Page 8 of The Last Session

“She’s doing it on purpose, you know.” Lonnie spit the words out, his face now rigid with anger. “She’s fooling us all. She’s a spy; can’t you see that?”

Before I could respond, he strode off, muttering to himself.

I took a deep breath and went into the room. One of the other patients’ gentle snores sounded like purrs.

“Hi there,” I said in a soothing singsong as I approached Jane Doe. Diane had encouraged me to talk to her, even if she didn’t show any signs of hearing. “It’s me, Thea. Looks like you need a little help getting dressed today.”

She sat hunched over, her hands curled in her lap. A strand of droolwet her chin. I watched her for a moment, considering Lonnie’s words. He was stretching it with the spy thing, but it wouldn’t have been the first time someone had faked mutism or catatonia. According to Amani, one patient had done just that two years ago. It had ended when he’d been caught making calls in the bathroom. He’d owed dangerous people money and thought the locked doors, security cameras, and security guards would protect him. I’d wondered what had happened to him after he’d been kicked out.

But Jane Doe… It was clear to me, at least, that she truly wasn’t here. That she’d retreated to some back corner of her brain.

I picked up the shirt, noticing a tattoo on her pale, sunken chest, over her heart. It looked like a symbol or hieroglyph about two inches high. I didn’t remember reading about a tattoo in her chart.

I leaned closer. The symbol was a spiral inside a triangle, with dots at different intervals along the curve of the spiral.

I’d seen it before. The small tug of recognition ignited a spark of excitement.

But where? I couldn’t remember. If I could look it up, though… it had to be online.

I looked to the bedside table for the pad and pen before remembering another patient had presumably taken them. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket, and before I could even pause and question it, I took a photo. The sound was on and the loud click in the quiet room made me flinch.

“Okay.” I slipped the phone back and stood. “Let’s get you dressed.” It was surprisingly hard to wrangle an item of clothing onto someone who did nothing to help you. But as I pushed her cold hands through the sleeves, I also shoved away the remorse and fear rearing up.

Taking a picture of a shirtless female patient—I could get fired for that.

But another part argued back.

You did it for a reason.

It’s a clue to who she is, what she went through.

You’re just trying to help.

5

As soon as I got home that night, I grabbed my laptop to research Jane Doe’s tattoo. I’d felt vaguely guilty the entire day with the shirtless photo on my phone. But now my unease switched to anticipation. With a quick Google search I found a free, ads-laden site called Shapefinder. As directed by the site, I drew the symbol on a piece of paper, then took a picture and uploaded it. I clickedFIND SHAPE, as weirdly excited as a kid holding a wrapped present. What—of everything in the world—was within it?

But the top result was a letdown:NO HITS.

I let out my breath. Really? Nowhere in the vast universe of the internet?

Below the result were the words:DID YOU MEAN?and a row of symbols. I clicked on the first one, which showed a spiral within a box.

Symbol for Nehebkau, one of the original Egyptian gods who took the form of a snake. Nehebkau’s name means “to unite.” He was thought to yoke the ka (double or spirit) with the physical body. Before creation he lived in the waters of Nun with other primordial gods.

Okay. So Jane Doe’s tattoo was somewhat similar to a hieroglyph. Which made sense. I’d seen various hipsters in Brooklyn with ankh necklaces; at a yoga class I’d listened to a teacher explain the goddess Isis. Maybe this was the new wave in (cue eye roll) white girl spiritual chic?

Jane Doe’s blank eyes shone like headlights, cutting a path through my mind. The feeling returned, more strongly than ever, that I knew her. And that the answer was right there, if only I could unlock it. The symbol hadn’t shaken anything loose, specifically, but a surety spread through my chest. For some reason, it feltrightfor Jane Doe to have this tattoo. But why?

My phone pinged.Hey!Dom had written cheerfully, as if we hadn’t been avoiding each other.Here’s a 10% code for Amelia’s cuz’s moving co!

“Wow,” I said out loud. “Thankssomuch.” But there was no point in sharing my hurt. And to be fair, Domhadfound the apartment originally. I opened Facebook Marketplace to keep searching. I had new message notifications; a few were apartment-related, but my eyes went immediately to the message from Melissa Bellmont, paired with a friend request.

My body went still, my breath waiting in my lungs, as I clicked.

Hi Thea! I’m co-heading the committee for the 20-year OSLS 8th grade reunion. Can you believe it’s been 20 years???? I know we’ve fallen out of touch, and you live in New Yawk now, but if you’re interested in being on the mailing list, LMK, I don’t think I have your current email. Here’s theFB page for the reunion. If you can’t make it, I’d still love to see you sometime, LMK if you’re ever back here in town. XOXO M

With a sick, sliding feeling in my gut, I clicked on the link. The Facebook page featured a scanned photo of twenty-three eighth graders in front of a playground. Some of the boys were casually hanging out on top of the monkey bars. My eyes went immediately to Adam, his dark curls tousled by the breeze. He was flanked by Scott and Mike, who were always there to laugh hysterically at his insults. Then I scanned for the blurry, unsmiling girl standing next to the slide. There she was: her shoulders curved in, her frizzy red bangs covering her face. My younger self. Melissa’s arm slung around her shoulders. This must’ve been taken before Melissa had moved into the cool group. At least in the beginning, she’d protected me. She’d had no idea what had happened, or rather—at the time this picture was taken—would happen.

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