I imagined her with kind eyes as she regarded me from across the small office. Being blind since birth, I couldn’t be sure, but I pictured the young therapist with a soft quiet prettiness born of much thinking. Alyssa was her name, and to my surprise, that was what she wanted me to call her. I was expecting someone older, a Doctor So-And-So with many fancy degrees and titles. I was expecting her to hem and haw while she looked over my paperwork, but she just read it, set it down and looked to me.

“So,” she began “what did you hope to accomplish by coming here today?”

“Well,” I said, a little nervous “I was thinking I would leave that to you. I figured I would tell my story, and you would know what to do from there.””

“Ah,” she said, a smile in her voice “I can’t guarantee you instant answers, but I think telling your story is a good idea.”

That was it? For a minute or more, I waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, I knew she must have been waiting for me to spill the gory details. High on the wall, I could hear a clock ticking by the seconds of my first therapy session. What if I wasted it just sitting here?

“Where should I begin?” I asked, hoping for some sort of guidance.

“At the beginning, of course. Things are always told best from their beginnings, don’t you think?”

I nodded reluctantly. “But there are so many beginnings, I don’t know which one to take. Should I start at the beginning of my life? Should I skip ahead to when my problems started?”

She looked at me. I could almost feel the soft eyes probing, questioning. “I notice you are ringing your hands,” she said after a pause. “Why is that? How do you feel when you do it?”

“I guess,” I said, stilling my hands with an effort “I feel like I’m trying to grasp at the right beginning. The whole story is in my mind all tangled up like a ball of yarn.”

“A ball of yarn,” she repeated. “I like that. Why don’t you pick an end at random and work from there.”

I thought and thought, but this did not prove an easy task. Not knowing what else to do, I decided to summarize the whole thing. “I had a thing, I think it was a multiple personality, and she did some pretty horrific things. She overheard my fiancé talking on the phone about wanting a baby, and she was furious. She called a chatline and invited a man over. That didn’t go well, but there were at least four men after him. She would say things that were cruel and hurtful, but somehow, my fiancé always seemed to look past it. It hurt, I’m sure, but she’s still with me. I was able to merge with Liz, the personality, about two weeks ago, but I figured it would be best if I still came in for therapy.”

“I’m glad you did,” Alyssa said kindly. “Tell me, when did you first become aware of this Liz you told me about?

Finally, I thought, a question I could answer. “Liz came to me when I was in the fifth grade,” I told Alyssa. Everything stopped. The clock stopped its ticking, my hands stopped their ringing, and I was once again living the memories I so feared.

“Elizabeth,” Liz called in the silence. “Elizabeth, wake up!.

The little girl stirred, blinking the sleep from her eyes. She was a chubby little thing, tired with a washed out look born of the last year’s hell. Fourth grade had been a nightmare, but now she was in fifth. She had gone from six hours of homework every night to math so easy a baby could do it. Her teacher, Miss Wilbur, had a high syrupy voice, and Elizabeth thought if it were liquid, it would be the kind of cough syrup her mother gave her.

Mom. Elizabeth wiped a stupid tear as it fell on her pillow. Her mom and dad had sent her away to a boarding school, and she missed them terribly. She even missed her sulky big brother Jeff, and that was saying something. She never got along with Jeff because he always seemed so angry. She didn’t see what reason Jeff had for being angry.

Their laughing dad with his kisses and touches, and their prim, neat little mom with her fancy dinner parties seemed so terribly sweet and good to Elizabeth, it made her heart swell up big with love. Still, Jeff was angry. He was lucky to have their solid roof over his head. Dad was forever telling him so, but a thunder and lightning storm of rage crackled and boomed around him,, and Elizabeth could feel it.

Despite Jeff’s moods and the way he made her parents yell, despite how horrible last year had been, Elizabeth knew she would gladly go through it all again just to be there. Here was such a lonely place. She had no friends, and the night was deathly quiet. Even the radio playing on her small desk did not stop the high-pitched ring of silence that threatened to consume her.

“Elizabeth,” Liz called again “won’t you let me in? We would be such good friends, don’t you think?”

In the back of her mind, Martin screamed in protest. “Nooooooooooo!! Elizabeth, she’ll be the death of you!” But Elizabeth pretended not to hear. Martin was a bad boy, and if he didn’t like this woman, perhaps Elizabeth would let her in after all.

