Unlocked Page 14

  Instantly, Lydia could see that Clara’s overall demeanor had changed. She seemed agitated and troubled, like when Lydia had first met Clara for inpatient treatment.

  “How are you today, Clara?”

  Clara shook her head in disgust. “Not good. Terrible.”

  “What’s terrible?” Lydia prodded.

  “Everything, Dr. L!” Clara burst into heaving sobs. Lydia had seen her fair share of emotional outbursts, but this one was so sudden and unexpected it shocked her. Clara had been progressing so well. It was about time for a setback, Lydia thought.

  “Clara, breathe. Remember, take deep breaths, and try to calm yourself.”

  Clara choked on another hard sob and coughed so hard she nearly gagged. It was not becoming of her. “Dr. L…I can’t…I can’t do this…anymo-or-or-ore!” Clara doubled over in her chair clutching her locket and rocked back and forth like a baby trying to soothe itself.

  Lydia allowed for a brief pause in case Clara wanted to add anything. No words came, so Lydia spoke. “What is it you can’t do, Clara?”

  “This!” Clara let go of the locket and motioned wildly with her hands before burying her face in them once again. “All of this! It’s a lie! This is…this is all…bullshit!”

  Lydia felt a familiar surge inside herself. Maybe she was right all this time. Maybe Clara had been lying. Maybe there was more to this than met the eye.

  “What’s “bullshit”, Clara?”

  “Everythi-in-in-ing! The whole damn world is bullshit! It’s a lie. My life is a lie. Those people are a lie. Everything is a lie! I don’t know them. I don’t like them. I don’t trust them. I thought pretending would make it real. It’s doesn’t. They’re no more real to me than the day I first ‘met’ them in the courtyard. I’m living in a house full of strangers. I don’t even know who I am anymore.” Clara choked and gagged on another violent sob.

  Lydia’s heart raced. It figured that when she finally accepted that Clara was not pretending, that Clara would ‘fess up to her monumental lie. “Clara, are you telling me that for the past two months you’ve been pretending to recognize your parents? And that for the last month, you’ve been living with people you don’t know?”

  Lydia attempted an objective tone, but beneath it she was feeling betrayed. Not only that Clara had betrayed her, but also that Lydia had betrayed her patient. Lydia reprimanded herself for not following her gut. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, she thought.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Clara heaved and sobbed and gagged. Lydia found it increasingly difficult to not cross the room to hold her patient until she calmed, but that was not professional. Instead, she picked up a tissue box from between her name plaque and the glass paperweight Ollie had mailed her as a gift. He was still gone, but at least she knew he was safe. She approached the crying girl. She held out the box, and instead of taking a few, Clara took the whole box.

  “I’m sorry-y-y,” Clara wailed, still rocking.

  Lydia’s heart ached for her. “Clara, it’s okay. I need you to know that I’m not upset with you, and that right now you are safe. Remember? This is a safe place,” she motioned between them. “A no-judgement zone.”

  “Okay.” Clara answered but didn’t look up. She dabbed her eyes and blew her nose again and added the wadded Kleenex to the growing pile in her lap.

  It was 2:30 before Clara calmed enough to speak. The session was half over and Lydia was unsure about Clara’s departure. She wasn’t sure it was ethical to send a psychotic patient home with “strangers”. Ultimately, she decided she would meet with Mark and Melanie when they returned and discuss admitting Clara back into Breemont for inpatient treatment. But first, she needed to speak with her patient.

  “Clara, I’m sorry you have been through this; however, I have to ask, why did you pretend to know them?” Lydia was careful not to use the word “lie”.

  “I just wanted to go home. I just wanted it to be real. I thought if I pretended, it would become the real thing. I kept pretending, but nothing changed. I’m done pretending. I’m done with lies.”

  “Clara, that’s not how treatment works. We can’t force this. It needs to happen naturally and in a controlled environment. Who’s to say if you hadn’t pretended that it would be real by now.”

