Session 2: An Exercise in Identity
Doctor Quinzell entered the cell to find Isley sitting in the same place she always was. This time, however, there was a flicker of some new emotion in the redhead's eyes when she looked up to see her visitor. Relief, perhaps? Or...something else? Harleen couldn't read the emotion with certainty before it was hidden away again, but she thought it felt like something softer and warmer than the customary cold rage.
Rather than sitting nearby, Harleen approached her patient and offered her her hand. "Hello again, Doctor. Come with me, won't you?"
Doctor Isley raised an eyebrow. "Are we going somewhere?"
"Not far," Harleen assured her. She helped the woman to her feet and led her to the opposite side of the room. "I know it's not much for a change of scenery, but shaking things up a little can be helpful, and moving around, even a little, definitely is. Also," she added quietly, "The image quality on the security camera is less clear for this side." She released her patient's hand and leaned against the wall, motioning the other to join her.
Isley cautiously took a position facing her. Leaning against a padded wall was a somewhat odd sensation, like lying in bed yet standing upright, and with the walls, floor, and ceiling all identical save for the door, she could almost convince herself that she was lying down, with Doctor Isley lying an arm's length away; her skin was greener today, a green that somehow made her look healthier rather than sick, and surprisingly pretty, especially against the red of her hair.
Harleen acknowledged that observation and then set it aside. She casually reached into the inside pocket of her lab coat and slowly pulled out a plastic hairbrush, which she showed discreetly to Doctor Isley. "I had to smuggle this in," she confided. "Which is ridiculous, honestly, but I did it."
"How rebellious of you," Doctor Isley said dryly. "And less than 24 hours after breaking into government property to commit grand theft botany. I wonder if they'll give you the cell next to mine."
Harleen gestured to the woman's tangled mess of hair. "May I have your consent to brush your hair? It may hurt a bit, given the state it's in."
"And why would you risk breaking the rules for something like that?"
Harleen sighed to herself. She'd like to do quite a bit more for the woman than just brush her hair, but doubted she'd be able to get away with it. It seemed as though nobody else in this backward institution cared about research and data, and she was beginning to suspect her reports weren't even being read. None of this was particularly relevant to Doctor Isley at the moment, however, so Harleen instead answered, "It'll help pass the time. Plus, I think it might help you feel better."
"Very well, then," Doctor Isley said. "You have my permission, Doctor Quinzell."
"Please," Harleen said, moving over to stand behind the woman, "call me Harleen. Now, Pamela—May I call you Pamela? Pam? What do you prefer?"
"I don't—ow." Doctor Isley winced as Harleen tugged the brush through the first knot. "I don't think that name belongs to me anymore. Pamela was the naive girl who died at GCU."
"Pamela was the woman who survived something traumatic at GCU," Harleen corrected her. "She was studying for a doctorate in bioengineering, right? What was she planning to do with that?"
"Botanic biochemistry," Isley corrected. "Though there was also a certain amount of bioengineering involved in the degree program. I wanted to...understand plants, how they work, how they grow and regenerate; how they turn towards the sun, and how they defend themselves, growing into one another, fighting to survive in spite of everything, without a single neuron to drive them. I had some ideas about how we might use that knowledge, I suppose, but really, I just wanted to...watch—ow!"
"You are free to withdraw your consent at any time," Harleen said. "However, the path forwards will require going through some discomfort. It always does.
Harleen turned Isley to face her again. "Pamela," she said, looking the woman straight in her eyes, "You have gone through something traumatic. That event changed you, yes, but it does not define you. The hopes and dreams of Miss Isley, her hobbies, her tastes, her talents—they are yours now as Doctor Isley, too. They were not stolen from you by those that hurt you, and they can become yours again without bringing you close to the flame of your injury. You get to choose what is burned in the fire, and what you will save." Harleen resumed brushing the woman's hair out. "I'd like to suggest you choose to save your name. It would be symbolic, you know? But, if you really want to choose a different one, the choice is yours."
Silence followed, a silence that Harleen knew not to break. She continued untangling the redhead's curls for about a minute before Isley spoke. "I remember what it felt like, just...existing. Being her. Being me. I don't feel anything like that now."
Harleen smiled, in spite of herself. Data was data, but it was nice to be proven right. "No, I expect you don't," she said aloud. "Your hair hasn't been properly combed or washed for at least a week, you're wearing a straight jacket that hasn't been changed for days, and you've been living full-time in a bare cell with nothing to do but sleep and wait. Nobody would feel like themselves under those conditions. Your feelings right now are normal and they are valid, and they are not permanent. Once you are released, once you are out in the world doing normal things, I can assure you that that will feel much more familiar."
Eventually, Isley spoke again. "I'll save the name."
"It's Pamela, then? I'm glad. Our next task is to find out what else you have in common with your past self."
…
A few hours later, Pamela was willing to admit she had quite a bit in common with her past self and was feeling more normal, and Harleen was unwilling to admit that she had quite a bit in common with Pamela, too.