From the Desk of Archibald Hopper:
Patient: Mr. Gold
Session Two Notes
Before the Session:
Well, I'm starting over on these notes because Mr. Gold just called and pretty much scrapped all the other plans. Forget them. They no longer exist.
Instead of the controlled session (well, not really controlled. Mr. Gold doesn't respond well to controlled. I think he likes to be the controller; he may have trust issues. Doesn't like having to trust other people with his safety and such. Must look into that. Where was I? Oh, yes.) in my office, Mr. Gold has called and informed me that he wants this session to be in his home.
He didn't tell me where he lived. I guess he forgot. Probably nervous about the meeting. Anyway, I don't have time for BTS notes because – ahaha, that looks like a sandwich name. BTS. Bacon, Tomato … um. I don't have time because I have to find out where he lives now, and I'm not sure where I placed the telephone book –
Sesame seeds! Bacon, Tomato, Sesame seeds. Although technically, wouldn't that be called BTSS? Either way, it's not really relevant, seeing as BTS stands for Before the Session. But I don't think 'the' is normally included in these sorts of things. BS? BS notes? At least it doesn't sound like a sandwich.
Leastways, not one that I would eat.
After the Session:
I need therapy. I need therapy for therapy. BECAUSE OF MY THERAPY, I NOW NEED THERAPY. For shock. Because my hands won't stop shaking, and I'm very cold, and I think I may have just suffered a flashback, because there's a whole page in my notebook about things like 'He's got a gun' and 'not the cushion' and 'OH HEAVENS ABOVE, MY STARS, MAKE IT STOP.'
… Anyway, during this session, at Mr. Gold's house, I attempted to coax Mr. Gold into a more open state emotionally. I used the pillow method. Of course, I couldn't really get ahold of any pillows in Mr. Gold's living room (he doesn't have throw pillows – why am I the only man in Storybrooke with throw pillows?), I had to use a cushion.
I told him to visualize someone he held a lot of anger toward. Ostensibly, he chose Moe French, but he didn't actually respond until after I'd made several other suggestions, including his parents (about whom I still know nothing, except maybe they're Scottish but heck, maybe not).
Mr. Gold's house is very bare, at least in the room we were in, but it shows signs of recent clutter. I think there are two possible meanings to the quick cleaning job. One of them is that Mr. Gold wished to remove any opportunity I might have for personal insight, which would mean the antiques he keeps in his house are of a more personal nature than the ones in his shop.
Oh, gosh. Antique sex toys? Is that what I'm implying?
Do those even exist? That is so not what I meant to imply.
Well, the other option is insecurity. I think Mr. Gold might have been worried that I would see him as a slob, and I was really rooting for that idea until literally two seconds ago when I wrote it down. And now it just seems ridiculous.
You can't hear the crickets from Mr. Gold's house. I tried. You can hear lots of banging and lots of ringing in your ears, but no crickets.
Note for Future Reference: I think Mr. Gold dislikes curtains. I think he likes to burn them. With fire.
Just a hunch.
Goodnight, notes.
-Archie Hopper