Monica was overcome with waves of nausea. She had to get out of that room. She couldn’t listen to Hillary any more. She needed some time to process the disturbing allegations.
“I have to go,” she said and abruptly left the room, as Hillary sobbed quietly.
Hillary wouldn’t be the only one who couldn’t go back to sleep. As she lay there in bed, alone in the dark, she searched her mind for a memory—any memory—a shred of information about herself other than waking up in Dr. Morrison’s home one day, about a week or so ago—as far as she knew. But her mind was a void, darker and lonelier even than the empty white room.
Hillary sighed as she invented her own memories. She made up beautiful, loving attentive parents who took her to the park and bought her ice cream and told her stories before bed when she was younger. She made up friends that she hung out with at the mall and the beach. She imagined a boyfriend who doted on her, wrote her poems and bought her romantic gifts. She invented all sorts of people who loved and cared about her. And as Hillary thought about her perfect memories, sleep came to take her on another adventure. It wasn’t long before her sweet imaginary memories were lost within the depths of her desolate mind and she was engulfed by her most terrifying nightmare yet.
~5~
Hillary was on the verge of dozing off when Dr. Morrison entered the room. A taller, younger-looking man followed him into the room.
Hillary turned to watch them approach. She had dark circles underneath her eyes from the long stretch of restless nights she had experienced. Her sleep was plagued with nightmares, some worse than others, but all unpleasant. She resisted sleeping whenever possible, which was increasingly difficult given her tedious life, strapped to a bed in an empty, lonesome room.
“Hillary, this is my colleague, Dr. Bentley. I asked him to talk to you about the nightmare you had a few nights ago—the one you’ve been avoiding. Will you please tell him about it? You can’t keep things like that bottled up. I’ll be back in a while.”
Dr. Morrison left the room without saying anything further. Hillary was surprised to see a new face. Up until now, it had only been Dr. Morrison and Monica who visited her.
“Hi Hillary,” Dr. Bentley said with a warm smile. He pulled the chair up to the bed and sat beside her.
“Would you like me to prop the bed so that you’re sitting upright?”
Hillary nodded slowly. A light blue sheet was draped over her and pulled all the way up to her to neck, covering most of her arms. Dr. Bentley could see that her wrists were bound to the sides of the bed. He then looked at her feet, also bound on each side. He noticed the collection pouch for her urine was hanging over the side of her bed. He could smell it.
“Help me,” she whispered in desperation as he adjusted the top portion of the bed to a forty-five degree angle.
“That’s why I’m here,” he answered, again with a seemingly sincere, friendly smile. He had dark hair, deep blue eyes and a strong, angular jaw line defining his clean-shaven face. He wasn’t old like Dr. Morrison, or even Monica. Hillary thought he was very handsome, in fact. He was wearing light-colored khaki shorts and a navy blue polo shirt. Hillary could smell his cologne, which he seemed to have bathed in. The smell was nearly intoxicating.
He seemed friendly enough, despite his association with her captors.
Just how many people know that I’m here, Hillary wondered.
After a long moment of silence, Dr. Bentley opened his right hand to reveal a small device. He pressed a button on the device then held it a couple feet from Hillary’s face.
“So, tell me, how—”
“What’s that?” Hillary interrupted, looking suspiciously at the device.
“It’s the same recorder I always use.”
“You’ve been here before? You’ve spoken to me before?” Hillary’s eyes widened. She was clearly surprised to learn that he had met with her before.
You don’t remember me at all, do you?” Dr. Bentley asked softly.
Hillary looked closely at Dr. Bentley as she wrinkled her forehead.
“I know you? You’ve been here to see me before?” she asked, bewildered.
“Yes. I first met you months back when—”
“What? Months? How long have I been here?”
Hillary looked terrified to discover how long she had been under Dr. Morrison’s “care.”
“You’ve been here a while now,” he answered.
“Why? Why am I here Dr. Ben?”
“Bentley. We want to help you, Hillary”
Hillary became visibly agitated. She huffed and rolled her eyes.
