Rainfall

by Melissa Delport

  “He wasn’t me,” he iterates, his hand covering mine on the table.

  I look up at him, his curly black hair and his white V-neck T-shirt which emphasises his tanned skin. His blue eyes are pleading. He is sincere, I realise. He has no idea what I am talking about. How can this be possible? I rise from my chair.

  “I need to get some sleep,” I mutter, heading toward the bedroom. “Are you coming?” I ask, looking back at him and he sighs in relief and follows me. I lie down on the bed and he lies beside me, curling his body around mine and stroking my hair until I fall into a dreamless sleep.

  Two weeks go by and the party planning is in full swing. My mother has worked herself up into a frenzy, so determined is she to upstage Kimberley, Frank’s first wife, who managed to get both Sammy and Lola’s weddings in the society pages. My mother seeks retribution. The party, now only a week away, is escalating into epic proportions, and to my utter dismay, Adam is in on it. He keeps phoning her to check that the cake is three-tiered, that the napkins are ordered, that the string-quartet are well rehearsed. Yesterday I caught them both behind the pool-house smoking. I gave them a ten minute lecture, both looking suitably sheepish and then I laughed my head off. Mom is determined that we enjoy the last of the good summer weather, which is laughable, as the party is only a week before the change of season and there is a chill in the air, already.

  On the Thursday before the party I drop by Adam’s apartment to fetch his suit. He had asked me to take it to the dry-cleaners for him ages ago and I had forgotten all about it. Now, with the engagement party only a few days away I realise I am almost out of time. Luckily I called Mr Cullen down at Dry-It and he promised he would prioritise the suit and have it ready for Saturday, for a small fee, of course.

  I am thinking fondly of how Adam would probably freak out if he knew that I had overlooked such an important detail and how he would probably have a fit if he knew that I still didn’t have shoes to go with my dress. I am so deep in thought that I walk right into his room and open his cupboard before I even register that anyone else is in the room.

  Everything seems to move in slow motion. Hearing a noise, I turn and catch them at it. Her skin is so white against Adam’s that it almost looks like they are an interracial couple. She is straddling him, her red high heels still on. Her boobs are bigger than mine and she has on far too much fake jewellery. I drop my bag, open my mouth and scream. It is the same blonde girl, of that I am certain. I meet Adam’s glare and am shocked by his face, so contorted with rage that I barely recognise him. He opens his mouth and starts yelling, calling me names that I never knew he was capable of speaking. Adam doesn’t curse. This Adam, however, swears at me so badly that my cheeks flame and bile rises in my throat.

  Eventually I can take no more and I turn and run from the house. I don’t stop running for over a month, moving from friends to various family members’ houses and avoiding all Adam’s calls, until one day they just stop coming. After a week of absolutely no contact I finally feel brave enough to venture home. Adam is gone although most of his clothes are still there. I call a locksmith immediately and have all the locks changed, which turns out to be completely unnecessary because he doesn’t come back.

  Chapter 5

  Autumn

  About a month after my return home I receive a visit from Carl Sheldon. I am just pouring myself a glass of wine and sautéing mushrooms in a pan when my doorbell rings. I’m curious, yet a part of me still dreads that Adam might one day try and make contact, but, on peering through the key hole, I discover a middle-aged, bespectacled man with a receding hairline on my doorstep. He has a kind face, so I open the door.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Paige Marie Petrova?” he asks immediately.

  “Yes,” I answer truthfully.

  “Please may I come in?” he asks, his tone serious.

  “May I ask what this is in connection with?” I reply.

  “I believe you know Mr Adam Parker?” The words are barely out of his mouth and I start to shut the door on him.

  “No, wait!” The sense of urgency in his voice halts me, however unwittingly.

  “I’m sorry, Mister?”

  “Sheldon,” he replies, “Dr Carl Sheldon.”

  “Well, Doctor Sheldon, I’m sorry but I’m just not prepared to discuss Mr Parker – Adam – with you.”

  “He misses you,” he sounds detached, almost clinical and I stare at him, not understanding his intent.

