The Forgotten Girl

“How about we switch to a hypnotherapy session?” he says, setting his pen and folder aside on his desk.

“We’re really going to do that?” My expression sinks at the idea of being under and having no control over myself—over Lily. “I thought you were joking when you suggested that last time.”

“Why would I joke about that, Maddie?”

“Because it never worked when you tried a few years ago, so there’s no point in trying it again.”

“This method is a little different than then the one we used a few years ago,” he says, rolling up his sleeves like he’s preparing to fight.

“What’s your different method? Beating me up?” I joke to distract myself from what’s about to happen.

He gives me the fourth look of disappointment for the day. “No, Maddie. I’m not going to beat you up.” His voice is tolerant. “Look, if you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to—you don’t have to do anything in here that you don’t want to. You know that.” He pushes his chair back from his desk. “But I’d really like it if you did.”

I consider what he said with hesitancy. “You really think it might help bring my memories back?”

“Possibly. There’ve been a few recorded cases that this particular hypnotherapy has helped patients with memory loss.” He begins rummaging around in his desk drawer, digging around through countless amounts of pens and neon sticky notes until he finds an iPod.

Optimism. It’s something I don’t have when it comes to my memories returning to me. My amnesia didn’t come from just a bump to the head. I have Psychogenic Amnesia, which more than likely means there was some sort of stress factor that played a part in why I have no idea who the hell I was before the age of fifteen.

I shrug and get to my feet, being tolerant with Preston because I know if I don’t do this, he’ll just bug me until I do. It’s been done a handful of other times to me and he never can get me to go under. “If that’s what you think will help, then I’ll give it a go.” I amble toward the leather lounge chair in the corner of the room and he follows me with a notepad and pencil in hand. “But I’m a total pessimist that this—or anything else—will ever work.”

“Pessimism isn’t going to help you improve either.” He sits down in a chair and places the notepad on his lap, close enough now that I can smell cigarette smoke on him. “Let’s try to think positive.”

“Wow, you really are a Ken doll today, aren’t you. All perfect and positive,” I mutter, lying down on the lounge chair on my back. I overlap my hands on my stomach and stare up at the ceiling. “Okay, let’s get this show on the road.” I say in a false cheerful voice. Then I glance over at him. “Was that optimistic enough for you?”

“I guess so.” He’s getting irritated. I wonder if he gets this way with all of his patients. Leaning over to the side, he extends his arm toward a package of matches beside a candle. He strikes a match and lights each one, then moves his finger to an iPod dock on a nearby shelf. He scrolls through the list of titles then ultimately clicks on a tune that sounds like rain pitter-pattering against a surface. I hate the sound of rain, the smell of it. I think that’s why he chose this one—because it was raining that night—and I don’t appreciate him going there. I don’t like the sound of rain and everything it represents. My loss of everything.

“Can’t we listen to something else?” I squirm in the chair. “Maybe something a little less naturey?”

“Listening to this it’s an important part of the treatment.” He relaxes back in his seat, eyes on me as he puts the end of his pen up to his lips. “I’m trying to take you back to the day of the accident—to the day you lost your memories.”

“But I hate remembering that day,” I say. It’s the most vivid memory I have. I can still feel the coldness of the rain. The blood soaking my hair. The pain in my body. The way my heart thrashed in response to the fear. The car in the street; the car that hit me then took off. Everyone said I was lucky to have such minimal injuries on my body, considering I’d been hit on a highway where the speed limit is sixty-five. I don’t call it luck, because part of me doesn’t fully believe I was accidentally ran over. What happened though is a mystery. Maybe I threw myself in front of the car. Maybe I wanted to die. Maybe I’d gotten into some trouble with the strange man. Or maybe I just wanted to forget whoever I was. Maybe this disgustingness that’s inside me now was in me then and I just wanted to get rid of it.

“Maddie, relax. Take a deep breath and try to clear your head,” Preston advises, taking a deep inhale and exhale himself.

Clear my head? Impossible. How can I, when someone else is living inside it? But I shut my eyes anyway.

Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. The rain from the speakers flows and surrounds me until it gives me a headache.

“Just relax,” Preston says softly through the rhythm of the rainfall. Now he’s giving me a headache. “Breathe in and out.”

I suck in a breath of air and let it out.

In and out.

Over and over again.

Pitter-patter…. Pitter-patter… Pitter-patter… the rain is falling… through it, there’s a spark of light. I’ve seen it before. Heard the voice that whispers help. Seen the flames. Burning… burning… burning. And burning me along with them.

Chapter 2

Maddie

“What just happened?’ I open my eyes and rub them with the palms of my hand. I’m still lying in the lounge chair, the sound of rain flowing from the speakers, this strange sense of lost time floating around inside my head.

Preston is staring at me with a quizzical expression, pen in hand, the tip pressed to the paper. “I think you fell asleep.” He scratches his head then reaches over and silences the rainfall sounds. “Do you feel different? Remember anything at all?”

I shake my head, pushing myself up into sitting position, swinging my legs over the edge of the chair, and planting my feet onto the floor. “Nope. My minds still as blank as ever, although I’m tired as hell.” I pause, rubbing my eyes again. God, I feel like I’m hung-over, my head is throbbing, and my eyes feel like they’re on fire. Glancing at the clock, I notice my session has ended. I push to my feet. “Well, this has been extremely great, Preston. Seriously, the powernap was great, but it’s time for me to go.”