Past Acquaintances


	Mary looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Dirty blond bangs
loosely covered her flat gray eyes. She brushed the hair away, revealing a
distinctive scar that ran across the right side of her forehead. It was the
type of scar that would never completely heal, a imprint on her face of her
past. She turned the faucet on, the sound of running water filling the air.
She splashed the ice cold water onto her face, the taut skin on her hands as
well as her arms reacting with goose bumps, the refreshing cold traveling
throughout her. She dried her face with a clean fluffy towel and adjusted her
clothes one last time before leaving the bathroom.
	No photographs hung on the walls of her apartment. There were no albums
or scrapbooks on her bookshelf. There were no letters from her family in her
small pile of mail beside the telephone. Mary was an orphan. She had no
mother, father, sisters or brothers. All she knew is what others had told her
- she was found on the side of a highway badly injured where she was then
brought to a hospital. She had no memory or knowledge of how she got there or
what had happened. That was nearly thirty years ago, when she was six. 
	Mary picked up her keys and purse sitting on the counter and headed out
the door, double checking to make sure that it was locked securely behind her.
She passed her elderly neighbor, of whom she rarely spoke to unless out of
courtesy. “Good morning Miss. Lotham,” he said to Mary as he touched his hat.
She tilted her head at him and placed a slim slight smile upon her lips. She
exited the apartment building and made her way to the train station a few
blocks away. The streets were busy, they were crowded with a variety of
people; each with their own life, their own problems, their own identities.
Mary studied each carefully. 
	The gentleman in the suit with a cellular phone in hand; he was lawyer,
likely to have graduated from some fancy university. The jogger with
headphones; she was an aerobics instructor fitting in a jog into her lunch
break. The teenage boys with their skateboards; they were out to enjoy the
warm day and relax. Mary found a special interest in one particular woman. She
was pushing a baby carriage, probably a new mother taking her newborn child
out to experience and be exposed to the wonders of the world while her husband
worked tediously away at some accounting job, ready to support his flourishing
and perfect family. All these people had pasts and futures, something to live
from and go on with. Mary didn’t. She had tried countess times to regain her
past; various agencies, DNA testing, researching every single possible link.
Countless times she had failed.
	She knew that she should try to move on, but how could she move on with
nothing to move from? She needed to know what she was about, where she was
from, who she was, in order to determine who she is now. She knew that all she
had ever searched for, all the answers, were within her, but her memory would
just not allow it. There was always something holding her back, something so
strong that even her own conscious will would not break it. Yet still, even
all the failed attempts, she knew she had to try again. Today she would.
	She got onto the stuffy train and took a seat. It jutted forward and the
passengers moved together, wavering slightly back and forth. As Mary stared
absently forward her hand subconsciously moved up to touch the always-present
locket that rested on her neckline. It was the single object, other than her
clothes, that was found with her from when she was discovered. Within the
locket was the only photograph that she had in her possession. It was a
picture of a boy, of teenage years. He resembled Mary in a slight way, having
a similar hair color and similar features; but she still didn’t know if or how
she was related to him.
	It was soon her stop. She got off and pulled a piece of paper out of her
coat pocket. ‘Central Wesmer Building. Floor 19. Dr. Sampson. 1.30 p.m..,’ it
read. She glanced at her watch; 12:56. She was early. Her eyes traveled
around, and then up. The Wesmer building was a tall and forbidding one,
towering over many of the other surrounding buildings. As she walked towards
it, she noticed many multiple images of a plain, unimportant looking woman
walking along the street reflected on the polished mirror surface of the
windows. It was her. The doorway was one of those revolving ones of which she
amused over; she always had an affinity for spinning things.
	The elevator’s numbers above the doorway were digital; she suspected
that they likely went up well into their twenties. Floor 19, she reminded
herself. It was a pretty, yet plain floor. Pastel colors coated the walls and
paintings of sunny summer scenes dotted the hallway here and there. A sign at
the entrance of the elevator listed various specialties and their doctors,
everything from Dr. Movac, the dermatologist to Dr. Deaner, the chiropractor.