Martin was the part of her soul she kept locked away in a stone cell at the back of her mind. He was the part of her that longed to be a boy instead of a girl, the part of her that would send her to Hell if she did not keep him in check. It was damp and dark where she had locked him. Cobwebs hung thickly on the bars, and from the ceiling, water dripped slow and monotonous. One day, Elizabeth was certain it would drown him. It was already almost up to his knees.

“Well?” Liz asked, on the edge of impatience “are you going to let me in, or not?”

“Don’t get mad at me,” Elizabeth told her. “Who are you? What do you want here? I’m just a stupid girl. Why don’t you go somewhere else?”

“Because, you silly thing,” Liz told her. “I’m tired of seeing people walk all over you. If you let me in, I can help you.”

“Help me?” Elizabeth asked. “But people don’t walk all over me.”

“Oh don’t they?” Liz asked. “What would you call last year’s pizza party then?”

Tears stung Elizabeth’s eyes at the recollection. Last year, though the work had been hard, and the demands of her singing ministry had been exhausting, she had had so many kind and true friends. They gave her hope, and in turn, she tried to give them hope as well. As the year’s end came ever nearer, Elizabeth didn’t know how she would endure a summer without all her loving and supportive friends.

One day, Deirdra, her special ed teacher, asked Elizabeth to accompany her to the gym. This was very unusual, since it was lunchtime, and Deirdra knew how dearly Elizabeth loved to eat. In the gym, the bleachers were all arranged in rows. Most of Elizabeth’s friends were they’re waiting for her! She couldn’t believe that Deirdra had planned such a fun surprise! Did Deirdra think it was her birthday?

She talked and laughed with her friends all through the party. She missed the ones who were not there, however. In particular, she missed a boy named Nicholas. She loved Nicholas almost as much as she loved eating. She loved him, and had since they met at the beginning of that year. The next day at recess, her whole world came crashing down. Lindsey, one of her closest friends came up to her all in a huff, indignantly asking why she hadn’t been invited to the party. After all, she had helped Elizabeth more than the others, so why should they be rewarded more than her? Elizabeth told Lindsey that she was sorry, that she hadn’t planned the party, but Lindsey would have none of it.

Later that day, the school councilor, Miss Patterson, took Elizabeth into her office to tell her what a bad friend she was. For a long time, she sat and listened to Miss Patterson tell her what good children her classmates were and how she had made them all cry by not inviting them to the party. One by one, Miss Patterson brought them in, sat them across from Elizabeth, and waited while they told her how sad she had made them. She told her classmates one by one that she had not known about the party, but they ignored her. She told Miss Patterson that it was Deirdra who had planned it, but the councilor did nothing but write furiously on her notepad. Some of the kids brought up disagreements they had had with her throughout the course of the year. Others listed all the ways they had helped her and asked if they mattered to her at all. Perhaps Miss Patterson had not brought every single student to sit across from the crying girl, but to Elizabeth, the number seemed endless.

She knew then that she was a stupid girl. If she were not, she would have known Deirdra was planning the party. She would have reminded her to invite everyone so nobody felt sad, and she would not have needed so much help. She wouldn’t get lost on her way to the playground, to lunch, to class, to the rest room, or to Miss Patterson’s office. Now, because she was a stupid girl, Elizabeth had been sent to a stupid school with a teacher who talked to the tiny class as though they were in kindergarten.

Now, lying in the single bed with its crinkling waterproof mattress and thin blankets, Elizabeth stared sightlessly into the darkness. “Are you a stupid girl?” she asked the self-assured voice in her mind. “Are you a stupid girl like me?”

“No,” Liz said softly. “You are stupid, Elizabeth, but I can make things better for you if you just open your mind to me.”

Elizabeth nodded; opening her mind like the world’s saddest flower to let the poisoned light of Liz shine on her, burn her little by little. She knew nothing of the danger she had placed herself in, but Martin did. He howled, throwing himself against the walls of his cell, bloodying himself against the unyielding bars.

Liz laughed. “Boys are so stupid, aren’t they?”

“Even stupider than me,” Elizabeth agreed.

