A story based in the real world. For some reason, a high school boy named J.J. went to sleep and didn't wake up for nearly 3 years. Someone else was awake in his place ...

		Sacrificial Alter Chapter 6 of 13 And the Walls Come Tumbling Down by **Sigh** Copyright© 2017 plaintivesigh All Rights Reserved.

The next morning, Becky showed up 30 minutes early to the consultation room at the psychiatric hospital. That surprised Dr. Rama slightly. What surprised him more was that Bob was there too.

“Don’t worry, Doc. I’m not here to try to be in the meeting with J.J., or Nova, or whoever the hell he is. I’m here to talk to you,” Bob growled.

“Before you two get started, I’ll just say my piece about this,” injected Becky. “I believe your view on this, Doctor. I just wish you had told me how controversial this still is. I guess I feel I was led to believe it was all established science.”

“Let’s sit down. I think I know where this is going,” replied Dr. Rama. “Go ahead, Bob.”

Bob obliged. “Multiple personality disorder – dissociative identity disorder – D.I.D. I read up on it. There are no set diagnostic criterions – critecals –“

“Criteria,” said Rama.

“Yeah. That. There’s no evidence that it is actually a real ‘thing’! Hell, every other psych problem – schizophrenia, bipolar, depression – is proven by research, and they have set standards that a person has to show before you can label them with those diagnoses. This D.I.D. doesn’t! It seems to be a mainly North America problem, kind of like ADHD* used to be –"

“Except there are definite criteria for ADHD now. We just needed time to define them.”

Bob’s eyes flared with anger. “Many psychiatrists seem to feel that your profession causes this D.I.D. with hypnosis and over-diagnosis. Others say that patients make up these ‘alters’ because they’ve seen that old TV show ‘Sybil’ and too many other horror movies; these ‘alters’ make it possible to do horrible things, and then blame it on one of the ‘bad personalities’. Meanwhile, you shrinks just lament about how treatment may not work, but you keep on treating – and keep on charging for your treatments. Sounds like a huge scam to me!”

“Bob. I am usually one of those doubting psychiatrists,” replied Rama. “I have been involved in a few cases back when I worked at the University of Florida Medical School where I felt that some people labeled as D.I.D. patients were actually malingering – ‘faking it’. But I have indeed seen cases of true splitting of the psyche, where no other illness was present to explain the symptoms. So it is with J.J./Nova. The only reason I have diagnosed your child with D.I.D. is that no other diagnosis comes remotely close to fitting.

“It could very well be that Nova is malingering – but I doubt it. To fake it this well, she would need to have a medical diploma and acting degree from a distinguished fine arts school. Now, I’m not perfect – far from it – but I’m doing the best I know how to do with her. I am NOT trying to bleed money from you for her case. If I had wanted the big bucks, I would have gone into surgery. Or dermatology. I hope that clears things up for you. Does it?” Rama asked hopefully.

Bob’s brow was still knit with suspicion. “It makes this clear for me: you’re a quack. And I’m going to want a second opinion and different treatment center unless we see a breakthrough, and I mean quickly.”

Dr. Rama pursed his lips as he absorbed that information. “Understood. I would like to have another 48 hours with her – and with you two – before you decide to move her. Is that acceptable?”

“No promises, Doc. I’ll take this day-by-day, or hour-by-hour, if necessary. Becky, text me as soon as you’re through with the meeting, ok?” Bob turned and walked away.

“I’ll call you,” yelled Becky.

“Do you have any questions for me, ma’am?” queried Rama.

“Let’s just do this meeting,” Becky sighed.

Dr. Rama, Becky and Nova sat once more in the psychiatrists’ office at Passages Psychiatric Hospital. The window had already been repaired, and Nova was in restraints to make sure there would not be a repeat of the last meeting.

“I still don’t want to be here. And I don’t really want to talk to this bitch,” Nova snarked to Dr. Rama.

Becky replied. “Nova – I’m in the room. You can call me a bitch to my face. It won’t make –“

“Good morning then, bitch,” Nova interrupted.

Becky resumed without hesitation, “Good morning to you, Nova. As I was saying, it won’t make me leave. I’m here to help you.”

The teen gave Becky a huge eye roll. “You saw the tape. Rama told me he showed it to you. By the way, doc, thanks for doing that WITHOUT my permission. Really swell of you. So, you want to help me? Good. You know what I need. I need to get out of here, and back to Rio – and my Sabio. You have the power to do that, don’t you, lady? But I know you’re not going to. So what do we have left to talk about?”

“No, Nova – I’m not going to just let you go back to Rio. Number one, you’re still wanted for murder here, and once the hospital lets you go, the law will take you.”

“J.J. did that murder, not me!”

“Wait,” inserted Dr. Rama, “you said J.J. did the murder. Do you remember that? Are you sure of it? If so, we all need to know.”

Nova squinted her eyes shut in frustration. “No, of course I don’t remember it. I already told you – I just remember from after I woke up in Fortaleza. But I read the news reports when I did the ‘Evarist’ search in the library. Seems pretty clear-cut, pardon the pun – the girl got stabbed to death after sex. J.J. seems like the killer to me – or to anyone with a brain.”

“Well, there’s another reason I don’t want you to leave,” resumed Becky. “You are not the only one who owns this body. Somewhere inside you is J.J. – the sweet boy, my precious son. His personality still exists in you. It would be wrong not to let him back out.”

That got a leer and raised eyebrows from Nova. “You want J.J. the murderer back out?”

