’s little mistress?

Because she not his mistress,
her conscience answered her,
she’s his victim.

“Do you have any kids?” Hillary asked, changing the subject. She could see by Monica’s expression that she had crossed the line on a very sensitive issue. She needed to keep Monica on her side. Monica shook her head.

“No wonder you’re so skinny,” Hillary said with a smile. “You’re so pretty.”

“Thanks,” Monica said wanly. She felt anything, everything but pretty now that her ego had been trampled on by her husband’s inability to exercise self-control. Their sex life had been steadily decreasing, fading away, for years now. Sex was a rare and infrequent occasion, at least between them. Now she wondered how many nurses he had slept with, how many patients, possibly. She didn’t trust him at all. She felt incredibly unattractive. Why else would he stray like that?

The more she thought about it, the more she grew convinced that he had been unfaithful for years. He was hardly ever home anymore. They never did anything together. Their last vacation was over two years ago and that was a huge waste of time. Even then they had only been intimate once within the whole week that they were away. Monica, who had always been self-confident, was now very unsure of herself. Her self-esteem had taken a huge plunge and was rapidly dwindling into nonexistence.

“What’s wrong?” Hillary asked, reading the despair off Monica’s sullen face.

“I’m just tired.”

“You don’t think you’re pretty anymore?”

Monica shrugged. What did it matter anyway?

“Dr. Morrison is so lucky to have you,” Hillary said, “he’s a real fool to hurt you.”

Monica looked at Hillary. She was so young and beautiful. Her life had been a nightmare. Yet, she was nothing like she was when Patrick first brought her into their home. Monica had resisted the idea, she begged him not to go through with it, but as always, once Patrick set his mind on something, he was adamant about following through with it and everyone else had to deal with it.

Hillary behaved like a wild animal back then. Monica was terrified to be left alone in the room with her. She only felt comfortable when she was sedated and incapacitated. Hillary had nearly escaped a couple of times and during one of those times, had hurt Monica badly. She had the scar under her shoulder as a reminder.

Now, looking at the sweet, angelic girl beside her, Monica found it hard to believe she was the same feral girl from just a few months back. Did Patrick’s drug actually cure her? Had she truly changed that much? Could she be untied and trusted to stay put on her own?

“Hillary,” Monica said softly, “don’t you remember anything? Anything at all?”

Hillary shook her head. She truly could not recall much of anything.

“I remember some things, like certain songs and movies, certain foods and general places, like parks and lakes, but I don’t remember anything about myself or what those things mean to me...I mean, I know what a cheeseburger is and I know it’s something I like, but is it my favorite food? When was the last time I had one? Who was I with? I just remember general things like that,” Hillary explained honestly.

Monica knew when Hillary had last eaten a cheeseburger. It was Monica herself who had brought it to her about a month ago. But she didn’t volunteer that information.

“That must be awfully frustrating,” she said.

“It is,” Hillary agreed.

“Doesn’t it make you angry? Doesn’t it make you want to scream and break things?”

“What good would that do?” Hillary said, surprising Monica.

“Do you want to get your memory back?”

“Of course I do. I want to go home and have my life back,” Hillary said sadly.

“If you were untied, could we trust you to stay put? Would you try to escape?” Monica knew it was a stupid question...not like she would admit otherwise.

“Why would I try to escape?” Hillary asked innocently. “Aren’t I here for my own good...I mean, aside from Dr. Morrison doing all those things to me.”

“Yes, you are here to get better,” Monica confirmed.

“So you’ll untie me?”

Monica shook her head again.

“I told you, it’s not up to me, but I’ll do my best to convince Dr. Morrison and Dr. Bentley that you don’t need to be tied up this way anymore.”

“If I didn’t try to hurt myself, why am I tied up then?”

“You kept trying to escape. You didn’t trust us. You...well…you did everything you could to get away. Do you know that eye patch Dr. Morrison wears?”

Hillary nodded.

“What happened to him?” she asked.

“It was during one of the times you tried to escape, you punctured his eyeball. He lost sight in that eye.”

Hillary’s mouth dropped opened.

“I did that?” she said slowly, shocked to hear it, though she felt excited and happy about it inside. It was the most exhilarating feeling.

At the moment, Monica was also happy about it...it was a small payment for the traumatic experience Hillary had to endure. She couldn’t imagine going through that. Though she had once despised the girl, Monica found that she pitied her now. She must have had a dreadful childhood to end up as Patrick’s guinea pig.

In any event, there seemed no reason for Hillary to remain bound to the bed, fed intravenously and hooked up to a catheter. Besides, if she were untied, she could defend herself if Patrick or Jake Bentley tried anything stupid. She would appeal to Jake on her behalf.

“I really did that?” Hillary asked, unable to stop a small grin from forming on her face.

“He’ll get over it,” Monica said, and smiled for the first time in days.

“Can I ask you something?” Hillary asked.

“I suppose....” Monica replied.

“What day is it? What month? How old am I?”

“Today is Wednesday, August twenty-second. You’re fifteen years old.”

“When’s my birthday?”

“I think it’s in October, I can find out.”

“Do you think I’ll be home by then?”

“Maybe,” Monica replied, hesitantly. She hated to lie, but she was in no position to explain to Hillary that she was never going home again. She was relieved when Jake interrupted them.

“Knock knock,” he said at the door before entering.

