― Timothy Leary
Pieces of Dreams
Our memories are not as reliable as we think. Often our state of mind and imagination intermingles facts with interpretations and gaps are filled in with imaginings so seamlessly, we're not even aware of the process.
Sometimes trauma can cause a form of dissociative amnesia where past events surrounding the anguish become inaccessible. And sometimes recovered memory therapy can result in well-meaning therapists inadvertently introducing false memories.
The mind is mysterious and we often mistake shadows for real things when exploring the cave of the psyche.
Having said all this, there still is a place for clinical intervention and hope for victims of trauma to recover memories that have been blocked or lost.
I want to help Sylvie recover her lost memories and possibly help find her sister's killer. The only impediment is her relationship with Nigel. She lied to him and I have no idea if he can forgive her.
Why is that important? Because without Nigel's technical assistance Paige and I would be unable to regress Sylvie and recover the memories stored in her subconscious. The evidence of the crime would remain tucked away forever inside her own brain.
There was nothing we could do but wait until Sylvie could speak with Nigel. And since I'm not very good at waiting, the stress was killing me.
"Why don't we grab a coffee and go sit by the lake?" Paige suggested.
"Sounds like a plan," I smiled. "I can drink a coffee any time of day or night."
"I noticed," she smirked.
"But being with you at the lake is special. We haven't done that in a long, long time."
All of a sudden, a memory came back of Paige and me sitting on a hill looking down at the lake and we were kissing. It was so shocking I actually gave a little gasp.
"Are you okay?" Paige asked, alarmed. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."
We were on my verandah preparing to head out for my SUV when the flashback happened. I was trembling and felt so shaky I had to sit down on the wooden stairs.
Paige sat beside me and hugged my arm. "What's the matter, Cole―are you feeling sick?"
"No. it's not that. Believe it or not, I just spontaneously recovered a previously lost memory."
She frowned. " I don't know if that's good or bad―it's probably a delayed response to the Remnisivere."
I nodded. "Do you mind if we don't go to the lake―if we just have a coffee here?"
"Of course, I don't mind. Just sit here and don't move. I'll go make a pot."
I was glad for the opportunity to collect my thoughts. What the hell was happening?
Maybe Paige was most likely right―the memory was a delayed response to the Remnisivere, or should I say, a mescaline overdose?
Oh, I could account for it in clinical terms as a Hallucinogen Persisting Perception Disorder (HPPD), but why not call it exactly what it was―an acid flashback?
But in this case, not a hallucination but a heightening of normal perceptions.
It was weird. When researchers began experimenting with psychedelics and hallucinogenics as far back as the 50's they noted that a recurrence of an altered state could occur months or even years after ingesting these substances.
But although they identified and documented altered time states, no one reported spontaneous regressions to past experiences. Leave it to me to have an anomalous experience and one outside the parameters of our drug trial.
What was the universe trying to show me? And how much of this should I divulge to Paige, who had a right to know regardless of how personally embarrassing this disclosure might be.
For all I know this might be a weird trip or a false memory and the only way I could check its veracity was to ask her, so I suppose I already answered my own question.
The conclusion was obvious. I had to tell her.
"Be careful―it's hot," Paige cautioned, as she returned with two steaming mugs of coffee.
She had no idea how prescient her remark was or how ironically perceptive.
I took the mug she offered and said, "You didn't ask about the memory I recovered."
"No, I could see it upset you and figured you'd tell me in due time, or not at all, if you chose not to."
"But we are working on a memory project," I reminded her.
"Yes, but you are also entitled to privacy and protecting those few cubic centimetres inside your own head."
"It was about us," I said quietly. "You got your wish―you're in my dreams and although it wasn't erotic, it was romantic. Were you and I once lovers?"
Her eyes filled with tears and her face turned so sad, I immediately regretted asking the question.
"I'm so sorry, Paige―that was incredibly insensitive of me."
"What―to ask what you once meant to me and still do? I live with this truth every day, Cole, but you're unaware because you have no memory."
"How did this happen?" I asked, dumbfounded and feeling totally helpless.
"The skiing accident―you suffered a head trauma and almost died. You lost memory of us and I was told not to push you to recall―that it could be dangerous."
My head was reeling. Her words explained everything. Other people around me must have felt I was uncaring, to be close to her and then suddenly distant as if unfeeling.
But Paige persisted. She never gave up on me.
All this time I thought we were just friends, but she was waiting patiently, hoping some day I might recover my memory.
And then, it all came flooding back, the loving nights, foolish fights and even the skier who shouldered me into the trees...
It was Sloane Kettering who wanted me dead, wanted to live my life instead... and why?
Because he was in love with Paige.