Liz nodded, walking to the back of her newly claimed kingdom. She pulled a bottle from her purse as she went. Martin shrank back from her, but Liz caught him by the collar of the ragged robe he wore, pulling him flat against the bars. Martin didn’t see the bottle Liz clutched in her other hand, and when he opened his mouth to bellow at her, she reached up and poured the bottle’s contents in his open mouth. He spluttered, trying to spit out the liquid, but he swallowed convulsively, drinking at least some as Liz watched with satisfaction. Martin swayed, looking lost and confused. He clung to the bars for balance, eyes glazed and distant. “I want to go back to my own country,” he said thickly. “My own country.” For a moment, Elizabeth almost felt sorry for him. He was Australian, she knew, but how he had become a part of her mind, Elizabeth could not guess. She wished Martin could go to Australia, leaving her in peace, but he was from her mind immovable as a bolder. Then he fell, toppling like a great tree into the water.

Liz walked away from Martin’s prone form, coming to stand with Elizabeth at the front. “There,” she said with satisfaction. “That will hold him for a while.”

Elizabeth thought she would be happier with Martin so silent, and yet, … But that was foolishness. His silence guaranteed Elizabeth a ticket to eternal salvation. If Martin had his way, she would burn for all eternity in Hell’s unquenchable flames.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said uncertainly.

“My dear,” Liz said with a cold smile “I feel that this is the beginning of a beautiful partnership, ship, ship.”

Liz was always echoing one syllable or another, as Elizabeth learned over the next few weeks. Liz was unlike anyone Elizabeth had ever met, and yet, she seemed so familiar. She almost wondered if they might be long lost twins, --almost. Every morning, Liz forced Martin to drink from the little bottle that never seemed to empty. As he did the first time, he would sleep, giving Elizabeth freedom from his horrid whispering. Gone were the whispers about pretty girls and how nice it would be to use the boys’ bathroom rather than the girls’.

As time passed, Elizabeth made friends with the help of Liz’s cool assurance. Liz also helped Elizabeth with her schoolwork, and though she was no better at it than Elizabeth, Liz got it done a lot quicker. This left them time to visit the recreation center or swing on the swing set or bench swing. Elizabeth found that she was happier than she had ever been. With the help of Liz, she hoped to become less stupid over time, and slowly, people began to notice the change in her.

On weekends, her parents would comment on how much more self-confident Elizabeth was becoming. At church, Liz took Elizabeth out of the choir, leaving her Thursdays and Sundays free. Mom was furious that Elizabeth had forsaken her singing ministry, and so was dad at first.

“Elizabeth Ann!” her mother said with an indignant sniff. “How can you quit on your church like this?”

“Mom, I have to sing for two hours every Thursday,” Elizabeth said imploringly. “Then I have to practice all my solos on Friday and Saturday before I sing again on Sunday. I don’t know when to kneel or sit because I’m in the front of the whole church, and because I have to stand more than you do, my feet hurt and hurt.”

“I realize you put some time in, Elizabeth,” her mother said angrily through her smiling lips “but so do we. Your mom serves communion every Sunday, and your dad teaches Sunday school after church. He has to plan out his lessons, you know. Don’t you think that takes time, Elizabeth?”

“I know it takes time,” she said, starting to get angry. “I know you spend an hour, and dad spends most of his time sitting. My feet hurt, mom! At the end part of the practice, I have to close my eyes so the tears don’t fall when I’m singing because it hurts so much. You never hurt. All you do is make me hurt!”

She turned, walking quickly to her room. Mom caught her arm, but Elizabeth wrenched it free. Mom caught her hair and held on.

“Don’t talk to me like that, young lady!” her mother yelled.

“There you go again!” Elizabeth yelled back “hurting me again! You like it, don’t you? You really like to hurt me!”

“I, am, not, hurting you,” mom hissed, pulling her daughter’s head back by the hair she held.

“Yes, you are!” Elizabeth screamed at her. “You always do and you don’t even care!” She grabbed hold of mom’s wrist and squeezed, squeezing and squeezing until the grip on her hair slackened and her mother stood panting before her.

“You are an ugly girl,” mom said in a low voice “and when your dad comes home, I won’t be surprised if he makes you join the choir again.”

