"Alright." I murmured lightly in the soothing atmosphere of my office. "I think that's it for today." My voice came laced in that ever present, distant professionalism. "You've made great progress." These words came encouragingly drawn from my lips. "You should be very proud, Kaori." The young woman draped in the crème of one of our hospital robes gave a small nod and shy smile, looking away from me.
"Thank you, Shiro-kun." This overly friendly and intimate title came in a delicate lilt as that smile began to turn seductive and outwardly sexual towards my encouragement, causing a small sigh to manifest from my narrow nose.
"Think about what you are doing, Kaori." I whispered, watching that alluring smile falter, averting her gaze once more at being called to task as attention was drawn towards her behavior.
"I'm sorry, Doctor." She breathed this apology, shifting her tiny body in the seat as slender fingers absentmindedly caressed themselves down the length of her loosely done dark ebony side braid.
"Kaori..." My voice drew her soft brown gaze from the floor of my office.
"Yes, Doctor?" This little voice manifested from her tiny body, her expression abashed and truly ashamed.
"Remember what I told you." I coaxed gently, my eyes holding her timid gaze as she gave a small bob of her head.
"I never have to sell myself to you or anyone to prove my worth." These self confidence bolstering words caused the small lift of her lips, though I saw that she still warred with herself on whether to trust in them or not.
"It may not feel like it today..." I murmured lightly, holding her gaze from where I sat in my office chair. "But I promise that one day you'll be able to believe that." She gave the small bow of her head before quietly exiting my office and being met by one of the ward's female staff.
Kaori Katsuko. Only fifteen, she had been arrested for prostitution in Musashino, a small impoverished prefecture just outside of central Tokyo. But upon being charged with this crime, she was immediately shipped to this facility. Because it had been discovered and substantiated that she had been forcefully drug addicted to heroine, then sold to other men by her thirty two year old boyfriend, Kano, who was currently imprisoned for drug possession with intent to sell as well as sex trafficking.
Instead of serving her six month sentence in a juvenile detention center, the judge had been kind and Kaori was sent here. To me. And I began working with her on addressing her drug addiction and promiscuity. Early on, within the first week of her arrival to the trauma ward, it had been clear that her history of victimization had twisted her into a sexual predator of sorts. Out of necessity. An unsavory survival mechanism discovered when she began to offer her body to male staff for additional methadone. And it was then that I had given strict instructions that Kaori be restricted to an all female staff.
With the exception of myself.
The deciding powers that be, in their infinite wisdom, had determined that Kaori needed a positive male role model. A healthy male attachment. Someone steady enough and unable to be manipulated by her endless sexual advances. A man that she could actually see viewing her in the way she always should have been looked at. Like a human being. The therapy sessions were arduous. A delicate dance of equal parts empathy, guidance, and swift correction of her behaviors. But there was progress. Progress that would never have happened in a detention center. And with this came hope that, eventually, Kaori might possibly have a chance at the normal life she had been so cruelly deprived of.
Stretching myself and taking a deep, cleansing breath to clear my thoughts of Kaori, I readied myself for my next session. And in the back of my mind, I had my doubts that they would show to this appointment. I hoped that they would. They had been so desperate when they had left my office the previous week. And...the time between that fateful meeting and this appointment has seemed so vast and far away. But...I hoped that they would show.
Gazing at my computer, I wondered if I might risk delving into some of my neglected paperwork before this next meeting. But the decision was swiftly made for me with the paging of my desk phone.
'Doctor Kogara...your 2:30 appointment is here.' The disembodied female voice announced over my speakerphone as I glanced over at the clock hanging on my wall, noticing that this arrival came almost ten minutes earlier than I had expected. 'Shall I have them wait, Doctor?' This question came through my phone in response to my silence as my finger moved to press the direct line to the front desk.
"No." I murmured lightly to the air towards my phone. "You can send them in now. I'm ready."
I didn't have to wait long for the one who entered my office. And again I was met with that soft spoken, cautious demeanor as she stepped through the threshold of my office. Yet...this time...her attire was darker. Black and more somber, like the clothing she had worn when I had first met her.
And I was concerned.
"Yuki." I murmured this alias she had offered me in hopes of building trust with the doubter, and saw how her expression reflected a level of approval towards this greeting of mine.
