Page 130 of Trapped: Until The Darkest Of Night

“So, you’ve come to see me because you’re suffering from something you cannot explain.”

I nod. I clarified the issue of payment with her on the phone. I pay for the sessions privately. I don’t have health insurance anyway.

“Can you describe the drifting off?” Dr. Lee inquires.

I deliberate briefly. “I fall into a dark room. It’s like a trapdoor opening in the ground. Before that, I see everything in black and white and everything seems distorted.”

Dr. Lee jots something down, then looks at me invitingly.

“I have no recollection of what I’m doing during that time. I was told”—Lou told me—“I was talking about a lot of what I experienced. There were…bad things happened during my childhood.” I’m not ready to reveal more just yet. “I also behave aggressively during these phases. I break things, injure people, but afterward, I don’t remember any of it.” I have to take a deep breath. I wish I could hastily leave the room.

“So, you don’t remember what you do during these episodes. Do you remember anything else?”

“I always see a boy. The boy…well…I see him like he was in a movie…”

“Aha.” Dr. Lee’s eyes flash for a moment. “Tell me about the boy,” she prompts. “Anything you can or want to tell me.”

I tell her how I’ve approached the boy over the past few months, how I’ve talked to him and how I finally took him by the hand and led him into the light. I mention Lou, but not the kidnapping. Nor do I mention the coffin or my stepfather. But I tell India Lee about my recovered memories.

When I finish, she tilts her head. She seems to be waiting for something.

“I’m the boy,” I say like a student who owes the teacher an answer.

“Yes, certainly,” she replies calmly as if what I’m telling her is the most normal thing in the world. “Why do you think this boy is here?”

“He shields me from memories. Painful memories. But also beautiful ones. And sad ones.”

“So, he protected you.” Lee gets up, walks to a waist-high bookshelf, and pulls out a red tome. She sets it on the table, leaving it closed.

“Without knowing your childhood, Brendan…you said bad things happened. How old were you?”

“Young. I don’t know exactly.” For a millisecond, the image of the three candles flashes through my mind. “Maybe four.”

“That would fit.”

I don’t understand anything anymore.

She leafs through the thick book on her desk and finally finds what she was looking for. She taps a heading with her ringed index finger.

“Have you ever heard of dissociative disorders?” India Lee looks at me with interest. Her honey-colored eyes catch my eye for the first time. Unlike Dr. Watts, she has a kind expression. Still uncomfortable, I shake my head. I never expected to get an explanation for this strange phenomenon so quickly.

“I’m not saying you suffer from it, but you should know what these disorders can do.”

I nod uneasily.

Dr. Lee sits down in her chair. “Dissociative disorders can occur in the context of trauma, similar to post-traumatic stress disorder. Do you know what PTSD is?”

“Yes.” Dr. Watts explained it in the first and last session. Post-traumatic stress disorders are long-term effects of trauma. “Flashbacks are part of it,” is all I say.

“Among other things.” India Lee gives me a brief explanation of how the brain reacts to a traumatic event. However, I can only remember that some things are stored unfiltered during this time and often fail to reach consciousness. Thus, traumatic memories would often be bizarre and details would be augmented in the memory.

“After a trauma, the psyche ensures that you can survive. Sometimes, this requires disassociating feelings, but also memories. A traumatized child living in a family situation they cannot escape from, where the trauma may be repeated over and over again, must sever a large part of themselves in order to remain viable. Push away. Deny. Disassociate. All these things are available to a child.”

“So, what happened to me?” I ask, staring at the long ash stem of the incense stick.

India Lee rolls her chair over to the table and pours me a glass of water. “I don’t even know you yet, Brendan. When you say bad things happened in your childhood, the first thing to think about is a reaction to those things. The seizures you describe to me, especially the amnesia and flashback-like episodes, can indicate a dissociative disorder. It often develops in young children who are traumatized because they are not yet familiar with other coping strategies.”

The ash from the incense stick falls into the cobalt-blue drip tray. “What exactly are these disturbances?”

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