Dear Jessie

Dearest Sarah.

Please accept my apologies for the agonisingly long delay in writing to you. I hope that you are well and that Mister Timson is still nourishing you with cuddles and kisses! He is such a delightful furball and I miss him, and you, terribly.

The weather here has been awful. It has rained, in some form or another, for the last month at least. I know that rain is good for the trees and plants, and God only knows we need it after the terrible droughts of last summer, but how I wish for some blue skies and sun!

I am being treated well here and the staff have been friendly and courteous. The dinners aren’t what I would hope they would be, and they all seem to be along the same lines, a meat base with a carbohydrate of some sort followed by three types of veg. It’s a bit like being in a home for the elderly. I’m really selling it aren’t I!

That’s awful, I really shouldn’t complain, they are good to me so.

I asked Doctor Castor if I may be allowed home soon. He just looked at me sternly and immediately I knew the answer. Its so frustrating. I’m sure if they were to just let me home I would get better in my own environment and my memory would come back. Its so hard. I try to remain positive. I wish I could picture our Mother again, to have her hold me, cradle me like a little girl, her little girl. And Father to scoop me up in his arms, throw me into the sky and catch me, and I would feel safe. How I miss them, yet I can’t even picture them. Yet through some miracle, I at least still have you.

I dream sometimes, whilst I am in my room and the doors are all locked for the evening. I dream about them and their faces. Mother with her bright blue eyes, like perfect sapphires against her soft skin, framed by the flowing waterfall of her blonde hair. And Father, his strong, six foot tall frame, a contradiction to his humble warm nature. His gentle smile in his glowing face.

I have to go shortly. I am due pathway four of my treatment (I wish I knew how many pathways there were!). I usually sit two sessions a day, one in the morning and one in the evening, just before bed. ‘That’s when the body is more open to being observed’, I am told. Its a bit like hypnotism, I guess, I’m not really sure, it sort of blurs. I am aware of images that flash on the backs of my eyelids, like stills on a film reel running through a cinema projector at however many frames per second, but before I am able to focus and see what the image is, it is gone and then replaced by another.

The morning sittings are quite relaxed, with a psychologist asking questions in a rather soothing tone. Tomorrow he said we shall be looking at more ink spots and trying to interpret what I see. It seems a bit like mumbo jumbo really but they tell me that its the path to making progress. I just wish it felt like it.

Anyway, I must go.

Jessie.

Dear Jessie,

It’s lovely to hear from you again.

Mister Timson misses you terribly but is looking forward to the day when he can tickle your nose with his tail and make you sneeze again!

Your pathway studies do sound so intriguing! I would love to have a look at the ink spots and for someone to tell me what I am really thinking. What do you see when you look at them? Please tell! I saw a documentary once where they used ink spots and all they could see was either bats or butterflies. Everyone said that the butterflies resemble change and positivity, however, bats carry a more morbid and mysterious undertone, full of darkness. Lets hope you saw butterflies!

We have indeed had some of the rain you mentioned in your previous letter, however the weather has had a slight break and in the last few days we have seen blue skies over the folly that we used to play in. The stream that runs through our little village has been overflowing and only now is abating. I went for a walk last Tuesday, past the church and the little bridge and saw the most delightful Hyacinth’s. I know I shouldn’t, but I picked one and pressed it for you, it is in the envelope along with this letter.

Yours, Sarah.

Dearest Sarah,

It was such a joy to receive your letter although mysteriously it contained no flower pressing. I am curious though, as all of the post has to be screened upon arrival, for contraband. I questioned the post mistress who claimed no such pressing existed, very odd!

No butterflies in the ink spots I’m afraid, more shapes and patterns! There is however a recurring shape which always seems to appear. It scares me somewhat, I don’t know exactly what it is. At first glance its not there and then my vision blurs and the ink amalgamates in to a menacing type of image. My psychologist urged me to investigate it further, to ‘fall into the image’ like its a black pool of some sort. I did as he asked and became overwhelmed with fear, swamped in anxiety. I was trapped and couldn’t get out, the image wish-washing over my eyes, moving vividly and wildly until, until he slapped me across my cheek, not hard, but hard enough to pull me out. I was scared, so scared. I fear this episode may have set me back. The Doctor tried to be nice about it as far as I could tell, but I get the impression that maybe I’m not doing what I am supposed to.

