I take a deep breath. “I’ve always known Cal was hiding something from me. I didn’t know what or why. All I know is that almost two years ago, he walked out on me. That he left me without any explanation at all, but I felt like it wasn’t something he did willingly, and now… I finally find him today, but he’s seemingly in love with this other woman, pretending he has no idea who I am, and it hurts so much. If there is something, anything that you can tell me, even if it’s just confirming what I’ve seen today as the truth. Please… please just tell me.” I feel tears streaming from my eyes. I wipe them away, waiting for an answer. I feel a warm hand on my shoulder and look up to see Gwen with tears in her own eyes as well. “I only want the truth. Even if he doesn’t want to see me again, I just want answers, closure at least.”
Her expression still seems hesitant, and she looks at her husband for agreement. I look away from her and turn my attention to him.
He is now gazing out the window. I touch his arm. I look into this older man’s eyes and see a moment of vulnerability. Then just like that, it’s gone. There’s a wall up again. Now I see where Cal gets it. He crosses his arms, letting out a sigh.
“Please,” I say softly, barely a whisper.
“The truth is that the person you married doesn’t exist,” he says, his eyes looking ahead of him more than at me.
I swallow the lump in my throat. I think I expected this. “So his real name is Chris.” I hope my shaky voice will steady. “He’s been lying to me all along.” I wipe away newly shed tears before I wrap my arms around myself for some sort of comfort.
“No, sweetheart, you don’t understand,” Mrs. Scott says sympathetically, leading me to sit beside her on the sofa.
“Oh, I understand,” I say, nodding as I close my eyes to try to disallow any more tears from falling. “I understand he used me… he never loved me.” My voice betrays me and gives in, releasing a sob.
“Oh, no, sweetheart, you have the wrong idea,” she assures me, rubbing my back as if she were my mother. I look at her skeptically, and she takes a deep breath. “Chris and Cal are… they’re two different people.” She takes my hands.
I look at her husband, and he takes a seat in the large chair from earlier with a grunt of apprehension on the discussion of his son.
“I-I don’t understand.” I look back and forth between them. They said he wasn’t a twin.
“Chris and Cal share the same body, but the person you met today is Chris, not Cal,” Mrs. Scott explains cautiously. “That’s the reason he reacted the way he did. He truly doesn’t know who you are.” Holding my hand, she searches my eyes for some kind of reaction to this information. “Cal is a separate personality from Chris.”
I take my hands from hers. “What? What are you talking about?” My attention goes to her husband. “A different personality?” I look at him, waiting for some form of confirmation.
“I know this may be hard for you to believe, but it’s the truth,” her husband says sternly.
I shake my head and get up from my seat on the couch.
“We’re telling you the truth…” his wife says more compassionately. “Chris has what is called dissociative identity disorder.”
“Are you trying to tell me that Cal has… that he has multiple personalities?” I ask in disbelief. Are they kidding?
“Chris does. Cal is the personality that Chris forged. It isn’t the other way around. Cal isn’t real,” Mr. Scott explains.
Yeah, I’m really going to believe this. No. No fucking way.
“You can’t possibly expect me to believe this.” I laugh angrily. I look at Mrs. Scott, whose expression scares me because it holds such a look of sincerity.
“I know this may be hard for you to understand, unbelievable maybe,” Mrs. Scott says warily, fiddling with her hands in her lap.
“Hard to believe? Well… I don’t believe it!” I shout angrily, throwing my arms up. “You—you’re both lying for him. You’re covering for him!” That is the only possible explanation for this insanity.
“We’re telling you the truth. Chris doesn’t know who you are. He doesn’t know what Cal does,” Mrs. Scott tells me with a pleading expression.
I cover my face with my hands. They’re all crazy, or they’re all in on this elaborate joke or lie that Cal has constructed. They can’t expect me to believe this. They can’t be serious. This cannot be happening! I lower my hands and study their faces; they look absolutely serious. I feel the nervous pit in my stomach starting to grow, and I shake my head frantically.
“You’re lying. You have to be! You’re telling me Cal has some sort of split personality. That Cal is the person I know, but your son, Chris, who I met earlier, conveniently has no idea who I am, and he’s the real person,” I say in a cynical tone. I laugh at the outrageousness. “So I married a personality, not a person—a persona.” I continue to laugh through my tear-blurred eyes.
“Please, calm down,” Mrs. Scott pleads with me, coming close to me, but I step away from her.
This can’t be true. No—it just—NO!
“I want some sort of proof if he has some sort of personality disorder! Doctor’s records or statements or something!” I say, my tears replaced by anger.
“We don’t have that right now, but we can get them for you. We’ll let you review everything we have,” Mrs. Scott says patiently.
“No, I don’t want to see anything. Dexter could make this stuff up. I-I don’t believe you!” I snap with cruel sarcasm.
“You don’t have a choice!” her husband tells me angrily.
“Why should I believe what you’re saying?” I say, trying to calm myself, which isn’t an easy task right now.
“We have no reason to lie to you! Our son is back home! Chris is back, Cal is gone, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure it stays that way!” he tells me coldly.
“William!” Mrs. Scott says, almost appalled. She looks at me nervously, and I can feel my mouth agape.
“I told you she wouldn’t believe us,” Mr. Scott mumbles to his wife.
“I want to talk to Cal right now,” I tell him viciously.
“Please, just let us explain,” Mrs. Scott begs, trying to calm the high tension in the room between Mr. Scott and me. “I know this must be overwhelming for you, but if you just give me a chance to explain…”
After a moment of staring down her husband, I take a seat. In an effort to keep my hands from shaking, I clasp them together tightly.
“Before this started, our son was mild-mannered and polite, very hardworking and caring.” Her warm smile hardens as she continues. “But around his seventeenth birthday, he began to act differently. It started with little things; he began to act out of character. He didn’t want to do chores around the house, which was strange because Chris had always offered his help to us. He knew we didn’t have the means to run this farm alone. Then suddenly, we found ourselves having to ask him for help, even demand it. Soon after that, his teachers notified us that he was missing homework assignments and skipping classes… everything that wasn’t our son. You have to understand that this wasn’t like him at all.”