The last on the list was the one she was seeking for, Dr. Sampson; room 46.
	Her footsteps didn’t echo as she walked, the floor was carpeted giving
the place a stuffy feeling. As she went, she admired the various paintings,
wondering if she could ever develop such great talent. At last, she arrived at
room 46. She carefully studied the letters printed on the door window - Dr. G.
Sampson, hypnotic therapist. There were already few patients waiting within
the room.
	“Umm, excuse me?” she timidly asked the receptionist, who was busily
sorting through some files.
	“Yes? How may I help you?” 
	“I have an appointment. Mary Lotham.”
	“All right.” She paused as she flipped her way through some more papers.
“Please take a seat. Dr. Sampson will be with you shortly.” She took a seat
the farthest way from anyone else. The faint sound of soft music could be
heard, occasionally interrupted by a cough or shuffling of one of the
patients. There was also the sound of the monotonous clock, ticking away.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Her mind wandered with every tick of the clock. Minutes
passed, and she sat there silent as slow eternity.
	“Miss Lotham?” a voice interrupted, making Mary jerk forward, suddenly
surprised. “He’s ready to see you.” The receptionist led her to a back room
where the doctor sat at his desk. She handed him a file and swiftly exited. He
looked up at Mary with warm eyes and smiled.
	“Hello there-” He stopped to check the file. “-Mary.” He said her name
with the sound of individuality and importance, as though the name actually
meant more than something that was given to her just for convenience. “Take a
seat.” She sat on the edge of the cushioned chair in front of his desk. He
folded his fingers in front of her, resting them on the desk. “How can I help
you?”  
	“I-I can’t remember...” she stuttered, feeling intimidated by him. There
was a sense of commandment about him. Even as he adjusted his glasses, one
could feel that he was sure of what he was doing and that control was
something that came from him naturally.
	“Remember what?” For the next hour, she stammered on about what she
could put together from her past, coming up with bits of information here and
there, pouring out all the necessary details that she needed to share. All the
time he just sat patiently and attentively listened. A odd glimmer passed
through his eyes at one point and he clenched his hands, but Mary didn’t
notice having turned her head away in order to not face his piercing eyes.
When Mary took a deep sigh indicating she was done, he spoke with such
seriousness in his tone she thought the world was about to fall apart.
	“Mary, I need you to trust me. If you really want this, you need to know
that I’m here to help you. If I’m to help you at all in any way, you have to
be able to allow me into your world. There may be some things that you may not
want to know, or some things that may end up being frightening when not
understood. Are you sure you want to go on with this?” His face was stern.
	She nodded dumbly. “Y-Yes. Yes I do.” He smiled.
	“Okay then. We’ll set up another appointment. Tomorrow, perhaps? Go talk
to my assistant. Yes. Tomorrow...”

	They met, the next day. “Hello again Mary.”
	“Dr. Sampson.” He motioned for her to sit on the couch. 
	“I want you to be clear on a few things. First of all, we have to work
together, and you have to want to follow what I say. Actually want, with all
you have. Remember, I can’t make you do anything that you don’t truly want me
to do. Do you have any questions?” She though a moment, and then shook her
head.
 	“Shall we begin, then? We’re going to start with a few very simple
exercises. We’re going to do this slowly and carefully, nothing extreme or
dramatic. This is for you to get comfortable with the environment and
surroundings. All right?” he questioned her, knowing that this would be a
sensitive case and possible threatening if not handled properly.
	“All right,” she mumbled.
	“Okay, I want you to relax first of all,” he said in a firm voice,
emphasizing on the ‘I want’ part of it. “Sit back and let your body find the
most comfortable position.” Mary adjusted herself somewhat. “Relax,” he
repeated. “Slowly, let the feelings of comfort take over. Just let it all go.”
