The Dead House - Dawn Kurtagich Page 0,19
you.
[Pause]
(CJ): I’m not so sure.
[Rustling paper]
(AL): How about school this year? Do you feel more positive about it?
(CJ): There are new students.
(AL): And that makes you uncomfortable?
(CJ): [Pause] I… I don’t know.
(AL): New faces, new names, new smells. Does it make you happy? Glad for the change?
(CJ): No. I… I want things to be the same as last year.
(AL): Of course you do. No one likes change that’s unexpected. Not unless you’re a destructive alter, like Kaitlyn. Do you get messages from Kaitlyn anymore?
(CJ): Sometimes.
(AL): Thank you for being honest with me, Carly. I can see that you certainly look well and that the summer hasn’t brought back old behaviors. Apart from an appearance from Kaitlyn last week, which is to be expected, you’ve been doing well.
[Silence]
I wonder, though, if you’re being completely honest. I know that you’re intimidated by Kaitlyn, and that she’s controlling. But this is a safe space. You can tell me if there is anything wrong.
[Pause]
(CJ): Nothing’s wrong.
(AL): You’ve been wearing your school uniform to our sessions. Why?
(CJ): I don’t have time to change.
(AL): And it has nothing to do with the uniform having long sleeves?
(CJ): No.
(AL): You’re feeling good, then? Nothing bad from Kaitlyn? No cuts, bruises? Nothing hurting? Have you checked your body, Carly? Your… [Pause] I know it’s difficult, but Kaitlyn may be taking control without you knowing it and doing things—
[Loud slamming noise]
(CJ): No!
[Silence]
(AL): Well, Kaitlyn. Out again. You sound defensive.
[Heavy breathing]
(CJ): Screw you, Lansing. I’d never hurt Carly.
(AL): Luckily for Carly, it seems you can’t hurt her anymore. She was just here, after sundown. Does that surprise you? That she can exist in the darkness, just as you can?
(CJ): You’re a piece of work, Doctor. Carly is everything that the day is supposed to be. And I don’t appreciate you hinting at me hurting her.
(AL): You hurt yourself.
(CJ): That’s different.
(AL): How? You said yourself—you share a body. What you suffer is what you inflict on her, correct?
[Silence]
Despite your sudden appearance, Carly’s doing well. You’re slowly integrating, Kaitlyn. You shouldn’t be afraid of that. One day you’ll function as a harmonious whole—you’ll be a part of Carly, both of you together.
(CJ): You mean I’ll be gone. Buried by her mind.
(AL): I’m afraid it’s the way it’s supposed to be. You won’t vanish, as such. But you’ll be reabsorbed. You came out at a time of profound stress. You’re a coping mechanism. But Carly is the true self, and your job is done. You’ve protected her so well, dear, you have. You’ve kept that awful darkness of the nighttime away—and the memories. You’ve carried the burden for her, but now she’s strong enough to take it back. She needs to take it back.
(CJ): You’ve got no clue what you’re talking about.
(AL): Carly, come out.
(CJ): You think you know everything.
(AL): [Loudly] Carly, come out!
[Sigh]
[Pause]
(CJ): I… I’m—what was I saying?
(AL): We were talking about Kaitlyn being put away for good. I think you’re doing remarkably well.
(CJ): Oh. Can I stop the medicine? Just a little bit? I haven’t done anything reckless in so long—I haven’t lost much time at all.
[Scratching of pen on paper]
(AL): In time, Carly. Soon. I’d like to see you again in, let’s say… Thursday. Yes, the thirtieth, at five PM. Come straight after school.
(CJ): I have choir then. Could I come after?
(AL): Okay. [Pause] I have a meeting at… let’s make it six thirty.
(CJ): All right. Thank you Dr. Lansing. For everything.
(AL): You’ve worked hard. A little more work, Carly, and you’ll feel better.
[End of tape]
Diary of Kaitlyn Johnson
Friday, 24 September 2004, 9:35 pm
Dorm
I AM NOT A SICKNESS!
I have to get out of this room—these four walls. All I see is shadow on white paint, bleeding into vomit gray when you look hard enough. All I see is by halves, and I feel the Voice in my ear, whispering, laughing, telling me the time is coming.
Soon, he tells me. Soon.
I have to get out of here.
11:00 pm
I have this horrible feeling tonight. Like—I don’t know. Like, maybe I’m starting to remember something. Just the hint of something—a hunch I can’t shake. My mind was wandering, and I saw my mother, in my memory, sitting on the bed. She was wearing a blue polo-necked dress and that thick black belt. She leaned forward and said, “Isn’t it funny how memories are just colors, shades, and impressions?”
She leaned back, and then she wasn’t Mum anymore, she was Dr. Lansing, and she was shaking her head. “Not funny at all, really. Is it?”
I don’t