Mirrors by Ted Dekker

large and warm, and she felt comforted by his gentle grip.
    “You remember Nancy, don’t you? The kind lady who interviewed you yesterday?”
    “Yes.” She kept wondering if the bathroom would have mirrored walls if she took a peek now, as he’d suggested. But that was absurd.
    He stopped at the fourth door on their right, released her hand, and twisted the knob.
    “You’re doing well, Alice. Just a little deeper now.”
    He opened the door and ushered Christy into a cozy room with a couch and an armchair. Tan walls with bookcases. An aquarium on a credenza, paintings… The first inviting room she’d seen since arriving.
    Nancy Wilkins stood from her chair behind a wooden desk looking as pretty as she had yesterday. Dressed in a blue blouse with a black skirt.
    She smiled warmly and removed a pair of glasses from her face. “Hello, Alice. Good to see you again.”
    “Hi.”
    “Have a seat.” She motioned to the sofa.
    The door closed behind her. When she sat, she saw that Lawson had left them alone. His departure was more comforting than his hand. With Nancy, at least, Christy felt heard.
    The psychiatrist settled into the armchair and spent a few minutes asking her about her experience so far, not once addressing Christy’s concern that she didn’t belong here. Naturally she didn’t. Many patients felt the same way. It was par for the course in their world.
    Play along. Just play along.
    With Lawson’s suggestion still gnawing at her mind, she took every opportunity to glance at her arms and legs, reassuring herself that he was wrong.
    When Nancy asked about the night, she decided that talking about it wouldn’t hurt her. She put it out there in summary, avoiding the details, focusing only on Lawson’s conclusion that she was, at this very moment, delusional.
    “But I know he’s wrong,” she said. “I mean, really… Do I look fat to you? This is me, right?”
    Nancy smiled kindly. “Of course you’re not fat, Alice. These are only perceptions and labels. Dr. Lawson is only trying to help you see the truth.”
    “But you see me. How can I be that girl I saw last night?”
    The psychiatrist folded one leg over the other, elbows on the armrests, lightly tapping her fingertips together.
    “I don’t know who you saw last night or who you see now,” she said. “But you’re going to learn that the illusion is as powerful in its effect as the truth. When you have a delusion, it will feel just as real as any other perception of reality. Remember that.”
    Christy considered each word as she spoke them aloud.
    “The illusion is as powerful in its…”
    “Effect,” Nancy filled in.
    “As…”
    “As the truth.”
    “As the truth,” Christy repeated. “The illusion is as powerful in its effect as the truth.”
    “Good.”
    “Then how do you know which is the illusion?” she asked.
    “Very few people do.”
    That was odd. Most people were confused? But before she could think about the matter more, Nancy redirected the session.
    “I’d like to help you see into your repressed memories, Alice. Often, understanding what happened to us and why it happened helps us deal with hidden emotional blocks that imprison us.”
    Her pulse surged. “What memories?”
    Nancy hesitated, then smiled warmly.
    “Memories of your childhood.”
    “My childhood?” She had no memories. How much did Nancy really know? “I… How?”
    “Using a tool we call hypnotic therapy, which is a fancy way of saying we calm the mind enough to allow memories to surface. You’ll be entirely aware the whole time—it’s not like what you see on television. You can stop it any point you like. I will only help you relax and see into yourself.”
    The appeal of knowing more about her childhood blossomed in her mind.
    “Would you like to try?”
    “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I would.”

    —

    THE EASE with which Nancy Wilkins methodically and gently led Christy away from her current concerns and into a place of deep peace