He paused for several minutes, allowing for her to be absorbed into the
situation. All right, she thought to herself, I have to let this happen. She
tried concentrating to make herself relax, but she found she had to do exactly
the opposite, to not concentrate worked much better. To her surprise, she
eventually found herself calming down, with the help of the persistent voice
of Dr. Sampson.
	“Are you comfortable now?” Her eyes had closed moments before, and she
nodded. “Now, I want you to use your imagination. Visualize that you are
filled with water.” She did so, following his directions, of which were easier
to comply to rather than to object. “Water fills every part of your body, all
the way from your toes to the top of your head.” He paused again, letting her
imagination sink in. When he began again, his voice had a slightly increased
tone of control and commandment. “Now feel the water draining away, and being
replaced by a light, good feeling.” He murmured the words as though they were
part of him. “It starts at your toes. Feel it all drain away. Now it travels
up your legs...” She could her body reacting. “Everything is emptying away and
underneath, underneath, you feel refreshed and clear. And now your upper legs
drain away, now your fingertips, and up your arms.” He continued listing body
parts, moving upwards, finishing off with the top of her head. Mary felt
light, and almost pleasant.
	“Now, place your right arm straight forward, and hold it there.” Her arm
moved to this position, and he pushed down against it. The arm held its place.
	“Good.” He was speaking more to himself than to her. “Good, things are
coming along quite nicely.”
	
	For the next few weeks, their sessions continued. Everyday, he would try
something new, progressing the degree and depth of the trance she was in. She
found herself actually giving the trust that he needed to help her. She was
used to him now, and they even had a few friendly conversations outside of the
therapy. Mary inwardly observed everything about him. He was a not a
particularly heavy set man, but not a very meager one. She guessed his age to
be in the forties, but no older than the late fifties for his posture was
still of a young man. However, he still had a series of wrinkles across his
face, showing years of experience, and at times, even stress. His hair had
mostly gone gray with age, but there was a noticeable streak of youthful dirty
blonde hair that ran from his right temple. He also wore a distinguishable
broad silver ring with a black stone embedded on his index finger. She liked
his ring. Mary found comfort in his presence, of which she found to be rather
disturbing, she rarely found any interest or pleasure form the company of
others. She chose to dismiss the feelings of uneasiness.

	She felt as though she was making real progress, and that she would soon
be able to regain her memory. It was Friday, the long weekend was just around
the corner. Many people had plans to go camping or some sort of adventurous
outgoing. Mary didn’t have any plans. Her appointment was later in the day, so
she wasted most of her morning. 
	Yet again, she traveled her way across the city and made her way to his
office. She was his last patient for the day, and she waited on the couch in
the back room as Dr. Sampson wrapped up some business with his assistant. She
overheard some of their conversation. 
	“Why don’t you go early? You have that trip, and I don’t want you to
miss your flight.”
	“Are you sure, Dr. Sampson? There are a few files that I still have to
put away-”
	“I’m sure. Go on ahead. I’m sure I can take care of things. You go and
have fun for the weekend...” His voice was strange, but Mary though it was
generous of him to let her go early. 
	Though she had sat in there several times already, this was the first
time she had really looked at the room. Potted plants lined the window,
complementing the view of the endless sky. Degree plaques hung on the walls
beside the large pendulum clock. On his desk sat a rustic-looking lamp, a pile
of letters along with a fancy knife-like letter opener, and a few pens. There
were large bookshelves along the wall, mostly composed of medical manuscripts,
but there was a small section with various novels of some of the greatest
writers, everything from Dickensen to Bradbury. Interested, she walked over to
the bookshelf.
	“Do you read?” Dr. Sampson said as he walked silently into the room,
shutting the door behind him. 
	“Sometimes. I see you have much of Poe’s works. I am a fan, he writes
some very...disturbing things, however.”
	“Yes.” His brow lowered and his lips twitched slightly, but his face
returned to normal before she could notice. “I admire him greatly,” he curtly
said. “Let’s take a seat. I think the time has come for you to reach the goal
you have longed for. I suspect that what is holding you back from your own
memories is something tragic that had occurred. Today, we will try going back
into your past to see what that was. Are you ready, Mary?” 
