Now
Corinne
Reflections Mental Facility
“So the address plaque wasn’t there?” Dr. Phillips asks, and his pen is ever ready on his page. I shake my head painfully, acknowledging the truth.
“No.”
My face sinks into my hands, and I stay like that, my eyes hidden, for minutes and minutes. It’s humiliating to admit. It’s devastating to realize.
“Dr. Cabot?”
I don’t respond.
“Dr. Cabot?” I finally lift my face, and Dr. Phillips is watching me.
“Don’t hide from it now,” he advises. “That’s the last thing you should do. Let’s face reality together, shall we?”
I have to laugh, a bitter-laced laugh, and he raises an eyebrow.
“You don’t think I know your reality?” he asks. “I assure you, my dear, I do.”
My head snaps up. “You know what it’s like to be unsure of reality? To not know what is real and what’s not? I doubt that.”
He smiles, a bit wry. “Not firsthand, but I’ve had a practice for a long time. I’ve treated dozens of patients that this has happened to in some capacity. Trust me, I get it.”
“But you don’t,” I tell him firmly. “Until you have holes in your brain, until you personally think you remember something, but it turns out that you don’t at all, then you don’t know, Dr. Phillips. With all due respect.”
He nods slightly. “Okay. Point taken. Your case is exclusively yours. Your situation is unique to you, and so you are correct. I do not know. I do not know personally. But I’m still here to help. Will you let me?”
“I really just want to go home,” I tell him simply. “I want to forget everything that’s happened and get on with my life.”
He’s sympathetic, but resolute. “Yeah, but that’s not possible, is it?”
I sigh. “No.”
“Let’s revisit your memory from last time. You said you weren’t alone. Have you remembered anything else?”
I stare at the floor. “I had a nightmare once, before I came here. I’m not sure if it was just a nightmare or if it was part of the memory.”
Dr. Phillips waits.
“Someone called me a cunt. Kept saying it in my ear. A man. I’ve been seeing and hearing that word...in a lot of places lately.”
“The same man you remember seeing in the house that night?” His pen scratches on the page.
“I’m not sure, but that would make sense.”
“Who else would be at the house?” He looks at me. “Melanie and Joe were out for dinner, right? It was Halloween. Why weren’t they out trick-or-treating with their kids?”
“Well, Joey was just a baby. And the two older girls... Joe didn’t want them going out for some reason. I guess I never asked why. But it is very strange, isn’t it?”
“I agree,” he says. “Unless it’s for religious reasons. Were they religious?”
I shake my head. “Catholic, but not devout.”
“Hmm. Okay. Well, let’s go back to that night. When you walked through the door, what did you feel?”
I close my eyes, trying to focus on my memories. “I was nervous. I knew about Melanie and my father, and it made me uncomfortable. I didn’t know what to say.”
“What did Melanie say to you?”
I picture the way she’d been at the sink and had turned to me, wiping her hands on a towel and her shirt.
Hi, hon, she’d said. Glad to see you. Joey has missed you.
“The baby loved me,” I remember. “That’s why Melanie liked for me to babysit.”
“And the girls?”
I focus on them. They had blond pigtails and serious eyes.
“They were very quiet.”
“What are you feeling right now?” he asks quietly, and I focus on my belly. It’s heavy and knotted.
“Fear.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur. “I feel this...foreboding. Something bad is going to happen.”
“Did you put the kids to bed?” the doctor asks me.
I nod. “Yeah. We watched television for a while first. I bathed the baby, and the water was still in the tub when...”
I pause. A memory has dropped itself into my head... Shoes. A hand over my mouth. The taste of dirt on his hands.
“I was going to go clean up the bathroom when he grabbed me. I tried to scream, but his hand was big. I couldn’t make a sound.”
“Can you see who it was?”
I’m looking through the eyes of eighteen-year-old Corinne, and I see the bedroom, the dark shadows and the unmade bed. I smell the fall leaves coming in from the open window, and I feel the sheets as they’re pressed into my face.
“He holds me down and pushes my face into the bed,” I whisper, and my hands are knotted together. “He keeps telling me that I’m a cunt. I tempted him, and I’m a cunt.”
“Who is it?”
I focus and focus and focus.
The face blurs into black and then comes back into focus.
I blink.
“Joe Gibson.”