I show them to their chair. “Please, have a seat.”

I seat myself across. This part of the song and dance is arguably the hardest – only because it’s the most crucial. From my experience, those first few steps the patient takes from the door of my office to that chair tells me how the session will go. If they walk too quickly, there’s something happening; they’re eager to talk. If they walk too slowly, they’re anxious, because they don’t have anything to share, and that tells them nothing’s changing. If it takes them a bit to register the instruction of sitting down, then there’s something on their mind, but they’re going to do everything in their power to hide it from me.

Such are the rules. Such is the game.

And, yes – contrary to what anyone else might think, therapy is a game. There is a winner. And there is a loser. The therapist and the patient play against each other, but they’ll share the result.

There’s nothing quite like it.

That’s what makes it the greatest game in the world.

“How’re you doing today, Jamie?” Small-talk usually works on Jamie. They’re never short on words, but you need to know to get the ball going. The faster the ball rolls today, the better – they went for the chair pretty quickly.

They shrug. “I mean. Fine. I guess. I think.”

“There’s a massive cat of some kind roaming around the neighborhood.” I chuckle. “Don’t get yourself scratched.”

“I won’t, Doctor Elma.” Their voice rings hollow. Moreso than usual.

Can’t let his thoughts drift. “What’s on your mind, Jamie? Have you had any attacks since we last spoke?”

“No. I’m fine.”

“But?”

They cross their legs. “There’s gotta be a ‘but’?”

“I asked you what’s on your mind, and you didn’t deny it. You didn’t deny it, hence there’s something on your mind. You didn’t have any attacks. That’s good. But?”

Jamie grimaces. “But—I don’t know. Just kinda caught in my own thoughts these days.” They sink into the seat. “I might be moving soon.”

“I thought you said Jersey was supposed to be a more permanent thing?”

“Plans change, I guess.” they grin uneasily. “Anyway, this’ll be our last session, so I figured I might as well make it worthwhile.”

I nod. “Please do!”

“We haven’t been seeing each other for long, so you probably never picked up on it. But that’s fine. I’m very careful not to let it show, anyway.” They lean their head against the palm of their hand. “You see, Doctor, I don’t remember anything that happened before June 13^th two years ago.”

I blink. “I don’t follow.”

“I mean exactly like I say it. This name? Jamie Castel? I made it up. The ID I used when coming here’s fake, too. My parents, my childhood, my education, my work – gone. Poof. There’s nothing of it left. In a sense, on that June 13^th, the one whoever was in this body died, and Jamie Castel was born.”

I can’t help but furrow my brow. Unexpected. Still, nothing otherworldly. Amnesia’s more common that people might think. It’s just that most aren’t saving it for a dramatic reveal. “What happened? I-I mean, were you in an accident, or—?”

“An accident?” They give it some thought. “Well, probably not in the way you’re thinking of. I actually just woke up sitting in a diner booth, next to a highway. I don’t know how I’d gotten there, and to this day I don’t know. I never bothered asking.

“Across me was a woman. She had red hair, tied in pigtails. She told me her name was Phoebe and that she was a witch.”

I look to the notebook in my lap. This is even more of an escalation. Delusion? No, no. I can’t jump to conclusions. All they’ve said is that there was a woman claiming to be a witch. Remember the difference, Ethel.

“The woman,” they move their hand across their mouth, “told me that I’d asked her to get rid of my memories. She had done so – a simple task for a witch, apparently – and, in return, I was to pledge my eternal service to her.”

“I… see.”

“There was something else she said. She said: ‘Put your fingers in your mouth, and pull as hard as you humanly can.’ Like this.”

They put their fingers in their mouth and pull.

And pull.

And pull.

And as their mouth begins to expand to a horrifying size, they immediately release, and the mouth clasps back shut. To a normal mouth. Normal, expected mouth.

I don’t scream.

I don’t want to open my mouth. I’m not sure I want to open it ever again.

“Thank you. For not screaming.” They’re smiling. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. “The witch told me I must’ve had a snake ancestor. My mouth is designed to open and stretch as wide as I need it to, so I can swallow things. Big things. Human-shaped things.”

I am still not screaming. Why am I not screaming?

“But,” they say, “the witch told me my purpose was not to consume. But rather, to heal. My stomach, you see, can cure people. The same acids that digest food for me can be powerful enough to bring a person back to life. Can you believe that?”

