breakfast now? I’m starving.’
‘That’s a lot of questions. A lot of curiosity.’ he reflected, lifting a plate from the trolley and putting it onto her lap. He picked up a knife and fork -a metal knife and fork- and paused, looking at her intently, before handing them over.
She took them, holding the fork up to her eye line. She then brought it forward, pushing the end of the prongs into her soft, scarred lips, continually looking at Dr Hanlon as she did, deliberately defiant. She moved the prongs onto her cheek, digging them in, the cold metal leaving four red imprints in the hollow where she applied the pressure.
‘I think,’ she began, the fork snaking up her face towards her eyeball.
‘At the moment,’ she continued, the prongs now less than a millimetre away from her contracting iris, her hand as steady as the gaze which hadn’t blinked at all while staring at Dr Hanlon.
‘The urge to eat this breakfast is probably just beating the urge to kill myself.’ With that, she dropped the fork to the plate and with the knife, cut off a piece of bacon and devoured it with obvious relish, saliva dribbling from the corner of her mouth as she continued to speak while chewing.
‘So, who are you?’ she asked mid chomp.
He sat down in his chair and crossed his legs, enjoying the vigour with which she devoured the meal. ‘Who I am isn’t important. But if it helps, I’m Ben Hanlon. I am a psychiatrist and I am here to care for you. Why you are here is important. Do you know why you were committed?’
She stopped chewing and laughed on a full mouth of food, little bits of bacon popping out of her lips. ‘I think that is pretty damn obvious isn’t it. Raving psychopath, rips the heart out of her son and eats it.’
‘You might think it’s obvious, but it’s not. You have no recollection at all, either consciously, or subconsciously of carrying out that act. Dr Ennis believes you suffer from a condition known as Dissociative Identity Disorder, that’s why you were certified. Do you know what that is?’
‘Multiple personalities.’ she shot back, straight away, devouring the last of her sausages. ‘I know that. They think Madame Evangeline is just a figment of my imagination. They are probably right. It doesn’t detract from the fact I , whichever personality that is, am a raving psychopath. I , whichever personality that is, killed my son. I , with the personality I am now, doesn’t have a clue how that happened.’ She was getting agitated as she spoke, still chewing, but now on her bottom lip, a drip of blood slipping down her chin. Her arms were shaking and her knuckles where white as she gripped the cutlery in each hand tightly and started to bang the base of each against the arms of the chair.
‘I. Still. Killed. Him.’ she pronounced, spitting each word, banging the cutlery in time. Then she stopped, suddenly, tension flowing from her body, and took the last piece of bacon from the plate, speaking as she chewed, in a convivial manner. ‘Now, stop changing the subject. Tell me why we are here. Where the hell is here?’
Dr Hanlon laughed, a huge guffaw and threw himself back into his seat. ‘Rebecca, Rebecca, Rebecca. I am really not avoiding the subject. I am a psychiatrist. You know what we are like, we always answer a question with a question. By the way that was impressive, truly impressive self-restraint. Which only strengthens my belief that you are far from psychotic. Right. Straight answers. We are in Broadmoor, in an older part of the hospital, well away from the wards. I have been trying, unsuccessfully I may add, to bring out Madame Evangeline. In the past two weeks you have been weaned off your sedatives and have had various sessions of hypnotherapy to try and break down the mental barriers between your personality and Madame Evangeline’s. Nothing, absolutely nothing I have tried either psychologically
‘That’s a lot of questions. A lot of curiosity.’ he reflected, lifting a plate from the trolley and putting it onto her lap. He picked up a knife and fork -a metal knife and fork- and paused, looking at her intently, before handing them over.
She took them, holding the fork up to her eye line. She then brought it forward, pushing the end of the prongs into her soft, scarred lips, continually looking at Dr Hanlon as she did, deliberately defiant. She moved the prongs onto her cheek, digging them in, the cold metal leaving four red imprints in the hollow where she applied the pressure.
‘I think,’ she began, the fork snaking up her face towards her eyeball.
‘At the moment,’ she continued, the prongs now less than a millimetre away from her contracting iris, her hand as steady as the gaze which hadn’t blinked at all while staring at Dr Hanlon.
‘The urge to eat this breakfast is probably just beating the urge to kill myself.’ With that, she dropped the fork to the plate and with the knife, cut off a piece of bacon and devoured it with obvious relish, saliva dribbling from the corner of her mouth as she continued to speak while chewing.
‘So, who are you?’ she asked mid chomp.
He sat down in his chair and crossed his legs, enjoying the vigour with which she devoured the meal. ‘Who I am isn’t important. But if it helps, I’m Ben Hanlon. I am a psychiatrist and I am here to care for you. Why you are here is important. Do you know why you were committed?’
She stopped chewing and laughed on a full mouth of food, little bits of bacon popping out of her lips. ‘I think that is pretty damn obvious isn’t it. Raving psychopath, rips the heart out of her son and eats it.’
‘You might think it’s obvious, but it’s not. You have no recollection at all, either consciously, or subconsciously of carrying out that act. Dr Ennis believes you suffer from a condition known as Dissociative Identity Disorder, that’s why you were certified. Do you know what that is?’
‘Multiple personalities.’ she shot back, straight away, devouring the last of her sausages. ‘I know that. They think Madame Evangeline is just a figment of my imagination. They are probably right. It doesn’t detract from the fact I , whichever personality that is, am a raving psychopath. I , whichever personality that is, killed my son. I , with the personality I am now, doesn’t have a clue how that happened.’ She was getting agitated as she spoke, still chewing, but now on her bottom lip, a drip of blood slipping down her chin. Her arms were shaking and her knuckles where white as she gripped the cutlery in each hand tightly and started to bang the base of each against the arms of the chair.
‘I. Still. Killed. Him.’ she pronounced, spitting each word, banging the cutlery in time. Then she stopped, suddenly, tension flowing from her body, and took the last piece of bacon from the plate, speaking as she chewed, in a convivial manner. ‘Now, stop changing the subject. Tell me why we are here. Where the hell is here?’
Dr Hanlon laughed, a huge guffaw and threw himself back into his seat. ‘Rebecca, Rebecca, Rebecca. I am really not avoiding the subject. I am a psychiatrist. You know what we are like, we always answer a question with a question. By the way that was impressive, truly impressive self-restraint. Which only strengthens my belief that you are far from psychotic. Right. Straight answers. We are in Broadmoor, in an older part of the hospital, well away from the wards. I have been trying, unsuccessfully I may add, to bring out Madame Evangeline. In the past two weeks you have been weaned off your sedatives and have had various sessions of hypnotherapy to try and break down the mental barriers between your personality and Madame Evangeline’s. Nothing, absolutely nothing I have tried either psychologically
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