F Paul Wilson - Secret History 02 (17 page)

           
He
wants the new one. Hasn't told me about her, but I can tell when he wants
someone. Can sense whenever he's excited, and he's very excited by this new
one.

           
Poor
thing. Hasn't got a chance. Only hope is to stay away from him, never come near
him again. Once he gets his hooks into her, that will be it. She'll be at his
mercy.

           
So
it's all up to her now. Stay away and stay well, or come back and be driven mad.
Like me.

           
Me.
Mad.
Crazy. Insane. Meshugge.

           
All
his fault. The swine, the dirty, filthy, stinking, parasitic scum. I'd have had
a normal, productive life without him. A spouse, a child, a future without him.

           
But
I have nothing. Not even hope.

           
I'd
kill him if I could. If only I could! If only I had the means. But I do not.
I'd kill myself if I had the nerve
—
ram
this pencil through my eye and into my brain and end this misery. But I do not.
I'm a coward. I'll have to wait and hope, that someone else will do it. I can
only hope
.

           
But
why bother hoping? No one knows about him, or about what he can do. Only me.

           
And
to think that once I loved him.

 
 

           
They sat as they had yesterday: Dr.
Gates behind his mahogany desk in a high-backed swivel chair, Kara in the
armchair facing him. A chart lay open on the desk before him. His hands were
held before his lips, palms together as if in prayer, as he stared at her with
his watery blue eyes.

           
What little Kara had eaten of the
huge breakfast Ellen's cook had served—waffles for Jill, eggs Benedict for her—weighed
heavily in her stomach. She'd left Jill at Ellen's, following the cat from room
to room.

           
Finally Dr. Gates lowered his hands.
His tantalizingly accented voice took on a lecturing tone.

           
"I wish to emphasize, Miss
Wade, that asking you here was not an easy decision for me. A psychiatrist
deals with the most intimate details of his patients' lives, details they keep
from their friends, their spouses, even their internists and gynecologists.
Because of this intimate knowledge, a psychiatrist must be the most rigorous of
all physicians in preserving the confidentiality of his patient records."

           
"I appreciate that," Kara
said, and meant it.

           
"Good. But there are details of
your sister's case that are extraordinary, details I assumed that you, as her
twin, would know. However, it occurred to me yesterday after our conversation—or
more properly, your tirade—that you appeared completely unaware of what your
sib has been through. That raised the possibility that you might share her
diagnosis."

           
Kara shook her head in bewilderment.
"I don't understand."

           
"You will by the time I am
finished. But you may not like hearing what I have to say. It is not pleasant.
It will make you angry and you will probably resist accepting it. But let me
start at the beginning."

           
"Please do," Kara said.
Her throat had gone dry.

           
Dr. Gates leaned back in his chair
and picked up a pair of keys on a ring. As he had yesterday, he began twirling
the ring on his index finger.

           
"Your sister first came to me
sixteen months ago complaining of insomnia and poor concentration. I'm a
consultant at
St.
Vincent
's and I
occasionally treat some of the nursing staff there on a courtesy basis. The
precipitating event in her life appeared to be the break-up of an affair in
which she felt her trust had been betrayed by her lover."

           
That would have been Tom, Kara
thought. The lying, married bastard from
Long Island
.

           
"But as therapy progressed, I
began to suspect that your sister was suffering from a disorder far more
serious and complex than a simple reactive anxiety-depression syndrome. She
wanted to continue therapy. As I probed deeper, I became alarmed. Finally, we
tried hypnosis. It was then that I confirmed my presumptive diagnosis."

           
He paused, and Kara found that she
was gripping the arms of her chair so hard it hurt. What was he waiting for?

           
"Well?"

           
"Your twin, Kelly Wade,
suffered from multiple personality disorder."

           
Kara blinked and relaxed her grip on
the chair arms. Multiple personality disorder. She'd heard of that.

           
"You mean like in
Sybil
and
Three Faces of Eve?

           
He nodded. "Precisely."

           
"How… how many did she
have?"

           
"Two that I know of. The Kelly
Wade personality you and everybody knew, and one other."

           
Kara leaned back, shocked. Two
personalities? Weird, but it could have been worse. She could accept this. It
wasn't so hard. She wasn't angry.

           
But
another
Kelly inside her twin? How come she had never guessed?

           
"Did this other personality
ever come out?"

           
"Yes. Many times. Right here,
when Kelly was under hypnosis."

           
This was fascinating—disturbing, but
somehow fascinating too.

           
"What was she like?"

           
"Quite different from Kelly.
The second person called herself Ingrid, by the way."

           
The name electrified Kara. She
sprang from her seat.

           
"Ingrid?
Ingrid
? Kelly signed into the Plaza under that name! That means it
was… was 'Ingrid'—the other Kelly—who was picking up those men!"

           
In a way it was an enormous relief.
Kelly hadn't changed—it had been that other personality taking her over and
doing those crazy awful things!

           
"I imagine so," Dr. Gates
said, still cool and clinical. "Ingrid was, ah, rather promiscuous."

           
"And the clothes!" Kara
said, still on a roll. "That's why they were hidden! Kelly wasn't hiding
them from anyone! It was Ingrid hiding them from Kelly! Now I understand!"

           
Kara turned away and fought the
tears that sprang into her eyes. It was so good to understand. And poor Kelly.
What she must have been going through.

           
She sat down again.

           
"God, it's so bizarre! What
could cause something like that to happen?"

           
"It is almost always severe
trauma." His eyes bored into hers. "
Childhood
trauma."

           
"Kelly had no childhood trauma.
Neither of us did. We were 'the Wade twins.' Everyone loved us. If anything,
our childhood was uneventful—blissful and uneventful."

           
"Ingrid has a different
story."

           
A chill tiptoed down Kara's spine.

           
"What… what did Ingrid
say?"

           
Dr. Gates leaned forward and stared
at her.

           
"Do you truly have no idea what
I'm talking about?"

           
Kara met his gaze and tried to
override the growing fear that he was going to say something awful, that here
was the part she couldn't accept.

           
"No. Not the faintest."

           
He leaned back and rubbed his eyes,
then leaned forward again. He took a deep breath.

           
"Very well. I'll say it flat
out: According to Ingrid, she was sexually abused on a regular basis between
the ages of five and nine."

           
"No! That's crazy! By
whom?"

           
"Your father."

           
Kara felt her body go numb. The room
swung around and the lights seemed to dim for a few seconds. She fought for
focus and managed a single word:

           
"What?"

           
"That is what Ingrid told me,
and she was quite detailed."

           
"My
father!
Never!"

           
"It fits, Miss Wade. It's that
type of abuse, that degree of trauma that incites the formation of a second
personality."

           
Kara was on her feet again, shaking
with revulsion.

           
"Listen to me, Dr. Gates!
Nothing like that ever happened! So get this straight, and get it straight now:
My father never committed incest! It never even crossed his mind! If it had,
I'd have known about it!"