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Robert tried to speak in a steady, calm voice to convince the psychiatrist as his eyes bore into Robert during this interrogation.
«Right… right… right… Oh, got it! Have you been to a doctor with this issue before?
«I’ve already told you that I’ve never been here. Amanda recommended that I see you. She was the one who suggested it.»
«Right… right… right… Amanda,» the doctor drew out, ignoring Robert’s last words. He got up and began to examine his head again. «You say that you’ve not had any head trauma. What about when you were a child? Maybe intense stress, mental disorders, phobias, some juvenile anxiety?»
«No, doctor, nothing like that. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever been seriously ill.»
The psychiatrist looked at Robert in the eyes and resumed feeling around his head. His fingers, like a massage device, slid pleasantly through his hair, leaving no inch of the patient’s skull unexamined.
«If this helps, doc… I don’t know whether it’s a phobia, but I feel really uneasy on a train.»
The doctor continued to ignore Robert and probe his head.
«Why is that, do you think? As far as I know, trains are the safest mode of transport.»
He suddenly stopped, still leaving his hands partially buried in Robert’s skull, leaned in close and quickly asked: «Why are you so scared of the trains?»
«It’s because of the rail crash at Ladbroke Grove in London.»
«Ok, tell me about it,» the psychiatrist said.
«This was a long time ago, in October 1999, I think. In the morning, right before getting on the train in Reading, I suddenly felt very sick, right on the platform. I experienced severe dizziness and I thought I was about to lose consciousness. And then I had a vision. I saw myself lying among the dead in the wreckage of a train carriage filled with mangled corpses. I could even feel the heat of the fire on my face that engulfed the carriage. Then suddenly I heard a clear voice in my head instructing me not to get on that train. In the evening, I was watching the news and saw the horrifying rail crash that happened at the fourth kilometer from Paddington Station. Two trains had collided, killing over thirty people and leaving more than five hundred injured. And the first car, which I was supposed to board, suffered the worst.»
«Paddington rail crash,» Dr. Friedman said. «I remember reading about it.»
«Right. So, I’ve avoided trains ever since. I think that was a warning from above, a sign. Even now I can see that railway carriage before my eyes – a pile of crumpled metal and charred bodies. It was unspeakably awful.»
Dr. Friedman listened to Robert’s story while continuing to examine his head.
«A vision, you say,» the doctor said after Robert finished. «I think the crash was the result of a faulty signal light, yes? Okay… Have you had other visions?»
«No, doctor,» answered Robert uncertainly. «Just the dreams…»
Meanwhile, having thoroughly examined the head, the psychiatrist returned to the patient’s eyes and tongue.
«Open your mouth again, please… Wider, stick out your tongue, please.»
It seemed he was searching for a diagnosis written somewhere inside his mouth.
«Well, well… So, what were you saying? Never been seriously sick?» the doctor asked Robert while still inspecting his throat. It was clear he wasn’t expecting an answer, as Robert’s mouth remained open.
Robert noticed that the doctor’s eyes were shining with youth and vigor, although he was no longer a young man. Those were the eyes of a child when dragged away from playing.
«What about Amanda?» the doctor suddenly asked, motioning to Robert that he could close his mouth. «Have you known her long?»
«Amanda? No. I, well, Trevor… I… eh… met her only last night.»
«Trevor…» said the doctor thoughtfully. «I’m sorry, how does this Amanda look? How old is she?»
«I haven’t seen her, but I clearly felt and heard her… But somehow now, I realize that I know how she looks. She looks about 30, maybe less. Dark skin, tall, very attractive. And there are… her eyes…» Robert though for a bit and then looked at the doctor. «She has incredible eyes, green and blue, like from a fairytale. They…»
«Do you realize that it is, possibly, your alter ego?» asked the doctor impatiently, cutting Robert off. «And that it was she who advised you to come see me?»
«Well, not you, exactly. She insisted that I see a good psychiatrist here, in my world, or, at least, a psychologist and tell him everything. She said she would need assistance from this side to try and figure out what was happening to me there. Well, to Trevor…»
«This is all very strange, don’t you think?»
«I agree, which is why I am here now. I’ve had a long-lasting interest in dissociative disorders and I want to understand it all more than anyone else.»
«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
Tatras
24 December 2011. 03:23
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-mâché 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
Geneva, Switzerland
16 December 2011. 09:58
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][17 - 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.