  I eventually decide to ignore him and glance obviously at my wristwatch.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Petrova,” he begins. “I’m afraid there is much that you don’t know about Adam. I would like to explain it to you. It might help you make sense of what transpired between the two of you.” I raise my eyebrow, slightly embarrassed that this man obviously has some intimate knowledge of my relationship with Adam.

  “Come in,” I sigh, resigning myself to listen for five minutes, after which Dr Sheldon is out of here. I lead the way to the kitchen and open the cooler.

  “Can I offer you something to drink?” I ask politely. “Tea, coffee, fruit juice, water?”

  “Tea would be lovely,” he replies and I set about making him a cup.

  “Right,” I set it down in front of him. “Get on with it, Doctor, the clock is ticking.”

  “Ms Petrova,” Dr Sheldon’s kind eyes meet my own, “Adam is a patient of mine. He has been for a few years now.”

  “Patient?” I interrupt. “What do you mean patient? Is Adam sick?” Despite my anger, the thought that Adam might be seriously ill makes me feel faint.

  “Yes,” Dr Sheldon answers simply and my heart lurches in dismay. He leans back in his chair and presses his fingers together. “Adam suffers from a condition we call D.I.D – Dissociative Identity Disorder.” At my blank look, he clarifies, “It was formerly known as Multiple Personality Disorder.”

  “What?” That doesn’t make any sense; he must be mistaken. Adam doesn’t have multiple personalities; I would have known.

  “D.I.D is a dissociative disorder whereby the patient may adopt as many as 100 new identities all simultaneously coexisting inside one body and mind.”

  “You mean to say that Adam is schizophrenic?” I ask, wanting to laugh at the absurdity of this whole situation.

  “No, no, certainly not,” Dr Sheldon shakes his head vehemently. “Schizophrenia is a psychotic disorder. Adam’s is a dissociative disorder. The two are completely different from one another.”

  “This is crazy. No. I’m sorry, but it’s just not possible,” I shake my head. “I’ve been with Adam for months. I’ve had an intimate relationship with this man. Believe me, Doctor, there’s only one person in there.”

  “Adam has been in my care for over a year, Miss Petrova,” he explains gently. “There have been improvements beyond our wildest dreams. Adam is capable of reintegrating his identities through long-term psychotherapy. We had hoped that he would have completed his treatment within the next year. Unfortunately, against my better judgement, I allowed Adam a ‘sabbatical’ if you will, for good behaviour. He left my clinic about six months ago for a West-Coast holiday and did not return. We all now know why.”

  He inclines his head at me and I sit back floored. Me. Adam didn’t go back because he met me. I remember him telling Frank he would probably be moving to California but he didn’t actually make that ‘decision’ until after that first night together.

  “But he had a job offer,” I’m trying to justify, to rationalise. “He moved here because he got a job in Long Beach.” His next words leave me gaping.

  “Adam is very successfully self-employed; he could get a job anywhere – he’s the boss.” Carl Sheldon continues, “He has his own construction company back in Manhattan, with a full staff complement and very competent management.”

  I fall silent, considering this. It explains why Adam is always so flexible. He said it was a freelance position.

  “Freelance,” I murmur, feeling foo
lish. “I should have known.” I click my tongue, annoyed at how easily I had been fooled. “I never questioned.”

  “But, why would you have?” he asks gently. I don’t answer and he seems to understand that I do not want to.

  “I finally tracked him down here about a month ago,” Doctor Sheldon gets back to the point and I want to put my hands over my ears. I don’t want to hear this. “He told me about your relationship.” Is it my imagination or is there something like pity in the doctor’s eyes?

  “What about the woman?” I ask, not caring that I sound like a sulky, 15-year-old. “I caught Adam in bed with a blonde woman the day I ended it.”

  “No, Miss Petrova,” he says, not unkindly. “You found Kyle in bed with a blonde woman.”

  My mouth drops open and my eyes widen in shock as he continues.