Though I still held reservation over this claimed identity of hers. I couldn't quite make heads or tails of its purpose. Was her claim driven by delusions that she was truly someone else...like those claiming to be the Queen of England? Or was it that she was merely trying to reconstruct her identity and create a new persona? But...in the end...I knew one thing for certain. Despite the function of this assumed identity of hers, I couldn't even hope to begin addressing this detail of Akito's persona until I built a much needed bridge of trust and rapport.
"Welcome." This came soothing and measured from my lips, bearing witness to the same timid, watchful behavior as dark black orbs once again roamed my office for an unseen threat. "I'm glad that you came back." With this, the woman gave a small nod of acknowledgment to my words before once again claiming a seat close to my door.
"Thank you for seeing me, Doctor Kogara." She whispered in that same timid, soft spoken lilt.
"Shall we pick up where we left off?" I asked, allowing her some control of this session as she gave a small bob of her head.
"So, I thought over what you had told me." I murmured this as I watched those black orbs drift from my face to the wall. "About your encounter with the man in your bed." Those eyes fell to the floor as I attempted to navigate this discussion as delicately as possible. "Does that happen often?" Her obsidian gaze shot from the floor of my office to my face accusingly as I continued along my train of thought. "I mean time laps and memory loss." I clarified my question as her taut features relaxed some. "Do you find it difficult to remember things that have happened to you?" And I watched as she seemed to genuinely consider this question for a moment.
"Sometimes." This concession came lightly murmured through delicate lips as she continued to avoid my gaze. "Sometimes...strangers come up to me, claiming that they know me. But I swear I've never met them before." She whispered in contemplation. "But...I've never been terribly great with names or faces...so that's normal, right?" The soft tremble of her lip met these words. "...right...?"
I parted my lips to speak, but before I could offer consolation and validation, she began again, though her haunted gaze continued to linger along the floor of my office.
"And though what happened..." Her soft spoken voice faltered a moment over these words. "...last week..." This helpless whisper elicited another quiver of delicate lips as she gave the swift jerk of her head to shake this terrible memory away. "That's the worst it's ever been. But there have been other times." Her tone came weak and desperate, laced in anxiety and concern over these thoughts. "That wasn't the first time that I've woken up in a strange situation with no memory of how it happened."
I took my time in absorbing her words. Turning them over in my mind. Making sense of them, because when I had discharged her from the trauma ward she had seemed so unconcerned over this lap of memory. My eyes drifted along the endless books and aids at my disposal on the multitude of shelves in my office. Surely there was something here that I could offer to this woman. A tool or technique I could utilize in supporting both of us in piecing together this mystery puzzle of clouded memories and buried secrets.
And there was one thing that came to me.
One thing that might help shed clarity on this enigma. This puzzle.
But...it was risky, and would require the patient's full willingness and cooperation with me.
"Tell me..." I murmured lightly in thought, my gaze drawing away from the shelves of my office. "Have you ever heard of mindfulness based cognitive therapy?" Those dark orbs finally lifted from the floor of my office as the woman gave the small cant of her head. "Guided meditation?" I clarified as her expression remained lifeless to these terms. "It's a therapeutic tool where I coach you into a relaxed, meditative state then support and guide you in discovering and mapping these repressed or lost memories." And I watched as awareness and understanding seemed to flood those haunted black orbs.
"Hypnosis?" She questioned dubiously, and I gave an almost regrettable sigh to her obvious hesitation and cleverness at discerning these academic terms.
"Yes." I gave confirmation to this inquiry.
"You want to make me cluck like a chicken?" This irked question came softly spoken through a delicate scowl and sour purse of the lips, and I had to work at stiflingly the small twitch of a smile threatening to lift the corner of my lips.
"No." I murmured lightly through the gentle shake of my head. "Not at all." This came a genuine rejection of a most unfortunate characterization and misuse of this potentially useful therapeutic tool. "But I think that this will be a quick and effective way of piecing together your missing memories." And I watched that dark, haunted gaze consider this.
"And you think that would help?" She asked hesitantly through a soft tremble of her lips. "Digging up these lost memories and missing moments of my life?"
"I do." I confirmed through a steady and comfortingly measured tone.