  Clara shrugged her shoulders and blew her nose again. The tears had subsided.

  “Clara, from here on out, I need you to be completely honest with me, okay? I can only help you if you are completely honest. Can you promise me that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” Lydia looked at the clock. 2:36. They’d need to get to the bottom of this, and quickly.

  “Why do you think they aren’t your parents?”

  “They don’t look like my parents. They have the same hair color, eye color, and build, but they aren’t my parents.”

  “And how do you know it’s not just that your brain is distorting the truth?”

  “I just know. I feel it in my gut. And their personalities are different. Things have changed. My parents never watched the news. These people do. My mother never ate leftovers, this woman does. I swear, once when they thought I was sleeping, I heard that man call that woman the wrong name!”

  Lydia nodded. Normally, she would be taking notes, but this time she didn’t want any record of what was being said between them. A sickening feeling rose from Lydia’s stomach all the way to the back of her throat. It was so intense she feared she would vomit. She thought of Stanley Bedford, the boy she believed. The boy she killed.

  All along, she had thought something was off about this case, but she wouldn’t allow herself to believe it. She didn’t want to end up in the same mess, but dammit, here she was again. She believed Clara, really believed her, but trusting her own gut never got her very far in the past. She looked at the clock again. Twenty minutes left. She had to gather all the information she could so that she could convince the both of them that those people were Clara’s parents.

  “What else, Clara?” Lydia asked.

  Clara’s wails and sobs returned with a vengeance. Minutes passed. Finally, she spoke. “Dr. L, they’re imposters. They’ve done something with my parents. I just know it. I kept telling myself it wasn’t true, but last night…last night I overheard them talking.” Clara grasped the locket with both hands and held on as if for dear life.

  Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Is that what led to this realization?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What do you think you heard them say?”

  “They said,” she sobbed deeply, “They said Thank God Karen didn’t blow our cover. They said it would have ruined everything.”

  The vomit feeling was back. Lydia fought it. “Is there anything else that could mean, Clara?”

  “No. I don’t know. It makes too much sense, doesn’t it? I don’t think they’re my parents, then they say that they thought Aunt Karen was going to blow their cover. What else could it mean other than that they aren’t my parents?”

  Lydia was stumped. “We’ll need to explore that, Clara.” She didn’t know what else to say. “I need to know how you feel about going home with them today? They’ll be here to pick you up in five minutes.”

  Clara’s eyes went wide. “No. I can’t. No more.”

  “Clara, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to talk to your parents. With your permission, I will request you be admitted. I will do what I can to request unlimited visits with you. At least here, we can control how often your parents see you. We’ll be able to ease you back into the family on your terms, not theirs.”

  As much as Clara hated the idea of institutionalization, even if it was voluntary, she hated the alternative even more. “Yes. Let’s do that.”

  Lydia nodded and picked up the phone. “Mr. Schneideker? We need an emergency meeting with Mark and Melanie Marcel. They’ll be here momentarily. Are you able to step out and meet us in my office?” There was a pause. “Okay, great. Thank you. See you soon, sir.”
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  Lydia hung up the phone and and dialed again. “Rita? Can you reschedule my next appointment? Something’s come up. Thanks.”

  Lydia looked at her patient who had calmed herself again. “Clara, when your parents arrive, I’d like you to step out into the waiting area so we can speak privately, okay?”

  Clara agreed. She blotted her bloodshot eyes one last time, and excused herself from the office. Lydia walked her out, and as she did, she was met by the Marcels.

  “Clara, what’s wrong?” Melanie rushed to her daughter.

  “Mrs. Marcel, please follow me,” Lydia ordered with politeness.

  “What? Oh, okay.” She did as instructed, but cast a quick glance over her shoulder at her visibly upset daughter.

  “Please, have a seat,” Lydia offered as they entered the office. Before they could sit, they were joined by Rob Schneideker, who closed the office door behind himself. He opted not to sit in the cozy patient chair, and instead, leaned against a wall after greeting the parents.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Marcel, there’s been a regression.”