I look down to my notebook once more. I tell myself to write down: ‘experiencing severe delusions’. But my hand doesn’t move. It doesn’t move, because I’ve just seen their mouth stretch to inhuman limits. An inhuman mouth may very well lead to an inhuman stomach.

I blink. Is this real? Am I dreaming?

I remember waking up. I remember getting to my car. Driving to the parking lot here. Saying hello to Mr. Vickers, my secretary. At 9:15 I had Alicia. She told me about how her dog died. At 10 I had Mr. Dallows. He’s the one who mentioned the giant cat roaming around. At 11:15, I was supposed to see Ellie Vee, but she canceled at the last moment.

I remember my day, therefore the day is happening, therefore this is real.

This is real. This is a real therapy session.

But it can’t be. Why does it feel like I’m the only one losing?

“Are you okay, Doctor Elma?” they ask me.

I swallow what little saliva I’ve got. “I’m—I—Yes. Yes, of course.”

“That’s good. I wouldn’t have wanted you to be disturbed.” They cock their head. “You look lovely today, by the way. Have you done something with your hair?”

“Y-Yes. I’ve—had a haircut.”

“Mm-hmm, mm-hmm. So I see. So I see. That’s good. That’s okay.”

I blink. “Th-Thank you?”

“Anyway, I bet you’re wondering why I would’ve trusted anything a random woman sitting across me in some random off-road booth told me. That’s what you’re thinking, right?

“Now, I’m not much of a psychologist – God forbid, ha – but I wanna go back to that analogy of being born again. In that moment, I was a baby. I was seeing the world for what was essentially the first time. I knew English, sure. I knew maths, sure. But those things only help you interpret the world. I was seeing it. And what I saw was her.

“When you’re a baby, the first thing you truly see – after the light, after the doctor – is the mother, right? She, in a sense, was posing herself to be my new mother. And you trust your mothers, don’t you? You love your mother, don’t you?

“For a long time, though, I still couldn’t come to grasp as to why I chose to stick by her. There was nothing to prove that I’d really wanted what she said I wanted. For all I know, she saw my gift, followed me to a diner, and wiped my slate clean. That would be pretty cruel – pretty devious – wouldn’t it? Downright fucked up, if you ask me.”

“I—“ My hand is shaking. I can’t look away from their mouth. “I mean, yes. Y-Yes, I ag-agree?”

“But then, I thought, since I can’t even begin to comprehend the person I was before… can I even consider myself that person in any sense to begin with? The only person cheated of their existence was them – the person whose memories got wiped. Me? I’m a baby. I was born a new. My very existence comes from the fact those memories were wiped. I am my own person. But I am my own person only because she had given me a chance to exist.

“So, even without her asking, I would’ve probably followed her. She is my mother.”

I say nothing.

Jamie seems to almost like that. My silence. “The next question, I guess, would be how I know that I have these… healing properties. And it’s simple. She was the first person to crawl into me. To show me.

“She cut off all the fingers of her right hand and pushed herself into my mouth. I was so scared. I don’t know which of the two of us was more terrified of me choking – heh – but we somehow managed.

“I could hear her talking to me while she was in there. It was as if our souls mingled. Danced. I felt her warmth. Her kindness. Her love. That was what killed the last of my doubts.

“And then she came out. With all her fingers. The ones she’d sliced off just minutes before were still on the kitchen floor.

“She hugged me. And I hugged her back. And I knew we’d always protect each other.”

They sigh, looking up to the ceiling. “You look wonderful today, Doctor.”

“You—” I clear my throat. “You already said that.”

“You cut your hair. That’s good. That’s very good. Yours was a little longer than hers is. That makes things easier now.” Jamie’s eyes meet mine. “The nose doesn’t match. But I think she can make people ignore that little detail. Your eye color... we’ll settle with contacts. As for the voice—“ They wink. “Well. Let’s just say she has a way with words.”

“I don’t understand.” I admit.

Jamie raises his finger and gets up, strutting over to the door of my office.

“Jamie, wait.” I plead.

“Oh.” they blink. “I’m not going anywhere. I just wanted to introduce you.”

The door opens.

Standing at the doorway is a woman. Her hair a ghastly shade of white. Her skin pale. Her figure slim but attractive. I can’t tell if her eyes are bloodshot or if the unusual shade of red blooms from the irises. But those eyes – I can’t break away from them.

They’re kind.

They’re gentle.

They’re full of love.

“Hello, Doctor Elma.” the woman speaks. “I’m Phoebe.”

