Sibs F Paul Wilson

by Sibs (lit)

  Dr. Gates returned to his high-backed swivel chair behind the desk. His face was once again impassive.

  "Denial is your first hurdle on the road to recovery. You must get over that before we can start meaningful therapy."

  "But isn't there another explanation? Couldn't I be doing this to myself in some way? I mean, it's such a coincidence that you should tell me about Kelly's second personality and the possibility of my having one called Janine, and then wham, Janine starts writing on walls. It's all a little too facile."

  "You're overlooking the hypnosis session," Dr. Gates said gravely. "I was against it from the beginning but you insisted. I warned you it was dangerous. I warned you it might awaken something best left dormant. It appears I was right."

  Dr. Gates' smugness would have infuriated Kara under different circumstances, but the sick dread seeping through her now left little room for anything else.

  "But two sisters with multiple personalities… it sounds so far fetched."

  "On the surface, yes. But not quite so far fetched when you consider the specifics of your case: two genetically identical children subjected simultaneously to identical trauma. Given those circumstances, is it so outlandish to suppose that the psychological defense mechanisms would also be identical?" He ticked points off on his fingers "Same genes, same trauma, same response. It is logical."

  Kara was numb.

  "When do we start therapy?" she said.

  "Today, if you wish."

  "I wish. What kind of therapy?"

  "Just let me worry about that," he said with a small, condescending smile.

  The sudden surge of anger within her energized Kara. Anything was better than feeling afraid.

  "I am not an idiot, Dr. Gates. If this is going to work I have to know what's going on. I am not a child and will not be led through the dark by the hand."

  He stared at her a while before answering.

  "Very well. I plan to use free association at the start. I'll have you lay back in the recliner and begin talking off the top of your head about your childhood. I'll be searching for what we refer to as 'blocked' areas. When I have identified a pattern of blocks, I will put you under hypnosis and try to unblock those areas. If I'm successful, you will then begin the most difficult part of the therapy: you will have to face the painful memories you have repressed since childhood."

  "And that will do it?"

  "Theoretically, yes. Once the repressed memories are free, once you have dealt with them emotionally and intellectually as Kara, there will be no more need for Janine. She will either go dormant permanently or cease to exist."

  It sounded sensible to Kara. She felt the first stirrings of hope.

  "Let's get to it."

  "There's something else you should know," he said, holding up a hand. "It will not be as easy as it sounds. It will take a long time, perhaps years, during which you will come to hate me, call me an incompetent, a charlatan, and want to quit. But you must have faith. You must stay with the therapy."

  A cold lump of fear formed again in Kara's throat.

  "Years? You mean I've got to spend years wondering whether I'm going to turn into this other person who writes on walls and God knows what else?"

  He shook his head and pulled a pad from the top drawer of his desk.

  "We can do something about that. Your second personality appears to be adopting a pattern of activity similar to your sister's: Janine takes over only when you are in periods of lighter sleep."

  That was a relief.

  "Then I'm safe during the day."

  "For now.

  "What does that mean?"

  " 'Kara' is your primary personality, the dominant one, the personality through which you deal with the workaday world. This is a strongly entrenched, well-integrated, adult personality that has no need for 'Janine.' So 'Kara' remains in the driver seat while 'Janine,' the relatively minor personality, remains in the passenger seat. She has been dormant for a quarter century or so and hasn't the power to push 'Kara' aside and take over—except when 'Kara' is asleep. But the more time she logs in control, the stronger she will become. And some day she may well be able to assert dominance any time she wishes."

  Kara fought the horror crawling through her. Not to be in control… to be dominated by a stranger, even if it was of her own creation…

  "What can I do?"

  "It's what we can do: suppress her. Don't give her time in the driver seat. That's why I'm prescribing something that will keep both you and 'Janine' asleep all night."

  He handed her the slip. It was for thirty Halcion tablets.

  "You prescribed these for Kelly. They obviously didn't help her too much."

  Dr. Gates' smile was small and bitter.

