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“You read medical journals?” said the doctor, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “You see, dear, many psychiatrists, me included, by the way, view disassociation as a symptomatic response to trauma, critical emotional stress; it is connected to emotion dysregulation. However, it seems to me that nothing like that has happened to you, except maybe in the case of the first relapse and your reaction to it.”
“You are right, doctor, in that many scientists believe that dissociative disorder is contrived in nature.”
“Yes, dear, you are absolutely right. Latrogenic in nature or, as you put it, contrived. I am also convinced of that!”
The room fell silent. Dr. Friedman intently pondered the situation. This was the first time he had seen such symptoms and the course of, what he believed, the disease.
“You, Robert, are talking about dissociative disorders. I believe your condition is something else. You see, in order to diagnose multiple personality disorder, or in other words, dissociative identity disorder, you would need memory loss beyond normal forgetfulness in addition to the presence of at least two personalities that would regularly and in turn control your behavior. In this case, memory loss usually occurs when the channels are switched. You, on the other hand, manifest totally different symptoms. And then again, this Trevor…” The doctor paused to think. “You see, your memory clearly relays everything that is happening to you here and there. There are no manifestations of your other personality – Trevor. Only you control your actions, and I don’t see any interference from your alter ego. That's what puzzles me. I’ve never seen anything like that described in medical texts.”
He squeezed his fingers and touched his chin. The knuckles turned white from visible tension.
“By the way, have you taken notice of the name Trevor?" The doctor looked at Robert curiously, as if he just uncovered a secret and was about to reveal it.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“What do you mean what’s wrong? It is a palindrome, a word that reads the same backward as forward. Look!” The doctor took a sheet of paper and wrote several big letters. “Here, this is how it looks. Trevor is the mirror image of your name, Robert."
“Indeed. I’ve never thought about it, but you're right,” Robert said in surprise.
“Yes, Robert, mirror image! Palindrome. By the way, what’s your feeling of time? It is synchronous?"
“For the most part it almost coincides. Life there runs strictly by the rules, even if I don’t sleep here for, like, two days. But usually, in my dream, it’s like I return to the last starting position. Sometimes, it seems as though I enter while it's in progress, but my memory instantly fills with information. I realize that’s what happened only later, when I wake up.”
“So, there are moments you can’t remember?”
“Just as there are in this life, doctor. All feelings are identical. Usually, when I fall asleep, I find myself in the exact moment as before. It’s as if I just push play on a track that was paused. Well, except for the case with Amanda. That was different.”
Dr. Friedman was looking at Robert, contemplating something. He was tormented by doubt and he seemed to be trying to explain to himself what was going on, shuffling through all the cases of multiple personality disorder known to him, comparing them with this unclear condition of his new patient.
After a long silence, the doctor sighed, crossed his arms over his chest and said: “You know, Robert, your condition, even considering your fantasies about night journeys in your dreams, raises no concerns for me. This all falls within the generally accepted standards of psychological deviance. Here’s what does concern me though…” The doctor paused, looking intently at Robert. “Your suicidal thoughts, I believe, are the result of depression, but you seem to be coping with that on your own. And that’s a very good decision, because staying in depression passively is like sitting on the bank of a river waiting for the body of your enemy to float by. I am happy that you are not waiting, but instead trying to find a way out. Seek ways and analyze.”
“You’ve got it a bit wrong, doctor. I have suicidal thoughts not because I don’t see a way out, and they are not the result of some depression. I am fully content with my life here, beyond the dream. I have a good job, successful career, and a woman I love. But…” Robert sighed deeply. “Sometimes all of this does not seem real to me. I’ve thought a lot about it, comparing this world and that one. What if all this is just somebody’s dream? What if you and I and this entire world is just my dream, my imagination, and nothing more? In that case, suicide seems to be a radical way to solve the problem. Do you understand?”
“So, you believe that by killing yourself in this life, you will simply wake up in the other, like in a dream? Right?” the doctor asked. “If that is so, and if we are, as you believe, in a dream right now, what will stop you from coming back here the next time? It’s just a dream, after all. And if we were to assume that you are right and this world is your dream, how can you be sure that you haven’t killed yourself before in this life, which you’ve just called a dream?”
