October 20: Implantation of false memory of Zane pushing her down the stairs, causing miscarriage. In a few more sessions I’ll implant enough false memories of his abuse to make sure she never wants to see him again. We will work together to modify in her memory the horrible things that happened to her growing up but leave the planted memories of her abusive husband intact. She will need to remember those in order to leave him and live with me. Only I can save her, I see that now. And this way, she’ll always be grateful that I saved her.
She looks up from the book to me, and her eyes narrow with contempt.
“You’re taking that out of context,” I tell her, pleading. “Your husband did hurt you. I love you, Cassandra, we have a family.”
“Don’t! I have a family. You have nothing after today. I’m going to report you to the medical board. You’ll never be able to do this to anyone again.”
“You have to understand, I didn’t do anything except love you.”
She threw something at me. A book. I picked it up, and dread filled me. My father’s book: False Memories: The Unreliability of the Brain.
She had started talking fast. “I stopped by my office to see about going back part-time. They’d been holding a box Zane dropped off. There was a note from him inside. They hadn’t known how to get in touch with me, so they’d kept it for me all this time. Your father’s book was in the box, along with my diary. I called Zane, and he told me how you made sure he couldn’t get in touch with me.” She gave me a venomous look, and her fists were convulsed with suppressed rage. “That horrible day you had me ‘remember’？” She puts the word in air quotes. “The day Zane threw me down the stairs? That was over the Fourth of July weekend. Zane was out of town that whole time.” She walked over to me with her diary and pointed. “It’s all here. He wasn’t even around on that other weekend when you made me believe that he’d raped and beat me. You made me believe my husband was abusive, when he never did anything wrong! I ruined his life and my marriage because of your lies. I can’t believe I came to you for help, and you brainwashed me and then seduced me.”
I felt like I was stuck in mud. Her words were flying at me too fast for me to process them, much less defend myself. The only way for me to get out of this was to hypnotize her again, then administer more sodium amytal, but there was no way I could start the hypnosis session when she was in that state. I had to try and calm her down, prevent her from taking any rash actions, and then maybe I could do it when she was sleeping.
So I said the only thing I could think of. “I know it looks bad. But I can explain. He did abuse you. Maybe not physically, but emotionally. The same way my father withheld emotion from my mother. She killed herself because of that. You were depressed. It was your husband’s fault. I was saving you.”
“Saving me? By implanting false memories? Making me believe things that weren’t true?”
“I was trying to help you.”
“After I read my diary and realized that Zane couldn’t have done what you said, I knew I had to find my files. I went to your office at the hospital earlier today. I knew you had your appointment for your physical this morning and wouldn’t be there.”
“What? How did you get inside my office? It’s locked.”
“It’s amazing the things people will do for you when you ask nicely. I convinced the custodian that I was going to surprise you by redecorating your office. He let me in.” Her voice is tinged with menace. “I found all of your notes. It’s all spelled out in black and white, how you implanted those memories of him hurting me.” She was raging, her voice rising hysterically. “Why, Julian? Why?”
How could I make her understand that I did it because I knew instinctively that her husband wasn’t right for her, and she needed a push to leave him? It wouldn’t have been enough to convince her based on his indifference or his cruelty about the miscarriages. He was abusive, maybe not physically, or maybe she blocked it out, but I knew that if she believed he’d hurt her physically, she’d feel justified in leaving. Abuse is abuse, but she couldn’t see that emotional abuse is as potent as physical. I couldn’t save my mother, but I could save her. All I did was alleviate her misguided sense of right and help her to do the best thing for her.
Instead, I just said, “I love you. More than he ever did. You needed to be with me.”
“You’re sick. I’m leaving, and I’m taking Valentina. And I’m filing charges tomorrow.” She grabbed the papers and books from the table and held them to her chest. I reached out to stop her, and she snatched her arm away. “If you touch me, I’ll tell them you’ve been abusing me as well. As it is, I hope you go to prison for what you did.”