“Take them, my darling, and afterward you can lie down in bed. There will be no voices, no more nightmares.” He smiles at me and picks up the bottle. “Open your hand, my sweet.”
I hold my hand out, and he pours the pills into my palm. Placing one on my tongue, I wash it down with a sip of water.
Part III
4 Years Earlier
??51??
Julian
Cassandra is dead, but I’ve found a way to replace her. My new patient, Amelia, will take her place, like a gift sent from the heavens to make everything all right again. I’ll make her believe that she is Cassandra. It’s no coincidence that she has green eyes like my mother, and like Valentina. She can easily pass for Valentina’s mother. I’m adept at using hypnosis with many of my psychiatric patients, and proficient in memory reconstruction, thanks to the work of my father. I refer all my other patients to colleagues, telling them that my wife has had a breakdown and requires my full-time attention. I’m already seeing a heavily medicated Amelia five times a week. She’s completely withdrawn from anyone she knows; she’s quit her job working at the museum and is living on her recent inheritance. She has been existing for our sessions; our work is the only thing tying her to reality. Even taking photographs has ceased giving her any pleasure. So when I suggest that she come and stay with me so that we can work more intensely together, it is an easy sell.
As much as I’m loath to part with her, I send Valentina to stay with my father. It’s amazing to me, but he’s proved himself to be a good grandfather since Valentina’s birth. When I was growing up, he was too busy building his career and making a name for himself to play games or spend time with Mother and me at home. If he wasn’t with patients, he was holed up in his lab doing research or in his office poring over patient files. Parkinson’s slowed him down, though, and made him realize he’s not immortal and that he needed to retire. He’s managing the disease remarkably well, and spends his summers in New Hampshire, where he’s eager to have Valentina visit so he can teach her how to fish and play cards.
I drive to Amelia’s apartment building and text her, then wait for her outside. I don’t want anyone to see me. Within minutes, she’s downstairs, wearing tattered jeans and an old sweatshirt and carrying two suitcases, which she throws in the back seat.
“How are you doing today?” I ask as I pull away from the curb. I notice her hair is unwashed, her face devoid of makeup.
She shrugs. “Nightmares again. Even the sleeping pills didn’t help.”
“It’s going to get better now that we’ll be able to spend more time on your therapy. I’m going to take those horrible memories away for you.”
She stares straight ahead. “Can you bring my sister back? Or my mother? Please, I don’t want the memories, the special times with them, erased.”
I don’t answer. We’ve been around and around this topic before. She’s afraid she can’t erase the memory of the tragedy they suffered without losing her memory of them entirely. But though I’ve respected her wish so far, thinking of them does nothing but bring her pain. If she’s to become Cassandra, she will have to believe that her family died when she was twelve, as Cassandra’s did. I won’t burden her by adding false memories of foster care, but will re-create a past for her with a few good images of a nice early childhood, followed by a tragic accident that took her parents. The bulk of her memories I’ll build for her, through stories I tell her, and the photographs I show will consist of our dating, our wedding, and our child.
I’d like to have her believe that she carried and gave birth to Valentina, but in case she ever finds out that she’s never been pregnant, I’ll tell her we used a surrogate. If it ever comes into question, we can always blame the “doctor” who saw her, and who will turn out to be conveniently dead. I’ve had to work out every contingency; Valentina’s happiness depends on my making this work. And this is why I’m doing it, all of it. It’s for my beloved Valentina. But there’s a silver lining. I’m giving Amelia a gift. This is going to save her, too. She’ll have a new life, devoid of trauma and heartbreak.
We pull down the gravel road leading to the house. Amelia looks around. “It’s so secluded here.”
“I like my privacy,” I tell her. I always feel a sense of relief coming home from the hospital. The moment fifteen years ago when I first saw the imposing home surrounded by tall hedges, I knew it was perfect for me. She will come to love it here.