The Stranger in the Mirror(72)

I suppose it’s a little like being God, this power to influence the mind. The more time passes, the more convinced I am that I can mold anyone into anything as long as they trust me enough to work with me. I’ve thought about writing my own book, trumpeting my victories, but as much as I’d like to share my discoveries, I can’t risk unscrupulous people using my techniques to their own advantage. I use it to make my patients’ lives better, to rid others of pain, and to make a happy family for myself. What higher purpose is there than that?

*

I made some more adjustments during subsequent hypnosis sessions, and Cassandra is behaving much better. After the Las Vegas memory I embedded last New Year’s worked so well, I’ve been planting “memory outings” more frequently, and she has stopped complaining about not going out.

One good thing is that she’s lost that extra weight and isn’t walking around like a zombie anymore. I’ve been able to wean her off most of her medicine and give her only an occasional benzo. Benzodiazepines have been known to impair long-term memory, which reduces the chance she will remember her actual past, but I have to be careful because they can cause permanent brain damage. The fact that she’s been on them for six months is already dangerous. So now I give her an Ativan a few times a week to relax when I feel she’s beginning to become agitated, and that is helping to keep things on an even keel.

Valentina is still happy, and she and Cassandra have completely bonded. Two years after Cassandra’s return, there is no question in my daughter’s mind that she has her mother back, and that makes all of this worthwhile. Naturally, I still miss the true Cassandra, and must admit that this version is not as interesting to me, or as good a match. But at least I can visit with her on Sunday evenings, the night I give the new Cassandra a tranquilizer.

School will be out in a couple of weeks, and we plan to spend a month at the cabin in New Hampshire that my father left to me after his sudden death last month. I always thought it would be the Parkinson’s that got him, but he had a heart attack in the middle of the night and died all alone in his Arizona home. His death hit me harder than I anticipated. Since his retirement, our weekly phone calls have been something I’ve looked forward to and enjoyed. I couldn’t have him come to the house and meet Cassandra, of course. But I managed to take Valentina to see him for a long weekend a few months ago. Cassandra wanted to come, but I convinced her that she had a fear of flying, so she stayed home. He was a good grandfather to Valentina. I’m sorry that she has to lose another close family member. But the silver lining is that I don’t have to worry that he will discover that I’ve replaced the real Cassandra with another woman.





??58??

Julian




It’s a beautiful summer day, and we’re strolling around Faneuil Hall. Valentina and I are in line for ice cream, and Cassandra waits for us on a nearby bench. Just after we’ve paid and start to walk toward her, I notice a woman approaching my wife from the other direction. Frowning, I take Valentina’s hand and hurry over to see what’s going on.

The woman calls, “Amelia!” and I freeze.

But Cassandra just gives her a quizzical look. “Excuse me?”

“Amelia, it’s me, Rena. From work.”

I watch Cassandra closely to see if there is any spark of recognition, but she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but you must have me confused with someone else. My name’s Cassandra.”

The woman starts to speak again, then puts a hand up. “My mistake. I thought you were a woman I worked with at the museum.” Her eyes narrow as they travel over Cassandra’s face. “Are you sure . . . Oh, never mind. Sorry to bother you.” She walks away, clearly embarrassed.

I’m relieved that Cassandra didn’t recognize the woman, but this worries me. Cassandra is still staring after her. She turns to me with a puzzled expression. “That was so strange. She must have confused me with someone else.”

Before I can answer, Valentina comes running up.

“Mommy, Mommy, here’s your ice cream cone.” Valentina hands her a chocolate cone while taking a lick from her own strawberry one. Cassandra takes it, but I can see she’s still thinking about Rena.

“Valentina, go over to the stand and grab some napkins, please.” I turn to Cassandra. “I’m sure she was just mistaken,” I say. “Imagine. She was just confused.”

Cassandra nods, a faraway look in her eyes.

“You’ve never seen that woman before.”

“I’ve never seen her before.”

“Come back,” I say.

Cassandra blinks.

Valentina comes running back with a hand full of napkins.

“Shall we walk around a bit and window-shop while we eat our ice cream?” I ask.

She nods, and we begin to walk.

“I love it here,” Cassandra says.

I smile. This is the last time she’ll be out of the house for a long time.

*

Why can’t new Cassandra just be contented to be a stay-at-home wife? I’ve given her everything she could ask for. A sweet and loving child, a doting husband, a housekeeper to attend to her every need, and a beautiful home in which to live. But she continues to be unhappy as fall approaches. Despite my modifications to her weekly hypnosis sessions, now aimed at convincing her that she’s afraid to leave the house, she’s begun to complain more and more about being “stuck at home.” Her bad moods are even starting to affect Valentina, who begins kindergarten in two weeks, and that I cannot have.