The First Conception_Rise of Eris

by Nesly Clerge

“Better than anyone. Whereas you, as Katherine, have spoken of Abigail, Abigail has never mentioned you. In fact, she claimed she doesn’t know you exist. I asked her once. She stated emphatically that she doesn’t know anyone named Katherine.”

  I studied her eyes. “Perhaps it’s the onset of an aneurysm.”

  “She spoke at length about her promiscuous behaviors and encounters with men. She’s quite proud of it.”

  I got up and paced. “This is all wrong. I don’t know what’s going on here, but Abigail is a real person. She’s been my friend for ages. Helped me cope with every turbulent situation that came up for me, at least while we were still close.”

  “You’re proficient when it comes to matters of the body, but I’m the expert regarding matters of the mind. What you have is known as dissociative identity disorder.”

  “You’re saying I have a split personality? I don’t accept that. But as for you—”

  “Formerly called multiple personality disorder.” She sighed. “It’s a complex psychological condition believed to be caused by a number of factors. These can include severe trauma during early childhood. Often extreme, repetitive physical, sexual, or emotional abuse. You know as well as I that you’ve experienced each of these.

  “There is Katherine Barnes and there is Abigail Wright. Both exist in the person I’m looking at.”

  I shook my head. “Abigail exists. She’s a separate human being—annoying at times, but a living, breathing individual. She sat next to me in class. I helped her with her studies so she could pass.” I went to the window and focused on Caitlin’s laurel tree. “Caitlin’s conception was a result of her perfidy.”

  “Was it?”

  I increased my volume, as though that would drown out her words and my thoughts. “None of this makes any sense.” I faced her. “And that’s because you’re the one who has something psychologically or physiologically off, not me.”

  “Have you noticed Abigail shows up for you, in your mind, that is, after painful and emotional times in your life? This explains why you haven’t heard from her about your recent success.”

  “You’re wrong. I’ve heard from her whether events were positive or negative. We’ve always been there for each other. At least, we used to be.”

  I resumed pacing, all the while listing such times. My steps halted and I faced her. “I survived my mother’s death because of her. And what about her husband, mother, and the other people we know in common?”

  “That’s how it works. But it doesn’t erase the fact that it happens solely in your mind.”

  “In my mind, huh? I’ll prove to you she’s real.” I grabbed my phone from my pocket, scrolled to the numerous text messages from Abigail, and handed the phone to her. “Look. Look at all the messages from Abigail. They may be old now, but they’re as real as she is.”

  Brenda took the phone and scrolled up and down. She shook her head and handed it back to me. “As you can see, there’s nothing there. The text messages you believed you’ve seen and kept are also in your mind.”

  I grabbed the phone from her and stared bewildered at the blank screen. “I don’t know what you did, but she’s in my contact list.”

  “Check it. Let’s see if her information is there.”

  It wasn’t.

  CHAPTER 104

  I collapsed onto Brenda’s sofa. “Something is very wrong.”

  She smoothed her unwrinkled skirt. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

  “I’m going directly to Agatha and ask her to verify what you’ve told me. She’ll know, if anyone does. Or Connie. I’ll talk to both of them. Then we’ll collect you, sedated if necessary, and get you to the clinic.”

  “It doesn’t matter who you ask. They won’t confirm it.”

  “They’ll confirm you’ve gone off the deep end.”

  She shook her head. “Patricia made it plain, made them swear that even if you brought it up, they’d deny knowing any such thing. She understood, as we all did, the need to protect you. You’re brilliant, as you know, and the last thing she or any of us wanted to do was disrupt that.”

  “You’re disrupting me now. Why?”

  “I can tell it’s beginning to affect you more than it has in the past.”

  “I don’t accept any of this.” I pointed at her. “My scientists. Patricia was gone when I hired them. I’ll ask them.”

  “They were warned. They had to be. You see that, don’t you?”

  “Why have I never been aware of any discrepancies in my behavior? Never seen anything out of place?”

  “The technical term for the transition is switching. It can take seconds, minutes, or days. Under hypnosis, the person’s different—what we call alters—or identities, are responsive to the therapist’s requests. However, it doesn’t always require hypnosis for the personality to manifest. It didn’t the first time Abigail made her appearance. Something had triggered you. The change was dramatic and nearly instant, catching me quite by surprise.”

  “Did I blurt out, ‘Hi, I’m Abigail. Who are you?’”

  “As I said, there was a dramatic shift. Each personality presents his or her own postures, gestures, speech, age, even race or sex at times. One personality may be allergic to something and the other not. One may be nearsighted and the other with perfect vision. Some unfortunate souls switch into animals, but that’s exceedingly rare.”

  “I don’t recall you ever hypnotizing me.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “So you’re saying I’m schizophrenic.”

  “No. The two conditions are different, though people confuse them. Schizophrenia is a psychosis. People with it have hallucinations and delusions.”

  “That’s what you’re saying I do.”

  She shook her head and leaned forward. “They don’t have multiple personalities, which is what you have. Whether you have more than just Abigail?” She shrugged. “So far you haven’t revealed that to me.”