  “A regression?” Mark asked.

  “Yes. It seems Clara no longer recognizes you. She had an episode in my office during our session today. If I’m being completely honest, she claims to never have recognized you.”

  Melanie burst into tears. Mark put his hand on her forearm to comfort her.

  “But she’s been home with us for two months! What do you mean she doesn’t recognize us?” He begged.

  “Clara expressed that she thought she could speed her recovery along if she faked it. She says she never recognized you, but she wanted to go “home” and to be “normal”. She thought pretending would make that happen.”

  Mark squeezed Melanie’s arm. Before they could say anything else, Dr. Lindenhurtz spoke again.

  “Mark, Melanie, I want to run something by you. You too, Mr. Schneideker. I feel strongly that we need to admit Clara right away. I think it is detrimental to her health to keep her in an environment in which she feels uncomfortable.”

  “No, absolutely not. She’s my child, she’ll stay in my home,” Mark replied. “You don’t think being in a mental hospital is “uncomfortable”? Don’t you think being uncomfortable in her own home is far better than being uncomfortable in an institution?”

  Melanie continued to cry.

  “Mr. Marcel, I understand where you’re coming from, but Clara doesn’t recognize you or Mrs. Marcel. Living in your home is very surreal to her. At least at the hospital, Clara is able to recognize her surrounding as a reality. I promise, if we can treat her on an inpatient basis, I think we could get her back home to you, not only physically, but mentally as well.” Lydia hoped the words that were coming out of her mouth were true. She hoped this gut feeling would subside and that Clara would accept her parents and integrate back into reality. The vomit feeling made her think otherwise.

  From behind the closed office door, Clara heard shouting. She was relieved that Dr. L had asked her to step out, but she felt guilty. She wondered if the screaming would still be happening if she was behind that door too. If she was present, her “dad” would have probably contained himself a little better. Clara exchanged pitiful glances with the receptionist who sat behind a curved half-desk and wore her hair in a bun. Finally, the door burst open.

  “Clara, car, honey.” Mark said.

  Melanie was close behind. “Clara, we’re leaving. C’mon, hon. Get up. Let’s go.”

  Clara sat stunned. She looked to Dr. L for guidance.

  Lydia stood in the threshold of her office, and Clara thought she was working hard to keep her composure. Mark and Melanie flanked their daughter and waited for her to rise.

  “It’s okay, Clara. Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Disoriented, Clara stood. Her parents each took an elbow gently and led her out of the waiting room. Clara didn’t fight them, though she wanted to. Clara looked back over her shoulder at her doctor.

  “It’s okay. Go.” Lydia said, but Clara thought she could hear Lydia’s heart. Her heart was beating, Stay, stay, stay.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next afternoon, Lydia pored over Clara’s file. Again. She glanced at the clock. Again. Clara would be arriving for her regularly scheduled session in just under five minutes. She was so close…she could feel it. In five minutes, Lydia hoped to have begun unraveling the truth. She knew the truth would have to come from Clara herself, but how? Lydia was keenly aware that they were on the verge of something big, a breakthrough. She just knew it. The time ticked heavy in the silence of her well-decorated office. Only the occasional and familiar scrape of Lydia shuffling the papers in Clara’s file broke that silence.

  Three minutes. Lydia scoured the file for new information, something she had missed in months of working with Clara. Dates, facts, thoughts, feelings. She scanned for something that would tie everything together, make it all make sense. No such luck. There was nothing new. She would be forced to rely on her session with Clara to reveal the answer.

  Two minutes. With an exaggerated sigh, Dr. Lindenhurtz uncrossed her leg and shifted in her leather chair before crossing her opposite leg. She allowed her head to fall forward, supporting it with her hands, elbows on her mahogany desk. She rubbed her temples with a touch of annoyance. Lydia loved puzzles, but she loved solving them more. Clara was a puzzle she just couldn’t quite decipher.