Hillary turned her head far back to see who it was, though she thought she recognized the voice. Her heart raced and she wished Monica had brushed her hair and teeth. She hoped she looked pretty. She smiled as Dr. Bentley approached.

“Good morning Hillary,” he said with a smile then added, “Monica,” as he nodded her way.

“Hi Dr. Bentley,” Hillary said, blushing.

Monica could see the instantaneous change in her disposition. She knew that look. She has been a young teen-aged girl once too, albeit it decades earlier.

“I’ll leave you to your work,” Monica said to Dr. Bentley, then turned to Hillary and added, “I’ll come back later.”

“Thank you, Monica,” Hillary said with a warm smile as she happily watched Monica leave. Then she turned to face Dr. Bentley who had replaced Monica in the seat beside her bed. He looked even more handsome in a navy and white striped Henley shirt and navy pants. Hillary wondered if he had dressed that nicely just for her. She smelled his overpowering cologne and nearly giggled.

Dr. Bentley was a bit unnerved by her obvious infatuation. She had certainly changed from the earlier sessions he had with her. She had loathed him, cursed at him, wanted nothing more than to get her hands around his neck and squeeze the life out of him. Now it was clear that she had other things in mind. He was determined to be as professional as possible, though he found his thoughts drift briefly to what he had seen just under that thin sheet. He forced his prurient thoughts aside and pushed the button on his recorder.

“So, Hillary, tell me, have you had any more disturbing dreams since we last spoke?”

“No, in fact, I slept very well last night,” she replied and Dr. Bentley was thankful that the recorder could not pick up on her batting eyes.

“Have you remembered anything?”

“I remember the way you looked at me,” she said longingly.

Dr. Bentley sighed.

“Hillary, if you want to get your memory back and leave this place, I need you to stay focused,” he said in a serious tone. Hillary was a bit put off by his reprimand, but she understood he was trying to do his job.

Hillary wished her hand was free so that she could touch him. She would pull down the sheet and place his hand on her chest. He would protest, but would he pull his hand away? Hillary knew he liked what he had seen and she had liked his reaction. It gave her a sense of power, a sense of control, two things she totally lacked. She wanted to arouse him, to have that influence over him, not just because she thought he was handsome, but to diminish the powerlessness and hopelessness she felt.

“Are you listening to me, Hillary?” he said sternly, causing her to flinch. She felt hurt by his tone. It was a reminder of how weak she was, how miserably inadequate and vulnerable. Her temper flared suddenly; she wanted him to leave.

“Leave me alone!” she shouted, her face contorted in anger.

“But—”

I don’t feel like talking,” she said coldly.

Dr. Bentley sensed her hostility and knew he had to correct his mistake. He had purposely been too firm with her, hoping that she would take their session seriously. In doing so, he had pushed her too far. He had forgotten that he was dealing with a child and an unstable one at that.

“I’m sorry,” he said, with a big, beaming smile on his face. “I just worry about you.”

Hillary smiled in return. Dr. Bentley’s incredible smile was too hard to resist. It made her blush. Her anger abated and the dreamy look returned to her eyes.

“You do?” she asked shyly.

“Sure, I want you to get well. I’ve already spoken to Dr. Morrison. You’re going to be untied soon...as long as you cooperate.”

“Really?” she asked excitedly.

“Really. That means you’ll be able to move around, get some exercise. You’ll be able to eat actual food with your mouth, not through an IV and you won’t need the catheter anymore.”

“Oh,
please
,” she begged, “
please make that happen.
”

“It’s all up to you,” he said softly.

“What do I have to do?”

“I think the most important thing is to open up about your dreams. Once you can conquer your fears, you’ll be that much closer to remembering your past.”

Hillary nodded as she thought about the one nightmare that had frightened her more than all the others. She didn’t even know how to begin to describe the horrors.

“Do you think you’re ready to discuss your nightmare with me Hillary?”

Hillary nodded slowly. The smile left her face.

“Nice and slow, Hillary...pretend you’re just watching a movie. Tell me what you see.”

Hillary took a deep breath.

“Can you put my bed up?” she asked. Her bed had not been adjusted and she had been lying flat, with a pillow under her head.

“Sure,” Dr. Bentley said, unhappy about the fact that she was stalling. He stood up and pushed a button on a keypad at the side of the bed. Slowly, the top portion of the bed began to lift. To his dismay, Dr. Bentley found himself hoping that gravity would pull Hillary’s sheet down below her chest. It did inch down slowly, but just below her shoulders. He felt disappointed and relieved all at once. He went back to his seat and scolded himself mentally.

“Okay...it’s just a dream, Hillary...a movie playing on a big screen. Tell me what’s happening.”

Dr. Bentley looked into her beautiful bright, but terrified eyes as she stared back into his deep blue eyes, fear clouding her face, draining the pink tint from her cheeks.

“There’s a girl...a young girl, a teenager, and she’s on the floor. Her hands and feet are tied and there’s tape over her mouth. Her eyes are big and she’s so scared. She shakes her head, she can’t talk but I know she’s begging to be set free. There’s blood on her face, cuts, bruises. She’s wearing shorts and a tank top even though it’s cold in the house. She has goose bumps on her skin and scrapes and marks all over her arms and legs. Her hair is dirty, greasy. It looks like she’s been there for a long time. Her pants are wet and she’s sitting in a puddle of her own pee. It smells, old and strong, much worse than that bag over there.” Hillary motioned to the drainage bag at the side of her bed. Dr. Bentley nodded.