“That is only my assumption. As for a suicide, I would probably remember it. I do remember everything that happened to me yesterday, a month or several years ago. I remember everything, starting with my childhood."
“Probably you would…” The doctor again looked at Robert and continued in a serious tone: “Let’s assume this world is your dream. So, what is to prevent the brain of the sleeping Trevor from simulating unrealistic details of your life, the ones you would see as given, undeniable facts, because here they are implanted in your memory. Do you understand the absurdity of the situation? By the way, how long have you had suicidal thoughts?”
“Maybe five-six years. Right after I finally realized that I could not find a way out or understand the situation. I’ve often thought about it and I clearly remember when I was very close to taking that last step, but I’ve never been able to go through with it.”
Robert fell silent. The doctor continued to stare at him, thinking about something. A silence fell upon the room. There was a mix of doubt and interest in the doctor’s eyes.
“Well, dear," he said at last. "I will take on your case. Tomorrow’s a day off, so we will have a session at my home office. Drug therapy won’t work here. We will dig into your brain, into your consciousness. We will start from the beginning. We do use clinical hypnosis as a form of psychotherapy, as your Amanda said, but first I will ask you to remember some more details and share them with me. I will be expecting you tomorrow at this address."
The doctor wrote his home address neatly on his business card, which was atypical for members of his profession, and handed it to Robert.
“I will not keep you in suspense. I’m expecting you tomorrow at 10 am. And pass on the warmest greetings to Amanda for me.”
The doctor escorted Robert to the exit, but at the door he suddenly looked into his eyes and said in a cold voice: “I don’t believe you, my dear. I don’t believe a word you’ve said for a second, and you will have to really try hard to prove otherwise. I am, however, intrigued, as your lie is totally implausible. In fact, so implausible that it could turn out to be true!”
Chapter 5
24 December 2011. 03:23 Tatras
Robert stood quietly over the abyss, listening to steady sound of the river. He watched the black streams break between the large boulders, which brought back to him fragments of his childhood and youth. The faces of people, his family, close friends or simply acquaintances appeared and disappeared in his head. Some were laughing, others were giving disapproving looks. Meanwhile, the water kept rushing, swirling and roaring, almost helplessness to overcome the flat, snow-covered stones that stood on its path to freedom.
But Robert didn’t notice this. His mind was far away from the river and from this wintry place.
Who is he? Trevor from his dreams, who became a part of his thoughts, memories and his body, it seemed, or Robert, who was closer and more distinct just a couple days ago, but no longer. In this moment, the memories blended and everything in his head raged and seethed like the waters at the base of the cliff. The memories of Trevor’s life and reality intertwined, throwing up and dragging back images and scenes from one and the other.
Suddenly Robert’s mind took him back to the day when it first happened. Everything stopped, fell silent, and the memory of that years-old condition enveloped Robert in a warm and powerful feeling of something that had been long forgotten and nearly lost.
* * *
…It was Christmas Eve. Children’s room. A big table in the middle with a small, decorated Christmas tree on top. Gold and silver tinsel drooped from its branches, while big cotton snowflakes filled the spaces in between. The tree shone with garlands of lights in many shapes and colors, creating fairy-like reflections that made the holiday even more magical.
Under the tree were several oranges and a white papier-m?chе Santa Claus holding a staff and a red sack full of gifts over his shoulder. Every year he appeared under a new Christmas tree, having been taken out of an old faded cardboard box, where he was stored together with the ornaments, garlands, faded yellow cotton and long tinsel made of multicolored tinfoil.
The smell of the fresh spruce filled the room, with the scents of vanilla and fresh pastries breaking through from the kitchen.
Robert did not understand why he had woken up. He was simply looking sleepily at the Christmas tree with its glittering lights. He could hear bells ringing, an accordion playing and Christmas carols being sung outside in the distance.
