Mad Woman

“My name is Lainey, but for most of my life people have called me Alice. Alice because I spent too much time dreaming, living in my imagination, much like Alice in Wonderland. They often told me, ‘It’s all in your head, Alice, dear,’ as if that would explain away how and why I saw the world differently. Whether what I saw was real or not made no difference; I saw them, and they talked to me no matter how much I ignored them. 

“I learned very quickly that imaginary friends were only acceptable for children. I had a choice to make when I moved into middle school: keep insisting they were real and face a lifetime of shrinks, medications, and possible mental prison lockup, or lie. I chose silence. I did everything I could to prevent myself from ending up here. Despite my efforts clearly being in vain, I don’t regret my choices.” 

The doctor sat across from me, looking at me like I was a ten-year-old telling him how I built a functioning spaceship out of pizza rolls. 

“So are you now admitting that what you see is real?” he asked, sounding droll. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I shrugged instead. 

“What does it matter? Whether you believe me or not won’t change my reality. You can pump me full of drugs again, but that doesn’t make a difference. What’s your plan here, Doc, if your ‘therapy’ sessions and medical prescriptions don’t ‘cure’ me of my severe, deranged condition?” 

He gave me a curt, tight-lipped smile. 

“I’m not here to cure you. Only you can do that, but you need to put in the work. If you refuse to believe I can help you and insist that everything you see is real, you’re right: there’s no point in you being here beyond fulfilling your court-mandated obligations,” he answered. All the polite cheerfulness was gone from his voice and demeanor now. I couldn’t help it; I laughed out loud. 

“This is quite a dilemma we’ve got ourselves in, isn’t it? See, I’ve spent years, years trying to help myself and believe what I saw wasn’t real. I did meditations, medications, and contemplated surgeries, but it doesn’t make them go away. Even if they aren’t real and it’s all a figment of my imagination, acknowledging that and believing that doesn’t make them go away,” I muttered, glancing around at the few people in the room, watching me and listening. They frowned with irritation. They were as frustrated as I was by the constant insistence that they weren’t real and that I should spend more time eliminating them. 

The doctor folded his hands in his lap and looked at me with a hollow expression. 

“I see, quite a dilemma indeed. Honestly, I can’t imagine there’s much of an issue with you continuing as you are. It’s your choice if you want to proceed with further options to help you with this situation. At least that’s what I would have said before the court handed me your case…” He let the implication hang there. No need to spell it out; I knew what I had done. I knew what the problem was. There was no way to make him understand. 

“That man was a murderer.”

“You’re lucky you’re here and not in prison,” he replied. I scoffed. 

“Yes, they want to send me to jail or this alternate form of prison,” I laughed, dryly, waving my hands to indicate his office, “just because the world was short a man like Dustin Pryer. You’ve seen his record. You know he’s not a good man. He killed those women; the courts just couldn’t prove it.” 

“But you could? Because his victims told you so? Lainey, have you ever thought that you might just be seeing what you want to see? That you’re upset because of other things in your past so you are imagini-” 

“Don’t,” I said, standing and pointing my finger at him. “Don’t you dare tell me that I’m imagining it or that it’s all in my head. How can you explain all the things I told you about him? Some of that about the cases was not put in the newspapers or spoken about outside of police records.” 

He scratched the back of his head and took a deep breath. I collapsed back down on the loveseat, knowing I had no other options. 

“I don’t deny there are things outside of our scope of understanding, but you continuing to insist on ‘speaking to ghosts’ as your testimony… You are going to spend a lot of time here.” He looked smugly frightening, like he knew some darker secret that I did not. Abruptly, he took another sharp inhale and leaned forward on his knees. “Help me. Help me understand your truth.” 

I laughed darkly again. 

“You mean prove it to you. Talk to a ghost who knows things about you that I use to prove my…ability,” I answered, narrowing my eyes. He sat back and shrugged. Abruptly, a woman appeared. She was more disheveled than I expected, ripped and bloody. She smiled mischievously and started to tell me her story. I stared between her and the doctor. When she finished, my throat had gone dry, and the hair was standing on the back of my neck. I could tell him and prove myself right, but I was already in danger. She made that clear. Speaking further now would only make it worse. No one would question his story over a wild, hysterical woman.

“Unless you see another alternative. This is only our fourth session; we’ve got a long way to go, Lainey.”  I thought about that. I thought about being trapped here with him for nine months. I couldn't escape this property. I couldn't escape my sessions with him. I couldn't tell him the truth, lest I end up like the woman in front of me. I swallowed hard against the dry walls of my throat.

“People think what's dead stays buried, but you should know the truth never stays hidden for long, Doctor.”