“My son. Is not. A murderer. Nothing has been proven. And even if he did do that, there has to be some circumstance – some extreme occurrence – that caused it. Maybe there are even more than two personalities in your body? God – maybe a horrible, murderous one that took over? I don’t know. But we’ve GOT to know. We must find out, and for that, J.J. needs to come back out!”

“Everybody wants this J.J. back,” the girl sighed. “No love for Nova, though, right? After all, it’s my body too.”

Becky looked back at the girl with affection. “That’s where you’re wrong, Nova. You’re part of J.J. So I do love you! Now, sometimes I don’t LIKE you – like when you call me a bitch, or call my husband a rapist without definite proof. All parents have times they don’t like their kids. But I absolutely do love you. I LOVE you. I don’t want to lose J.J. – but you’re part of him, so I don’t want to lose you either!”

Nova’s eye’s narrowed with hurt and anger. “That’s … a … LIE. Do you know how many times in that shitty basement in Fortaleza I would curl up in a ball and pray that someone would want me enough to rescue me? Hoped against hope that someone loved me enough to be looking for me? After half a year, I had resigned myself to this fact: NO ONE CARED. Or surely they would have found me!

“My dad sold me away! My mom had to be aware of it, right? So you had to have some idea of where to look for me. If it hadn’t been for divine intervention – Sabio – I’d still be in chains! So don’t tell me you ‘don’t want to lose me’. You LOST me two and a half years ago, and you DIDN’T FIND ME!”

Becky was weeping now, with wracking sobs that made a reply impossible.

Dr. Rama held his breath. This was a critical point in the therapy. It could blow up and the whole session devolve into screaming and yelling, and the patient would lose all progress she’d made so far. Or, as is the case with strong emotions, a breakthrough could be near. It all depended on the mother’s response; he silently rooted for her to give the right one.

Becky still cried, but forced herself to speak. “You’re absolutely right. I failed. Both Bob and I did. We looked for you ourselves, we organized family, took leaves of absence from work and our other commitments. We pushed the police to continue to search for you. I … I didn’t know where to look. Even the detective we hired – it took him over a year to find you, and even then he said it was by pure luck. In a million years I would not have guessed you were in Brazil.

“Every day and every night since you disappeared – I have wailed to God, hoping against hope that you were still alive and not suffering. I prayed for Him to take me if that would bring you back safe. Now, knowing what horrors you had to live through – I want to die. I failed you. God, I COMPLETELY failed you! The only reason I have to go on living is the hope that somehow I can help you heal. Because I love you.

“I love you so much! I LOVE you. YOU, Nova. Not just J.J. I love your passion, your eyes, and your soul. J.J. is my son; but I accept you as a daughter. You are a beautiful young woman, and I am proud to be your mother. Always remember that fact: I LOVE you, Nova. More than life itself.”

That passionate statement from Becky surprised Nova. For a minute there was an uncomfortable silence as the teen’s face was motionless. But her eyes began to fill, and then overflow with tears. “But … b-but … you CAN’T love me … why did you let Daddy rape me and sell me?”

“Honey. I really don’t think that happened. You’re going on the word of two monstrous abusive slavers. I’ve known your dad for years. He stains his shirts and his back is way too hairy and he has an occasional road rage issue; but he LOVES his kids. He’d give his life for you. When you disappeared, he was inconsolable – that’s why he packed on 130 pounds. Thank God he turned to food and not drugs or alcohol, but still. I’m not saying I can’t be fooled, but if your Daddy had anything to do with your horrific slave experience, I will eat my wedding dress. And I had the biggest, poofiest wedding dress ever made.”

That made Nova snicker a snerk in spite of her ongoing tears. Then she got serious again. “But … if Daddy didn’t do that to me … who did?”

Rama leaned forward. “Nova, maybe there are more than two alters in you. Another one could have done this, or may at least have information. Perhaps even J.J. will know. If you let me give you medicine and try hypnosis, we might find out.”

The young girl tied in restraints let her head flop forward and began to bawl. Becky started to rise out of her chair to go comfort her child. Dr. Rama held his hand up and shook his head.

“Let her process this,” he whispered.

So Becky sat on the edge of her seat, nails digging into the armrests, legs warding off the urge to kick the doctor in the nuts, and her own eyes again gushing. Then Nova choked out a word.

“…Okay.”

Tom the pilot saw his friend Finny watching a remote video feed. “Still spying on the Evarists, buddy?”

“Aaah, only now and then, to see if the kid is back. No trace of her since they called the ambulance to take her away that first night. Maybe she’s still in the loony bin.”

Tom sighed. “Breaking health privacy laws is a felony, isn’t it? How, pray tell, did you find out the kid was in a psych hospital?”

“A hunter has his sources,” Finny mumbled as he adjusted the frequencies on the video signal.

“Oh yeah, I forgot. You’re ‘The Hunter’. You are so full of POOP!”

Finny was stunned to silence. That was the closest thing to a swear word he’d ever heard his friend say. He looked up at Tom, and saw a scowling, beet red angry face staring back at him.

“Look, Finny,” growled the pilot, “I’m up for doing illegal stuff, as long as it’s both morally right and profitable. This obsession with that kid is neither. And you’re going to risk everything you have – WE have – just to satisfy your curiosity? Well, I sure don’t want you taking me down with you. I’m making myself scarce until you stop all this foolishness. You can find me down at the airport doing rides-by-hire. Let me know if you come to your senses.” Tom turned on his heel and stomped out of the room, then out the front door of the office.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” mumbled Finny. What the hell am I doing? I need all the friends I can get, and without Tom my buddy count is – let’s see – ZERO. I just wish I could get that J.J. kid outta my head. Something’s still not right.

*ADHD: Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.

To be continued tomorrow.

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**