Hillary_Tail of the Dog (16 page)

Hillary did as instructed. She felt calmer.

“What kinds of animals would hurt me in the woods?”

Hillary wished he would stop talking about the woods. Why did she have to go and mention it in the first place?

“Wild animals,” she said too hastily, too sharply. She knew this was a mistake. She chided herself for her not controlling her impulsive replies.

“I see,” Dr. Bentley said, knowing that Hillary was feeding him the responses she thought he wanted to hear. He had to start over.

“The woods can be dark, can be lonely, can be scary,” he began, speaking slowly, softly and lyrically. “Some people find peace in places that would be scary to others. Some people prefer the darkness, prefer being alone. It can be comforting; it can make them feel at home. The sounds of the woods, the smell of the woods… the feel of the earth below your feet as you walk the trails....”

Hillary breathed soundly as she listened to Dr. Bentley talk softly about the woods...the woods she once loved so much then briefly feared. She felt like she was there now, and she smiled thinly as Dr. Bentley continued to entrance her and strip her mind of all its secrets....

~11~

When Hillary awoke, she was alone in the room, and terrified. She couldn’t remember what had transpired during the hypnotism. What had she told them? She hated herself for not being strong enough to resist Dr. Bentley’s influence. She could remember his soft, dreamy voice. She could remember feeling like she was floating, feeling like he was with her somewhere, the two of them together, and it was blissful. But she could not remember the questions that he asked, and worse, her answers to those questions. Did she let on that she did, in fact, remember everything about her past?

Feeling anxious and scared, she responded by shouting. She hoped that Dr. Bentley was still around. Even though there wasn’t a window in the room, she sensed that it was night time. After several minutes, and just when she was about to give up, Monica walked in.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she asked angrily. She was wearing denim shorts and a pale blue tank top. She looked very summery. Her hair was up in a loose ponytail.

“Where’s Dr. Bentley?” she asked frantically.

“He left hours ago,” Monica said and smiled disingenuously. It dawned on her that it was the perfect opportunity to torment Hillary the way Hillary had tormented her. If nothing else, she deserved a taste of her on medicine. Hillary looked crushed to find out that Dr. Bentley wasn’t around.

“He was really angry at you,” Monica said, suppressing her urge to laugh aloud.

“He was? Why?” Hillary asked, wide-eyed.

“Because you cursed him out.”

“No I didn’t,” Hillary said defensively, “why would I do that?”

“Because he criticized you, all the things you confessed to doing.”

“What things?”

“You know,” Monica said, “it’s not like you’ve been a sweet, little angel.”

“What did I tell Dr. Bentley? Did I remember something?”

“You remembered everything,” Monica lied. She wasn’t even there and the doctors never discussed anything with her. She only knew about the hypnosis because she heard Patrick and Jake arguing about it just before Hillary had gotten the infection. She had only heard the tail end of a conversation between the two of them.

Hillary began to panic. She could never hope to earn Dr. Bentley’s trust and use him as a means to escape if he knew she remembered her past.

“That’s great!” Hillary said, trying her best to feign excitement.

“What are you talking about? Why would that be great?”

“Dr. Bentley said if I get my memory back, I could go home,” Hillary said, smiling on the outside, screaming inside.

Monica let out a shrill, haughty laugh.

“As if that’s ever going to happen,” she said, amused.

After her smile faded, her eyes grew serious and bore deep into Hillary’s.

“You are never,
never
going home!” she said slowly and emphatically.

“Liar!” Hillary yelled, and Monica’s smile returned. She had derived a twisted satisfaction from upsetting her.

“You’ll see,” Monica taunted, “you’re never going home, I promise you that.”

Hillary’s face grew beet red as she became incensed.

“I
am
going home,” she said through gritted teeth, “
that’s
a promise.”

“Don’t hold your breath, you little whore.”

It was Hillary’s time to get a rise out of Monica.

“Whore, yeah, that’s me all right. Not your husband who likes to rape little girls.”

“He didn’t rape you and...and…you’re no girl, you’re a monster.”

“He did rape me and he enjoyed every second of it. I’m probably the best lay he’s ever had.”