  “There are three separate alters or identities in addition to Adam. This is not as bad as you may think,” he hastens to add, seeing my look of horror, “considering the fact that there could be as many as 100. Also, Adam does not have any cross-gendered alters and they are all roughly the same age.” There is a pause, and then he suddenly changes the subject, “None of this is his fault. Adam is...well, obviously you know him well enough; I don’t need to tell you that Adam is an extraordinary young man, kind and generous to a fault.” Tears well up in my eyes and Doctor Sheldon regards me steadily.

  “I see that what Adam has told me regarding the two of you and your feelings toward one another is not as exaggerated as I first believed,” he says softly, and then he takes a deep breath and sits up a little bit straighter. “You must understand, Miss Petrova, Adam doesn’t want to be sick. He is the 'host' identity – the personality that attempts to hold the various fragments of identity together. Adam may at times become overwhelmed, but he has asked for treatment. He wants to get well and I believe he can get well.”

  “Who's Lizzy?” I ask, suddenly remembering. A few weeks before Adam and I parted ways he had had a nightmare. He was moaning and fitful and, when I shook him gently awake, he looked at me, terrified and asked, “Where’s Lizzy?” I had questioned him in the morning as to who Lizzy was and he said he had no idea.

  Doctor Sheldon regards me curiously.

  “Why do you ask?” I relay the story and he nods thoughtfully.

  “Lizzy is the childhood friend and love interest of Simon Harris – another of Adam’s alters. He is always asking for her. Simon must have broken through briefly but, as he went straight back to sleep, you didn’t realise it.”

  “So,” I ask tentatively, still trying to get my head around what I have learned, “there is Adam and Simon. And there is Kyle.” I shudder, thinking of the personality I had met briefly, the one who had yelled at me and cursed me so badly.

  “Kyle has anger management issues,” Dr Sheldon seems to read my mind. “He has a short fuse and he is highly sexed.” I blush, remembering the active sex life that Adam and I had enjoyed. “Please do not be alarmed, it is highly doubtful that Kyle ever played a part in your physical relationship with Adam. You would have been aware of it immediately. Kyle would not pretend to be Adam. Adam would not pretend to be Kyle. These personalities are completely separate from each other; they each have their own behaviours and, indeed, even their own physical gestures.”

  “Adam is ambidextrous.” I don’t know why I am bringing this up but it suddenly springs to mind.

  “Yes,” Doctor Sheldon is nodding his head, impressed. “Adam is ambidextrous because Kyle and Jacob are right-handed and Simon is left-handed.” I blink, my brain not comprehending what I have just heard

  “So, Adam is real?” I ask. “Adam is the person that he is, inside?” I don’t even know how to put my thoughts into words. The earth seems to have veered so far off its orbit that I feel like I have entered some alternate universe.

  “They all exist, Miss Petrova.”

  “Paige, please.”

  “Okay, Paige. And please, call me Carl. You must understand, Paige, that they are all real. All four identities are real. Adam is certainly the dominant. He is the host, the person who has sought out treatment. He is the one who wants to get better.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. A part of me, however crazy, is delighted. Adam didn’t cheat on me.

  “The reason I’m telling you all this, Paige, is that Adam is back at the clinic.”

  I nod; this is good news. “Do you think he will get better? Do you think that one day we could...” I trail off, unsure exactly what it is that I am asking and if I really want an answer.

  “Possibly.” Dr Sheldon is quite confident. “The only problem is that Adam refuses to re-enter the treatment program.”

  I feel my eyes widen. “Why?” I ask, unable to comprehend why Adam would refuse treatment.

  “Because of you.” Dr Sheldon, I can see, is trying very hard not to sound accusatory. “He is beside himself with worry over you. He returned to the clinic when it became clear that he could not make amends with you on his own and he asked me to please come and explain things to you. He needs to know that you understand that he did not cheat. You have also become important enough to him that his mental health has become a secondary concern,” the doctor frowns. “Quite simply put, he will not enter the program unless you are with him.”