"And what if these moments of my life are terrible? And dark?" She questioned through furrowed brows. "What if there are things I don't want to remember?" This came through an agonized whispered breath. "That I shouldn't remember?"
And I knew then that I needed to be brutally honest with her. In order to gain her trust and have her full cooperation if she chose to continue on this path and take my offer.
"Most often..." I murmured professionally through a detached, stoic tone of voice. "...the memories recovered in these types of sessions are often traumatic." This did little to comfort the young woman as I continued. "But I have had personal success in utilizing this technique, and the patients who went through this memory recovery process were far more stable and well rounded once they were finally able to give a name to their unnamed demons and monsters."
"So you've met others?" She asked, slightly taken aback. "Others like me? People who can't remember certain events?" And I gave the small nod of my head.
"I work with trauma patients." I confirmed, watching a fleeting, short lived expression of elation and relief cross her pallid features at the idea that she was not alone. "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder often results in the victim of a traumatic event suffering amnesia surrounding the event in question." This came a soft, almost comforting lull from my lips. "These episodes of amnesia often cause a great deal of stress and anxiety over the nameless unknown."
"You can't fight a monster you can't name..." She whispered somberly. "...is that it?" This came softly lilted though growing consideration towards this technique as I gave a nod of concession to this thought process.
"In a manner of speaking." I murmured evenly. "Yes."
"And what if this monster is more than I can handle?" She asked, fearful hesitation lingering in her dark orbs as she held my gaze. "...once I know what it is..." And I gave myself over to a small sigh towards this legitimate concern of hers.
"The repressed memories we recover may be very painful for you." I whispered this caution lightly through the quiet of my office. "But once identified, I can help you process and make sense of them." My voice came as gentle and comforting as I could manage through my professional demeanor. "We will work through them together." I promised. "You're not alone in this." And the lightest lift of delicate lips indicated that the young woman seemed to gain comfort from my words as I once again watched that poised and proper, but almost rigid posture finally relax.
"So..." Delicate hands came aimlessly lifted before primly landing laced in her lap. "Where do we begin?" And I gave a calm, professional smile to this with the nod of my head that I was pleased that she had finally decided that she was willing to participate in this endeavor.
"Please." I coaxed in a measured tone, my fingers slayed to the sofa lining the wall of my office. "Make yourself comfortable." This caused the small, dubious tilt of her head.
"What...?" The young woman whispered along the furrow of her brows. "Like...lay down?" She questioned as I gave a small, unassuming shrug.
"If that would make you feel more comfortable." I conceded as I watched her lithe, thin frame rise from the chair she had claimed.
Those dark black orbs scrutinized the sofa with some hesitation. Regarding it with prejudice. Silently drifting towards this unassuming piece of furniture in agonizingly slow movements, I allowed her the time she seemed to need in order to make herself comfortable with the idea. In a small act of trust, the young woman gracefully sank herself to the sofa before almost awkwardly reclining her slender figure along its surface as thick black lashes fluttered closed. A sharp, jagged inhalation parted delicate lips as she attempted to release the breath calmly from her nose as I found myself unintentionally breathing with her before her lashes fluttered open once more.
"I'm sorry, Doctor." She murmured lightly as those obsidian eyes flitted from the ceiling of my office to my face. "But this just isn't working." And I gave myself over to a small, unobtrusive chuckle of understanding and side smile of approval towards her efforts.
"That's okay." I murmured lightly as she sat herself in that same poised, rigid fashion. "Whatever makes you feel most comfortable." She gave the small bob of her head before silently slipping off her shoes to draw her legs up to her chest as her feet came to rest on the sofa.
Spindly arms came to wrap themselves almost protectively around her shins as she drew her legs closer, her delicate chin coming to rest along her knees as those haunted orbs stared at me. I had to concede that the fetal position this woman had just assumed was far less rigid than her previously poised, alert demeanor. But...it also was indicative of an almost dangerously fragile psyche. And I knew that I needed to approach this session of guided meditation very carefully.
"Are you ready?" I murmured lightly, and the woman gave a small nod along her knees. "Okay, close your eyes." This came coached through a tone of gentle authority and professionalism, and the woman did as I had directed.
"Please don't make me cluck like a chicken, Doctor." This came weakly whispered through her lips as I gave myself over to another smile.