“Shut up!” Monica yelled. “Shut the hell up!”

Dr. Morrison entered the room.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded.

Monica couldn’t even meet his eyes. Hillary flashed a big smile at him, her teeth yellowed and coated with plaque. If she had known just how unattractive they looked, she would have kept her mouth closed.

“Don’t worry, I was just leaving,” Monica said contemptuously, “I’m sure you’d like to be alone with your little plaything over there.” She abruptly walked out of the room, catching only the first few words of Patrick’s backlash.

After Monica left the room, Hillary’s smile quickly faded.

“What happened during the hypnosis?” Hillary demanded.

“You don’t need to worry about that now,” Dr. Morrison replied tersely.

“When is Dr. Bentley coming back?”

“Maybe in a few days or so.”

“Can you call him for me? Tell him to come tomorrow?”

“No, I won’t do any such thing,” Dr. Morrison said bluntly.

“But I remembered something…I need to speak to him.”

“We know all about it.”

“Know all about what?”

“You can drop the act, Hillary, we know that you’ve been lying to us about having no memory of your past.”

“That’s not true,” Hillary said desperately, wide-eyed and shaking her head as if to convince him otherwise.

“What did you think lying would accomplish?”

“But I’m not lying....I’m just starting to remember bits and pieces of my life.”

“That’s not what you said under hypnosis.”

“Well maybe I remember subconsciously only. I don’t even remember the hypnosis, just the very beginning of it when Dr. Bentley told me to take deep breaths and relax. Did I fall asleep?”

“No, you were awake.”

“Then why can’t I remember anything?”

“Drop the act, Hillary, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“But I’m
serious
,” she urged, and she was. She did not remember anything about the hypnosis after Dr. Bentley had starting asking her about the woods. What did she say about it? What did she say about anything past that point?

“Pity,” Dr. Morrison said, “you might have been a talented actress.”

Tears streaked down Hillary’s face as feelings of hopelessness and despair settled in her mind.

“Can I listen to the tape, the one from the hypnosis?” she said pitifully.

“I don’t have that tape, you know that.”

“Call Dr. Bentley...please, just call him.”

“Do you realize what time it is? Dr. Bentley is not at your disposal twenty-four, seven.”

“How would I know what time it is? There’s no clock in here. Sometimes it’s hard to tell if it’s daytime or nighttime.”

Dr. Morrison sighed, growing tired of being there.

“It’s almost six-thirty in the evening. Dr. Bentley is home now and I won’t disturb him. Perhaps if you tell me what it is that you purportedly just remembered, I may give him a call in the morning.”

“I remember my father...I think.”

“Uh-huh,” Dr. Morrison said dryly.

“It’s a big deal to me,” Hillary yelled.

“I know you remember a lot more than just your father.”

“I just have an image of him in my mind,” Hillary said nervously.

“So tell me, what was he like?”

“I’m not sure...I don’t think I loved him.”

“Oh really? What makes you say that?”

“I’d rather tell Dr. Bentley, he’s my psychologist isn’t he?”

“Psychiatrist,” Dr. Morrison corrected, “and don’t forget I’m your doctor too.”

“But you don’t care about me,” Hillary countered.

“Of course I do, you’re my patient.”

“And look at how you take care of me...I can’t remember the last time my hair was brushed, my teeth, for that matter. The sheets haven’t been changed in a long time and Monica doesn’t bathe me anymore like she used to.”

Dr. Morrison grew agitated by the mention of Monica’s name.

“Well what do you expect, really? Look at how you’ve treated her. Apart from destroying our marriage, you’ve destroyed her self-esteem.”

“I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here. Why can’t you just let me go?”

“It’s not that simple,” he said softly, “as I’m sure you’re well aware.”

“Aware of what?”

“I really don’t have time for games, Hillary. Things would have worked out much better if you had just cooperated and been honest with us. Then again, I suppose if it was in your nature all along to be like that, you would never have been here in the first place.”

“I want to go home,” Hillary said firmly.

Dr. Morrison sensed a tantrum beginning to erupt.