  "Your sister wouldn't take them if she had to work the next day. She said they made her groggy in the morning. Which they might."

  Groggy in the morning … a small price to pay for controlling Janine. Kara held up the prescription.

  "Guaranteed to work?"

  "Nothing is guaranteed in psychiatry. But they will give you an edge. Take one every night, Miss Wade."

  Kara folded the slip and dropped it in her purse. She nodded toward the recliner.

  "Shall we get started?"

  ▼

  6:26 P.M.

  "Hey lady!" Rob called from his car window as he saw Kara come out of the medical arts building. "Need a ride?"

  She glanced at him with a get-lost look, then her face relaxed into a smile. A worn, tired smile, but a smile nonetheless. She came over to the car. "How long have you been waiting here?" It had been an hour. He hadn't been able to see Doc Winters today, so he'd set it up for tomorrow. He'd got here around five thirty and had begun to fear he'd missed her.

  "Too long. Get in. I'll drive you where you're going."

  She got in the other side, leaned back against the head rest, and closed her eyes. She looked beat. Rob reached over and squeezed her hand. She didn't pull away.

  "Tough day?" he said.

  She nodded. "You wouldn't believe."

  "Want to tell me about it over a drink?"

  She opened her eyes and looked at him.

  "A drink would be nice."

  He didn't want to take her to Leo's so he found a restaurant on Eighth and parked by the fire hydrant. The place had upscale decor with lots of neon in the window, the kind of place that could charge twenty-five bucks for portions that wouldn't feed a toddler. But it was nearly empty so they got a table near the rear. No menus, just drinks. Rob ordered a scotch, Kara had a chablis.

  She was reticent, but slowly he drew the events of the weekend out of her. It was chilling. Those words carved over Jill's bed gave him the creeps.

  He said, "I think you did the right thing, getting out of there. I only wish you had someone else as a doctor."

  "You keep saying that. Do you know something about Dr. Gates that I don't?"

  "Nothing bad. Everyone I talk to says he's tops. I just don't like him."

  "Neither do I. He's got all the warmth of an earthworm. Not the sort you look forward to spending an hour a day, three days a week with."

  "That often?"

  "Monday-Wednesday-Friday. He's going to jump me into heavy therapy at first to see if we can get a quick response. As I said, he's not Dr. Warmth, but if he knows his stuff and can get me through this, then he's the one I should be with."

  "I guess so. I just—"

  "It's all my fault!" she blurted. Tears glistened in her eyes. "If only I'd listened to him and not tried that hypnotism, none of this would be happening."

  "Don't blame yourself, Kara. You had to know if—"

  "And now I do! Rob, I'm frightened! To think that I was standing over Jill's bed with my father's old carving knife, cutting words into the wall! It makes me sick!"

  "You'll be all right. They don't come any tougher than you, Kara. If anyone's going to lick this thing, it's you."

  Rob desperately wanted to raise her spirits and would h
ave said anything to buck her up, but he believed what he'd said. Kara was strong. He had real faith in her mental toughness.

  "I hope so," she said, sniffing and wiping her eyes with a napkin. She finished her wine. "Can we get out of here?"

  "Sure."

  ▼

  "Staying at your aunt's?" he said as he drove toward the East Side on Twenty-fourth. With all the little businesses closed and no trucks double parked to load and unload, it was an easy trip.

  "For now. I don't know what I'm going to do long term. This could be a lengthy siege. I may have to move here."

  Rob was ashamed of the tiny surge of delight those words elicited. He knew how she hated the city.

  She said, "During the day I'll be at Ellen's with Jill.

  She'll sleep there, too. But for the time being I'm going to sleep over at Kelly's."

  "Alone? Why on earth would you want to do that?"

  "I don't. But Dr. Gates suggested it. He said I should spend my nights there until we see how things go. Otherwise I run the risk of Jill seeing me as Janine. I don't want that. What if she had awakened when I was carving those words over her bed? What if she'd tried to talk to me then, someone who looked like her mother but wasn't? I can't risk frightening her like that. Or worse, run the risk of hurting her when I'm Janine."