	“I’m ready.” He repeated the same rehearsed procedures, but this time
urging her to go forward, into the deepest state of trance possible, the
hypnoidal stage. 
	“You are losing contact with your outside surroundings. It is only your
mind that exists. Let everything go; this world, this room, this moment. Go
deep, deep within yourself, as far as you can go. Deeper and deeper.” She felt
warm and drowsy. Her lids fluttered, and her eyes rolled back into her head,
the whites now red. Tears collected in the corners and they eventually shut.
Her lips quivered and she swallowed, reflectively.  
	He noted these signs and continued on. “Now, you are seeing yourself
slowly regressing back to childhood. Back to when you were six. I want you to
remember the day, before you were brought to the hospital. Mary, what happened
before you were found?” She stiffened somewhat.
	“Mary, what do you see?” Her head moved from side to side.
	“Sh-she’s so scared...”
	“Who?”
	“I see her now. It’s m-me. I was so scared,” her voice trembled.
	“Why are you scared, Mary?” She didn’t answer. “Mary?” Dr. Sampson. Her
eyes had stopped fluttering, he could see them racing back and forth now,
behind the closed eyelids; she was witnessing something.
	“What happened?” he asked, sternly.
	“No...no!” Again, her head shook. “He did it! Why...why did he do it? I
don’t understand...” Mary blurted out, her words making little sense. Still
deep in the hypnoidal stage, she began to sob as she relived the past.
	“He killed them. Everyone. Mom, Dad...” She touched her locket, finally
realizing that it was a photograph of her father in his youth.
	“What happened?” the doctor asked again.
	“I-I came home from school, and h-he was there. Standing over their
bleeding bodies. I watched him. I watched him do it. He stabbed them, over and
over! He made me watch-” 
	“Who? Who did this?”
	“I told him to stop! I ran to grab the knife from him but he was too
strong! He knocked me down. Why?! We loved him so much. How could my own
brother do this? Oh Greg!” She broke out into another lasting fit of tears,
and then stopped.
	“Mary? Mary, are you still there?” She didn’t respond.
	“Mary?”
	“That name...Mary...that’s not me. No... That’s not my name.”
	“What’s your name then?” he asked tensely, trying to maintain his
composure. His hands clenched once again.
	“Elizabeth. Elizabeth, but he called me Bethy...”
	“Bethy,” the doctor whispered under his breath. She continued talking.
	“But...something. I remember... Before he hit me across the head... He
took it! He took it from Dad. He cut off his finger and took it off-” she
broke off in mid sentence. She remembered the way her brother’s eyes had
shone. 
	Her mind suddenly placed all the pieces together. The ring that her
brother took from her father, it was the same exact one upon Dr. Sampson’s
finger. The blond streak in his hair, the familiarity of his features, it
could only mean one thing: Dr. Sampson was her brother! Her mind raced, as she
knew that she was suddenly in extreme danger. She felt her locket being off
and she opened her eyes, alert and conscious, out of trance. She looked onto
her brother’s eyes, filled with that dangerous glimmer. Behind the wrinkles of
his face, she could see a resemblance to herself and her parents. It was
unmistakable.
	“So we finally meet once again, sister,” the words cold and harsh to her
ears, contrasting to the warm and comforting voice that had once emitted from
him. She could now see a side to him that she had wished she had never come
across, disturbing and sinister. “Who would have thought, after all these
years? Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?” he questioned, not expecting an
answer. “You know,” he said as he looked at the picture in the locket, “I
could never stand them at all. I figured you wouldn’t be that much of a
bother, but I guess I was made the wrong decision to let you go.”
	“Why?! Why did you do it? I don’t understand!” Her fear was building now
and her voice shook.
	He smiled cruelly.
	“You never will.” The last thing she saw was the brightness of the
moving letter opener from the reflection of the sunlight, shining through the
window.