Hillary_Tail of the Dog (8 page)

“Not yet, but soon you’ll be untied. Monica’s been away. She’ll be back tomorrow.” Dr. Bentley turned the recorder back on and held it upright in the palm of his hand.

“Why can’t I just go home and recover?”

“We need you to regain your memory first. As I mentioned earlier, if you’re around too many people who know you, you’re likely to invent memories or claim their information and memories as your own. All in good time, Hillary.”

“What if I never regain my memory?” she said sadly.

“You will...and the sooner the better,” Dr. Bentley said optimistically. “So...if you would trust me just a little and tell me about that horrible dream, it could really make a big difference....”

Hillary thought about the things Dr. Bentley had said. Of all the people she had encountered since this waking nightmare began, he was the only one who seemed to really care about how she felt. He was the only one who gave her answers and sympathized with her. He promised that she would be untied soon. Hillary felt like she should trust him...yet she knew she couldn’t. She didn’t want to talk about that nightmare—or even think about it.

Dr. Bentley could see that she had reservations. He noticed the color drain from her face and knew that she was thinking about her dream.

“We can go slowly,” he said calmly. “I’ll ask simple questions and you can say yes or no.”

Hillary did not respond. She looked lost within her thoughts and visibly upset.

“Does the dream take place at night?”

Hillary nodded slowly, her eyes in a daze, staring straight into the nothingness of the empty room.

“Are other people in the dream?”

Hillary nodded.

“Just one other person?”

Another nod.

“Do you recognize the other person?”

Hillary shook her head.

“Is it a man?”

She shook her head slowly.

“It’s a woman?”

Hillary shook her head again. She was biting her bottom lip.

“A child?”

Hillary grew tense as she shook her head. Her fists were tightly clenched. She was clearly distressed as her nightmare played like a movie within her mind. Dr. Bentley could see that she had punctured her lip with her tooth. The spot of crimson blood was growing. Yet, he didn’t want to risk interrupting her memories and willingness to share them, even if he had to pry the details out of her.

She shook her head again. It was not a man, woman or child.
What then
, Dr. Bentley wondered.

“An animal?”

Hillary did not reply.

“A pet? Like a cat or a dog?”

Hillary shook her head.

“A wild animal? Like a bear or a wolf?”

She shook her head quicker now, her eyes wide in terror, her lip white from tension, except where the blood settled before slowly trickling down her chin. She shook her head wildly now.

“Nooooo,” she panted softly.

“You’re safe, Hillary. No dream can ever hurt you. Tell me what you see in your mind.”

“Nooooo, nooooo....” she continued to shake her head.

“Is it a creature? Something you don’t recognize? A monster…like the one from your other dream?”

Hillary nodded slowly. Tears filled her eyes. Her fists remained clenched and she bit down on her lip again, ignoring the pain she must have felt.

“It’s not real, Hillary. Keep reminding yourself that it’s just a dream, no matter how horrific it is.”

Hillary shook her head. She refused to talk about the dream.

“Okay...let me ask you this...what do you look like in the dream?”

“NO!” she shouted and shook her head violently to get her point across. “Leave me alone! Get out of here, I hate all of you!”

“I’m sorry, Hillary...I didn’t mean to upset you. Do you even remember what you look like for real? Do you want me to show you?”

Hillary didn’t answer. She stopped shaking her head and stared blankly at him. Dr. Bentley waited, knowing that he had piqued her curiosity.

After a full couple of minutes, he stood up.

“I guess there isn’t anything more to discuss today then—” he said.

“Wait...” Hillary said softly. “I...can I see myself in a mirror?”

Dr. Bentley nodded. He smiled at her as he stood up.

“I’ll be right back,” he replied and left the room, leaving the recorder on the chair after pressing the pause button. While he was gone, Hillary wondered what she looked like. She had never thought about it before now. She could tell by seeing strands of her hair that she had honey blonde hair. Monica had brushed her hair a few times and always commented on how thick and pretty it was. What color were her eyes? She couldn’t even remember the simplest, most basic facts about herself.