I wish I could remember the Folly, it sounds like a fantasy world. I can picture the stream flowing past our garden, at the end of the gravel drive which sweeps up to the porch and verandah where we would sit and read books.

Oh, and I have made a friend! I think he is one of the wardens. He’s a nice man, about forty-ish, clean cut. He jokes a lot and makes me laugh with his funny ways. Its a little bit of warmth in an otherwise sterile and cold place.

Take care my friend.

Jessie

Dear Jessie,

You surprise me with every letter! I am glad you have found a friend. It pains me to think of you in there alone, scared. We all think of you daily, and me every minute of the day.

I was saddened to hear that you didn’t receive my flower pressing. It was of the most beautiful pink and the scent was divine. I wish you could remember how the hyacinths used to grow, by the little bridge, near the chalet style house with the wrap around verandah. Our home. How we used to pass the time making flower arrangements and pressing them. I am looking forward to the day we can be together again and while away the days.

The sessions sound intense and challenging but I know you can get through them, you just need to be brave and keep thinking of getting well and coming home, to us. Don’t be afraid, there is no one who can hurt you there, you are safe. Maybe its the pain of the memories trying to fight their way back that causes your fear, a fear of the past. When you feel so afraid and start to panic just close your eyes and imagine my hand in yours. Squeeze it tightly and know that I am with you, by your side. Will you do that for me?

Mister Timson is here as I write, purring and trying to squeeze under my arm. He is eager for you to come and fuss him! Must go but I shall write back soon.

Yours, Sarah.

Dearest Sarah,

How your letters lighten my days! The thought of us being together, now more than ever keeps me going. The pathways have become more intense and the doctors are pushing me harder than ever. They say that I’m close to making big steps and the evening hypnotism sessions have been productive, however whenever I come around I can’t seem to remember what happened. Its like a double torture, I can’t remember why I am in here, and then when they tell me I am making progress I am not even conscious to recall it either. Oh why am I in this damned place? I just wish to be free.

On a pleasant note, I have been spending more time with Robert, the nice warden who makes me laugh. We often sit by the windows which overlook the outside world. We watch as people walk by in the continuos rain. How they fuss with their umbrellas and how the children jump in the puddles any annoy their mothers. I don’t think our mother would ever get angry. Robert says that he doubts anyone could be angry with me, that I have a pure heart. He is so sweet, but he is so familiar, its like I have known him all my life. I know that one day I will leave this place and I’ll never see him again, which makes me so sad. He surprised me the other day. He sneaked in to the post office and found your hyacinth pressing. He brought it to me and told me to hide it so it couldn’t be taken away. I held on to it after the night-time doors had been locked. I put it to my nose and although it was incredible faint, I caught the fragrance of the wonderful flowers that edge the lane.

The lane! I remembered the lane!

I was so excited, I tried to push further, running fast in my minds eye, faster, like my legs were going to fly off, but the closer I got to where home was, the darker everything got, like a giant thundercloud hung over it. Then the thundercloud grew bigger and began to move, slowly at first, then erratically, back and forth, terrorising me. Its then I realised the cloud was the ink spot. The very image that haunts me so. All of a sudden I had to run, to get as far away as possible. I woke in a sweat, water everywhere, I was soaked head to toe, I didn’t even realised I had dreamt so deeply. I haven’t thought of the lane or smelled the hyacinth since.

I wish I was brave like you, and had Mister Timson to look after me!

Hugs to you both,

Jessie

Dear Jessie,

I cried when I read your letter. I read it through twice, a mix of excitement and worry. Excited that you remembered our beautiful village with the lane that leads to our home. Excited that you seem to be making progress, but worry, worry for you and what this journey to get your memory back will do to you. How I want you back so much, I love you, I wish you could remember us sitting beneath the willow in our garden, taking tea on the verandah and fussing Mister Timson. I want you to have all of those memories back, I do. However, I feel you may need to confront your biggest fear of all, the thundercloud. It sounds like that is the blockage preventing you from fully regaining your memory. I shall say a little prayer for you tonight.

I’m glad that you have found a friendship with the curious Robert! Please tell me more, what is he like? I’m glad it helps having someone on your side in that place.

Mother has been under the weather again recently. She struggles sometimes and the doctor has to come around and help her with her sadness. She misses Father so much, that on occasions it all builds up and she crashes for a day or two. She’ll come around in a few days I’m sure. She says she misses you too.