  One minute. Lydia welcomed the rhythmic ticking of the second hand. She breathed in for three counts and out for four, almost meditating as she prepared herself for Clara’s arrival. She lifted her head from her hands and rested her pointed chin on her balled fist staring at the key suspended in the glass paperweight Ollie had sent her. “Knowledge is the key to unlocking the past,” it read, a gift he’d sent her just before he’d disappeared. This was the longest he’d been gone since she’d known him. Lydia continued to study the key, the smooth glass. She tapped the surface of her desk impatiently with her free hand. She was not so much nervous, as she was anxious. She was eager for Clara’s arrival and excitedly awaited the session, but she was also uneasy not knowing the outcome. How can I unlock Clara’s past, she thought to herself. What am I missing? Feeling antagonized, Lydia spun Ollie’s gift 180 degrees so that the inscription, which she was growing to resent, could no longer taunt her directly to her face.

  2 p.m. Lydia once again uncrossed her legs, rolled back her leather chair, and rose slowly. She deliberately crossed her office and cautiously pulled open the heavy mahogany door that matched her heavy mahogany desk. Normally, she would be walking her one o’clock patient to the door, telling him that she’d see him next week before welcoming Clara into her office; but, today Lydia had cleared her schedule. She had wanted to focus on Clara. Only Clara. Unfortunately, even with the day cleared, Lydia had been unable to find the missing piece. In fact, she had decided that the missing piece was locked somewhere inside Clara, and now she would have one hour to draw it out.

  “Hi, Clara. Come on in.” Dr. Lindenhurtz stepped backward against the door with her right hand behind her back on the knob, and motioned Clara through the threshold with her left hand. They had grown close over the past months, but Lydia was a professional, and always opted to continue professional dialogue with all of her patients. “Make yourself comfortable, and we can get started.”

  As soon as Clara sank down into her chosen spot, drawing her legs up then folding them beneath her, Dr. Lindenhurtz began with the usual questions. “How are you feeling?” Clara cast her eyes downward into her lap. Her thick, wool sweater pulled over her hands, thumbs protruding from forced separations in the large knit sleeves. The sweater was ivory, and against the bone white chair, seemed dingy. Clara half chuckled at this awkward mental metaphor. Was she somehow dirty? Would Dr. Lindenhurtz ever help Clara to fully come clean? Would she ever feel whole again? “All signs point to ‘no’,” Clara thought and chuckled again before looking up and locking eyes with her psychiatrist. “I’m okay. Things are…okay.
” She tried to sound solid.

  “Do you want to talk about what happened yesterday?”

  Clara maintained eye contact. “No. I was wrong yesterday. Things are…fine. I went home with my parents. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. Same ‘ol, same ‘ol. That’s good, right?” Clara offered in a hopeful tone. This is what they had been working toward for weeks and months on end: normalcy, or any semblance of it. Clara thought this was what her doctor wanted to hear, and she figured she’d fake it ‘til she could make it. She had convinced herself that if she pretended to feel normal long enough, that eventually it would feel normal, and that’s what she longed for. She tried to pretend as if nothing had happened yesterday. She wanted to ignore her outburst and hoped her doctor would too.

  They sat in silence, not altogether awkward. The silences between patient and doctor had become bearable, almost comfortable…and sometimes telling. At length, Clara spoke again: “You see, it’s just…” She broke off, peering downward at her cable knit sweater sleeves. Clara picked imaginary fuzz balls off the wool. Lydia waited, letting the words hang between them. Clara, torn between the truth and her lie, eased into a candid conversation with Lydia, “It’s just that…I’m still a stranger in my own house. I’m a ghost.”

  “A ghost.” Lydia repeated. Not a question, a summary. An acknowledgement. Lydia empathized. She had been her own kind of ghost since the incident.

  “I know my family,” Clara choked out the word, “wants to protect me. I know they want what they think is best for me, want me to become a productive, contributing member of society, but I don’t know if they love me, ya know?”