Dr. Bentley returned moments later carrying a small hand mirror with a red plastic frame. He pressed a button on the recorder to resume recording. Then he smiled as he stood before Hillary and held the mirror before her so that she could see herself. Hillary gasped.

“I’m not hideous,” she said, sounding relieved. “I’m not a monster!”

“Of course not...you’re a beautiful young lady,” Dr. Bentley said.

She was indeed beautiful, despite the dark, puffy circles under her eyes from crying and sleep deprivation. She had hazel-colored eyes like Dr. Bentley had never seen before. They looked deep and endless, like exploded nebulae, strewn with flecks of gold, copper and deep—almost metallic looking—blue. She had eyes that captured your attention and nearly hypnotized you. When she cried, it intensified the shades of blue. It took a great effort for Dr. Bentley to resist her wishes. He wanted to untie this poor, weak, vulnerable child, to free her from her nightmares. He could hardly stand to see how pitiful she looked, glancing at herself in the mirror, as if seeing her reflection for the very first time. What had she expected to see? Did she really not know how beautiful she was?

“Is that really me?” she asked in disbelief.

“It’s you. What did you expect to see?”

“Someone ugly...disfigured...scary.”

“You’re none of those things. You are perfect from head to toe,” he said with a thin smile as he threw back the sheets. The smile left his face and he let out a short gasp as he stared, partly in disbelief, mostly in awe. All of the other times that he had visited Hillary, she had been clad in a loose-fitting hospital gown. Now, here she was, fully naked, bound to a bed, legs spread apart all too invitingly. Her nipples hardened with the sudden exposure even though the room was warm. He marveled at how supple her breasts looked as his eyes roamed down to peek at the opening between her legs.

Dr. Bentley felt a familiar tingle at his groin as impure thoughts flooded his mind. He fought the urge to cup her breasts. His face reddened as he quickly pulled the sheet up to her neck and brought his legs together to conceal the growing bulge in his pants. It was easy to see how Dr. Morrison would be tempted to take advantage of this young, vulnerable girl—especially with no one watching, no one to stop him, no one to protect her. Dr. Bentley felt outrage, but at the same time, jealousy. These feelings were all new to him. He had never found himself attracted to a patient—let alone one so young—a mere child. He turned and walked over to the desk across the room. He set the hand mirror down and walked back toward Hillary.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he said quickly, clearly embarrassed. “I thought you were in a gown...I didn’t know—”

Hillary felt oddly attracted to this new stranger. Her nightmares and problems were lost as she was suddenly overcome by a feeling of intense lust like nothing she had ever experienced—as far as she knew. She had no idea whether she had been sexually active in her previous, mysteriously unknown life. All she knew is that she wanted the doctor to touch her, to satisfy her urges.

“Don’t be sorry,” Hillary said, her voice changing from frail and scared to strong and seductive. Dr. Bentley could see the unmistakable longing on her face as she parted her lips and stared up at him desperately. What he would give to have ten minutes with her without consequence, without remorse. His erection ached as he attempted to shift the growth within his pants into a more comfortable position. Hillary, of all the things she may have been, was not blind, not naive to what he was doing. A playful smile filled her face.

“I wouldn’t mind you,” she said enticingly.

“What?” he asked, feeling like a teenager caught masturbating.

“I wouldn’t mind if you touched me,” she said, as she stuck out her chest. “I don’t want Dr. Morrison to touch me, but you can.”

Dr. Bentley shook his head firmly.
What have I done?
He thought nervously.

“That’s not why I’m here,” he said, trying his best to sound convincing.

“You know you want to,” she said flirtatiously, as she squinted. “And I want you to. I want to feel you.”

Dr. Bentley was speechless. It was like every man’s fantasy coming true just for him—like a story straight from a porn magazine. He was thankful she was bound, otherwise she would have undoubtedly thrown herself at him...or was he in fact thankful for that? He was conflicted between his intense yearning to touch her and his duties as a professional doctor...not to mention his marital vows.

“Please,” she moaned in a voice barely above a whisper, as she pivoted her pelvis teasingly.

