Chapter 176: The Wilson’s Double Murder Case VII
20 years ago. The study, Murdoch Residence
Carl Murdoch frowned, staring back at the green hopeful eyes of his granddaughter, and he wondered for a moment if he heard her wrong. But knowing the young teen enough, he knew it wasn’t a mistake. That yes, she did ask to undergo psychoanalysis Therapy.
"It’s a treatment method--" she started to explain when he paused and failed to answer. "Yes, I know what Psychoanalysis is, Darling. But why?" Carl asked, slightly concerned.
"I believe that my fears--" she explained, giving him a knowing look. Yes, he was well aware of her fears. Unexplained. Roots unknown even by them. Her fear of people, strangers, her fear of sleeping alone, her lack of trust.
"..are because of repressed memories." she continued, and he could see where she was heading. What she wanted to ask him, and he felt differently about it. He didn’t want her to.
Carl leaned forward and intertwined his hands together on top of the table. "These fears--they’re repressed for a reason, dear." He replied, tone filled with patience, trying to make her see his point of view that some memories are not meant to be remembered.
Sam’s eyes widened in surprise, "You know of them?" She asked him, and he shook his head. He wished he knew, but at the same time, he didn’t. He just wanted to protect her, it was her mind after all that caused her years of mutism, and he didn’t want her to regress to all those years. She was getting so much better; other than occasional insomnia, the shyness, and the distrust, she was doing so much better than all those years. He didn’t need her to be perfect; nobody was, after all.
Her eyes narrowed at him, scrutinizing his face. She had always been good at telling when they were lying to her; she had memorized all their facial features after all. She could see that he wasn’t lying, but she could also tell that he wasn’t telling her the whole truth either.
Carl sighed, knowing she wasn’t fully convinced with his answer. "When you were young, it had always been a struggle putting you to bed. But, there was a particular time when you were five that you refused to sleep. You kept insisting on the monsters. We checked under the bed, we checked behind the closet doors----like what parents do with their kids, he said, remembering.
"You refused to believe us, cried for hours, refused to stop--- your Nana and I had a fright. You just won’t stop...kept saying ’the monsters in my room’." he shared, scowling at the memory of her sobbing, her little finger gripping on his pajamas and refusing to go back to sleep. But what bothered him most on that episode was that the next morning she didn’t remember any of it.
Sam furrowed her brows together and shook her head to say she doesn’t remember any of that. However, she was quite familiar with the crippling feeling of fear. And sometimes it still happens.
The usual kind expression on her grandfather’s face shifted, and his jaw tightened. "I don’t know what it is, but it may not be worth remembering. It’s better that you forgot about them; I don’t want the monsters tucked away in your mind taking over your life", he said, firmly stating he will not consent.