Her lip quivered, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “He’s going to drown her.” Her voice sounded young, childlike.
“Who?”
As if she hadn’t heard me, she began to yell. “Let her up, let her up. Stop! You’re killing her.”
“Cassandra, listen to me. Who are you yelling at?”
Her breath was coming in ragged gasps. “My father, it’s my father. He’s holding her under. She didn’t want to go in the ocean, and he made her. No no no no.”
I needed to calm her down. “Imagine,” I say, using our trigger word.
She became still.
“You are safe, and no one can hurt you. You’re watching a movie. It’s not happening in real time. Tell me what you see.”
Her breathing became more even and her voice less frantic, though it still sounded young. “We’re having a nice day on the beach. Building sandcastles. Mommy is reading a book. Shannon and I are running back and forth to the water to fill our buckets.”
“Go on.”
“He’s drinking beer. Mommy tells him to take it easy, and he gets mad. Tells her to shut her mouth. She gets upset and leaves. He tells us it’s time to go in the water, but Shannon’s scared of the waves. He calls her a stupid baby.” Then her voice changed, and she imitated a man. “Get your ass in that water now before I throw you in.”
Wrapping her arms tightly around her torso, she shrank back into the sofa cushions. “Come on, Shannon. It’s okay. I’m with you.” Her voice changed again to imitate the man. “Come on, you piece of shit.” And then it’s her voice again. “He’s dragging her by the arm, and she’s crying. Then he’s holding her under the water.”
“Does he let her go eventually?”
Cassandra shuddered. “Finally. She grabs on to me, and he swims away and goes back to the umbrella.”
“Hear me, Cassandra. This didn’t happen to you. It was a movie you saw when you were little. It scared you so much, you felt like you lived it. But you grew up in Maryland. You’ve never been to Florida. Repeat after me.”
“I’ve never been to Florida.”
I made a note to reinforce this changed memory in our sessions later that week. I know firsthand how you can take someone’s memory and manipulate it. Confabulation. The trick is to use truth laced with fabrication. A mother takes a trip to the park with her child. You talk to the mother about what happened on that day, based on the facts she has already told you. Now you insert a lie. You ask the mother if she remembers her child getting lost in the park. The mother looks puzzled. No. Ah, but don’t you remember how afraid you were? you ask her. She thinks for a moment. Oh, yes, now I remember. And the most incredible thing happens next. She begins to build an elaborate scenario to describe in detail everything that happened while the child was lost, the panic she felt, the relief when she found the child. It’s fascinating how the mind can so easily deceive itself. There is no such thing as ethics when it comes to the mind and its manipulation.
I suppose it’s a little like being God, this power to influence the mind. The more time passes, the more convinced I am that I can mold anyone into anything as long as they trust me enough to work with me. I’ve thought about writing my own book, trumpeting my victories, but as much as I’d like to share my discoveries, I can’t risk unscrupulous people using my techniques to their own advantage. I use it to make my patients’ lives better, to rid others of pain, and to make a happy family for myself. What higher purpose is there than that?
*
I made some more adjustments during subsequent hypnosis sessions, and Cassandra is behaving much better. After the Las Vegas memory I embedded last New Year’s worked so well, I’ve been planting “memory outings” more frequently, and she has stopped complaining about not going out.
One good thing is that she’s lost that extra weight and isn’t walking around like a zombie anymore. I’ve been able to wean her off most of her medicine and give her only an occasional benzo. Benzodiazepines have been known to impair long-term memory, which reduces the chance she will remember her actual past, but I have to be careful because they can cause permanent brain damage. The fact that she’s been on them for six months is already dangerous. So now I give her an Ativan a few times a week to relax when I feel she’s beginning to become agitated, and that is helping to keep things on an even keel.
Valentina is still happy, and she and Cassandra have completely bonded. Two years after Cassandra’s return, there is no question in my daughter’s mind that she has her mother back, and that makes all of this worthwhile. Naturally, I still miss the true Cassandra, and must admit that this version is not as interesting to me, or as good a match. But at least I can visit with her on Sunday evenings, the night I give the new Cassandra a tranquilizer.