Page 10 of Born To Be Bad

“They changed her brain?” snorts Christopher. “You can’t mean that literally.”

“The Hebbian Principle,” the psychologist says. “Or, in layman’s terms, neurons that fire together, wire together. This is how pathways in the brain are formed and reinforced through repetition.”

Ivy shifts in her seat. “Can you tell us about a similar case, to help us all understand?”

Sandringham pauses to think. “I know three or so off the top of my head. Steve Stayner,” she begins. “Stayner was seven years old when he was kidnapped in 1972. He was held captive for seven years by Kenneth Parnell. Parnell manipulated him into believing that his parents didn't want him back. Stayner lived under a different name and attended school during this time. He eventually escaped with another abducted boy, but he displayed a complicated mix of loyalty and confusion about his situation during his captivity.”

Mother, hands clasped, lips resting on her thumbs, shudders visibly. Christopher moves closer to her and puts his hand on her back.

“Mary McElroy was kidnapped by four men in Kansas City and held for ransom. During her captivity, she developed sympathy for her captors and even testified in their favor. During their trial she pleaded for their sentences to be reduced and maintained a strange compassionate bond with them even after her release. Natasha Kampusch in Austria was kidnapped at the age of ten and held captive for eight years. Despite—or because of—the severe abuse and isolation she endured, she showed signs of emotional attachment to her captor. After she escaped, she was reported to have lit a candle for him when she learned of his suicide, indicating a complex emotional response to her ordeal.”

“Okay,” snaps Christopher. “Okay. We get it. What do we do about it?”

“I hesitate to use the term ‘deprogram’,” says Sandringham. “But essentially this is what we need to do. Ariana needs to unlearn some deep-seated beliefs. It's a complex and sensitive process that requires a multi-disciplinary approach. The primary goal is to help the victim regain their sense of self, autonomy, and a clear understanding of the situation.”

“How do we do that?” I ask.

“You've already done the most important things. That is, to ensure the patient’s safety and to provide medical attention. The next step is my job: a thorough psychological assessment in which I will evaluate the extent of the psychological impact. This will include an assessment of Ariana’s possible PTSD, depression, anxiety, or other mental health issues. Then we’ll hand over.”

“To who?” asks Mother.

“There’s an excellent recovery clinic in Surrey. I’ll have my office send the details.”

“Is that shrink-speak for a nut house?” asks Christopher.

I shoot him a warning look. Don’t antagonize the one person in the room who can help Ariana.

Sandringham doesn’t flinch. “If you call a state-of-the-art facility with five-star accommodation and one of the best psychiatrists in the United Kingdom a ‘nut house’, then … yes.”

Christopher’s expression changes from mild hostility to having a sparkle in his eye. He’s so predictable. If I could, I’d kick him under the table. Sandringham is not his type. Firstly, she’s our age, easily twenty years older than his regular girlfriends. More importantly, she’s way out of his league with regards to emotional—and regular—intelligence.

“Sounds good, then,” he replies, giving her his most winning smile. Honestly, sometimes I can’t believe we’re related.

“Thank you, doctor.” Mother sighs, looking relieved. “This sounds like an excellent plan of action.”

“Will we be able to visit her?” Father asks.

Everyone’s quiet for a moment. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged Ariana in years.

“Yes,” says Sandringham, nodding. “Visits are actively encouraged as part of the therapeutic interventions.”

“Excellent,” Father replies, slapping his thighs. He helps himself to a ham and cheese croissant, regarding it with glee.

Sandringham looks around at our grateful faces, smiles, and gathers her things before standing up. Ridiculously, I don’t want her to leave. She brings calm to the room; she seems to have the unique ability to quieten the chaos of my family. Perhaps I could bring her on in a larger capacity. Mother has her chef, I have my housekeeper, Christopher had comprehensive staff contingent. Perhaps we could have a family psychologist join the mix. God knows Father needs it, never mind the rest of us.

CHAPTER 8

A Happy Dream

IVY

Ariana refuses to see us, so we agree to leave the hospital for the night and re-group first thing in the morning. It’s been the longest day in history. I slip my hand into Alistair’s. He looks me up and down and I see a flicker of hunger.

“How do you feel about finding that spare room again?” he murmurs.

“You’re incorrigible,” I reply.

“Fine,” he relents, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Have me your way. What would you like to do, and where would you like to do it?”

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