Chapter 5

1777 Words
In the professional opinion of Dr Gillian Emerson, the aggression of her patient, Jake Conley, was simply a defensive shield to protect him in his extremely vulnerable state. He was recovering from a serious accident, and separation from his fiancée if she understood correctly, and coming to terms with a marked personality change. As a respected psychologist, she had no trouble dealing with the aggression, but the personality shift intrigued and, if she were honest, excited her. She had his medical records in front of her as she awaited his arrival for this, their fourth session. Dr Emerson had read and re-read them. All assessments indicated no physical complications but were unanimous about his heightened aggression and mood swings. His long-suffering girlfriend had left him, although the psychologist understood the strain she must have been under. Here was an indisputably good-looking, intelligent and sensitive – ah yes, there was the problem: he was now hyper-sensitive – person aged twenty-nine, who had turned down an academic career in the University of York’s renowned history department in favour of chasing a chimera. Anyone who puts her mind to it can write a novel, Dr Emerson mused. She’d thought about it herself, but writing a good one, a bestseller, was a different matter. Whether living his dream was the best condition for Jake’s fragile state was another matter and one she hoped to pursue with him when he entered her consulting room. Anyone who puts her mind to it can write a novelIn he came, sat down, and unexpectedly giving her a charming smile, confessed, “When my GP referred me to you, Dr Emerson, I’ll admit I was peeved and reluctant. Just the thought of my being considered a case for a psychologist made me rage. I suppose Livie’s breaking off with me gave me the push I needed. But after what’s been happening recently, I’m glad to be here.” He’d grabbed her attention; he could see it in her body language. She leaned forward in her easy chair, raised an eyebrow and asked, “What’s been happening recently, Jake?” So much had occurred that he’d describe as strange, so why not start with the most recent, the freshest in his mind? His swarthy, tanned countenance, offsetting his light grey eyes, took on a perplexed expression, which enhanced Dr Emerson’s already piqued curiosity. “Well, a lot, to be honest, like this morning, walking here…this complete stranger, not a tramp or anything, maybe a businessman in a suit…walks up to me and starts pouring out all his problems. I mean, like I was a priest, or, with respect, a shrink …or his best mate. I’d never seen him before in my life. I mean, it’s not normal, a total stranger. Why me? Come on, doc, look at me, I haven’t got agony aunt written on my forehead, I’m just an ordinary guy.” Gillian Emerson smiled at her handsome patient. She wouldn’t describe him as ordinary, but then, she wasn’t insensible to masculine appeal. “Is that how you’d describe yourself? ‘Just an ordinary guy’?” He frowned and stared out of the window at the scudding, wind-driven clouds. “I might have done until the accident, but after that…I’m confused. I don’t know if it’s me that’s changed or how the world sees me…or both.” His voice trailed away weakly, and he stared at the psychologist with a look she interpreted as a desperate appeal for help. “You’re probably right. In what ways have you changed?” “To begin with, I pick up on other people’s emotions so quickly. Sometimes, I feel quite drained when I’m around negative people, and I come near to snapping with dramatic ones; I can’t stand being near them.” Dr Emerson jotted down a note and, smiling in encouragement, waited for him to continue. “I’ve been having disturbing dreams too. The other night…Wednesday…well, I wouldn’t call it a dream, more a…a…vision. I saw myself leap out of bed, draw back the curtains, and what do you think? There was this red sports car crumpled against the wall across the road, people gathering, then a police car with its flashing blue light and an ambulance came. Then, Thursday night at exactly the same time, there was a terrible crash like a bomb had exploded. I jumped out of bed, drew back the curtains, and, doctor, even as I tell you, my hair stands on end, I knew what I was going to see…it was all there, exactly the same scene, like a film replaying. Do you know, two young lads had taken the bend too fast, lost control, veered across the road into the wall – both killed: dead at twenty! b****y hell! And I knew it was going to happen twenty-four hours before. But what could I do to prevent it? What am I, some kind of freak?” knewamI,“Of course not.” She smiled, although she found it disturbing. “Premonitions are common phenomena, especially those of tragedies and with extremely sensitive subjects.” “Is that what it is, me being sensitive? I could do without