“How are we doing today?” Paula asked.
I glanced in her direction, but had nothing to say. I’d been moved to a different room in a place called the psych ward. Paula had insisted on transferring with me and no one had objected. I hadn’t uttered a word since the night I’d overheard the conversation between my two doctors. It may have been immature, but there was no way I would give them the opportunity to call me crazy to my face.
Paula perched on the edge of my bed. “Delia, you know you can talk to me, right?”
I stared pointedly, blinking my eyes slowly. She got the message and sighed. Once she was gone, I pulled out the journal they’d given me to help me come to terms with the loss of my parents. Instead of writing about my feelings, I used the paper to write everything I could remember about Riona. With each passing day, it seemed further from my grasp and I was afraid that I would forget it entirely if I didn’t keep record of my world.
Every day on Earth was the same as the last. I would wake up, dress in the loose shirt and pants the hospital provided, then I would go to breakfast. I was surrounded by unfortunate souls. The patients in the psych ward were confused, and quick to anger. Some of them stared out the window or at the wall all day. They didn’t seem to have a care in the world as long as they were fed and given their medicine on a regular schedule. The medicine was the worst part of the psych ward. When they first started forcing me to swallow the pills, I tried to hide them in my cheek; that didn’t work for long. I finally gave in and began taking the medicine and attending the group sessions Doctor Larkin led every day.
I refused to share my story. I’d hoped that if I didn’t say anything, maybe they would think I had recovered from my psychotic break and they’d let me leave. That didn’t happen. It had already been two months since I’d awakened from what Doctor Larkin called a coma. According to Paula, I would not be released until I turned eighteen, unless a relative came to collect me. No one was coming; I had no living relatives and even if I did, they wouldn’t be on Earth. My only other option was to recover from my episode and get placed with a foster family. I didn’t understand half of what she told me, but it sounded like I would either be locked up with crazy people or sent off to live with strangers. Since neither option was appealing, I decided to wait it out until I knew what I wanted to do.
I was free to wander the halls in our ward because I wasn’t considered dangerous. There were a select few who were kept locked away and only let out when two strong men could keep them in line. I was staring at the box they called a television when Doctor Larkin tapped me on the shoulder.
“Delia, it’s time for your private session. Are you ready?”
I didn’t know why he bothered, he knew I wasn’t going to say anything. We were going to stare at each other for an hour, listening to the seconds tick away on the clock. I offered a small smile and silently followed him to his office. At first, the session went just as the others had, but things took an interesting turn when the doctor began to speak.
“Have you ever heard of coping mechanisms?” He didn’t wait for me to answer him because he knew I wouldn’t take the bait. “A coping mechanism is something our brain uses to protect us from trauma.”
I listened, but said nothing.
“Let me tell you a story about a little girl and you can tell me if this sounds familiar to you at all.” I didn’t object or show any interest in his story. “There was a little girl who lived with her parents in a small apartment in Brooklyn. Her mother died when she was young, and her father had something called Schizophrenia and told the girl all about his delusions.”
“When Social Services began looking into her home situation, her dad took her away without a trace. He told the school they were moving to be with family, but no one knows where she went. She was just a child, only seven when she disappeared. She was raised by a man who didn’t know how to separate delusions from reality, so she didn’t know how to separate what was real from what was make believe.”
I had no idea where he was going with his story, and I didn’t particularly care.
“About three years ago, the police found the father’s body. He’d been hiding in an abandoned building with his daughter when he was brutally murdered by some junkies who thought he had something to give them a fix.”
This was not the kind of story my parents would have told me. Despite my desperate attempt to remain uninterested, I couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the little girl. I still refused to say anything, and simply waited for him to continue.
“His daughter would be about your age now. She was twelve when his body was found but there was no trace of the little girl. She’s still missing.”
I blinked. The story was over, and I had no idea why he felt it necessary to share it with me.
“Delia, does the name Molly mean anything to you?”
When I didn’t answer, he pressed on. “I have reason to believe you are the little girl from this story.”
“What?” I silently cursed myself for breaking my vow of silence.
Doctor Larkin smiled triumphantly. “Unfortunately, we have no way of tracing you back to that family, because there were no other living relatives. Both parents were cremated and have been disposed of, so there are no remains to test against your DNA. There are no pictures of Molly because her dad firmly believed that cameras would steal a person’s soul, but her teachers described her as fair-skinned with bright blue eyes and dark hair.”
I suddenly knew where he was going with his story. He had a loose description of a missing girl and he’d decided to pin her identity to the girl who randomly appeared, claiming to be from another world.
“The timeframe fits perfectly, as does your insistence that you are a princess from an unknown world. If you were raised by a sick man, it is possible you have adopted his psychosis. If we add that to the fact that schizophrenia has been known to transfer genetically from parent to child, it’s very possible that you are Molly Kimble.”
