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This boy was visiting family off campus on the night in question, so a plan was hatched to spike Erika’s drink and put her in a compromising position with another frat brother. According to the statement given by the cheerleader, no actual harm was supposed to come to Erika, only embarrassment. They’d planned to take photos to show the other boy, hoping he would become angry enough to forget about Erika altogether.
To the best of the cheerleader’s knowledge, her teammate took the photos and then organized for Erika to get back to her dormitory. It wasn’t until the following morning, when she heard the news, that she realized something more sinister had occurred. Her confession led to the subsequent arrests of two of her fellow cheerleaders and three of the fraternity brothers.
“Excuse me, Emily,” I hear Mary say as she opens the door. “Your next appointment has arrived.”
Thanking her, I request that Mary send Erika in.
Standing, I greet her. “Hi, Erika. I’m Emily Proctor.”
“Please be seated.” I gesture.
“I’m sorry you have been harassed,” Erika apologizes, sitting in the chair beside my desk instead of the lounge by the window.
Her actions surprise me, as most prefer the window seat to reduce anxiety.
“I wasn’t harassed, so please don’t be sorry,” I implore.
“My father can be quite demanding,” she explains.
“Aren’t they all?” I laugh in an attempt to break any unease Erika may be feeling.
It appears that Erika wants to get straight to business when she suddenly asks. “Do you know much about what happened to me?”
“Only what I have read in your file, but I’d much rather hear it from you.”
Looking out the window, Erika admits that for all her pain, you’d think she would be filled with hatred, yet she feels nothing at all. She recalls very little from the night in question nor her time in the hospital.
“Why do you think this is?” I interrupt.
Returning her gaze to me, Erika tells me she is unsure why her memory is lost.
“So, you can recall nothing at all?”
“I remember arriving with Jen and Maggie and Maggie’s boyfriend, Josh, handing me a beer, but after that, it’s fuzzy,” she begins.
Silently I watch as Erika stands and slowly walks toward my bookshelf. “May I reorganize your bookshelf?” she asks.
“Please, be my guest,” I urge.
Silently, I watch as she rearranges my books in alphabetical order.
“Oh my,” a childlike voice exclaims. “You have Andersen’s Fairy Tales.”
From my colleague’s notes, I see that one of Erika’s alters is a twelve-year-old girl. I believe Erika’s alter may be present from the slight change in pitch.
“Pardon me,” I greet the alter. “I don’t believe we’ve met yet; my name is Emily. What’s your name?”
Turning around to face me fully, it’s evident that there is a shift in personality, which makes me wonder if my line of questioning leads to Erika reliving buried, difficult memories. Gone is the solemn facial expression once held by Erika and in its place is one of pure excitement and what appears to be childish innocence.
With a large smile, Erika’s alter tells me her name is Lucy. Excitedly, she tells me that her favorite stories in the world are the fairy tales written by Hans Christian Anderson.
When I ask her age, she proudly informs me she is twelve years old, and her father is a diplomat. Her mother, she tells me, was once a ballerina with the Polish National Ballet. I don’t see anything about Erika’s mother in my colleague’s notes, but it’s something I’ll investigate another time.
“Can I tell you my favorite one of his stories?” Lucy now requests.
“Of course.”
“Mine is Thumbelina,” she joyfully announces, retaking a seat, this time by the window.