“That’s all I hear. If you won’t be honest with me, don’t expect me to talk to you either.”
“Dr. Morrison saved your life. You suffered a bad head injury.”
Hillary’s eyes widened with concern. That would explain her memory loss.
“How?”
“Someone hit you over the head with a large rock.”
Hillary furrowed her eyebrows. Who would hit me? she wondered.
“Who? Why?”
“Dr. Morrison spent hours operating on you,” Dr. Bentley replied, ignoring her questions. “He’s been helping you get better. You need to trust him.”
“Then why am I tied up? Why aren’t I in a hospital? Why don’t my parents visit me?”
“You were in the hospital for a while. Now you’re here until you can get your memory back.”
“But why am I all tied up?” Hillary said slowly, through gritted teeth. She had grown impatient and was tired of constantly getting the run-around.
“You tried to hurt yourself,” Dr. Bentley replied tersely.
“Why would I do that?”
“That’s why I’m here...I’m a psychiatrist.”
“Am I...crazy?” Hillary asked hesitantly, not entirely sure that she wanted the answer.
“You’re just confused,” he assured her, smiling warmly. “That’s why it’s so important for you to talk to us, to let us know how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking, if you start remembering anything.”
“Why am I here instead of in a hospital?”
“You’re not physically sick, really,” he replied, “there’s no need to take up the resources.”
“Why doesn’t anyone visit me then?”
“We’ve decided that it’s best for you not to be overwhelmed by visitors. Sure, they would be people who know and love you, but to you it would just be a bunch of strangers. You should remember things on your own time, not be flooded with other people’s emotions and memories. It could trigger reality distortion and cause you to create your memories instead of actually remembering them.”
Hillary took a moment to process what Dr. Bentley had told her. He seemed genuine, sincere, as if he truly wanted to help her. His replies and explanations seemed rational enough. She wanted to believe him.
“Why didn’t Dr. Morrison tell me any of this before?”
“I’m sure he has at one point and you just can’t recall. Besides, Dr. Morrison is a neurologist—he’s not interested in talking like I am.”
Dr. Bentley seemed so forthcoming and honest. Hillary was greatly tempted to trust him. Yet, she could not bring herself to do so. She was filled with too much doubt and suspicion. Her instincts warned her that this man, with the soft-spoken voice and radiant smile, was completely lying. It was all part of Dr. Morrison’s plan to get her to talk about the dream—the one she could not talk about...the one she was afraid to even think about. He was probably not even a psychiatrist at all.
“Can you untie me?” she asked shyly.
“No, you know I can’t do that. But Hillary, I need you to tell me if you’ve been remembering anything.”
Hillary thought for a moment. Should I lie and make up memories, she wondered. Would they let me go then, think that I’m cured? Or would they know that I’m lying? She wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Sometimes I get these strong feelings,” she said, “like I’m about to reme
mber something but it’s not clear. I think about the woods a lot, but I don’t know if it’s a memory or because I’ve had so many nightmares about—”
“About what? Tell me, Hillary…you’ll feel better after you talk about it.”
“I’ve already told them all to Dr. Morrison.”
“Except the one you had a few nights back, what happened Hillary?”
Hillary shook her head. She couldn’t even think of that one, much less discuss it.
“Why can’t I have a TV in here,” she asked, abruptly changing the topic.
“Hillary, you want your memory back, don’t you? Just tell me about it.”
Hillary shook her head.
“You’re safe here. No one’s going to hurt you,” Dr. Bentley promised.
Hillary felt hot with anger that manifested itself in streams of warm, salty tears. Dr. Bentley stood up and put his arm around her. She retreated from his touch as much as possible and turned her head away from him. He withdrew his arm and sat back down upon the chair as Hillary whimpered. She turned and faced him with heavy, puffy eyes and a dampened face.
“Are you going to hurt me too? Are you going to touch me like Dr. Morrison does?”
Dr. Bentley’s face lost all color as he contemplated Hilary’s accusation.
“What are you saying, Hillary?” he asked in a deep, serious tone, his smile fading.
