Chapter 3: But You Won't Believe Me
Sam drummed her fingers impatiently against the uncomfortable plastic chair. She hated waiting rooms, whether they were for dentists, doctors, or in this case therapists. She shifted her weight, groaning as the chair creaked loudly. If the expectation was for people to sit in these things forever, you would figure that the damn things things would be comfortable. The fluorescent lighting was giving her a migraine as well and she rubbed her temple in an attempt to stave it off.
"Samantha Manson?" The receptionist called out in a bored tone. Sam stood up, relieved to finally be getting out of this claustrophobic room. She gave a last glance at the other occupants, wondering what fucked up reasons they had for being here. Everyone else looked similarly miserable, some eyeing her with jealousy as Sam followed a woman out of the room and down a long hall.
The woman knocked on a door at the end of the hall, and it immediately swung open. Sam's therapist Dr. Yorke stood in the doorway, beckoning her inside with a polite smile. Sam followed obediently, plopping down into the familiar leather couch. She wrinkled her nose, displeased to be sitting on furniture made from some poor, unfortunate cow. At least it was more comfortable than the plastic.
"Well, good afternoon, Sam," Dr. Yorke said kindly, settling into her own chair. She threaded her hands together and rested them on the oversized desk. Hler therapist was an attractive middle-aged woman with carefully coiffed hair and bright red glasses. Sam thought the glasses would look tacky on anyone else, but on Dr. Yorke they were charmingly quirky.
"Good afternoon." Sam repeated back bitterly. She felt bad being so rude right out the gate, but this whole charade was pointless. These sessions- just as her therapy always had been- were solely for her parents' peace of mind, Sam was getting increasingly tired of having to come to them."
"Oh?" Dr. Yorke said with keen eyes. "Not so good?" She asked with a small, knowing smile. At least this therapist wasn't a complete moron like her previous ones. Although Sam did wish that Dr. Yorke was just a bit more of a pencil pusher. Unfortunately, the woman clearly cared about her job and actually wanted to help Sam, which was an issue considering that Sam couldn't possibly tell this lady the truth about her situation.
"Just having some issues with a friend." Sam said dismissively. It was the truth, and yet it sounded like enough of a normal problem that it didn't need to be interrogated . "It's not a big deal."
"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" Dr. Yorke inquired, raising her eyebrows. "If it's upsetting you then it most certainly is important."
"No." Sam said firmly, crossing her arms. Danny was an off-limits topic here. She wasn't going to give her therapist any real ammo to use against her. Dr. Yorke sighed, clearly disappointed that Sam still wasn't being vulnerable or honest. Sam wondered just how much disappointment Dr. Yorke would take before she gave up on getting Sam to authentically participate in these sessions.
"Well, then let's just discuss your general progress. Any black outs? Any gaps in memory since our last session?" Sam frowned at the questions. They made her sound like a nutcase who needed to be in a psychiatric ward. Unfortunately, she had to play along with this stupid game.
"No, none at all. Nothing since the original black out." She ground out. Since her parents couldn't accept the true story that Sam had tried to give them, they had to come up with this ridiculous lie that Sam had gone into a fugue state- triggered by the trauma of revisiting Amity Park- and that's why she had disappeared for two weeks. At least it gave her an excuse to answer every probing question from authorities with a half-hearted "I don't remember." The massive downside was the dozens of appointments with doctors and psychotherapists she'd endured since settling on that little white lie.
"Mm-hm, and have you been doing the breathing exercises I assigned? Journaling at all?" Dr. Yorke asked, grabbing a pen and holding it over her own notes. Sam hadn't, but she didn't feel like being lectured.
"Yes." She lied immediately. Dr. Yorke hummed, writing down something that Sam couldn't read from her angle. It seemed that her therapist didn't believe her. Smart woman.
"Do you understand how helpful these practices can be in recovering memories?" She asked, tone just a touch reproachful, "They can also help address the underlying causes of the fugue state, which can prevent further black outs." Sam fidgeted in the chair, not liking the direction that this conversation was going in.
"I thought that fugue states were a one-time thing?" She asked. It was true, she had researched this as soon as this became the story her parents were running with. She was not going to commit to a story that was going to land her in a ward somewhere, drugged up on a cocktail of pharmaceuticals. A fugue state could just be a strange, brief footnote in her life. A few months of check-ups and mandatory therapy sessions, and then she'd be declared normal and sent on her way.
"Well, this is true for some people. But for others, these blackouts occur repeatedly. This is a dissociative disorder. It's important to monitor these things so that we know if it begins happening again. If we don't try to understand what caused this episode in the first place, it may very well occur again." Dr. Yorke explained, peering over her glasses at Sam. "And since we've already ruled out a physical cause, that means we need to understand the psychological causes."