  Chapter 6

  I am fairly confident that I am committing emotional suicide, but despite this, I have my bags packed within the hour and I am on the next available flight to Manhattan with Carl Sheldon. I have no idea how long I am going to be in New York, but I will make all necessary arrangements once I am there. I cannot think about anything until I have seen Adam. I need to see Adam.

  “Tell me about the alters,” I ask the doctor as soon as we are airborne. We have a five-and-a-half hour flight ahead of us and I am determined to face this head-on. Adam is the love of my life. I will not give him up to a bunch of alter egos. Doctor Sheldon clears his throat.

  “Well, Kyle you have already met. He is a very strong personality type; he is highly sexed, as I mentioned, and he is arrogant. He is usually the instigator behind any deviant behaviour; he drinks too much and likes to party. You could call him the stereotypical ‘bad boy’.”

  I think about this for a minute and the implications it could have.

  “Has Adam been in any trouble with the law?”

  “Nothing serious as far as we know,” he replies, and I expel a deep breath that I was not aware I had been holding.

  “Are they aware of each other?” I ask, the thought suddenly occurring to me. “The alters?”

  “That question is open to interpretation,” he replies, in typical shrink fashion. “It’s difficult to know, for certain, to what extent they are aware of one another. Kyle is certainly very aware of Adam; he self-admittedly claims that the sole reason for his existence is to protect Adam. This, in itself, indicates that at some point in his life Adam fell victim to something bad enough that he could not deal with it on his own, and Kyle was created and emerged to protect him.”

  “But you’re his doctor! You’ve been working with him for over a year. Surely you know what that tragedy was? What made Kyle appear? And the others for that matter? Isn’t addressing the cause the key to getting rid of all these alter egos?”

  “Part of it,” he admits gently, “although reintegrating his personalities is slightly more complicated than finding the source of his mental disturbance and telling him that it’s all going to be okay.” He does not sound condescending; he is merely giving me the ugly truth. His message comes through loud and clear: This is not going to be easy.

  “The problem that I’m having with Adam is that we have no record of his early childhood. D.I.D is usually founded in this developmental phase and Adam cannot recall anything before his sixth birthday by which time he was already at the orphanage.”

  “His parents died,” I mention, wondering who else might be able to shed some light on Adam’s early years.

  “We do not know that.” His wor
ds are like ice water being thrown on me.

  “What?” I ask and he sighs.

  “Adam claims his parents are dead but he does not actually know that for sure. Nobody knows what became of Adam’s parents despite the authorities’ best efforts. They were simply never found, and Adam was never claimed by any next-of-kin. Perhaps he prefers to believe that they might be dead rather than face the other possible alternatives. Abandonment, for one,” he adds, as I arch my brow in question. He pauses, as though considering this before continuing, “He was found by a cleaner in the back alley of an old factory in Manhattanville and sent to the orphanage. They could not get any information from him, although they say that the child was traumatised and would not speak initially. This is very common in the event of PTSD.” At my irritated glare he quickly adds, “Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.” I give a quick nod of thanks before he continues. “Adam gave only his name to the nuns who ran the orphanage and he settled in quite quickly, but he never spoke about his life before his arrival. One of the carers, a young woman by the name of Elizabeth too, incidentally, took pity on him and the two became quite close. Adam was certainly far more comfortable with her than anyone else at the home, but even she could not get him to confide in her. About a year later, the nuns started to notice that there were times that Adam claimed other names and acted completely differently. Unfortunately, they immediately suspected the devil’s hand – an occupational hazard, I guess, and I think the boy Adam may have been mistreated.”

  He laughs sadly as I click my tongue in disgust. “Don’t judge them too harshly, Paige. Not much was known about DID at that time. Nevertheless, at 18 Adam left the orphanage and set out on his own. He started as an apprentice for an old builder and, to the best of our knowledge, the five years he spent with Jack Sullivan Senior passed uneventfully. Then, when Adam was 23, Jack Sullivan fell ill and his son, Jack Sullivan Junior, took over the family business. Jack Senior died less than three months later.”