*"Mrs. MacMillan. Nice to meet you."
"Yes, yes," she replied, her beautiful face showing determination, fear, and impatience by turns. "Nice to meet you, too. Would you like a Coke before fixing my daughter?"
Steve did not even allow himself to close his eyes. He simply broadened his smile, showing slightly crooked teeth. "I was under the impression that Ms. Jones had told you how this works. I can fill you in if--"
A hand slashed through the air between them. A lovely hand, Steve thought. She was a bit on the older side for him, but... No. Never mix business with pleasure. "She told me it would take numerous sessions, that the mind can snap back into place or break if pushed too hard, and that I should be patient. I know. I've already wired the first half of your payment to your account. Get started. Now. Please."
Something about the look of desperation on her face both aroused and touched him. He nodded, patted her on the shoulder, and walked up to Sarah's room, mentally reviewing the notes he'd been given.
She sat on her bed, looking frightened when he opened the door. He didn't knock. He didn't want her feeling in control here. "Sarah?"
"Yes," came the guarded reply.
"I'm Dr. Anders. I'm here to help you with your problems."
"Dr. Anders," the girl replied, "Thank you, but--"
"Ms. MacMillan," he interrupted her. "I'm not here to do anything but talk. I take a different approach to therapy than most in my profession do. Please. Let's just sit and talk for a minute."
As they chit-chatted about weather, cars, and politics, he set up the metronome and set it to a 2.5 second interval.
"What's that for?" she asked, sounding for all the world like she was deeply interested.
He smiled, showing no teeth. "As I mentioned, I take a different approach. I find that a regular sound in the background can help us maintain a good flow of conversation." He was surprised that this girl -- by all appearances, the sort of stereotypical, airheaded cheerleader who'd tortmented him in school -- gave him a shrewd, doubting look. Fascinating. This might even be a challenge.
Well, on with the show.*
They chatted for a few minutes before he opened his satchel and said, "So I understand you believe you're a boy named Jon." He was rewarded with a here-we-go-again look.
Tick, tock.
"No, no," she replied. "Everyone thinks I think that, but I'm over that. I'm Sarah MacMillan. I'm better now."
The girl was a piss-poor liar.
Tick, tock.
"Oh, all right," Steve said, looking carefully at the non-descript spray bottle as if trying to decide whether this was the right one. The girl leaned in a bit to look more closely at the bottle, just as he'd thought she would. Now. "Well, if that's taken--" And then he sprayed her in the face.
She slumped over in her bed.
Tick, tock.
"Jon: Can you hear me?" Dr. Anders asked.
"Yes," she answered dreamily.
"Good. Now, Jon, you will not remember that we had this conversation. But you will remember everything that I tell you to do -- all of my commands, everything I tell you. But you will believe that everything I tell you is your own thought, your own belief, your own desire, your own feeling. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
Tick, tock.
"Good girl." He paused. "You are in a dream. And, when you come out of it, you will have a whole new outlook on life. Tell me you would like that."
"I would like that." The response was slurred, almost incoherent.
Tick, tock.
"I want you to answer every question I ask you by saying 'YES.' And, I want you to believe that 'YES' is the right answer to every question. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Now, you think you are a boy named Jon, don't you?"
"Yes."
"But you look like a girl named Sarah, don't you?"
"Yes."
"And everyone thinks you're a girl named Sarah, don't they?"
"Yes."
"And it's only natural that everyone thinks that you're a girl named Sarah, isn't it?"
"Yes."
The metronome had wound down a bit. That was deliberate.
Tick, tock.
"In fact, you'd be upset if people looked at you and didn't see a girl named Sarah, wouldn't you?"
"Yes."
"Mr. and Mrs. MacMillan think you're their daughter Sarah, don't they?"
"Yes."
"And they've taken care of you since you've gotten out of the hospital, haven't they?"
"Yes."
"And you like them for that, don't you?"
"Yes."
"You even love them for that, don't you?"
"Yes."
Tick, tock.
"Because you love them, you want them to be happy, don't you?"
"Yes."
"You want to make them very happy, don't you?"
"Yes."
"And you know that answering to the name Sarah, and acting like their daughter, would make them happy, don't you?"
"Yes."
Tick, tock.
"So you want to answer to the name Sarah, don't you?"
"Yes."
"And you want everyone to think you're a young woman, don't you?"
"Yes."
"And you want to call Mr. MacMillan 'Daddy,' and Mrs. MacMillan 'Mom,' don't you?"
"Yes."
"And you want me to call you Sarah, don't you?"
"Yes."
Tick, tock.
"Good girl, Sarah. You're doing very well. Now, I want you to look at something in a new way. Would you like that?"
"Yes."
"You like having a chance to live as a girl, just to see what it's like. You want to learn everything about clothes and makeup and flirting and being a young woman. Isn't that right?"
"Yes."
"And you know that will make Mom happy, don't you?"
"Yes."
"You will find that you enjoy learning from Mom about all the ways to be an ideal young woman. At first, it will seem a little odd, but as time goes by, you will grow more excited at the prospect, and come to think it's natural. After all, this is a chance to do something different, and to make Mom and Daddy happy. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
Tick, tock. The last one.
"And the next time you see me, you'll be relaxed, and happy to see me, but you won't know why. Isn't that right?"
"Yes."
"Good girl. Now, I want you to rest here. You will begin to come out of your dream. You will awaken and feel happy, rested and ready to begin your new life as the person everyone calls Sarah. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
He smiled, gathered up his metronome, and walked downstairs to speak to Mrs. MacMillan about the next steps.
