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October 29th
Patient: Cassia Ana Carrington
Age: 15
Primary Diagnosis: Dissociative Identity Disorder
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Carrington came back this week, but it was a very brief encounter before ‘Seraphina’ took over again. But in that brief moment, I’ve finally found the patient’s trigger, or one of them, at least. Carrington does not like mirrors. Seraphina has no issue with looking into a mirror, but Carrington will go out of her way to avoid them. I believe that when Carrington looks into a mirror it isn’t her own reflection she sees staring back at her, but rather that of Seraphina’s. But I do not believe that looking into a mirror every time will change her personality and she will become Seraphina. After further testing, it is apparent that there is no real pattern to when Carrington becomes Seraphina, but only that sometimes seeing her reflection in a mirror can trigger the change.
April 20th
Patient: Cassia Ana Carrington
Age: 17
Primary Diagnosis: Dissociative Identity Disorder
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Cassia Carrington hasn’t been herself in over a year. I’ve come to the conclusion that Carrington’s case is one of the worst I’ve ever seen when it comes to how long an alter personality remains the dominant. It’s as if Cassia no longer exists and Seraphina has taken over fully.
A side note: A small group of people—two men and one woman—came to the institution today to see Carrington. They claimed they were from a government organization, provided the proper identification—their names were even in the system listed as permitted visitors—and they spent three hours alone with her in an unobserved room. Cameras and voice recorders were prohibited. I asked ‘Seraphina’ after they had left what they discussed with her. She would not answer.
May 1st
Patient: Cassia Ana Carrington
Age: 17
Primary Diagnosis: Dissociative Identity Disorder
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Carrington is no longer at the institution. She was transferred—under mysterious circumstances, in my opinion—to another institution in New York, but I was not given any more information on the transfer other than that. I have been ordered by my superior to drop Carrington’s case and remove her files from my possession.
I stare at the paper in my hand, letting the text blur out of focus. Then I let it drop from my fingers onto the table. I have no interest in reading the other ten or so pages.
“I’m sorry, Fredrik.”
“Don’t be sorry. I told you I can deal with this.”
I fall against the back of my chair and throw my head back, laughing gently. “Unbelievable.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I fell in love with probably the most mentally fucked up woman on the planet.”
Izabel isn’t laughing, nor is she even smiling at my poor attempt at humor. I guess she was right when she said we can’t hide pain from each other.
“OK,” I say, motioning my hands, “so she’s sick. I knew that already. As a matter of fact, this whole multiple personality thing, in the back of my mind, I knew that’s what it was. But I didn’t want to believe it. I mean it is rare, after all. Why did it have to be her? This is ridiculous. I can’t even—.” I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.
I drop my hands in my lap and stare at the creased paper in front of me. Izabel remains silent, listening, watching, wanting to say something to make this all better but she knows as much as I do that there’s nothing that can.
“So, then I can get her help,” I say, looking across at her. “She’s been fine as Cassia—holy fucking shit, Izabel; Seraphina never actually existed. When I married her in private, when I made love to her, all of the things we did together; she was and always has been Cassia Carrington. Seraphina never existed.” The revelation nearly sends me over the edge, and what’s left of my own mind into oblivion.
“I can get her help,” I repeat, resolved to do just that.
“Fredrik,” Izabel speaks up carefully, “I don’t think there’s anyone or anything that can help her.”
“Why would you say that?” I feel my eyebrows hardening in my forehead.
She glances at the paper in front of me.
“You should read the rest of it.”
I shake my head.
“I’m not going to read anymore. Seraphina is sick. She needs help. And I’m going to get her help.” My voice begins to rise. “What, you think shrinks and doctors just put people like her away because they’re sick? No. They put them through therapy and give them medication—”
“Yes, they do,” Izabel adds with caution and sympathy, “but not the ones who murder i
And then the i
“Which side of her did, or do you, love more?”
I look up. “I never said I still loved her.”
“You didn’t have to say it.”
I look back down.
“I loved Seraphina because she was like me,” I begin, seeing only Seraphina’s face and short black hair and dark makeup in my mind. “I was a different kind of monster when we first met. She was the answer to everything. She helped me control my urges and showed me a way to still be myself without risking getting caught. We were perfect together, Izabel. I never prayed and I never dreamed of anything, but she was both the answer to my prayers and a dream come true. She was everything to me.”
“And what about Cassia?”
I picture only Cassia now with her long, beautiful blonde hair and natural beauty because she never wore makeup—only now I know why: she couldn’t look into a mirror in order to apply it.
“Cassia gave me something that I never got from Seraphina. She gave me peace. She made me see a light in the darkness that is my life and she made me feel as normal as anyone else.” I lock eyes with Izabel. “She is my light.”
Izabel looks at me for a moment—pain and regret lay in her features.
“You need a whole person, Fredrik,” she says thoughtful and determined. “I have to believe that one day you’ll find her, a love who is both light and darkness, who understands you and fulfills you the way that Seraphina did, but who can also give you peace.” She interlocks her fingers on the table and leans forward. “But you can’t do this with her, and you know it. She’s not a whole person. And she’s gone too far—in every way—to ever become one. She could snap and turn at any moment, and you know that, too.”
I look away. I don’t want to hear any of this. Because I know it’s true.
“You’ll find her—”
“No,” I cut in; my eyes boring into hers. “If it can’t be Seraphina—Cassia—then it’ll be no one.” I grind my jaw. “I’m not desperate for the love of a woman, Izabel—you’re entirely mistaken if that’s what you think. I never wanted Seraphina when I first met her. I wanted to be alone and the last thing I needed was her, or any other woman, shadowing my every move. But because she understood me and because I had been emotionally alone all my life, I fell in love with her. That couldn’t be helped. Love betrayed me, just like life did the day I was born in a convenience store restroom to a mother who didn’t want me.” I lean over, pushing myself farther into view so Izabel can see the resolution buried on the surface of my face. “There will be no one after her. There will be nothing after her except the shell of a man I was before we met.”
“What does that mean?” She appears worried—for me, no doubt.
I begin stuffing the paper back into the envelope and then shove it down inside my coat pocket.