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Kate was about to leave the room when a sudden thought struck her; there were no signs of a complete personality split but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a partial fracture.  An
d an earlier thought resurfaced;
Why would a blatantly promiscuous girl hate and fear men?  Show disgust at the mere thought of them?  Disassociation.  Disassociation from her past, from her own actions…from herself?  Was is possible?

She sat back down, ‘Where is Grainne?’

The slack, empty face didn’t change but the girl replied, ‘Gone.’

Kate’s heart leap
t with excitement; her shot in the dark had struck home!  Was it possible that when Grainne withdrew like that another persona took over? 
Maybe,
she warned herself,
Slow down, slow down
.  She forced herself to stay calm as she asked, ‘Where is Grainne gone?’

‘The magic f
ield.’

Kate leaned forward
and stared intently into those empty eyes, puzzled and curious; this was new.  There had been nothing about this magic field in the file.  Nor had Trevor mentioned it.  ‘Where is this magic field?’

‘Behind her house.  Behind her father’s garden.’

‘Why does she go there?’

‘To play.’

‘Play with whom?’

No answer of course; the magic field was clearly a private escape, not a playground, and Kate again cursed her rusty intuition before asking,
‘When does she go there?’

‘When there are visitors.  When Mummy drinks.’

Kate frowned uncomprehendingly, ‘What do you mean?’

No answ
er.  Of course not.  Kate shook herself internally; it had been another stupid question.  It didn’t seem as if she were dealing with a fully-formed separate personality, but rather a fractured side of Grainne; a functioning but simple shard of her mind, and complex opinions and emotions would no doubt be beyond her.  But would she respond to simple, factual questions?

‘What did Grainne do on her sixteenth birthday?’

Was there a hint of a sneer on that alabaster countenance?  ‘Got drunk, probably.  Fucked someone.’

Kate’s mind raced; severe personality disorders were often caused by self-hate and disgust, a desire to disassociate from one’s own actions.  So separate identities were formed, and the despised acts blamed on the original personality. 
Careful, Bennett,
she warned herself,
there are other reasons for multiple personality disorder.  If that’s what this is.
  Impatient for further progress, Kate pressed on, ‘Who are you?’

There was a very long pause that Kate somehow knew was different to the earlier
withdrawing,
and at last the girl replied, ‘Her friend.’

Kate nodded to herself; not even a name.  There were very few instances of genuine multiple personality disorder documented, and certainly she had neve
r come across one.  Nor did she believe she had now; this was just a shadow of a separate personality, almost a pretense.

‘No,’ contradicted Kate gently, ‘You
are
Grainne.  You don’t want to be because you hate some of the things you’ve done but you
are
her
. 
You aren’t a separate person, just the disapproving voice in the back of Grainne’s mind that
everyone
has.  You may hate her because of the things she’s done, because you think she’s bad, but she isn’t. 
You
aren’t bad.  Just ill.’

‘Grainne is a pig rooting in
filth
,’ the girl enunciated in a clear, precise tone.

‘No,’ contradicted Kate, wondering if Grainnee was quoting someone else, ‘
You may hate yourself, the things you’ve done, the things you’ve allowed others to do
to
you, but you can’t escape your past or yourself by becoming someone else.  You
are
Grainne.  You might not want to be but you
are
.  You can’t help it and you can’t hide from it.  You have to look inside and see who’s really there.’

Grainne looked at her with a bright, friendly smile but her
eyes were clouded and her voice was ominous, portentous, as she said, ‘Are you a novice here too?  I want to do good, to
be
good and help other people.  Will you be my friend?’

‘I
am
your friend, Grainne, and I want to help you.  But I can’t help you unless you
want
to be helped.  Unless you help yourself.  You tried to hide from yourself already, from your life, but it didn’t work then and it won’t work now.  You
know
you’re not in a convent.  You
know
you’re in a hospital.  You have to face the truth.  I can only help if you let me.  If you trust me and talk to me.  If you face
yourself.’

‘WHY DOESN’T RUDDLES
BITE
YOU!’

Kate recoiled from the sudden hatred and fury twisting that lovely face but almost instantly it was gone and the placid, empty mask was b
ack.  And this time Kate knew that Grainne was truly gone.  For today, at least.
How
she knew she didn’t understand and didn’t try to analyze; she just felt it.  It was part of the strange empathy she often felt with other vic…with
patients
!  With a hot flood of excitement filling her body she thought;
Especially with those 1 can reach!  Those I can help!

She stood up and turned off the little portable
Dictaphone and put it in her pocket, ready to leave.  But before she reached the door a sudden impulse made her turn back.  She crossed the room and lightly squeezed the girl’s shoulder and kissed the top of that golden head before whispering in her ear, ‘I can help you if you let me.  If you trust me, and talk to me.  I’ll help you in any way I can, and I promise I’ll never let you down.  I
promise.
’

There was no response, of course, but then she hadn’t been expecting or even hoping for one.  Not yet, maybe not for months.  But someday, perhaps.  She wouldn’t give up until someday there
was
a reaction.  From a whole, fully functioning human being.

    As soon as she left the room all the nervous energy drained out of Kate, leaving her tired and deflated and reminding her that she had had a sleepless night.  But she was not unhappy, in spite of this preliminary session taking a wildly different path than she had intended.  She slowly made her way down the wide, sweeping staircase to the granite-flagged vestibule and crossed to Trevor’s office.  She tapped on the door and opened it when she heard his distracted voice saying, ‘Come in, come in.’