"I won't." I assured her as she gave a small sign of apprehension laced in resignation.
"Take a deep breath." I gently directed in a measured tone. "Now release it...slowly." As she did so, I continued to coach her through this process of meditative relaxation. "Focus on the air leaving your lungs, drawing you into a deep state of relaxed calm." I worked to support her in pacing herself as the first cleansing breath was released.
"How are you feeling?" I murmured lightly as her soft spoken voice manifested lightly through pale lips.
"Fine, Doctor."
"Good." I spoke encouragingly. "Now take another deep breath. Releasing it slowly." And the young woman did as directed. "Listen to my voice and let it draw you into a calm, relaxed state." The muscled of her delicate, pallid features began to smooth over like white porcelain as her face came almost doll like in this peaceful state. "As you drift further into relaxation, you'll stay fully aware and responsive to my voice." I murmured calmly through my professional tone.
"Yes, Doctor." This came a drowsy sigh from her lips.
"Take another deep breath, releasing it slowly as you feel your body become lighter and more relaxed." This came soothingly repeated in the quiet calm of my office as she gave a final, peaceful sigh. "Three...two...one." Her hands came laxed and slumped from her shins to either side of her, palm up revealing the brutal self inflicted scars on her wrists.
"How are you feeling?" I whispered through the silence and even pace of her calm breathing.
"We..." This came whispered almost lifelessly from pallid lips and the flutter of dark lashes. "...are doing just fine. Thank you very much for asking, Doctor." I gave the helplessly confused cant of my head towards the haunted echo of the cynic.
"Yuki...?" I questioned lightly through the furrow of my brow. "Can you hear me?" And the infinitesimal tug of those lips manifested towards my mild befuddlement.
"Yes, Doctor." She whispered in that strange, monotonously detached tone. "He is present with us, too." This confirmation came slow and paced in a slightly deeper, almost lethargic drag. "He hears you."
"Am I speaking with him now?" I questioned, marveling at this bizarre and somewhat unexpected display.
"...no..." This came breathed through lifeless lips and that unsettling voice.
"Then...who am I speaking with?" I queried lightly as this question came swallowed up in the timeless lull that followed.
"We..." The woman's voice came in a wistful breath. "...are the memory keeper." She addressed herself, giving pause before continuing to speak. "We bare the thoughts of the collective."
"The collective?" I gave the cant of my head to this as I witnessed another slight lift of her lips.
"Yes, Doctor." This came monotonous in confirmation. "We are." She spoke definitively through that strange lull. "All of us..." These words came breathed through those delicate, pale lips. "We are...all of us...present, Doctor." The woman murmured lightly through a lethargic sigh. "And...we hear you."
I was confounded by this. Truly. I was uncertain as to what this could mean, and the natural following question fell from my lips unbeckoned.
"How many of you are there...?" And I watched as her body seemed to grow almost frighteningly slack and unresponsive to this question.
How many...?
This floated through the silence.
How many...?
And a long, sad, breathless sign came from her delicate nose followed by deafening silence as this young woman refused to respond.
How many...?
This silence was all consuming as it wrapped itself around me. Stifling...as I waited for her response. Wondering if she would respond. That body on the couch had grown so still. So terrifyingly still...as I waited. And it was in this stillness that my gaze was drawn to the sudden, slowed movement of her right hand. Just her right hand, as it lifted from the sofa and turned palm down, slender fingers slayed along its surface. And I was drawn to this movement as I bared silent witness to something I had never seen before. Something I had never encountered. And then...her index finger began to slowly rise and fall in a rhythmic motion as she began to tap along the sofa cushion as if voicelessly responding in morse code.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
I began to track her slender finger, breathlessly counting out these movements in order to discern their meaning.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
I continued counting, making a mental note of her finger's movements as I determined to document this unexpected response to my question.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
This silent tapping along the sofa cushion continued slowly as my gaze continued to follow. Silently keeping count and watching for a discernible pattern. But then her finger faltered. Hesitated in continuing. Held erect and suspended, as if she were deliberating with herself before the finger landed silently along the cushion once more. Only once more, before it was laid at rest and stillness consumed her. And I was left stunned in the wake of her stillness, and the response I had just been given.
Thirteen.
The answer to my question...was thirteen.