Chapter 11: Different Faces

Saturday, October 3rd.

"What did you call her?"

Rebecca shook her head, smiling, wryly, "She named herself. Eve." He frowned a little, and she nodded, "Yeah. I suppose you've heard of the Thigpen and Cleckley experiment, right? The MPD experiment? The Three Faces of Eve? She thought it would be appropriate. The other one - the other most prominent one, anyway - has now started calling herself Jane. Eve thinks it's bullshit that she's the sensible, all-knowing one. God, the fights they have because of it..."

Crane nodded, thoughtfully, jotting away in that fucking irritating notepad of his. He glanced back up at her, "And have you allowed her more space? Eve, that is."

She gave a small smile. You have no idea, sweetheart...

Oi, Rebecca scolded, firmly, I said not in therapy. Keep to the deal.

Fine, fine, whatever you say...

Thank you.

She shook her head again, "I have. A lot." Then she glanced down, meaningfully, "But she's not very aware of the rules."

"You set rules?"

"Of course I did. The first was that she quit trying to get me into trouble with the guys here. The second was that she stayed out of therapy."

"Why?"

She shook her head, "I need to concentrate in therapy. I need to know what thoughts are mine. She said she'd shut herself away, half an hour a day, not much to ask."

"Of course." He paused for a second, "What did Eve threaten you with, you never said."

Rebecca hesitated. No. She hadn't. She also had conveniently left out how that lovely conversation had started. It had been twelve days since Warrick had made his little promise, and, at the moment, he was a no-show. On the flipside, Eve had kept her promise. No more words of that night had been spoken, not even a hint. Things were working out okay. Why spoil them now?

"Just... y'know, the usual. Slowly tearing apart my life from the inside. Taking over when I'm not expecting it... God knows what havoc she could pull when she's pissed."

Thanks, darling.

"Eve, I said not in therapy! Go."

There was silence, and Crane was watching her. She blushed a little, despite herself, and shrugged, awkwardly, "Sorry."

"There's nothing to apologise for." He thought for a moment, "Tell me, Miss Wells, in your psychology lessons, did you do any Freud?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Unfortunately?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She let out a low groan, "Oh, you're not a Freudian, are you?"

"He makes some valid points." He replied, stiffly, "He practically created psychotherapy, psychoanalysing."

"But apart from that he was a complete nut-job who changed his whole thesis at the first sign of criticism. He was a coward." She shook her head, "I'm much more inclined to Jung, personally."

He settled, "But you do remember Freud?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember the three parts of the human consciousness?" she frowned, and he shook his head, "The ego, the superego -"

"And the id, yes, sorry, yeah, I remember. Why?"

"Which would you say was Eve?"

"The inner desire." she replied, instantly.

"And Jane?"

There she hesitated, "I... I don't know. I mean, sometimes I think she's trying to help... other times... I don't know."

"Hm. Now. Do either Jane or Eve ever try to convince you to talk about your past? About what happened to you?"

Rebecca looked at him.

Fuck, that's spooky. Eve whispered, quietly.

I said not in therapy. She objected, half-heartedly. Her attention was on what Crane had just said.

Sweetheart, right now I'm the least of your problems, she pointed out, Now just where the hell is he going with this.

"Miss Wells," he continued, after waiting for a few moments for her to answer, "I've told you before that I'm not known for mincing my words."

"So let me be frank." She completed in a passable attempt at his cultured voice.

A small smile moved over his lips, "Exactly. I want to examine you."

She frowned, "Isn't that what you've been doing for the last week?"

"I meant a physical examination."

Immediately she shook her head, "No. No, Doctor Crane. No. I can't. I just, I just... can't."

He raised an eyebrow, "Miss Wells, I believe you misunderstood me. I was not asking for your permission."

Rebecca stared at him. It took some screaming at from her 'id' to get her to open her mouth. "What... what are you talking about."

Crane tilted his head to one side, "Well. Let's put it this way." He turned his back on her, moving to his desk, "Either you give your consent... or..." he picked up what looked like a metal pencil case and pulled out a hypodermic needle, "I give you a shot of this, which is Flunitrazepam, a Benzodiazepine, and I carry out the examination while you're unconscious." He pushed the needle into a small glass bottle, drawing up some clear liquid. He pushed the plunger until a small trickle of the stuff squirted out the end, and then, seemingly satisfied, put a small plastic safety cap over the needle. Then he looked at her, "So. Which is it to be?"

Rebecca shook her head, slowly. Her heart was pounding, her eyes flickering between his and the needle. She shook her head again, "You... you can't be serious. You're joking. Right? You're joking."

"I don't joke, Miss Wells." He replied, perfectly seriously.

"Then I'm triggering again, this... this can't be real."

"I can assure you, this is very real."

She nodded, quickly, "Well, yeah, but that's exactly what a schizophrenic hallucination would say, isn't it."