Kate walked inside and closed the
dark, heavy old door.  Trevor glanced up irritably from a sheaf of papers he was reading, but when he saw who it was he put them back on the desk and sat up straight, ‘Well, well, look who it is!  That didn’t take long.  Sit down, sit down.  Would you like some more coffee?’

Kate shook her head as she sank into the chair in front of his desk, ‘Not right now, thanks.’

‘How did it go?’

Kate considered the question for a moment before replying, ‘Bloody marvelous, actually.  Considering.’

Trevor raised his eyebrows, ‘Well, that sounds promising!  Come on then, tell all.’

Kate too
k a deep breath, ‘First of all I agree that Grainne is not suffering from schizophrenia and certainly is not psychotic.  Nor does she have multiple personality disorder, though I think she’d like to.  She has a deep self-loathing that has led to severe disassociation but she hasn’t quite managed to fracture her own personality.  She has retreated from reality but not nearly as far as she’d like.  Cracks quickly appear in her fantasies when she vocalizes them and she can’t sustain them for long, which may be why she’s so often catatonic.  And she certainly can’t sustain a whole separate personality.  On some level, however deep in her unconscious, she’s aware of her real surroundings and situation.  And of passing time.  The
cause
of her retreat into make-believe, of course, is far more deeply buried but hopefully it will surface in time.’

Trevor nodded, ‘Alright, I’d agree with all of that so far.  Now tell me something I don’t know.’

He wasn’t being snide but perfectly serious, and Kate forced her fuzzy mind into action, cursing her lack of sleep the night before.  This was too
important
for tiredness, for confusion.  After a pause she said slowly, ‘I think she’s in a form of fugue that’s almost an auto-hypnotic trance.  I don’t think her mind
snapped
, I think she quite consciously and deliberately retreated inside herself.  Probably to escape the horror –and guilt- of her mother’s death.’

Her words hung heavily in the silence that followed.  After pondering for some time Trevor nodded again, ‘I think you’re making a few leaps without much evidence but I’m still with you so far.  And you needn’t be so tentative with me.  I’m not a prosecutor and I’m not interested in her guilt or innocence.  If I have to make a recommendation or
testify at a trial it will be as to her mental state, her fitness to be tried, not her possible guilt or innocence.  And if you’re trying to spare me because of my feelings for her…don’t.  I will
never
act on any feelings I might have for her, do you understand?’

‘Sorry,’ said Kate, before adding rather tartly, ‘But that’s what happens when you cross the line and lose your professional detachment.’  Seeing his face drop, and instantly contrite, she said hurriedly, ‘I’ll play you the tape of our conversation and see what you think.’
  She hit the play button on her Talkbook and Trevor listened silently and intently to the interview.  When the tape was finished he leaned back in his chair and puffed out his cheeks, ‘Phew!  Heavy stuff!  I don’t know if I’m more hopeful now of her recovering, or less.  That’s one seriously disturbed girl talking.  And this is the first we’ve heard about this magic field business.  What do you make of that?’

Kate shook her head, ‘I’m not sure.  I don’t think it can be an actual plac
e, unless she had a den or tree house or something in her garden as a child.  It’s more likely a safe place in her own mind she goes to when she’s scared or threatened.  If she was in the habit of hiding there from unpleasant realities that could even be the basis of her current disassociation.  She might have spent more and more time hiding in her fantasy refuge until she could no longer recognize reality.  Or until she finally just refused to come back.’

Trevor smiled, ‘All I know is that she never mentioned this secret place to anyone before, but she opens up to you in your very first session.  You’re a wonder, Bennett, you know that?  How do you do it?’

Kate smiled wryly, ‘Do
what
?  I wish I could take credit for what you can hear, Trev, but I did nothing.’  She raised her hand to forestall any argument and said, ‘It isn’t modesty, Trev, it’s the simple truth.  Couldn’t you hear it on the tape?  Her fantasies are collapsing all around her, yes, but it certainly isn’t any of my doing.  How could it be, after one session? 
She’s getting better, Trev. 
Slowly, perhaps, and there’s still a long way to go, but her mind is starting to heal itself.  Her own true personality is starting to reassert itself, is trying to emerge.  Her would-be alternate egos are so flimsy they shatter and dissipate under even the most rudimentary questioning.  They don’t even get
names
.’

He was silent for several minutes, lost in thought.  Then he shook his head and sa
id, ‘Perhaps, but it’s a little early to assume she’s starting to recover.’

‘Well, you heard the tape. 
I think Sarah McGrath did all the hard groundwork with her regression therapy.  By restoring her real childhood memories she laid the foundation for her to start healing
herself
.  Rebuilding her early life has helped her to rebuild her personality, and now it’s starting to emerge.  Couldn’t you hear it?  The girl I spoke to most of the time sounded like a simple, happy ten-year-old.  The voice of the
friend
was the adult Grainne.  A Grainne who hates herself but who’s finding it harder and harder to hide from the truth of her life.  Of her past.’

Trevor th
ought about this for some time.  At last he said, ‘I think you’re right.  But will the real Grainne ever re-emerge?  If you pressure her too much she might
really
develop a split personality.  Or her mind might recover but leave her without any memory of her teens.  Or she could regress back to childhood altogether.’

‘I know the p
itfalls, Trevor.  But if she’s recovering it’s because she
wants
to remember, and that’s why she’s losing the protection of her fantasies.  She’s not deeply hidden in her alternate world.  Because of all your groundwork over the past year she’s very close to the surface.’