Christmas celebrations were in full swing. People, dressed in the costumes of vertep[11 - Vertep (ukr) – nativity play.], were performing the show in the middle of the snow-covered street. They were clad in leather, fur-lined jackets, girded with belts around their waists and crosswise on their chests, rough trousers tucked into felt boots and large and small iron bells attached to their belts. The bells chimed with many tones, timbre and duration as the players ran around or stomped their feet. Crude black masks with slits for eyes covered their faces; they wore black turbans with red ribbons and held curved wooden sticks or brooms. According to tradition, they were forbidden to speak; they only growled and barked like dogs, frightening passers-by and amusing children. Other participants in the nativity scene – carolers – were dressed in Hutsul folk costumes – keptars[12 - Keptar (ukr) – decorated sheepskin vest.], sardaks[13 - Sardak (ukr) – upper short dress with sleeves.] or goatskin kozhukhs[14 - Kozhukh (ukr) – traditional fur coat.]. They carried a long pole topped by a large star in front of them and sang traditional kolyadky[15 - Kolyadky (ukr) – Christmas carols.].
The shows were performed at nearly every door. Four deacons carried a model of the village church and a donation box from one household to the other. The families would listen to the carols and psalms, give gifts to carolers and make donations to the church.
Joy and laughter abounded. Despite the cold, the accordionists played with bare hands, pressing the keys and buttons in time with the carolers. For three days the festivities would fade away near dawn only to start up again at dusk.
It was dark on the streets of Harsfolvo, a little village on the outskirts of the resort town of Solva, stranded between the mountains where Robert’s family lived. But thanks to the abundant snow that fell just before the New Year’s and bright light of the stars, the world looked magical.
The houses along the street were pressed together by narrow courtyards. Anyone passing could see Christmas trees with colorful lights, ornaments and garlands sparkling through the windows.
Robert had a hard time keeping his eyes open; he was tired and sleep overcame him, trying to break his will and yield to the intoxicating spirit of Morpheus. It was always nice and sweet to fall asleep.
Robert dropped his head onto the soft pillow and sank into fantasies that smoothly transitioned into dreams.
“Trevor! Hello! Wakey-wakey! You’ve slept long enough!”
The cheerful female voice came from the kitchen, followed by the chiming of glasses, plates, and cutlery, which the woman was setting on the breakfast table.
“Wake up, Trevor!”
Robert opened his eyes only after somebody pulled his comforter off.
“Auntie, let me sleep a while longer. Five more minutes,” he groaned sleepily and tried to pull the comforter back, but it slid to the floor.
Robert reached for the quilt, but he could not grab it on his first try, so he moved closed to the edge. At that moment, something incredible happened. It was as if he found himself in a world behind a looking-glass. In the middle of a huge room with a high ceiling stood a magnificent Christmas tree, lusciously decorated with round ornaments, animal figurines, glowing garlands of different colors, and great golden and red bows. A bright red star was perched on the very tip of the tree, which lit up in all the colors of the rainbow. The big red and blue ornaments, smaller white and green ones, candies wrapped in white napkins, all hung by multicolored threads, together creating an aura of something magical and ethereal.
Robert could not tear his surprised and enthralled gaze off the Christmas tree. This was the first time in his life that he had seen such a wonder.
Robert could not tell if what he was seeing was real. He looked around and to his surprise saw that he was in a different, tidy, foreign room. It was light and spacious, with walls painted bright yellow and a blue ceiling blazoned with tiny, skillfully painted stars. New furniture clung to the walls, which were adorned with an entire library of the most varied of books.
On the other side of the room stood a black lacquered piano, ready to be played. And toys – dozens, maybe even hundreds of toys. The sheer abundance of playthings made him dizzy. There were small and big model cars, leather balls for football and basketball, but most importantly there was a huge model railway set. Its tracks wound around the Christmas tree and throughout the room. There were tunnels, lights, bridges, and other incredible details beyond Robert’s wildest dreams. Above his bed a model of a real aircraft hung on invisible threads. Everything was astounding and incomprehensible.
Robert sat on the bed, his eyes wide open with bewilderment and fascination. This was the first time he had experienced such a vivid dream and he did not want this fairytale to end. Robert shut his eyes dreamily…
“Robert, get up! How many times do I have to call you?!" his mom called from the kitchen. She approached Robert’s bed and shook his shoulder.
Robert opened his eyes and got up. He was still in his old room. There was the small Christmas tree on the table in the middle of the floor. The bright colors had vanished, as did all the toys. On the wall next to Robert’s bed hung a photo of a new car from an automobile magazine, pinned wall with blue plasticine at the four corners.
His mother was making a ruckus in the kitchen.
