He’s sitting on the brown, leather chair with a notepad in hand while I lie down on the recliner chair.
Dr Imran Khan — who I learnt is the same name of a Bollywood actor — is a small-built man in his mid-fifties. His salt-and-pepper hair is more salt than pepper now compared to when I first met him ten years ago.
His skin is tanned but is considered light compared to others with Pakistani heritage.
“I’m happy you decided to return, Elsa.” His tone is welcoming and he looks genuinely happy to have me back on his recliner chair.
“Mr Quinn mentioned trouble with stress for exams.” His kind but piercing brown eyes focus on me. “What do you think is the cause of that stress?”
“It’s senior year and the pressure is real.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the reason I’m here either.
Dr Khan bites it. His eyes fill with what I call detached care. I think that’s what makes him perfect at his job. He has the ability to empathise but not let his patients’ feelings rub off on him.
He jots down a note. Another thing about Dr Khan is his traditional methods. He doesn’t use recordings much.
“Has there been anything triggering lately?” he asks.
“Yes.” I shift against the leather and it squeaks in the deafening silence of the room. “I’ve been having nightmares about you hypnotising me, Dr Khan.”
His pen pauses on the notepad and his shoulders tense. That’s all the answer I need. It hasn’t been a play of my imagination.
Dr Khan recovers fast. “Why do you think you had such a nightmare, Elsa?”
I sit up, the leather squeaking, and face him. “It’s not a nightmare. It’s the truth.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but I hold up a hand.
“I’m not blaming you, Dr Khan. I know you have two thesis, one in psychotherapy and the other in hypnotherapy so it’s not like you’re doing anything illegal. I also know that Aunt and Uncle probably made you do it, but I need to know why.”
He shuffles his notebook as if he’s about to stand up. “Perhaps we should call your guardian and —”
“Soho Miller,” I cut him off. “He’s the reason why you don’t practice hypnotherapy anymore. After you helped him restore his memories, he committed suicide.”
Dr Khan’s eyes fill with what resembles sadness, and I know I struck a chord. I did my research before coming here.
“I’m not Soho,” I puff my chest. “I’m not suicidal either. I promise to stay alive if you promise to not have Aunt and Uncle involved in this. They’re hiding something from me and I need to know why.”
“Soho also said something similar,” He sighs and the wrinkles around his eyes ease. “He begged me to know who he was before losing his memories. When he remembered he was behind the accident that killed his wife and children, he couldn’t handle the truth and took his life.”
“I’m not him. I can handle the truth.” My tone turns pleading. “I just want to know what Aunt and Uncle called you for.”
He slouches in his chair but keeps his posture uptight. “When your guardians first contacted me, you had violent episodes of screaming and falling in and out of consciousness.”
I straighten, my hands turn clammy in my lap. “Like my nightmares?”
“Your nightmares are a manifestation of your subconscious. When you were a child, your consciousness was filled with nightmares. You were traumatised and in severe shock due to the fire.”
“And?”
“And I used regression, a hypnosis method, to help resolve past traumas.”
“Are you saying that Aunt and Uncle asked you to erase all my memories up to the fire?”
A sense of betrayal fills my chest at the thought of them doing something like that behind my back. They violated my mind. So what if they’re my guardians? That doesn’t give them the right to erase my past.
“Your aunt and uncle only called me to reduce the anxiety because they heard hypnosis helps.” He appears nostalgic. “They were desperate, especially your aunt. She looked ready to do anything to chase away your pain.”
“So what? Did you erase everything behind their backs?”
“No, Elsa.” Dr Khan gives me a quizzical stare. “I didn’t erase your memories. You did.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
My head won’t stop spinning after I exit Dr Khan’s office.
I still can’t wrap my mind around the last thing he said.
I only put you in a stance to resolve your traumatic experience, but when you woke up, your memories were gone.
My child version’s solution was to erase everything. Dr Khan said that sometimes when things are too much, the brain can resort to skipping over the traumatic parts. Suppressing memories becomes a vital need, not an option.
I was mentally and physically all over the place after the fire.
I entwine my fingers together as I walk down the hallway. Did I do the right thing?
How about Aunt and Uncle, then? They hid this truth from me for ten years. I doubt they would’ve told me anything if I didn’t put two and two together.
I can’t say I blame them, though. Since they swept me off from Birmingham, Aunt and Uncle did everything to protect me — to the point of overkill, sometimes.
Dr Khan said I needed to think carefully about restoring my memories. It’s a one-way road. He didn’t guarantee anything, but he can get me into a regression mode and help me access places in my subconscious that my consciousness isn’t even aware of.
When I came here, I was so sure that I wanted my memories back. However, after the story about Dr Khan’s other patient, Soho Miller, I’m not sure anymore. What if, like him, I open Pandora’s Box and discover things I’m not supposed to?
Besides, do I really want to relive my parents’ death? I shudder at the thought.
My hands itch, and the urge to wash them swipes over me. With jerky fingers, I open the small pocket in my backpack and retrieve my hand sanitiser. I pour half the bottle in my palm and scrub all over until it’s dried.
I release a breath when the itch slowly withers away.
Pocketing the hand sanitiser, I exit the building. I stumble to a halt on the pavement. Aiden’s car is parked across the street and he’s standing by the driver door talking to a familiar blonde-haired barbie doll.
Silver.
My nostrils flare and a violent rush shoots through my veins.
I stride across the street, trying not to break into a run.
Silver isn’t known to lose her cool. She’s pretty much the female version of Aiden. But right now, her hands fly all around her.
Aiden, on the other hand, appears bored. That should water down the fury bubbling through me, but it doesn’t. The fact that he’s even talking to her when he was supposed to pick me up sullies my mood. Did she come with him or something?
Facing Silver is really not what I want to do after the life changing talk I just had with Dr Khan, but if that’s what she wants, that’s what she’ll get.
“You promised, King.” She hisses.
“I said I’ll think about it,” he says.
“You don’t get to escape this,” she grinds her teeth.