All the Rage (25 page)

‘My pleasure,' Michael replied. ‘I also am most grateful that you tolerate me with your expert knowledge in the field of medicine, which is something I could not remotely hope to achieve. '

‘We do what we can, Mr Strange. At my age, knowledge is a dangerous thing. On the one part – yes, I am considered an expert in my field; on another level – take my grandchildren, for example – I am but an imbecile! A nice one though, but considered ancient and beyond my sell-by-date. It puts things into perspective. '

‘Indeed it does. ' Michael checked his watch. ‘Will you join me for lunch? '

‘Are you paying? '

Michael enjoyed the blunt approach. ‘It will be my pleasure. '

‘Then, yes, I accept your kind invitation. '

‘Not so imbecilic,' Michael observed wryly.

 

***

 

They sat at a window table in The Oliver St. John Gogarty restaurant on Fleet Street. They ordered Irish stew and dumplings, accompanied by a bottle of sparkling mineral water. Michael was still suffering from the protracted Guinness count he had accumulated rather rashly with Paddy McGuire earlier.

‘What is your book called, Mr Strange? '

‘Myth and Modern Man. ' Michael knew he was treading on decidedly dodgy territory with his own myth of authorship.

‘And where do I come in to it, if at all? '

He pressed on, hoping to sound convincing. ‘One section is dedicated to Multiple Personality Disorder. I have it on good faith that you are an expert in this specialised field. I would like you to spell out the myth of the old and the modern truth as we understand it today. There have, I believe, been great advances in this “hidden” world that we, as a nation, have ignored or been too frightened to confront. Is this correct? '

‘Hmm,' Dr Joseph O'Connor shifted in his seat, finding comfort of sorts. He took a gulp of water. ‘You have to remember that I have not practised for over fifteen years. But I do write the occasional paper, and I keep up on new developments. MPD is now referred to more logically as DID, that is, Dissociate Identity Disorder, a condition in which a person has more than one distinct personality.'

‘So it is true that one person can in fact have several alter personalities? '

‘Indeed. It is known that in females, there are up to nineteen alter identities; less so in men. However, thirty, forty, more, even, is not impossible; although very rare, I should add. '

Michael was fascinated. ‘Can you describe, in simple terms, what DID actually is? '

‘Yes. It is a disorder of “hidden-ness”. It is a survival tactic, a creative attempt to protect oneself from the trauma of life. If, for instance, you have experienced a catastrophic event, which has traumatised your thinking process, then the simple act of compartmentalising or separating this event is in itself a way of hiding it. We can invent alter personality traits which allow us to forget the pain or suffering we would otherwise feel. In other words, a wall is invented. We would dissociate in order to survive. '

‘Is this not amnesia? '

‘Partly. ' The doctor was interrupted as a waiter brought their food, which they consumed heartily. Eventually, he continued, ‘Amnesia is a barrier, an escape. For those who suffer the most, anything that does the job of hiding the root of the trauma is considered a necessary diversion. Hence, “walling” off trauma is a main function of those with multiple personality disorder. '

‘Do all of us not compartmentalise our problems? '

‘Absolutely, but “walling” off is a massively different process. '

‘Where does it begin, at the point of trauma? '

‘Not necessarily. It certainly begins in childhood, and normally with those cases of extreme child abuse. It does not happen in adulthood. Only in childhood is the flexibility and vulnerability there for a “host” personality to manifest itself. Later, many personality changes can be invented. But it can only begin within the traumatised child. '

‘Is an “alter” considered, therefore, a friend? '

‘Yes. They rescue and protect. The strategy displaces the suffering on to another identity. If you can dissociate the pain, you can effectively bury it. It is that simple. '

‘Can the identity disturbance become too controlling…even dangerous? '

‘In extreme cases, yes. '

Michael decided to push hard. ‘Can you give me an actual case as an example of this? '

The psychiatrist finished his food with gusto, using the bread from a side plate to mop up the remains of the gravy. Michael refilled his glass with water.

‘Would you like a glass of wine? ' Michael asked.

‘A glass of port with coffee would be just perfect. I have to be careful with my diet. '

Michael carried on with his meal, which he had started to neglect; such was his enthusiasm for the subject under discussion. ‘An example? ' he repeated.

‘Unfortunately, that is not possible, with regard to patient/doctor confidentiality, which of course you will be aware of. '

Undeterred, he asked, ‘Can we look at it in a purely academic sense then? Can someone with multiple personality disorder be controlled in fact by a dangerous “host”? Is that possible? '

‘Yes, that is possible. '

‘Have you witnessed, or treated, such a case? '

The doctor frowned. He shifted his weight. ‘I have,' he said reluctantly. His eyes narrowed.

Michael pressed. ‘Forgive the comparison, but is there such a condition made infamous by Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde? '

‘Yes. '

‘And have you witnessed it for real? '

There was a long pause. ‘Yes,' he confirmed.

‘Are there such people with this condition living freely in our society which you would consider dangerous to themselves, or a threat to others? '

‘Where is this leading, Mr Strange? '

‘I am trying to establish if people do exist who have a self-destructive behaviour to their personality, which in turn could be deemed dangerous if that “alter” state is threatened in any way. Is this possible? '

‘The “host” personality can have control. If it becomes confused, threatened or uncertain, even frightened, then hostility can surface. Many of those that suffer this disorder come from a harrowing background of drug abuse, self-mutilation, panic attacks, and depression. In this environment, under certain conditions, a DID patient would feel ashamed, hear voices, undergo seizures and show suicidal tendencies. Taking this further, a person undergoing these extreme anxiety attacks could have a catastrophic identity disturbance.'