  My breaths came short and rapid. “I have to get out of here. I need air.”

  “Please stay. We need to talk more about this. I need to help you understand—”

  “Not now.” I sped from her office, down numerous hallways, and then into my own. Once inside, I leaned against my closed door and fought the bile rising in my throat.

  She didn’t want me to ask anyone about my supposed condition.

  But she didn’t say I couldn’t look up Abigail. I double-checked my phone for her number. Not there. I rushed to my computer and looked up my backup data. Abigail’s number, the one I knew as well as my own, was listed.

  Finger poised over the keypad on my phone, I hesitated. Chided myself about the importance of getting to the bottom of this, of proving the problem was with Brenda, not me.

  I couldn’t touch the keypad.

  Terror had gripped me.

  Unfit to focus on work, I called the landline in my private lab. Gretchen answered. I said, “I won’t be back today, but will be there first thing in the morning.”

  “Ah. Forgive me, but are you feeling unwell?”

  I gripped the phone tighter and said with a tone sharper than I’d intended, “Why did you ask that?”

  “Forgive my nose where it does not belong, ja? We see you in the morning. You rest. You feel better.”

  I ended the call without another word and made my way to our quarters. Outside the door, I called the head of the security team inside and said they could go; that I was home for the remainder of the day. I waited for them to come out, listened to their brief report, said goodbye and entered.

  Irish Too scrambled to me. More out of habit than conscious attention, I patted him on the head.

  Lauren swiveled on one of the stools at the counter as she did her homework. She glanced at me and smiled. “Hi, Mommy. The aunties said you’re home early. Yay!”

  “After your homework is done, maybe we can play Scrabble or one of the other games.”

  “Okay.”

  Trance-like, I walked
with heavy steps to Lauren and touched her, starting at the top of her head then down her arms.

  Speaking over her shoulder, she said, “What are you doing?”

  “Just making sure you’re real.”

  She placed her finger on the paragraph she was reading, looked at me and said, “You can be really weird sometimes.”

  She turned her focus back to her studies, leaving me even more disquieted.

  How much of my life was real?

  How much of it was lived in my mind?

  If Lauren proved to not be real, I’d shatter into unrecoverable shards.

  Just as, according to Brenda, Patricia had feared.

  I was close to doing that as it was.

  CHAPTER 105

  I left Lauren to her studies and plunked onto the sofa yards from where she sat. Occasionally I’d glance at her to make certain she was still there rather than blinking in and out of existence. Or was she and other aspects of my altered reality like quarks in the laboratory, appearing where and when the physicists looked for them?

  She had to be real. Otherwise, it would require an extraordinarily elaborate collaboration to maintain such a charade. According to Brenda, such a charade already existed in some measure.

  But if Brenda was right, who had been Caitlin’s father? Had I had sexual relations with both Jared and Clyde? Was it me having the disgusting sexual escapades that night, and at other times, rather than a person I knew as Abigail, who not only reveled in such activities, but liked to brag about them?

  Bile rose in my throat. Every inch of my skin turned clammy. I made it to the bathroom in time to lose the contents of my stomach.

  Lauren knocked on the door. “Mommy? You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Must have been something I ate.”

  What that statement might actually mean sent another ripple of nausea through me. Finally, only dry heaves remained.

  I rinsed my mouth and splashed my face with cold water mingled with tears, sobbing as silently as possible. Moments later, I stood straight and looked at my mirrored reflection.

  What about cosmetics? Abigail practically slathered them on.

  I checked the medicine cabinet, the cabinet under the sink, every inch in the bathroom where cosmetics might be hidden. Nothing.

  I found the purse I seldom carried and dumped the contents onto my bed. Nothing there.

  Lauren touched my shoulder and I jumped.

  “Mommy, you’re really not acting like yourself.”

  Weakened by her statement, I propped a hand on the bed to keep myself up.

  “Did you lose something? I can help you look.”

  “No. I’m sorry I keep disturbing you.”

  “I’m not the one acting disturbed.”

  I stood and grabbed her by the arms. “What are you saying?”

  Fear filled her eyes. “What’s wrong, Mommy? Should I call Auntie Agatha?”

  “No.” I pulled her to me. “Oh, Lauren, I’m sorry. Maybe I need to rest. Go back to your studies. I think I should lie down.”

  “Okay. If you need me to, I’ll call someone to help.”

  I nodded, kicked off my shoes, and crawled into bed fully clothed.

  The next morning, I left the bathroom, having decided to act as normal as possible—whatever that now meant.

  Lauren looked up from her cereal. “Are you better?”

  “Much. I suppose it was a matter of getting the toxins out of my body and getting a good night’s sleep.”

  “I didn’t sleep.”

  “Were you worried about me?”

  She chewed her bottom lip for a moment then said, “You talked in your sleep. A lot.”

  My arms hung limp at my sides. “What did I say?”

  “You mumbled. And moaned.”

  I patted her on the arm. “I’m sorry. It’ll be okay tonight.”

  The call came to alert us that Lauren’s security team was about to enter. I waited a moment to answer.