“Dr. Morrison touches me...where he shouldn’t touch me,” she replied in a quivering, childlike voice, barely over a whisper. Tears continued rolling down her face as she trembled slightly.
“How? Where does he touch you?”
“He touches my breasts and down, between my legs...and....”
“And what?” Dr. Bentley asked. He looked appalled and irate as he waited for Hillary’s answer.
“He climbed on top of me,” Hillary said frantically, closing her eyes as if suppressing traumatic imagery. She took fast, short breaths, nearly hyperventilating.
“Take a deep breath, Hillary,” Dr. Bentley prompted softly. “It’ll be okay. Tell me what happened.”
“He...he raped me,” she blurted as she began crying.
“Hillary, what you’re saying—what you’re accusing Dr. Morrison of doing—are you...are you sure? Maybe you were just having another nightmare.”
“Why doesn’t anyone believe me?” she yelled as stared hatefully at Dr. Bentley.
“You told someone else about this? Who did you tell?”
Dr. Bentley looked puzzled. Who else was around for Hillary to talk to?
“I told Monica when it first started happening, but she didn’t believe me or help me. I haven’t even seen her since then, but I’ve seen plenty and felt plenty of Dr. Morrison,” she spat venomously.
“Tell me everything, every detail. If Dr. Morrison is hurting you, I’ll make sure it never happens again,” Dr. Bentley said, and he leaned forward to show Hillary that she had his full attention.
“Yeah, like I wanna relive it,” Hillary said, sniffling. Mucus from her nose was dripping into her mouth despite her best efforts. Dr. Bentley stood up.
“Let me bring you a tissue,” he said and left the room.
Moments later he returned carrying a box of tissues. He pulled one out and wiped Hillary’s nose. She looked mortified as he cleaned up her snotty mess. He used another tissue to wipe the tears from her face. He wrapped the soiled tissues within a clean one and shoved them in his pocket for later disposal since there wasn’t a garbage can in the room. He placed the tissue box at the foot of the bed.
“Now, Hillary, take a deep breath then slowly tell me about it.”
Hillary took a deep breath. A single tear rolled down her right cheek.
“It was just a few nights ago...I think. It was late at night. I didn’t fall asleep yet. Dr. Morrison came in. I thought he was here to empty that pouch over there.” Hillary looked over to where the drainage pouch hung on the side of the bed.
“He didn’t say anything,” she continued. “He pulled down the sheet that covered me.” Hillary’s breathing became labored and she was visibly shaken. Dr. Bentley patted her on her shoulder lightly.
“I asked him what he was doing, but he just ignored me. He started touching my boobs, pinching my nipples. He was really rough. I screamed for him to stop. I screamed for Monica to come. He didn’t even try to stop me from screaming. I figured Monica wasn’t around...or just didn’t care.”
Longer streams of tears fell from Hillary’s eyes as she continued.
“Then....” she hesitated, took a deep breath and shut her eyes. “He...he unbuttoned his pants. I knew what he was going to do. I screamed even louder and begged him not to hurt me. He didn’t say anything. He took his pants off and climbed on top of me. He touched me with his fingers first then shoved himself into me, really rough. It hurt so much....”
Hillary was crying hard again now. Dr. Bentley used more tissues to wipe her face. He held a tissue at her nose.
“Go on, blow,” he said. Hillary blew her nose softly. She was embarrassed to have this new stranger wiping up her tears and snot as she told him about getting raped by his colleague. Then again, compared to the indignities she had already suffered, what’s a little snot?
“He asked me to do that too...” she said hesitantly. It took a moment for Dr. Bentley to understand what she meant. His face twisted in disgust.
“Did you?” he asked.
“No!” she yelled adamantly. “I shut my mouth tight and kept turning my head while he flopped it around my face.”
“Was this before or after he...uh, entered you?”
“Before.”
Dr. Bentley didn’t know what to think. He felt as though someone had punched him in the stomach unexpectedly. If Hillary was lying, she certainly was a talented and convincing actress. Yet, why didn’t she mention Dr. Morrison’s purported request for oral sex when supposedly that had happened prior to him penetrating her. Still…she did seem genuinely upset….