“Have a good night, Hillary,” he said, dismissing her, turning to leave.

“
I WANT TO GO HOOOMMMMMMEEE!
” she screamed at the top of her lungs until her voice cracked.

Dr. Morrison ignored her, closing the door after exiting.

She continued to rant and rave and shout profanities that Dr. Morrison completely ignored until he was too far to even hear them. He had no pity for her, no sympathy for the monster who destroyed his already-failing marriage. In fact, much like Monica, her distress vindicated him. As he walked toward his office, he whistled a cheery little tune.

He stopped whistling when he noticed Monica waiting for him in his office, arms crossed and brows furrowed. He took a deep breath, anticipating—rightfully—the impending argument.

He took a seat on his comfortable, expensive-looking leather chair. Monica remained standing. She glared at him with eyes full of contempt. She said nothing. He waited for her to speak. After several terribly uncomfortable minutes, Patrick at last broke the staggering silence.

“Why don’t you have a seat, you look like you have something to say,” he said.

“I’m filing for divorce,” Monica blurted out.

Patrick furrowed his eyebrows. He looked upset. He knew how Monica felt about their marriage, especially during the past several weeks, and she had threatened to divorce him numerous times. Yet he never imagined that she would actually go through with it.

“Have a seat, Monica...please,” he said softly, motioning to the leather seat across from his desk.

Monica pulled it forward violently and allowed herself to plop down upon it. She kept her distance. She did not pull the seat up to Patrick’s desk. She re-folded her arms across her chest and stared at Patrick, no less venomously.

“Monica,” Patrick began, not entirely sure what to say—or even what he should say, “I, I think we need to really talk things through, rationally. Let’s not be hasty.”

“No Patrick,” Monica insisted, “I’ve made up my mind and there’s really nothing left to discuss. I’ve given this a lot of thought...a
lot
of thought, and I can’t stay married to you.”

“But that’s because you’re operating under false premises, you think I did something I absolutely
DID NOT DO.
” Patrick raised his voice at the end of his sentence for added emphasis.

“I don’t see why you’d even care...things have been bad between us for years.”

“No,” Patrick said, frowning, “not years. A while, yes, but that’s just the ordinary stress of life. Nothing we can’t deal with.”

“No Patrick, it’s too late.”

Patrick reached out for Monica’s hand, but she kept her arms folded. The scowl on her face made it clear to Patrick that her mind was made up. He became enraged by her unrelenting stance. He stood up swiftly and stared angrily into her hateful eyes.

“You’re just being childish,” he spat angrily, “you always have been. If you don’t get your way you throw a tantrum or do something ridiculous until you get what you want. Well is this what you want? You’d better think long and hard about it darling because we signed a prenuptial agreement and you won’t get anything but the clothes on your back!”

Monica was surprised to find that Patrick could hurt her even more deeply than he already had, but she didn’t flinch. She kept her frigid eyes affixed on his resentful glare. Did he really think she was interested in the money? She realized at that moment just how distant they had grown from one another. Their paths had diverged, rendering them bitter strangers. Even if there had been any remote possibility of reconciling prior to Patrick’s outburst, it was surely and entirely gone now, leaving absolutely no trace of lingering hope for recovery.

“I don’t care about any of that,” she said dryly, “I just wanted to give you a heads-up.” She unfolded her arms, stood up, turned and walked out of the office.

Patrick opened his mouth to call out to her, but shut it, knowing it would do no good. He took a deep breath and exhaled heavily, venting his frustration. He sat down again, collapsed his head upon his hands, arched his eyebrows and rubbed his forehead. This was his usual routine for pondering his problems and developing strategies to deal with them.

He asked himself a question he hadn’t wondered about since he and Monica were dating:
Do I love her?
His answer didn’t surprise him much. No, he did not love her. Not really; not like a man should love his wife. He realized that he simply cared about her now. The years had transformed passion and love into comfort and caring. He liked having her around, although why, he did not quite know. He figured that he liked the fact that she took care of things around the house—preparing his meals, doing the shopping, washing his clothes. He relied on her for those things and more recently, he had relied on her to help care for Hillary.
Hillary
.