Mom walked away, leaving Elizabeth alone. She fell onto her bed, shaking as the rage slowly left her. Fights with mom always left her feeling like a part of her was broken and bleeding.

Time dragged slowly by. Dad was whistling when he came home from work, and Liz was at the door to meet him. All the injured rage that hovered just beyond the edges of Elizabeth’s heart was nowhere in Liz’s easy manner.

“How was work,” Liz asked, giving dad a big hug.

Glad of her interest, dad droned something about damns and fish, meetings and office jabber that made absolutely no sense. Liz nodded in all the right places, hmmmmmmmed, looked thoughtful, and followed him while he settled into his nightly ritual. She sat on the bed, listening to the monotonous fish discussion while dad changed into his casual clothes from his work clothes. This he did in the adjoining bathroom, and Elizabeth wondered if he could see Liz sitting there while he dressed. Dad knew Liz was there, she knew. He knew it because his talking never ceased. Out to the living room he went, into the kitchen, then back to the living room once more.

“What did you do today, Lucy?” he asked, finally.

“You won’t like it,” Liz told him. Dad sighed, sitting on the couch. Liz sat on dad’s lap, looking seriously up into his face. “I know mom didn’t like it when I told her.”

“Oh boy,” dad said, taking a sip of his beer. “Did you get crossways with your mom again?”

“I quit the choir,” she told him. “I didn’t do as well in school as I wanted to, dad. Choir takes a lot of time, and it doesn’t make sense for me to leave the school every week, does it?”

“It’s a little out of the way, Lucy,” dad admitted “but Natalie and the kids need you.”

“If they needed me,” Liz said gently, patting dad’s cheek “do you think I could just say goodbye? I stayed on for a long time because I thought they needed me too. But dad, they don’t need me. None of the kids want to be there, and I don’t think Natalie wants to be there either. I feel like she gets mad at me for singing loud, but the others barely sing at all.”

“That’s true, I guess,” dad said, running a hand through Liz’s shortish hair. “They squeak like mice. Uh, if you think choir is disrupting your school work, you did the right thing.” “I was hoping you would say that,” Liz said, giving dad a hug and a smile.

Elizabeth wondered what dad was carrying around in his pocket. Something was pushing out the front of dad’s pants in a way Elizabeth had never seen before. Was it a hotdog? No. What would dad be doing carrying a hotdog in his pocket? Was it a pocketknife? No. The thing was too long to be a pocketknife. She wondered why Liz wasn’t asking dad what was in his pocket. She didn’t even seem to notice as she asked him if he could smooth things over with mom. Dad said he would, and Liz said she didn’t know what she would do without him. Dad laughed and told her she would never have to find out.

Mom and Elizabeth both wondered how Liz could get around dad so easily on any subject she chose. For some reason Elizabeth could not explain, dad’s extra attention to Elizabeth hurt mom. Mom showed her displeasure by sniffing and sighing rather loudly when Elizabeth or Liz would walk into a room. She would also do little things like add broccoli to Elizabeth’s plate. Mom knew very well that Elizabeth hated even the feel and smell of broccoli. Elizabeth would scrunch up her face in disgust, but Liz solved the problem by none too discretely placing the offending vegetable on dad’s plate. He would laugh and so would Liz. Mom would sniff and sigh.

In the rare times when Martin was awake, he would scream that Liz was a hoar and that she was using dad’s weakness for little girls to make him do whatever she wanted. Elizabeth had only heard of a hoar once, and that was in an opera to which she had the soundtrack. In the opera, the hoar was swept away by a handsome knight. Knights also saved princesses, Elizabeth knew, so if a hoar was like a princess, Liz couldn’t be bad at all.

In truth, Elizabeth had come to need Liz more than she would have liked to admit. She knew Liz hurt her mother and caused her father to carry a permanent hotdog around in his pocket, but Liz was such a help and such a friend. She saw Liz pacing the mind when she thought Elizabeth was asleep.

“I’ve won,” Liz would whisper into the darkness. “I’ve won from now until the end of time, and who’s to stop me? Not Elizabeth. Certainly not Martin.” At this last, Liz would shudder imperceptibly. Fear? Excitement? Elizabeth did not know. It was better to close her eyes tight, hold to the sides of her mind, and enjoy the ride. This would be a long ride, she knew, and for once, she didn’t have to drive.