Psychoanalysis

The entire room was dark except for a cone of white light that illuminated a reclining chair beneath it, on which I was seated. The door creaked open. And a woman in her late twenties walked into the room clutching a notepad to her chest. She was wearing a straight formal skirt and a white shirt jacketed by a black tuxedo cinching her waist.

She came close to me and pulled a chair. Then she opened a document and started writing something. Where did I see her before?

I was playing with the long curls over my forehead and entwining them over my finger. “Can I know what you are writing?” I asked in a rather feminine tone whiffing the curls off my forehead. She pushed the papers to me. It read, “Session 6 - Marcus Solly : psychoanalysis by Dr. Lewine”

Yes, that’s me. Marcus Solly. A graduate from the Stanford school of business, a successful entrepreneur and a happily married man. You couldn’t ask for anything better. But there’s this devious twist to my life when my wife was found murdered in cold blood in my apartment and I was accused of killing her.

“My name is Dr. Lewine,” she said, “and I would be asking a few simple questions.”

I nodded. If it’s regarding my wife’s murder, I have nothing to say.

“Just relax Solly,” she said as the chair reposed at a higher obtuse angle and I reclined on it. “Free your mind Solly. We’ll not talk anything about your wife’s murder. Just tell me about your childhood. Tell me something that you’ve always wanted to confide in some one,” she spoke in a soothing tone.

And I started to speak. I dint know how well I was able to channelize but thoughts flowed and I subconsciously narrated to her my entire life.

“Do I know you prior?” I asked her. I’ve seen her somewhere. She smiled and nodded, “No.”

“So what happened on the night of murder,” she asked. I was least interested in talking about it but for her mesmerizing voice.

“Sasha was lying in a pool of blood by the time I reached home. She was pointing to someone in the kitchen. I ran behind him and I was able to get hold of the jacket he was wearing, but he managed to flee the scene. I ran back to Sasha and she was holding onto her stomach, crying in pain.

She was stabbed multiple times and was bleeding profusely. Seeing her in excruciating pain, I pulled the kitchen knife outta her abdomen and she bled to death even before I could call for an ambulance. In a matter of few minutes, the police invaded the place and they arrested me on homicidal charges,” I concluded as she keenly listened to my story.

She wrote something in her notes and she looked at me. “The knife had your fingerprint marks,” she said. “Of course there could be. The murderer must have donned gloves. In the frantic move to save my wife and free her from pain, I pulled the knife outta her body when my fingerprints must have been registered on the knife,” I said in an anguished tone as I plunged my face into my palms and started to weep bitterly.

“I am not going to leave that sick …” I hollered in anger.

“Relax,” she said, “So where’s the jacket you confiscated?” she asked, “You found anything in that?”

“Yes,” I said with bated breath, “A card which read his name!”

“The name, Allison!”

She smirked and stood up and started saying something that baffled me beyond all means.

“Don’t you remember Solly, that Allison is your middle name? Marcus Allison Solly, that’s you. You killed your wife. On the fateful day, you walked into your house wearing the said jacket. You were talking to your wife regarding something. And the talk converted in a squabble and later a big fight.

In a fit of rage you stabbed her multiple times with a kitchen knife lying by your side. Seeing your wife slithering in pain, you removed and threw away the jacket you were wearing and pulled out the knife from her body.

Allison, the other dissociative personality of yours fled the scene after killing your wife while Solly, the softer one came to the fore and tried to save her,” she ended.

“Your childhood events as narrated by you and these records prove that you’ve suffered from dissociative identity disorder more commonly known as split personality,” she appended as she pushed a bunch of papers towards me.

“There is something more than a twist to this tale. The court thinks that either you are extremely sick or you’re pretending. I have to prove to them that it’s your split personality that killed your wife. Not the normal you and hence we can have the charges framed against you, dropped,” she said as I stood in utter disbelief.

Her words echoed in my ears. My mind was filled with the clamor and chaos as I tried hard to understand Dr. Lewine’s words. When I heard a creaking sound again, I turned to the door and saw a woman and a man walk towards me. The woman was dressed in a tuxedo cinching her waist just like Dr. Lewine’s.

“This is Solly, your newest subject. He’s suffering from a split personality disorder. Right now, as we see his personality is split to Solly and Allison...” I overheard the man speak.

The woman walked towards me and pulled a chair.

“Hi Solly, this is Dr. Mary, dean, Institute of Psychological Disorders, North Hampton” she greeted. “I see that you are writing something?” she asked. I returned her a smile and pushed a scribbling pad which read, “Session 6 - Marcus Solly.... Psychoanalysis by Dr. Lewine”

“Solly, Allison and ....Lewine....” she turned back and replied to the man.