“No!” Dr. Bentley said firmly and he quickly left the room—recorder in hand—to try to regain his composure. He stood just outside the door, took a deep breath and rewound the recorder to the part where he said that Hillary was perfect from head to toe. He took another deep breath and let out a labored sigh. He knew he had to continue questioning her—had to be her psychiatrist—yet it would be difficult to resume a professional relationship given how, within minutes, he totally screwed things up. He briefly considered the best approach to take. He returned to the room and awkwardly sat by Hillary’s side.

“Missed me?” she said playfully, with a big smile on her face.

But Dr. Bentley ignored her. He knew how to get their session back on track. He turned the recorder back on.

“So,” he said in serious tone, “about that horrible dream....”

Dr. Bentley could see that his plan worked like a charm. The smile from Hillary’s face quickly faded. She frowned, causing wrinkles across her forehead. She glared at Dr. Bentley.

“I
don’t
…want…to talk…about…
that
,” she said slowly and emphatically.

“Don’t you want to get out of this place?”

“Untie me!” she shouted unexpectedly, startling Dr. Bentley. “You’re no better than Dr. Morrison. I thought you liked me...I thought you cared....”

“I do care, that’s why I’m here. Let me help you.”

“Liar!” she yelled. “Let me go...get me out of this room—out of this place! Help me!”

Dr. Morrison entered the room. Dr. Bentley put up his hand to let him know everything was okay. Hillary caught a glimpse of him at the door.

“You two make a great team, holding a girl hostage and taking advantage of her,” she said angrily.

“What are you talking about?” Dr. Morrison asked as he walked forward.

“You like to touch me and he likes to stare at me,” she said bitterly, tilting her head to indicate that she was referring to Dr. Bentley.

“Just a misunderstanding, is all,” Dr. Bentley said nervously, his face flushed.

“Yeah, a misunderstanding,” Hillary repeated sarcastically, “like you didn’t stare at my naked body and get a hard-on.”

Dr. Bentley looked straight into Dr. Morrison’s eyes, hoping to explain.

“I just—”

Dr. Morrison held up his right hand and shook his head slowly, motioning for Dr. Bentley to stop talking.

“I know all about it,” he said, “just like she alleged I touched her. Now you know she’s nothing but a deranged liar.”

Only Dr. Bentley knew no so thing. He was guilty of everything Hillary alleged against him...was Dr. Morrison?

“I think there’s been enough excitement here for today,” he said and shut off his recorder.

“Don’t leave me here like this,” Hillary begged, once again sounding like a frail, frightened child.

“I’ll be back soon,” Dr. Bentley said, with a weak smile. “Please remember what I said about your dreams. They can’t hurt you.”

“But he can,” she said angrily and looked over to Dr. Morrison.

“Monica will be back tomorrow. If you want to talk about that dream you’re avoiding, tell either Monica or Dr. Morrison to call me.”

“Please don’t go....” Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked pleadingly at Dr. Bentley as if he were her last hope. He felt terrible leaving, but knew he had to. Nothing more would get accomplished today. He planned to return in a few days to give it another try.

“I’ll return soon, Hillary, I promise,” he said, and walked away quickly so that he wouldn’t have to see the tears rolling down her flawless ivory cheeks.

Dr. Morrison followed him out without looking at Hillary.

“Looks like you have an admirer,” he teased Dr. Bentley.

Dr. Bentley shook his head, a thin smile on his face. He thought about Hillary and excused himself to go to the bathroom.

~6~

Hillary found that she was happy to see Monica the next evening, though it was obvious that the feeling wasn’t mutual. Monica looked downright depressed to be back and taking care of her. She gave her a quick sponge bath, which after enduring a number of them already, Hillary still found demeaning. Monica applied deodorant under Hillary’s arms and trimmed her finger and toe nails. She brushed her hair and teeth. She applied some lip balm to her dry lips. All the while, she remained silent except for a few comments here and there despite Hillary’s many attempts at conversation. Yet, Hillary remained persistent. She still thought of Monica as her ticket to freedom, with Dr. Bentley as her backup plan. One of them would finally pity her enough to help her escape.