Dr. Bentley was unable to shift gears and ask her about the nightmare she refused to speak about—the reason Dr. Morrison had called him, the reason he was there. Would Patrick do that to a child and think she wouldn’t say anything about it? He had known Patrick for just under two years, but he had always liked and respected him. Patrick Morrison was a reputable doctor, a talented neurosurgeon...and perhaps, maybe, just maybe, a child molester. Dr. Bentley stood up slowly, as if he felt dizzy.
“I just need a moment,” he said softly, as he shut off the recorder and left the room.
Hillary turned her head to follow his movement, her sad, swollen, wet eyes beseeching him to help. She sobbed softly and waited for him to return.
Dr. Bentley entered Dr. Morrison’s office without knocking. Dr. Morrison looked startled by his abrupt entrance.
“Are you aware of the accusations that Hillary is claiming against you?” he asked bluntly.
Dr. Morrison rolled his eyes.
“Oh that,” he replied, nonchalantly, waving his hand through the air as if to dismiss her claims. “Surely you don’t believe that—”
“I don’t exactly hear you denying them,” Dr. Bentley interrupted. Dr. Morrison’s face began to redden.
“Now listen here, Jake, you know what she’s like. She’ll say anything to try to gain your sympathy. She’s lying. She said the same thing to Monica. She has just as much faith in me as I see you have,” Dr. Morrison said defensively. “What’s the matter with you people? Have you forgotten who we’re dealing with?”
“Monica believed her?” Dr. Bentley asked, arching his eyebrows.
“We’ve had trust issues for a long time,” Dr. Morrison explained. “Hillary’s lies just made them all resurface.”
“Where is Monica anyway?”
“She packed up and went to visit her mother in Florida.”
“When?”
“A few days ago, what does it matter?”
“God,” Dr. Bentley exclaimed, “so she wasn’t here a few nights a
go?”
“No...why, what are you saying, Jake, just spit it out”
“Because that’s when Hillary alleges that you raped her.”
“What? She actually said that I raped her...with my...that I…had intercourse with her?”
Dr. Bentley nodded.
“See, she can’t even keep her story straight. She didn’t say any such thing to Monica, just that I had touched her inappropriately.”
“Monica wasn’t around. This supposedly happened a few nights ago.”
“It’s a load of shit is what it is. Please don’t tell me that you honestly believe anything that comes out of that crazy bitch’s mouth!”
“She’s never lied to me before,” Dr. Bentley said frankly, “and she’s very convincing, Patrick. I’ve counseled many victims of rape...she fits the profile.”
“It’s Hillary, Jake, of course she fits the profile. Think about what you’re saying. Really…it’s bullshit!” Dr. Morrison yelled. “I never touched that girl inappropriately. I never, never, ever raped her, Jake. It’s absurd!”
“Why on earth would you leave yourself alone in her presence—especially after the first allegation. That’s not prudent, Patrick...to say the least.”
“Then I’m guilty of imprudence, but I didn’t touch her...I didn’t touch her, Jake.” Dr. Morrison was nearly in an uproar.
“Calm down,” Dr. Bentley said. “Let’s talk about this rationally.”
Dr. Bentley sat down on a small leather couch on right side of the room. Dr. Morrison stood up from his seat at his desk and joined Dr. Bentley, but not before pouring himself a glass of scotch. He offered Dr. Bentley a drink, but he declined.
“You know I think highly of you as a doctor,” Dr. Bentley began, “but I’ve always voiced my doubts about this project of yours, both as a matter of sound practice and a matter of ethics.”
“I think I’ve made a lot of progress,” Dr. Morrison replied, “Hillary is calmer now. I don’t even need to medicate her. She’s—”
“She’s hooked up to an IV and catheter, for God’s sake! She’s tied to a bed! Is that progress?” Dr. Bentley’s voice grew louder as he grew angrier. Rational thought gave way to emotional outrage. He realized he was growing too agitated and needed to calm down before things got out of hand.
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