Sitting on his bed, Robert tried to comprehend what had just happened to him. Suddenly he realized what had startled and flustered him the most. In his dream the woman had called him Trevor, and it sounded normal to him, not surprising at all, although he had never heard the name in his life. Why Trevor? Where was he just now? What kind of dream was it, why was it so vivid, real, almost genuine? And why auntie?
But the dream had vanished like a fairytale.
Chapter 6
16 December 2011. 09:58 Geneva, Switzerland
Amanda’s office was on the third floor of a seven-story building on Rue du Cendrier 19, in the very heart of Geneva. Jovan was waiting for Trevor at the front entrance after his session. Trevor greeted his friend with a warm hug and a slap on the shoulder. They quickly ascended the wide stairs and stopped at the door. Under the intercom button, the plaque read “Amanda Fabian – Psychologue[16 - Psychologue (fr.) – psychologist]”.
“Is she Belgian?” asked Trevor, but Jovan had already pressed the button.
A tall young man in this thirties dressed in a black suit and tie with smoothly combed dark hair opened the door.
“Please, come in, Mr. Jovan, Amanda is expecting you,” he said and looked at Trevor. “You must be Mr. Blanche. Hello. Let me take down your details. I need to enter them into our system.”
Victor started entering the information, while Trevor listened to the music that played on the computer. It seemed very familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint it.
“This is…” Trevor said, pointing at the speakers, but Victor was ahead of him.
“Yes, that’s Parisienne Walkways. Do you like it? Here are your documents. Please, go in,” he said seriously and indicated the door.
“Hello again, Amanda. I’d like to introduce my friend, Trevor Blanche,” said Jovan and looked back to see Trevor entering the doctor’s office. “Trevor, this is Amanda, my guardian angel.”
Trevor and Amanda looked at each other and shook hands. Usually Trevor did not like it when a woman offered her hand to a man, believing handshakes to be solely a guy thing. But now, pressing Amanda’s hand, he did not take notice of it, and he could not tear his eyes away from her wonderfully blue, even turquoise eyes against the dark complexion of her face. Indeed, Amanda’s eyes were of a rare kind of bluish green; they seemed to absorb whoever dared to look into them. Trevor had never been drawn in by such a stare. At the same time, it was a look of puzzlement, a look of frank amazement. In an instant, however, Amanda regained her composure, cast a glance at Jovan and turned back to look defiantly at Trevor.
Blood rushed to his face, but he held her stare.
“Hello, Mr. Blanche. So, you are the one who doubts the power of hypnosis and believes that all hypnotists are charlatans?” Amanda smirked.
Jovan probably had told her about his attitude, Trevor mused.
Amanda pointed to two leather chairs and continued: “Hypnosis is not a means to an end for a psychologist. Hypnosis is a set of instruments for effective work with our consciousness and subconscious, a way to fight fears, treat addictions and resolve psychological issues.”
“It’s not about whether I believe in the power of hypnosis,” answered Trevor as he sunk into the soft chair. “I highly doubt that hypnosis is an effective method of treatment. After all, a state of hypnosis is essentially a state of forced sleep. And what can you cure with sleep, except fatigue?”
Amanda sat down at the table, folding her fingers in the shape of a pyramid. She listened intently to Trevor, eyes piercing him.
“Whether you believe in hypnosis or not is not what is most important. You may or may not believe in the surgeon’s scalpel or dentist’s drill. Those things are merely medical instruments. However, in the hands of an experienced doctor, they become a means for obtaining information or achieving a goal.”
Trevor watched Amanda. He was in no hurry and he caught himself thinking that he was enjoying her company. Yet Trevor felt uneasy. He saw compassion in Amanda’s eyes, the look a doctor would give their patients before telling them positive test results or notifying them of a serious disease. There was no doubt that Amanda was prepared for this conversation and the ultimate goal of her speech was to demonstrate the necessity of holding a hypnotherapy session with him. What was it? Professional interest, the desire to attract a new client, or something else hidden behind the easy conversation between psychologist and patient?
Whatever it was, on that day, Amanda flipped an invisible, hidden switch in Trevor’s head that was to lead to unexpected, unpredictable and fatal consequences for the both of them.
* * *
“What’s bothering you, Trevor?” Amanda asked after seeing Jovan to the door and giving Trevor all her attention.