  “Don’t tell anyone I was unwell yesterday, okay?”

  “Why?”

  “Please.”

  She grinned. “Supermommy can’t have sick days?”

  “Promise.”

  Her smile faded. “I promise.”

  I answered the phone. The team entered. Each fixed their eyes on us. The leader said, “Any problems?”

  Lauren answered. “I couldn’t sleep. Tummy ache. But I’m all better.”

  I kissed her cheek and wished her a good day.

  The door closed behind them, leaving me alone in the soundproofed space.

  My nine-year-old daughter had lied on my behalf.

  Had she done it before?

  CHAPTER 106

  I continued the search for cosmetics in my office, to no avail. Wherever I’d hidden them, only Abigail could find them. If they even existed, I reminded myself.

  Exhausted, I plopped into my desk chair and sipped the coffee that had gone cold.

  A knock on my closed door was followed by it opening and Connie sticking her head in. “How’s it going?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I was told you and Lauren didn’t sleep well.”

  “Lauren explained why.”

  “Just double-checking. Mind if I grab half a cup of java from you?”

  “Help yourself.”

  Connie poured liquid from the carafe into a cup and positioned herself on a corner of my desk. “I’m happy to report I’ve made each of our facilities as secure as possible. But I’ll keep up with innovations. Can’t afford to let our guard down for a millisecond.”

  “Your efforts seem effective.”

  She knocked on the desk. “So far, so good.”

  “Was there a reason you never asked me to carry a gun?”

  Connie’s eyebrows shot up. “Where’d that come from?”

  “What’s the answer?”

  She shrugged. “You didn’t seem like the type. Besides, you have me and any number of others around all the time. Why are you asking now?”

  “Just wondered if you had a specific reason.”

  “Like I said …” She drained the coffee from the cup and placed the cup on the credenza. “Time for me to do my thing. You heading down below?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Man, are you cranky when you don’t sleep.” She strode to the door, waved without turning around, and said, “Later.”

  This situation had me on a precipice of utter confusion. I reminded myself I’d always been someone who did what it took to overcome adverse circumstances.

  My mother had named me as she had for whatever her reasons were. The purity of Katherine hadn’t lasted. However, I’d clung to the meaning of my middle name while growing up.

  I did something I hadn’t done since I was a child—I looked up Eris, the Greek goddess of strife and discord. On the monitor I read how there were two types of strife on the earth, not one. That man would need to understand her—Eris, that is—in order to praise her.

  As though I’d ever need or seek praise from any man.

  The other aspect of her was worthy of blame, it said. Maybe I was worthy of blame, but only because I, as had she, had been forced into taking specific actions.

  The next sentence sent my pulse racing again. The two types are different in nature.

  I rejected the obvious thought about what this could refer to if Brenda had her way. Instead, I dwelt on the two types of strife aspect. It was a thread in my mind and I chose to follow it.

  I continued to read, snorting at the next bit. The writer of the description had it wrong about Eris having a side that was cruel, fostering evil and war, and that no man loved her. A misinterpretation of actions, for which blame had to be placed on men.

  It wasn’t me who’d started this fight. And they could keep their kind of love.

  Then I read the last sentence claiming that through the will of deathless gods, and though she was cruel and harsh, men paid the honor due her.

  Any crue
lty or harshness toward a man expressed by me had been earned. And it wasn’t any deathless god that would cause men to respect me, it was my own efforts that would achieve this. Some might argue that the word respect was overstating it. Whatever anyone chose to call it didn’t diminish the desired outcome.

  I nodded at the words on the screen. Whatever was going on, I was nowhere near ready to give up the fight.

  Any fight.

  I drafted an e-mail and sent it to the top women at headquarters.

  It was time for a meeting.

  CHAPTER 107

  At two that afternoon, I entered the conference room, nodding at the seated women as I stood at the head of the table.

  I gave them a summary update on the conception process, most of which they already knew from news reports we’d set up.

  “We’re making a difference,” one of the women said.

  Others murmured their agreement and approval.

  I held up a hand. “Where we are now, you might say, is the beginning of the end.”

  The same woman spoke up. “But isn’t this a new beginning rather than an end. After all, you and your team created a viable solution.”

  “I refer to man’s egregious treatment of women. I refer to the fact that more and more men will finally begin to grasp what it’s like to be a woman.”

  Another at the table said, “They’ll never fully understand that. Not until they deal with periods every month.”

  I waited until the comments and laughter settled down. “True, but this will be a humbling experience for them. Along the way, as we continue to take control of everything, as our beloved Patricia not only intended but knew was necessary, we’ll teach them how to be more like us—better, kinder, more humane.”

  “You think they’ll go along without a fight?” another woman asked.

  “They’ll have to. Too many of us have sacrificed too much, including our lives in some measure, for us to give a moment’s thought to failing. Patricia, for one.” Nearly silently I added, “My mother. And Chloe.”

  “Excuse me, Dr. Barnes.”

  I held up a hand for silence and scanned each woman’s face. Connie wore an expectant expression, as did many. Brenda’s expression was one that even days ago I would have read as compassion. Now it annoyed me.