He smiled again, "Think whatever you want, Miss Wells. I am going to examine you. Now, I don't know you very well - yet - but... I'm thinking you're the sort of person who'd be less scared of something happening when she was awake... than being unconscious and never knowing what truly happened." He let her think about it for a second, "So. What's it to be. Sober... or with a shot of Flunitrazepam."

She still stared at him. Her mind was saying this wasn't possible, that she was dreaming, maybe, or hallucinating. But she had spent a long time fighting to figure out what was real and what was not. And this... this felt real.

She glanced at the door. It was still unlocked, still open. But... who would believe her? She was a lunatic. A paranoid schizophrenic. Emphasis on the word paranoid. Who would believe her?

Let me help you, Eve whispered in her ear, Please. Let me help. Give me some room. I'll help you.

Okay. She replied, Help me. But only to keep me calm. Let me make the decisions. Yeah?

If it'll help us live through this... go for it.

"Flunitrazepam." She repeated, slowly, "Isn't that... Rohypnol?"

He nodded, "Rohypnol is one brand name for it, yes. Along with Nilium, Flunipam and Ronal."

Rebecca felt Eve's presence grow stronger as her fear heightened, "You... you're gonna stick me with a goddamned roofie? I thought you were a damned scientist! A shrink!"

"I am."

"Then... what the fuck is wrong with you."

Crane sighed. He shook his head, leaning back against his desk, "Miss Wells. I think... well, I think I have an idea of what pushed you into your psychosis. It's an idea that's becoming more and more palpable as we go along in these sessions. But, seeing as you are obviously incapable of confirming this for me yourself, I will need to conduct a physical examination to be absolutely positive."

"I don't do examinations. You should know that by now."

He nodded, thoughtfully. Then he straightened up, picking up the needle again. Rebecca rose from her chair, slowly, and the smallest smile twitched on his lips. He started towards her. She took a few quick steps back, feeling her heart pound, her breathing quicken.

Then, abruptly, anger came through: "Go on." She snarled, viciously, "Fucking do it. Stick me. What's the worst you could fucking do."

He raised an eyebrow, unperturbed, "Is this Eve speaking? Of course it is. And, I assure you, Eve, the direct method means nothing to me, either way I get what I want. But, just a piece of advice..." he leaned towards her, and, suddenly, he looked very, very dangerous, "Never ask me what's the worst I could do."

Even Eve flinched. That voice... it was as if something darker in Crane was poking through to the surface, fighting to get free. Then Crane shook his head, and he was back again, "Now. Make up your mind."

She looked at him. Eve was silent. Jane had been struck down when he first took out the needle. She had no-one.

Rebecca shook her head, slowly, "Do it. Do it. Do the damned examination. Fast."

He smiled, "Thank you." He placed the injection away on the table, promptly, and then moved over to her, fast, "Now. I'll need you to undress."

Rebecca let out a quick breath, turning her head. She was trembling. She licked her lips. Then she nodded, glancing up at him, nodding again. Her hands moved up to her top. Then she pulled it over her head.

Doctor Crane - such a gentleman - turned his back, busying himself with a plastic stand-alone screen that had been tucked away in a cupboard, "I usually would perform examinations downstairs in the doctor's room, but it is cramped and has a door that you can't leave open, and I don't expect you'd like that, would you? So we'll just put this screen in front of the door, like that, yes? Good."

She hadn't replied, hadn't even acknowledged that she'd heard him. Her hands kept fumbling with the button on her jeans. She finally just gave up, pulling them over her hips, for once almost glad that she was such a difficult size to buy for, and then, shakily, folded them, placing them neatly on the chair.

Crane turned back around. His eyes flickered over her for less than a second before returning to her face, coolly. He held up what looked like an old-fashioned tape recorder, "It will have to be recorded, of course. Audio, not video."

"I don't want to hear it." She said, instantly, "I don't want to know."

"You still maintain that you don't remember?"

"I don't remember." She looked at him for a second. Then her eyes scanned the room, "That. Over there. CD player. What's in it."

He followed her gaze, and then looked back at her, "The Pet Shop Boys." He winked, something so unlike him that she found herself staring at him, "Secret obsession."

She nodded, slowly, "Let me use it."

"To block out what I'm saying?"

"Yes. Please."

"Of course." He replied, fluidly, moving over to get the CD player, passing it to her, "Here."

Rebecca immediately put the earphones in, selecting a random track to play. Crane watched until she was ready, and then nodded, "Right. Now." He took a pair of disposable gloves from a box over on the desk and pulled them on, "Sorry my hands are cold. Let's get started."

Rebecca cranked the volume up to full. He was still speaking, but anything he said was drowned out by the electronic roar she hadn't heard in over ten years.

When I look back upon my life, it's always with a sense of shame: I've always been the one to blame. For everything I long to do, no matter when or where or who, has one thing in common, too - it's a, it's a, it's a...

It's a sin.