  "How long can that go on?"

  "I don't know. Until we're sure the sleeping pills Dr. Gates gave me will keep Janine asleep, too. Then I'll feel safe being in the same house with Jill."

  Rob shook his head. This sounded almost like one of those corny old Psycho-type movies. All that was needed now was a walk-on by Betty Davis or Joan Crawford.

  But this was no movie.

  "I'll stay with you," he said.

  Rob surprised himself. Where did that come from? He could feel the small hairs at the back of his neck rise at the thought of meeting the Janine side of Kara.

  Kara looked at him, a slight, skeptical smile playing on her lips.

  "Thanks, Rob. That's kind of you, but it won't be necessary."

  "You can't always do everything on your own, Kara," he said, hiding his hurt at being rejected, and annoyed at his big mouth for setting himself up for it. "Sometimes you have to admit that you need help."

  "I know that." Her smiled broadened. "And when I do, you'll be the first one I call."

  They said little during the rest of the drive back to her Aunt Ellen's. Rob hoped all along the way that Kara would ask him in for dinner. She didn't.

  ▼

  9:30 P.M.

  After dinner, after tucking Jill in and repeating for what seemed like the hundredth time the not-quite-true explanation of why her mother had to sleep at Aunt Kelly's for a few nights, Kara returned to the apartment house on East Sixty-third. Her stomach twisted slowly into a knot as she climbed the front steps. What would tonight bring?

  In the vestibule, a business card protruding from the slot in the 2-C mailbox—Kelly's—caught her eye. It was from Ed Bannion.

  Kara Wade—

  Call me re: Kelly's estate.

  E.B.

  He'd written his home number on the front.

  Kelly's estate? Kelly didn't have an estate. Kara decided to call him tomorrow.

  In the apartment, she tried to shed the dread and apprehension that clung to her as she wandered through the empty rooms.

  This was where Kelly had tried to fight the same problem. And Kelly had lost.

  But Kelly hadn't been taking her sleeping pills—at least that was what Dr. Gates had said. Kara would. She'd take one every night if it proved helpful.

  But that wasn't all she'd do.

  She marched into Kelly's bedroom and pulled all the sleazy underwear, blouses, sweaters, skirts, and other paraphernalia from under the night tables and dresser and stuffed them into two of the Dagostino bags Kelly had stored between the fridge and the wall. When everything was packed, she took the bags out to the corner of Sixty-third and First and left them under the street light. She was reasonably sure they'd be gone by the time she made it back to the front door of the apartment house. Absolutely sure they'd be gone within the hour.

  When she got back to the apartment, she locked the dead bolt and hunted around for a place to hide the key. Dr. Gates had told her that in cases of multiple personalities the quiescent personality was unaware of the other personality's activities during its active phase. Kara didn't know of any other key in Kelly's apartment, so she figured that if Janine should take control during the night, she would not be able to leave the apartment if Kara hid this one well enough.

  She finally decided on the right rear corner of the top rack in the oven. Who in their right mind would look there for a key?

  Don't ask.

  After that she showered. As she lathered up, Rob's words from the afternoon came back to her:

  You can't always do everything on your own, Kara.

  How many times in her life had she heard that? From her mother and father, from Kelly, from friends. Nobody seemed to understand her. She didn't want to do everything on her own. She wasn't looking to cut herself off. She just wanted to be able to stand free and clear. She'd take help when she couldn't provide it herself—like seeing Dr. Gates for therapy—but what she could do on her own, she would do on her own.

  Maybe she'd picked it up from her Amish neighbors, who were "beholding to no one," as they put it. But Kara sensed it went deeper than that. The need for autonomy, to control her own life, seemed to be engraved on her soul. Which made the possibility of another personality taking over at any time—even if it was just for a few seconds—especially loathsome.