“Hello. Phoebe.” I say. How? Why did Mr. Vickers let her through? “Are you—“

She walks in.

Jamie shuts the door.

“I’m afraid,” she says, “I’m going to need a favor from you, Doctor Elma. I usually wouldn’t do something like this – you understand – but I’m in a bit of a jam. There’s people looking for me all over. I can’t seem to be able to get to my bank account anymore. I have no place to stay. I can’t even go back to work. It’s really, really annoying.”

“I—I’m sure. But I—“

“Still,” she says, “I’m an optimist, personally. When one door closes, another opens. I think it’s time for a career change. See, Doctor, the people hunting me – they seem to be under the impression I want to destroy the world. That I want to hurt people. But that’s really not true. Not true at all. But what can you do? I’ve got the means to do it, true. And it’d be foolish of them not to act on the side of caution, right?

“But, see, my goal is the exact opposite. Those same means that allow me to destroy allow me to build just as well. Take Jamie, for instance.” She gestures to them. “They’ve come a long, long way since we first met. I’ve given them a purpose they never could’ve imagined they had.”

“They—Have anxiety attacks.” I point out.

“Hmm?” The woman blinks. “Of course. Frankly, I don’t know how most people don’t. The world is such an unkind place. Cold. Distant. You open your phone these days and – Hah! – if it’s not your news app that gives you a heart attack, trying to send a message to someone you care about definitely will. The smaller it seems from afar, the bigger it is on the inside.”

She turns to them. “But we’re managing. Aren’t we, Jamie?”

They nod.

Her eyes snap back to me.

Her horrible, horrible eyes.

“The only thing I take full blame for – and this really is the only thing – is forcing Jamie to move all the time.” Her head tilts. “They say I’m all they need, but let’s be honest – person specialist to person specialist – that’s no way to live. They need to experience real human connections. But they can’t do that if I’m forcing them to always be on the road, can they?”

“I seem to remember them mentioning you’re moving soon.” My notebook falls out of my lap. What is this? What am I doing?

The woman – please, doctor, call me Phoebe – Phoebe wags her finger in front of me. “No, no. They said they might move. Jamie moves when I move, you see. If I don’t move, Jamie doesn’t have to move. So, for them, I won’t move. Isn’t that kind of me, Doctor Elma?”

Yes, Doctor Elma. It certainly is kind. “Yes. It… certainly is.” you say.

“Now,” Phoebe continues, “this is where my current troubles come full circle. I’m being hunted. I need to lay low. But I also want to go on with my everyday existence. I want to help people. Like you, Doctor Elma.

“I want to help people, just like you.”

She takes a step towards me. “My. Jamie was right. You really are gorgeous. I guess it’s a stroke of miracle that my hair turned white, eh, Jamie? Even your stomach must be looking out for me.”

“It’s always looking out for you.” Jamie says.

“And she doesn’t have anyone? Husband? Children? Parents?”

“I’ve looked into it.” Jamie says. “She lives alone. Has a few friends, but not a whole lot. If you want to keep them for yourself, I’m sure they’ll… be able to get used to you.”

“Wh…” I clench my fist. “What the hell are you people talking about?! Who are you?!”

Phoebe grins. “Are you okay? Miss?”

I blink.

“What?” I ask.

The noise in the diner is deafening. I can feel the steam of the coffee in front of me.

“Are you okay?” The white-haired woman sitting across me says.

“Yes.” I say. “Yes. Thank you, Doctor Elma.”

“Anytime.” she smiles. She has such a wonderful smile.

“I-I’m sorry to have you meet me all the way out here.” My head hurts. I can’t remember where the headache started. “I just… I don’t have anywhere else to go. My job’s gone. My—My apartment, they—they kicked me out. And I—“

“I understand. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m always happy to help.”

“I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.” My voice is cracking.

Doctor Elma smiles. “Well. I have a place you can stay.”

“Oh. Oh, no. No, I couldn’t. I just—“

She shakes her head. “I insist.”

“But I—I don’t even have the money to pay you, let alone—“

She raises her hand. “It’s okay. We’ll figure something out. It’s a big house. It’s just me and a friend of mine, but we tend to make a mess every now and again. As far as I’m concerned, just clean around every couple of days, and I’d call that rent.”

I’m… saved?

I’m saved!

I’m saved!

“D-Doctor…” There’s tears in my eyes. “I—I don’t know how I could ever—!”

“Please,” she reaches for her cup, “call me Phoebe, okay?”