I’ll try to think of something positive to write to you next time. Stay strong.

Yours, Sarah

Dearest Sarah,

I’m sorry to hear about Mother, there seems so much hurt in the world, for everyone. I can’t help but feel that I am to blame and how she must worry so. I do hope that she gets better soon.

The Doctors here have been discussing my case and feel that this evenings session could be the breakthrough we... I, need. It may be intense so I’ve been nervous all morning. Robert has of course been wonderful, his big blue eyes are as honest as the sky, so I know he would never lie to me. His blonde, shoulder length hair seems quite out of keeping with the rest of the wardens and doctors, and he never wears the lab coats. He jokes that it’s because he’s on my side and he doesn’t want me to think of him being starchy and stale! He reassures me though, that whatever happens he’ll always be with me. There is a strange familiarity to him, I may have mentioned it before? I did come out and ask him straight;

‘Did I know you in another life?’. He just smiled.

I mean, did I know him before I lost my memory? It all holds me back so much, maybe this evening is the day, the day I am set free.

On a sad note, should this evening be a successful one, I shall never see Robert again. It is apparently against the rules, and they go right to the top. I pleaded with him as I know you would love to meet him also, but there is no swaying him. That for me is the only reason for which I would stay, to have our chats in front of the big windows.

Take care my Sarah,

I hope my next letter will be a positive one with news of my return home.

Jessie

Dear Jessie,

I know by the time you read this it may already be too late. The Doctors have informed Mother and I of how your last pathway session went, and of your recent behaviour in the ward. They say that you are still unconscious but stable following a very intense hypnotherapy session. They don’t know when, or if you will wake up.

They record the sessions and have sent us the manuscript below.

‘Doctor Castor – Are you relaxed Jessie? You are in a safe environment and have nothing to fear. I repeat, you are safe.

Are you comfortable and ready to proceed.?

Jessie – I am ready

Doctor Castor – That’s good. Then in your own time. Where are you?

Jessie – I am on the lane, holding hands and walking with my sister Sarah. We stop by some plants growing by the verge, hyacinths. We pick them so we can press them later. They smell delightful.

Doctor Castor – That’s nice. Where are you headed?

Jessie – We are heading home, over the little bridge. The sky is blue and the birds are singing. As we near the house we can see Mother sitting on the verandah reading. We race up the driveway and past the pond, Sarah wins.

Mother says that Father is in the garage fixing a puncture on our bikes, but she’ll fix us some lunch.

Doctor Castor – Very good, and what next?

Jessie – We take our lunch and sit on the jetty over the pond. We’re laughing and arranging the flowers we picked, and then Sarah says that we need ribbons. She jumps up and runs off, but as she reaches the bank the Jetty begins to break up and fall apart. The wood has rotted underneath. I stumble and fall backwards into the pond and fight against the reeds as they pull me down. My head is under the water looking up and I can feel the water surging up my nostrils and into my mouth as I scream for help. I can see the silhouette of the house wafting in front of me as the more I struggle. The more I fight, the more it waves, back and forth! BLACK SHAPE, BLACK SHAPE!

Doctor Castor – The ink spot, yes? Its OK Jessie, you are safe.

Jessie – Father! Father! is that you? Help me! I feel his arms pull me up and haul me out of the water. Grappling, I manage to find the bank. Sarah has run to get Mother and as I look over my shoulder I can see father struggling to get out. The recent rainfall has caused the water level to swell and the banks are so slippery. The broken jetty is upon Father now, I scream and scream, coughing up water and choking myself. I try and wipe my eyes but the mud is all over my hands and is just making it worse. I look again and can’t see him, just the Jetty floating in the pond. My head feels light and drowsy. I blink once, then maybe another, then I am gone.

Doctor Castor – And then?

Jessie – I am here. There is a warden sitting with me by the window, its raining. He looks familiar, and calls himself Robert, but I know him. “Hello Father, what shall we talk about today?”

Doctor Castor – Jessie? Jessie? Oh my god! She’s gone, get the nurse, get the nurse!!

END OF RECORDING

You remembered! You are sleeping now Jessie, I hope you are resting. I hope you return to me, like the sister I know, and to Mother. Shall you not wake, I hope that you are with Father and at peace, we miss him too, terribly. Tell him we love him, and you.

Yours, Sarah