I couldn’t anyway. I made a promise.
“Your mother feels, and I can’t disagree with her, that it is somewhat unlikely that this memory is accurate. First—because you came across it on your own with your own kind of immersion therapy. And second because Bob Sullivan is an unlikely suspect. He’s running for office. He has a lot to lose. He’s been married for over thirty years with no scandals, nothing in his closet of this nature. And he’s your father’s boss, so there would be a high probability of you recognizing him.”
So what? Most women are raped by someone they know. Half the women in group were raped by someone they know.
Jenny’s voice was different on that Monday. She was speaking to me not like I was the one person who could save her, but rather like I was an outsider who didn’t understand. I didn’t like it. I wanted to change it. I could not lose what we had worked so hard to create.
“You know what? You’re right. I’m going to be totally honest with you. The work we’re doing here is very controversial. Remember how I told you about the false memory people? How they think recalling memories can be corrupted by suggestion? And how false memories can then be formed? Like the people who were told they were lost in the mall.”
Yeah.
“So, now we have a situation where suggestions have been brought into this process. You don’t have to tell me now, but at least concede that a suggestion entered and that you have bolstered that by immersing yourself in that suggestion.”
Jenny slumped down in the cushions. I could see she was conflicted.
“My fear is that if we move too quickly with this new theory, and it turns out to be a false memory, then nothing you ever remember again will be given any credibility. And even you will have trouble believing. So let’s try to weed out the suggestions, do our work quietly, and make absolutely sure about this before telling anyone else.”
Like the police?
“Yes.”
And even my dad?
“I can’t tell you what to do with any of this. What do you think your father will do if you tell him?”
I think he’ll call the police. Or worse.
“Worse?”
He’s really angry.
“That’s understandable. That’s his job—as your father.”
I guess. But he’s more angry than I am.
“Actually, you don’t seem angry at all today.”
Jenny shrugged. I feel tired. I feel like my brain hurts. I remember hearing his voice, and now my mom, and you, are telling me it’s just a mix-up. It’s like someone’s telling me to solve a math problem I don’t understand, and I keep trying but I just can’t do it. I just want to quit.
This alarmed me more than I can express.
“How did you feel before you told your mom? When you had this memory come back, the memory of Bob’s voice?”
I don’t know. I felt excited like I had solved the problem. I told Sean right away. I cried a little. I stared at pictures of Mr. Sullivan, watched videos. I thought about his stupid sons and how ashamed they would be of him. I thought about my dad and how he would want to kill him.
“But wait … don’t you remember? Last week, when you smelled the bleach and you recalled that moment in the woods. You were distraught and despairing. You asked me why he had taken a piece of your soul. And now—when you looked at pictures of this man you think did that to you, you didn’t feel any of those things?”
Jenny looked defeated. I opened my mouth to speak again, to tell her why this was so—Bob Sullivan did not rape her. She did not remember him raping her. There were no emotions attached to his voice, or even worse, positive emotions from being saved. I had the power to explain this, and yet I could not because I needed her to stay with the theory, with the false memory, even as I pretended to convince her not to. I closed my mouth and swallowed the words. The truth.
I just want it to be over.
She said this again through sniffles and tears. I wanted to shake her until she snapped out of it. What was it? Was it Sean? Was he distracting her? Had they been intimate? It didn’t make any sense to me. She had only one small memory of the rape, and she knew how much it had helped her. She had told me what a relief it was. She’d talked about it in group last week, before Sean told her about Bob Sullivan, before she’d taken this turn of indifference. More memories would bring only more closure, more relief from the ghosts that roamed inside. There was more work to be done!