Two

The doctor and his office

She turned the key in the lock and opened the door. 

To her horror, she saw the images to a past she had not hoped to see again. She quickly shut the door and relayed the scene in her head.

The room had looked exactly as it had thirteen years ago. The wall paper still had tears in it, exposing bare plaster and the myriad of colours and patterns from previous layers. The layers were unified with a messy streak of red that dyed them in various shades of the grim colour. Even the placement of furniture and the dim lighting had been the same as that night, thirteen years ago.

Slowly, she turned the knob and swung the door open again. She relaxed when she realised that the macabre image from earlier had only been her imagination.

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The following day was her first therapy session. The therapist was getting ready for the session and bent under his desk, looking for the black pen he had dropped earlier. After having found it, he looked through the set of drawers by the desk. There was a pocket mirror in the first drawer that caught his reflection.

He looked unusually young for his profession and wore a pair of grey-framed glasses to hide it, giving him a few extra years in age. He was in his mid-twenties and looked to be turning thirty anytime soon.

He continued onto the third drawer and finally found what he was looking for.

"Aha! Found you at last!", he held up the notebook. It was no bigger than his outstretched hand. It also held the notes and important dot-points he had taken during previous therapy sessions. He had two other notebooks in the second drawer that were already completely full to the last line.

Opening the notebook he had now, he turned to a fresh page. In the top-left corner he carefully wrote in the date; 13th January -2013, In the centre of the top-line he wrote in the patient's full name and age; Ecila Llorrac- 27.

"What an odd name?", he mused, "How do I even pronounce that?

The patient – Ecila (Eh-chi-laa) -was getting nervous. It was her first therapy session and she so badly wanted to stop seeing the same bloody scene each time she entered a room. She had gotten home late last night and the room had been dark and unlit, but her mind had mistaken it for something else.

...................................................

"Please feel free to lie down", the therapist motioned to the lounge chair. "You can call me Dr Margana," he continued, "and what would you prefer to be called?". Dr Margan was keen to find out the pronunciation of her unusual name.

"Umm, 'Ecila' is just fine".

"Okay then, 'Ecila', why don't you tell me what it is that ails you?"

"I keep seeing these images doctor- I  mean Doctor Margana" Ecila corrected herself.

"Images of what, exactly? Do you mind talking about them?"

"I keep seeing my old room".

"And does it disturb you?"

"Yes- very much so, Dr Margana".

"How so? Would you please mind explaining?"

"Umm . . ." Ecila bit her lip, unsure. "Thirteen years ago . . . my family was murdered."

Dr Margana did the maths in his head; Ecila would have been fourteen at the time, and he would have been just sixteen. He couldn't remember anything big that was on the news at the time.

"Well, it was a family of four, including me, Dr Margana." Ecila continued, "But there's still something that bothers me. . ."

"Can you still remember who the killer was, Ecila?" the doctor held the notepad, making sure it was in full-view of the patient so that they wouldn't feel uneasy.

"Umm . . . yes! It was Alice! Alice Carroll!" Dr Margana found the name unsettlingly familiar.

"She was apparently only fourteen at the time, and tried to take her own life after the incident," Ecila rubbed at her wrists.

The doctor's eyes widened when he saw the scars that raked themselves across them.  Looking back at his notebook, he reread Ecila Llorrac's name backwards.  

He then reread her diagnostics' sheet. Just three words stood out to him; 'MULTIPLE-PERSONALITY DISORDER.'

He now knew exactly who Alice Carroll was.