“I see a bathroom. The tub is pink, and the tile is black. There’s a little girl in the bathtub.”

“Is it you?”

“She has the face of a plastic doll.”

“Is she older or younger than four?”

“Younger. Maybe two.”

“Who else is there?”

“My mother, sitting on the floor.”

“What’s going on?”

“She’s smiling, playing with the little girl as she washes her.”

Rella’s brow furrowed. She felt the presence of someone else in the scene. Her mother’s expression twisted to ire. “Get out of

here!” her mother yelled, pushing her hand at the air.

Rella’s mother never yelled.

Lurking in the partially opened doorway was a man, his eyes leering.

Rella pushed herself forward in the chair, surfacing from the submersion of the image. “What is this?” she asked Seth. “What

are you doing to me?”

“What happened there at the end, Rella?”

“There was a man, in the doorway.”

“Could you see who it was?”

Rella shook her head. The image of the evil smile flashed in her mind, wider, taunting. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“We are seeing what is inside. Your brain is showing us what is already there.”

“These are not my memories.”

“Close your eyes. Connect back to it.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Her head turned unnaturally to the right.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Rella, what do you see?”

Her hands fisted, pushing against her thighs. “Mm. Mm. Mm.” She protested in short bursts.

“Rella, what’s going on?”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Her hands flew up and she kicked the air with her feet, her noises becoming louder.

Seth spoke evenly to her, bringing her back to the present moment.

Rella recovered a few minutes later, opening her eyes.

Seth turned from the desk. “Rella, have you ever felt separation anxiety?”

“Yes.”

“At what age?”

“Five. When I was dropped off at school, I’d scream and cry. I never wanted my mother to leave. The teachers told her that once

I settled in, I was fine. I loved learning.”

Seth wheeled closer. “Recall the scene of being dropped off.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Have you always felt safe around your mother?”

“Yes.”

“And your father?”

“Yes.”

“Your sister?”

“Yes.”

“Your brother?”

“Yes.”

“What about other family members?”

“I’ve never felt unsafe with a family member.”

“Center your thoughts on being alone, abandoned.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Anything, Rella?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s important to resolve this. Center your thoughts on being alone, abandoned,” he repeated.

Her brain must be protecting her for a reason, she thought.

“Do you have a photo album from your childhood?”

She did, with photos from her birth until about the age of three or four. She hadn’t looked at it in ages. “Yes.”

“Mentally hold this photo album in your hands.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Blues, yellows, and greens wheeled into focus, and she saw cartoon giraffes and bubbles on the front cover, the binding a little

torn in the top left corner. “I have it.”

“I want you to think back to the mask you described. The one with the evil smile.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Picture that mask, Rella.”

She writhed, pushing away with fisted fingers and curled toes, strained noises captive behind closed lips.

“Mask, Rella. Mask, Rella,” he repeated.

“No.” She pushed back into the chair.

“Can you see it?”

She rolled her head.

“See who, Rella.”

The mask sprang out, in front of her, on top, on all sides, like a demented clown in a box.

“No!” she screamed, but only in her mind, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Flip through the photo album, Rella. Turn the pages.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It flashed in an instant, stung like radiation. The face. The eyes. A cry jammed in her throat, swallowed in the past, locked inside

for decades.

Eyes flying open, she pushed up and back in the chair, as far away from Seth as possible.

“You recognize the face.”

The page from the photo album scorched her mind.

“What did you see?”

Rella reeled from the revelation.

“Tell me.”