This time I was silent because I didn’t know what to say. Where had Doctor Larkin come up with such a story? He took my lack of response as an acknowledgement that this was a possibility. I couldn’t even find the words to protest as he began to outline the new treatment plan we would be starting.
“We’re going to make some adjustments to your medications and add electroconvulsive therapy. Once we’ve done a few weeks of ECT, we’ll start transition to hypnosis and see if we can help some memories surface.”
I had no idea what he was saying, but I didn’t think it would end well. I knew he wouldn’t believe me if I suddenly told him I was fine and I’d made it all up. Before I knew it, our session was over and he ushered me back to my room. I sat on my bed and stared at the white walls.
“I’m going to talk to Paula. She’ll need to be prepared to assist with your treatments starting tomorrow morning. Have a good day, Molly.”
I turned my head quickly to look at him. The grin on his face indicated that he thought my reaction indicated a moment of recognition. He didn’t see the expression was somewhere between confusion and irritation, he only saw what he wanted.
I spent the time between breakfast and lunch writing in my journal. I’d been writing my experiences as though I were telling stories to children. I hoped that one day, I would be able to tell my own children stories about their grandparents and my childhood. I was lost in my retelling of the day I discovered my first secret passageway when I caught bits of a conversation just outside my door.
“Do you really think that’s necessary, doctor?” Paula’s voice was laced with concern.
“I do. If I’m right about her, this treatment could help clear away some of those webs her father spun in her head and bring back the girl she was supposed to be.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
Dr. Larkin cleared his throat. “If I’m wrong, ECT is still a viable treatment for a patient that clings to their delusions as strongly as Delia does.”
“Yes, doctor. I just don’t want to see you destroy her mind in the pursuit of proving she is some lost little girl you read about in the paper. She may have people out there who care about her. What happens if she starts to believe your story is her own and it isn’t?”
I almost threw up. I didn’t know what the treatment was, but the idea that they could find a way to convince me that I was someone other than me made my stomach turn. I couldn’t help but wonder if they purposely had these conversations in a place where I could overhear. They couldn’t be so confident that I was oblivious to the world around me that they would risk discussing something that would send me into a psychotic rage. My doorknob turned. I launched myself across the room and landed on the bed. I turned in time to see Paula standing in the doorway with two trays.
“I thought you’d like to eat in here today. I heard you had an interesting session with Dr. Larkin this morning.”
I had so many questions that I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t do that and maintain my silence. I eyed the trays of food as she came closer. Paula set the trays down on the bed and took a seat across from me.
“I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I want you to know that I’m here for you. The treatment you’re facing isn’t exactly a walk in the park.”
A walk in the park sounded a lot better than whatever Dr. Larkin had said during therapy. Paula gestured for me to eat. I couldn’t identify the food, we’d not had it at the psych ward before.
“What is this?” I asked, startling the nurse from our silent companionship.
“Oh, honey. I’m not saying I believe your story about being from another world, but, if anything was going to convince me, it would be this moment.”
I picked up the triangular food. The bottom felt like bread, but the top was slathered in a red sauce and covered in what smelled like cheese. There were pieces of meat sprinkled on top with a few chunks of green and red spread between hollow black circles.
“Go on, give it a try,” Paula encouraged.
I brought the food to my mouth and sank my teeth into heaven. There were so many flavors combined into one delicious food, I had to know what I was eating.
“It’s pizza day,” Paula informed me. “Every now and then the hospital orders pizza for the psychiatric ward.”
“I’ve never had pizza before. It’s delicious,” I managed to say between bites.
Paula chuckled. We didn’t talk much until we’d both finished our pizza. It was the best meal I’d had since arriving on Earth, and it rivaled any meal I’d ever had in Riona. When we were done, I decided I could ask Paula about the treatment.
“What’s ECT?”
She gave me a sad look. “It’s a form of treatment that involves delivering electric shocks to your brain. We stick electrodes here, and here.” She indicated either side of her head, next to her eyes. “Then we sent electric currents into those electrodes.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean by electric or electrodes.”
Paula looked up as though she was trying to find the words she needed. “Don’t tell Dr. Larkin I asked this, he’ll think I’m encouraging your delusions, but, do you have lights like this in your world?” She indicated the bright lights that turned on with a switch on the wall.
I shook my head. “We use fire to light our torches and the sconces used within our homes.”
“Then I’m not really sure how to explain ECT to you. We use something called electricity to provide power to our lights and other things. We will use a concentrated electrical current to send small shocks to your brain. The idea is to scramble the messages your brain is sending, in order for it to have a chance to rearrange those messages in a way that gives you more clarity. It’s supposed to help reduce the psychosis.”
I didn’t like the sound of that at all. “Is it going to hurt?”
Her hesitation answered my question before she spoke. “We will start at a low enough level to minimize pain, but it isn’t going to be comfortable.”
I bit my lip and nodded. I knew I had no choice in the matter, so the best thing I could do was allow them to try their treatments until they were ready to let me go.