it, I’ll tell you. I keep knowing when something’s going to happen before it does. It freaks me out, doctor.” She laughed. “Well it could be useful on occasion.” “Then there’s the strange feeling I keep getting between my eyebrows.” He touched his brow with his forefinger at the crown of his head. "It’s like a dull ache, and it happens whenever I have spiritual thoughts. It got me started on checking out religions and things, I mean, Buddhism and Hinduism – things I know nothing about, at least I didn’t. But this strange feeling, it’s what they call ‘the third eye;’ apparently, it’s my chakras opening up!” chakrasHe pursed his lips, looked thoughtful, and fixed her with a disconcerting stare. She glanced at her wristwatch, made a note, and waited, but when he continued to stare and didn’t speak, she said, “You do know there’s a physical explanation for all this, Jake?” Ideally, he would make an effort to explain it himself, but he remained in staring, silent mode. She broke the silence. “It’s not unknown for a psychic awakening to occur after a trauma. You received a severe blow to the head, and luckily you came away physically unscathed, but you know, the brain is a very complex organ – scientists still don’t have complete knowledge of it. Who’s to say what such a nasty bump has triggered off?” psychic awakening“So I am a freak, then?” amThe psychologist grinned. “Not a freak but someone with access to parts of the brain that are denied to the mass of humanity. You know, it’s probable that so-called primitive man could use some of the brain we can’t. Think of water divining; think of seeing auras and so on.” “Are you saying I’m primitive?” He was teasing her now, she reflected; a pity professionalism made it impossible to flirt – she liked him. “No, but I’m saying you’re not crazy, Jake. In fact, there’s an eminent cognitive neuroscientist, Abraham Spark, at London University with a practice on Harley Street, who has written several papers on it. He calls it synaesthesia, which is essentially a cross-wiring of the brain in which the senses get mixed up. It affects only about four percent of the population who are known as synesthetes. Jake, you are a synesthete! Some might see certain colours when they hear music or smell something that isn’t there when they feel a certain emotion. This condition is caused by connections between parts of the brain that are not there in other people, and it can be caused by trauma to the head. I’d hazard that happened with your accident. So you see, Jake, there’s a convincing explanation for your present mental state. I’m going to call it acquired psychic syndrome, a new sub-category of synaesthesia. Practically speaking, we should seek solutions to help you be more comfortable with it.” synaesthesiayouacquired psychic syndrome“Do you mean medicines, doctor? I’m dead against taking pills.” “Good, because I’m dead against prescribing them. No, I mean we should find a solution within yourself that might help.” I’m“Such as?” “Let’s see, you told me you’d like to write a novel. Tell me about it.” “I specialised in medieval history at university; my professor even wanted me to stay on and research the Anglo-Saxon era. It’s a love of mine. I want to set a novel in that period.” “Do you have a plan for the book?” “More or less.” “Isn’t there more research you need to do?” “There is, of course, but I’ve been distracted of late by what’s been happening. I’ve even changed my eating habits.” “Really?” “Yeah, it’s like I can’t stand my favourite junk food anymore. I just want salads and healthy stuff. Burger and chips and – ugh! – ketchup is right out of the window.” ugh!“Interesting. Before your accident, did you have any hobbies, apart from history?” “I love hiking, rambling around in search of old country churches.” “Nice. I think I’d like to do that, too, if I had more time. Listen, Jake, can’t you combine your interests? I think it would do you a world of good.” “What do you mean?” “Get your boots and head into the countryside. Do some field work to research your novel. The fresh air will help the creative juices to flow.” His pale grey eyes lit up. “Great idea, doctor! A wonder I didn’t think of it myself!” In spite of his ‘intuitive hits,’ Jake did not foresee the momentous consequences of this decision, and Dr Emerson would have to re-evaluate her assessment of it doing him a world of good. She wondered whether she should have packed him off to Helsinki, where the renowned Brain Research Unit of Aalto University could have given him an MRI scan to study which part of the brain could light up under certain stimuli, but she had felt it unnecessary. It would pander to her medical curiosity rather than help Jake, and it would simply confirm her diagnosis, of which she was as certain as could be. doing him a world of good.
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