“Insomnia. I’ve accumulated some real fatigue, plus all the trips and flights. For about ten days now.”
“Many psychologists treat insomnia with different techniques of hypnosis. Indeed, quick results can be achieved only with the help of suggestion. I use hypnotic regression, find the hidden reason behind the insomnia, treat and remove it. This method leads to positive results in most cases, while the client may get some relief right after the first session.
“Do you think insomnia can be treated in one session?”
“I am sure of it,” said Amanda. “You will immediately feel better. Have you ever had a session of hypnosis?
Trevor recalled street magicians he had seen, hypnotists with their “fake” people from “the crowd” and smiled.
“No, Amanda. I’ve never been into this sort of thing. These tricks don’t interest me.”
Amanda was also watching Trevor curiously. She liked men like Trevor, but her clients were mostly people with serious issues, bad habits and mental illness. In the case with Trevor, she realized that confident men suffered from almost the same insecurities and issues as the others, but they are able to skillfully conceal them from prying eyes. She also realized that in order for the session to proceed successfully, she needed to know more about the patient.
“You see, Trevor, hypnosis is not just some phenomenon,” she continued. “It is a state of mind caused artificially by suggestion. There is no miracle or deception here. After all, this is a technique, or, as professionals say, a method of preparing the patient for diagnosing their condition using external influence on the subconscious. That’s not a God-given gift or a trick.”
“To me, it all does seem like a kind of trick that attracts gullible people with an increased level of self-suggestion and nothing more.” Trevor smiled condescendingly. “I wouldn’t want to think that I am one of those people.”
Amanda smiled. “It might seem that way at first glance, but, tell me, Trevor, do you read books?” Without waiting for an answer she continued. “Fiction, for example. Have you ever thought that, when you read a book, you see not the letters, the lines, the color of the atrament[17 - Atrament – ink.], the texture of the paper, something that is literally before your eyes, but something entirely different? When you read, sentence after sentence, you clearly imagine the characters of the story, the way they look, the world that surrounds them, their personality, impressions, and experiences. You are essentially an outside observer of everything that is happening to them. A reader mostly feels like a direct participant of the events. Am I right?” Amanda spoke unhurriedly, in an even, pleasant low voice, as if she were a TV anchor explaining the essence of the universe. “That is suggestion. The process of reading fiction in general, especially 'about the self', is very close to the state of hypnosis. Therefore, a love of reading accurately testifies to the high suggestiveness of the patient."
Amanda stopped and glanced at Trevor.
“So, do you like to read? What do you read in your free time?”
“You know, I read a lot when I was a kid and as a teenager. I even found something beautiful in Walter Scott’s boring descriptions of landscapes and nature, if I remember correctly. Now, I am mostly into historical research. Unfortunately, I don’t have too much time to read books.”
“If you like to read,” Amanda continued, “then you have developed the ability to think figuratively and the desire to perceive information. Avid readers are very high up on the hypnotic susceptibility scale. Some of them not only visually imagine everything they read, but also can anticipate dialog, scenes and even plot lines. All of this is also visual.”
“Well, I am not so susceptible as to be able to predict future scenes when I read,” retorted Trevor. “Although, you are right; when you read, your mind does form certain images. And I agree that a writer can inspire a reader to experience certain feelings. It is normal and natural, for the most part. But I still think a hypnotist suggesting certain actions or non-existent situations is an outright fraud.”
“Why? I will also tell you that experienced psychologists can provoke not only certain thoughts, but also images during a hypnosis session. In some cases, implantation of invented real-life situations is possible in order to block or replace some painful memories that affect a person’s psychological condition.”
“So, you are saying that a hypnotherapist provokes dreams and can implant artificial memories about the past?”
“Exactly! Moreover, during a hypnosis session, the patient does not perceive them as the past, but as reality. It is also possible to implant a wholly invented life-line, and the hypnotized person will also perceive it as reality. I’ve had extensive experience with such hypnotic manipulations, resulting in a positive trend of psychological recovery of the patient. This, however, is possible, as I’ve already told you, only with those who are highly susceptible to suggestion. By the way, based on my experience, they have the most vivid, colorful and very detailed dreams, regardless of whether they are their own or suggested.”
Amanda paused and suddenly asked: “What kind of dreams do you have, Trevor – black and white or color?”