Sam scowled, remembering the blood tests and physical exams she had endured during the summer. It had become obvious very quickly that she wasn't suffering from some kind of brain injury or degenerative disease. So obviously her disappearance had been chalked up to PTSD. How many times was she going to hear medical professionals inform her of how screwed up she was? As if it weren 't already obvious that anyone who had been through what she had would be a little messed up too.
"I doubt it will happen again." Sam said confidently. Of course it wouldn't, because it had never actually happened in the first place! She had simply been held hostage in a town full of ghosts hell-bent on killing her. Ironically, saying the truth would definitely get her sent to a mental hospital.
"Sam." Dr. York admonished, setting her pen down and leaning forward. "You were gone for twelve days. You came back with a number of injuries. Your body was covered in cuts and bruises, your leg was fractured, and you have no recollection of how you came to be that
way. Your family and roommate were worried sick. Could you imagine putting yourself or them through that again?"
Sam hated this. She knew how much everything sucked. She was there! She remembers exactly how much it hurt getting every one of those injuries. She had seen the horrible, exhausted looks on her parents' faces when she had come home. She was still hiding things from Aubrey, and Sam knew just how much it was hurting her friend. She did not need to be lectured.
"I am taking this seriously." Sam said, staring at the floor. She could feel her hands
clenching into fists and she had to bite down the urge to scream at this lady. "I can't exactly explain it, but I know that it won't happen again." She asserted.
Dr. Yorke studied her intently.
"Why don't we talk about Amity Park?" She asked. "I read your paper, you know." She added softly. "You have so much love for the town, but we never discuss it in our sessions."
"I've talked about Amity enough with my previous shrinks, thank you." Sam bit out, not caring anymore about how hostile she sounded.
"What about your friends? Tucker?" Dr. Yorke paused, watching Sam's face. "Danny?"
"I don't want to talk about either of them."' Sam reiterated. Weren't therapists supposed to respect your boundaries?
"You wrote quite a bit about Danny Fenton in your paper." She continued on, ignoring Sam. "You even managed to find a picture of him that shed some light on what happened in Amity. It was very impressive journalism for someone of your age, Samantha." The doctor complimented. Sam tried to take offense, but she sounded genuine and not patronizing. Sam tried to predict where this was going.
"Thanks." She snapped. "What are you getting at?" Dr. Yorke took her aggressive tone in stride, patiently thumbing through the papers on her desk before pulling one out for Sam to see. It was a copy of Sam's paper, including the photo of Danny in front of the portal.
"It's clear that you were fond of him." She said, smiling. "He was a cute kid." Sam had to suppress herself from correcting her. IS. Not was.
"What of it?" Sam asked, feigning disinterest. She crossed her arms.
"Nothing, I suppose. If you don't want to talk about your friends, I understand. It's not an easy thing to revisit, I'd imagine." Dr. Yorke slipped the papers back into the stack, straightening them and tucking the file back into her drawer. She leaned forward, a curious glint in her eyes.
"What really struck me about your paper is that you describe this visit to Amity so vividly. You're a wonderful writer, you know? The amount of detail you use is so expressive." She complimented. Sam could tell that this was a trap though, despite the flattery. Dr. Yorke clicked her pen nervously, hesitating before speaking. "It's strangely vivid for someone who entered a fugue state shortly after arriving."
Sam stared at her, wordless. She thought that perhaps she should be panicking, but strangely enough she was calm. She had poured everything into writing that paper and anyone who actually read it should have immediately figured out that the fugue state thing was bullshit. It was obvious that Sam remembered every detail of her visit and had played them over and over in her head. It just so happened that no one had bothered to really question her until now, because a lie was much easier for everyone to accept. A lie meant they could all move on with their lives, and not pick at whatever instinct told them that something deeply strange had occurred in those twelve days. No wonder so many people had been able to just vanish into Amity without a trace.
"What do you want me to say?" Sam finally responded, tired.
"Well, I guess I would like to know why you're lying to everyone. Faking a fugue state isn't pleasant, I'm sure." Dr. Yorke replied. "You've had to go through psychological tests and doctor's appointments. That's months of your life spent committing to this lie." Sam could tell that the doctor was genuinely curious and not ill-intentioned. She doubted that the woman would call the police and tell them Sam was lying or whatever.
"It was my parents' idea." Sam said, deciding to be honest for once. Why not? This doctor could see through her lies anyway. Dr. Yorke gave her a strange look.
"And why would they suggest that you make up a dissociative episode?"
"Because no one would believe the truth, including them. Or they don't want to believe the truth." She muttered angrily. "They won't let me get into it all without them changing the subject."
"Surely the truth can't be so unimaginable-" Dr. Yorke began.