  She got ready for bed. She wished she could do a little writing but she was exhausted. She didn't think she'd need a sleeping pill, but she was going to follow doctor's orders strictly. At least for now. She took one of Kelly's leftover Halcions, settled in Kelly's bed with one of Kelly's back issues of Rolling Stone, and tried not to think about Kelly. Or Janine. Or how alone and afraid she was. And how comforting it would be to have someone to talk to right now. And how stupid she'd been for refusing Rob's offer to stay the night.

  Somewhere between comforting and stupid, Kara fell asleep.

  Poor little fool. She came back.

  He's absolutely elated. How he gloats and struts! So taken with how clever he is. The Napoleon of Plotters, the Machiavelli of Manipulators.

  Makes me ill!

  How I'd love to teach the swine a lesson. Thinks I'm helpless, harmless, not the slightest possible threat to his great intellect. I hate that most of all… even if he's right. He knows I'm totally without resources.

  No. Perhaps not totally. Have my own intellect. Don't see why I can't manage to be as deceitful and crafty as he. Not beyond my capability to get a message of warning to this new one.

  Wouldn't that be wonderful! What a coup! With no resources other than what I can steal and hide, to warn her away from him. Wouldn't that take the wind out of his sails! Oh, he'll punish me, I know, punish me severely, but it would be worth it. Just to show him, to let him know he hasn't beaten me into complete submission. I'm still here. I can still act.

  He'll not take me for granted any more after I do this.

  If I can indeed do it. Have to try.

  First thing I'll need is her address.

  February 17

  8:06 A.M.

  Kara awoke feeling groggy and not particularly well rested. She shook herself to full alertness and slipped from the bed. She saw that she was still in the same flannel nightshirt she had put on last night. The bedroom looked the same. No words carved in the walls. She ran her hands over her body. No new bruises or cuts of scrapes. She ran to the bathroom. No writing on the mirror. She checked the living room and the kitchen. No knives on the counter, and the key was still in the oven, exactly where she'd left it.

  She slumped against the counter, weak with relief.

  "Okay," she said to no one in particular. She thumped her fist on the countertop. "Okay!"

&nb
sp; ▼

  10:00 A.M.

  "Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Doc," Rob said as he dropped into the chair opposite the desk. Doc Winters peered at him over his reading glasses.

  He tapped his desk top with a ballpoint; Navane was inscribed on the barrel.

  "You said it was urgent."

  "It is, kind of. It's about Dr. Lawrence Gates—"

  "What is it with you and Gates? You got something personal against him, Harris?"

  Rob was startled by Doc Winters' vehemence.

  "Not at all. I've only met him twice. I don't particularly like the man, but it's not personal."

  "A lot of people don't like Larry Gates, but that's not a cause for police harassment."

  "I'm not harassing anybody! Did he tell you that?"

  "No. I haven't had cause to speak to him for a couple of years now, but let me tell you something about Larry Gates. I know he presents this cold surface to the world—"

  " 'Cold' is an understatement."

  "I won't argue that. I don't know why he does it. I'd think it would be counterproductive to a successful psychiatric practice. But then, financial considerations aren't much of a motivating force in the life of a man of his wealth. And besides, from what I understand, it hasn't adversely effected his patient flow."

  Rob said, "I doubt the patient I know would be going to him if it weren't for his special qualifications in the area of her problem."

  "That multiple personality you mentioned? Well, as I said, she couldn't be in better hands. But you know, I did see Larry's cold facade crack once: when his brother Gabor contracted pneumonia."

  With the mention of Gabor, Rob's interest surged.

  "When was that?"

  "During Larry's residency—third year, I believe. Gabor caught the flu but didn't kick it. Being an invalid, he quickly developed pneumonia. Larry had one of the pulmonary guys admit him to Downstate so he could keep an eye on his brother while going about his regular duties as a psychiatry resident." Doc Winters leaned forward and pointed his ballpoint at Rob. "He never left the hospital once during Gabor's illness, Harris. He lived there. That's the real Larry Gates."