‘In other words, an angry sufferer with embittered internal persecution complex could, in theory, blame others for their suffering. And in turn become hostile? '

‘It is possible. '

‘So the answer is “yes”. '

The reply was clear. ‘Yes. '

Once again, the conversation was halted as coffee and port was served. They took time out to savour the fine vintage. Michael then resumed.

‘Is it also possible for adults, who have developed multiple personalities in childhood, to continue introducing more “alters” during adulthood? '

‘Of course it is possible. '

‘Are they aware of this? '

‘In a few cases, yes, but over eighty per cent of adults do not have a clue that they are in fact “multiple”. '

‘What triggers a new “multiple”? '

‘As I have explained, it manifests itself in childhood, as a result of severe physical, sexual or emotional conflict. In adulthood, the answers are not so clear. For instance, the different personalities do not have to be visible. Also, each personality can have a different name, a different past and self-image. Each “alter” has its own independent traits – even different gender. '

Bang. Michael at last began to see what had eluded him during the past three months, as he had tried desperately to draw a clearly defined picture of Lauren O'Neill. Up to this point, he had failed abjectly. Now it was beginning to make sense. However, what he saw was a nightmarish vision that terrified him.

Michael had one last question. ‘Tell me, sir, in your experience have you ever encountered this very prognosis? I'm referring most notably to a woman who was under your supervision in the late seventies? '

It was one question too far.

Dr Joseph O'Connor rose abruptly from his chair. He discarded his napkin and reached for his walking stick. ‘Mr Strange, it has been a pleasure. Thank you for lunch and best of luck with your book. Our conversation is now at an end. Good day. '

Michael stood awkwardly and offered his hand. It was refused. ‘Sir, I sincerely hope that I didn't offend you. I obviously have. The woman I refer to is Laura Porter, but of course, you already know this. Today, she lives her life under the new name of Lauren O'Neill. I believe that she is in grave danger not only to herself but to others who have direct contact with her. ' He extracted a business card from his jacket pocket. He pressed it down into the doctor's own lapel pocket before giving him a chance to object. ‘Lauren is
many
people, as you are fully aware. But one such identity asserts itself above all others. It controls with aggression. This “host” personality brings intense fear, and loathing. It first brings self-injury, depression, possible seizures but – and I emphasis this – it always ends up by striking out, with vicious intent, against those who betray her. If you have anything to say to me, please call me. I beg you. It could save lives. '

‘
Who
are you, Mr Strange? '

‘A saviour, if it were possible. '

‘I spent my entire professional life in the prison service with exactly the same morality as you, that is, just hoping to save someone –
anyone
– from the broken body they occupied, and the broken mind that they were forever trapped in. '

‘And did you succeed? '

The doctor sighed heavily. ‘I wish I could say “yes”. Now, if you'll

forgive me, I'm rather tired. Good luck, whoever you are. I hope you find salvation. But it is a very long shot. I never did, I'm ashamed to admit. Have a pleasant flight home. '

With that, he turned and walked slowly away. For the second time in the day Michael felt isolated, with fear as his only ally. But the more his mind became entrenched with this notion, the more he became nervous of what he had to confront. It was close now, this fear. He could smell it.

 

***

 

Kara took the rest of the afternoon off, avoiding Ronald at all costs. She felt an utter fraud, and would somehow have to make it up to him with a grovelling apology, and whatever else it would take to help mend matters. In the meantime, she prepared for the forthcoming trip to the witch's coven the next day. She and Marcus agreed to go in his car, an old Suzuki jeep, which would accommodate the large easel better than in her battered red mini. She loaded a digital camera, tripod and specialised lighting equipment. As Marcus was not known to Lauren, it would be easy to explain his role as technical support. They agreed beforehand to do the job in a disciplined two-hour turnaround, and then get the hell out of there. For her, having Marcus as a companion was incredibly reassuring. Without him, she knew that she would be utterly terrified.

She tried several times to telephone Michael on his mobile, but on each occasion there was either no signal or he had switched off. This unnerved her. After packing the vehicle, Kara selected the clothes she would wear. Normally, it would be smart casual, business-like. Not this time. She chose army combat trousers, a plain cream crew jumper and a padded waistcoat. This made her almost laugh out loud, but she felt obscurely that she should prepare for the very worst. Only she didn't know what this could entail. Her imagination was beginning to run riot and cloud her judgement.
Still, what could possibly go wrong?

Marcus had gone out to buy canvases, leaving her alone in the apartment. Normally, this wouldn't present a problem, but every slight sound, or movement, spooked her. It was as if she was being watched. Even the sound of next door's cat scratching in the communal hallway forced her to check the doors and windows and lock herself in. She felt like a prisoner in her own home. Time crept by. In the meantime, she found herself padding back and forth across the floor, drinking endless cups of coffee, checking the time, waiting anxiously for Marcus. It made her sick with apprehension.

There was one thing she could do. Swiftly, she moved into the kitchen and extracted a thin bladed fish knife from the drawer and ran her finger down the sharpened edge. Just the thing. Without further ado, she went back to the bedroom, wrapped the knife carefully in a handkerchief and inserted it into one of the long pockets on the army trousers she had picked to wear.

Lying next to her neatly folded clothes atop the bed was the photograph of the old barn. Looking closely at it again somehow gave her the creeps. It was such a place of desolation and abandonment. It looked as if unseen eyes lay hidden and watchful: a place of lost souls. What was the message that was contained here? What was Antonia telling them? It made her shudder. The walls closed in on her. She felt sick. Where was bloody Marcus?