Chapter 5 - The Master Illusion
I didn’t understand anything. What psychiatrist? What severe trauma? My mind was spinning wildly out of control. That same evening, hours before Arthur was scheduled to get home, I drove to the address the toxicologist had given me. It was a high-end, incredibly discreet psychiatric clinic nestled behind high gates in the wealthy suburbs. Dr. Thorne, an elderly, authoritative man in a tweed suit with an air of absolute medical superiority, invited me into his lavish, mahogany-lined office. He studied me intently over his reading glasses and said calmly, as if he had been expecting me, "Clara. I expected that one day you would come here on your own, once your husband felt you were stable and ready." "Explain to me what is happening to my body and my mind," I demanded, gripping the arms of the leather guest chair until my fingers ached. He opened a thick, heavy folder full of official-looking medical documents bearing my name. "Three years ago, you suffered a severe, catastrophic mental breakdown after a horrific psychological trauma. A devastating car accident that took the lives of your parents. During your psychotic episodes, you completely lost control of reality, suffered from violent delusions, and remembered nothing afterward. That is why the illness seems entirely nonexistent to you now." I sat there in stunned, suffocating silence, the air completely knocked out of my lungs. "That’s impossible... I clearly remember my parents dying of natural causes when I was a teenager." "False memories," Dr. Thorne said gently, his voice practically dripping with professional sympathy. "A well-documented coping mechanism created by your severely traumatized brain to protect itself. Several months of this specific medication gave you your life back, but stopping the medication now would trigger a catastrophic relapse. Your husband, Arthur, voluntarily took on the massive, heartbreaking burden of making sure you took your pills on time so you wouldn't have to be permanently institutionalized." I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but the documents looked so real. "And the daily phone calls at exactly two o'clock?" "Those were also my strict medical recommendation," the doctor sighed, closing the folder. "During a potential worsening of your condition, you couldn’t be left without supervision for too long. He didn’t call because he was a controlling tyrant, Clara. He called because he was terrified you might have a break and hurt yourself. He wanted to make sure you were safe."