"Do you believe in ghosts?" Sam asked bluntly. Her therapist laughed uncomfortably, visibly baffled by the question.
"No, not personally." She said, "But don't see what that has to do with all this." Sam glanced at the clock on the wall, there were still twenty minutes left of this session. She couldn't make it that long.
"Well, if that's the case then I'm afraid that this will have to be our last session together."
Sam said coldly, standing up. Dr. Yorke recoiled as if she had been slapped.
"Our last- Sam, our session isn't even done!" She stood as well, motioning for Sam to stay. "Please, dear. Whatever you need to discuss, we will. I will do my best to believe you." Her eyes were pleading, voice desperate.
Sam felt a pang of guilt. This woman was not a villain. She was genuinely trying to help, and she was smarter than some of the other clueless idiots that Sam had been forced to endure in her teens. It wasn't her fault that the truth was unbelievable or that her parents had sanctioned this ridiculous lie in the first place.
"Thank you for your time, but I'm an adult and my parents can't force me to keep coming to these." Sam said, her hand grabbing the door knob. "Sorry." She threw over her shoulder before slipping out and letting the door shut on her baffled therapist.
Sam had barely walked to her car before her phone started blowing up. She answered it without looking, already knowing exactly who was calling.
"What?" She bit out angrily.
"Samantha Elisheba Manson, what have you done!" Her mother cried out in a shrill voice. "And do not talk to me with that tone!" Sam rolled her eyes, digging around her bag for her car keys.
"Why did Dr. Yorke call you?" Sam asked, accusatory. Where were her damn keys?
"Why did you tell her you're not coming anymore?" Pamela asked back. "And why on earth would you tell her that your father and I made you lie to the police?!"
"I'm not going anymore because it's useless and she doesn't believe me anyway. And you and dad did make me lie!" Sam hissed, finally finding her keys at the very bottom. She pulled them out, unlocking the car and sliding into her seat. She slammed the door shut behind her. "Why did she call you?!" Sam pressed. Her mother hesitated, huffing.
"We suggested she keep us updated with your progress." She answered. Sam groaned, letting her head hit the steering wheel.
"That is so unethical, mother." Sam said. "Ever heard of doctor-patient confidentiality? How much did you pay her?" Of course even this therapist ended up being in her parents' pockets. Sam suddenly felt less guilty about being rude to the woman.
"That is irrelevant." Pamela sniffed. "What were you thinking? What if she goes to the police?!"
"Then I guess you will just have to bribe her again, huh?" Sam answered, her voice dripping with poison. "I can't believe you! After all of this you still don't trust me!"
"We almost lost you!" Pamela shrieked over the phone. Sam felt the urge to scream, already feeling that her mother was moments away from going full hysterical mode. "And you come back with these crazy stories about ghosts and dead people, how could we not keep an eye on you?!" Sam sat up, letting out a sharp, bitter laugh.
"Oh you think I'm crazy, still?" Sam asked incredulously. "No, what's actually crazy is making your daughter go along with an elaborate lie for months and spying on her therapy that YOU made her go to in order to sell that lie!"
"Well, what were we supposed to do?" Pamela scoffed. "Tell the police and the private investigators and our friends and family that our daughter was kidnapped by ghosts? That Amity Park is infested with them?"
"God forbid you ever look bad to other people!" Sam said.
"Samantha." Her mother warned. "I know you think I'm some superficial, elitist shrew, but you need to grow up and realize that the world works a certain way. You are an adult, if you disappear for two weeks there are consequences. People ask questions, and if you answer them by saying ghosts are to blame, what do you think is going to happen to you?" Pamela probed her. "No, if your father and I hadn't stepped in you would have had to say goodbye to your precious school, goodbye to your apartment, goodbye to Aubrey. They would have locked you up in a white room somewhere. But we made you attend therapy, so I guess that makes us villains!"
"Can you go just five minutes without immediately getting manipulative?" Sam said, perhaps just a bit petulantly. "I would have figured something out!" She didn't actually know what she would have done if her parents hadn't been so resourceful in coming up with a story, but she would rather die than admit that to her mom right now.
"You need to go march in that office and tell that woman you are sorry and that you take it all back. And then you will resume attending your sessions!" Pamela ordered.
"I'm telling you it's a lost cause." Sam said, tired. "She won't ever stop asking questions about what really happened. Unless you want me to tell her the actual truth."
"Ghosts?" Pamela said, exasperated. Sam frowned.
"Mother, that is the truth, whether or not you want to acknowledge it." Really, Sam couldn't take this denial any further. It was ridiculous at this point, and if her parents were serious about being a part of her life again they were going to need to accept reality already.
"Absurd, absolutely absurd." Her mother muttered under her breath, barely intelligible over the phone.
"What about Danny, then?" Sam refuted. "Explain that to me. Is he a part of my fugue state too?" Pamela grew deathly quiet. A long moment of silence passed, and Sam was unsure if her mother was going to respond at all. "Mom?" She asked, concerned.
"Dybbuk." Pamela hissed, breaking the silence at last. "I don't want to talk about that boy."
"Don't call him that!" Sam said, shocked by the ugly word. "He's my friend."
"Samantha. Drop it." Her mother warned.
"No!" Sam said stubbornly. "You and dad always do this. Danny is a good person and he's the reason I'm alive at all."
"Him and his family are the reason that town is gone!" Pamela shot back. "And I thank God every day that we moved out of that horrible town, or we would have gone with it!"
"He saved my life." Sam insisted.
"He is a freak, Samantha. I wish you would stay away from him. And don't pretend for a second that you don't see him every day, your father and I are perfectly aware that you do!"
"If you just got to know him, if you would just talk to him-"
"I don't want him anywhere near me or your father, and I don't want him anywhere near you!" Pamela fired back, fully amped up now. Sam had never heard either of her parents acknowledge his existence to this extent before. "I thought if we gave in and helped you forge documents for that thing, that you'd be grateful and let it go. But now I see it was a huge mistake, that we only encouraged you."
"Mom." Sam said, gritting her teeth. Her heart was heavy, thundering in her chest. She swore she could see red, she was so angry. "I will never do that and you can't make me. Danny is important to me, more important than anything else."
"Oh, anything else?" Pamela said, challenging her. Sam was not one to back down from a challenge, even if the fallout was potentially disastrous.
"Yes." Sam said firmly. She meant it too. And she could tell that her mother knew she meant it.
"I see." Pamela said stiffly. "If that's the case, then why should I even try with you?" Sam sighed, feeling defeated.
"Mom. I love you and dad both. I want to fix this, I want to get along. Or at least just have you guys in my life again." Sam glanced out her window, feeling her eyes get a bit misty. "I don't want things to be like how they were." She truly did feel so much guilt for how bad their relationship had gotten in the last few years. But if she was going to be more patient and graceful to her parents, if she was going to put up with their overbearing, controlling, nosy ways then they had to at least give her this. "But if we're going to make that happen, you need to accept that Danny is a part of the deal."
"Oh Sammy." Pamela said, sniffling. Sam didn't bother to snap at her for the hated nickname, letting her mother use it. "We're so frightened for you."
"I promise, I'm safe with him." Sam whispered back. "I wish you could just trust me, just give him a chance. You can't even begin to imagine that he's been through all these years. What I saw in that town. If you could just listen, just for once." She pleaded, letting her pride go enough to beg for this.
Pamela said nothing, staying completely silent on her side of the phone.
"Mom?" Sam asked. Still nothing. "Mother." She said, frowning. She just poured her heart out, and she's not getting a response in return? She felt her sorrow morph into outrage. "I invited Danny to the gala. If you want to be a part of my life, you will show up just like you were planning to before knowing that. And you will actually look him in the eye and acknowledge him." And with those words, she angrily hung up.
Sam bit her tongue, trying to resist the urge to scream, to curse and swear and make a huge scene in the middle of the parking lot. She loved her parents, but it was like they were determined to always be at odds with her. Her whole life, it felt like they never understood her, never even tried. Her clothes, her music, her hobbies, her friends, her aspirations, nothing was ever right to them. Was she just destined to be some huge disappointment to them? She sank in her seat, energy fizzling out of her. She missed her grandmother more than usual in moments like this. Her only advocate and mediator long gone, leaving her to navigate her fucked up family by herself.
Worst of all, poor Danny didn't deserve to be treated like this. Maybe it wasn't the right thing to try and get him in a room with her parents anytime soon, knowing how sensitive he was. The gala was a very public event though and her parents were nothing if not polite and well-mannered. They would be cordial and civil in that kind of environment. That is, if they showed up at all. Or if Danny even agreed to go. Sam knew she was pushy, knew she was confronting him with all sorts of things out of his comfort zone. But what else could she do? If he felt lost, she would just have to do her best to carve out a place for him. One where he could co-exist with others, be a part of her life in a real, tangible way so he didn't have to hide himself away from the world.
Sam took a deep breath, starting her car. She rolled down the window, feeling a bit relieved by the fresh air that blew in. Everything would work itself out, right? And if it didn't, then she was serious when she told her mom that Danny was the most important thing to her right now. She would protect him from anyone and anything, her own parents included. After everything he had been through, he deserved someone in his corner. Someone who would take care of him, keep him safe after being so alone for so long. If that meant losing her parents again, it was a sacrifice she would make, however much it hurt.