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Back Confess to Me Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Sharon Doering
  3. Title Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Prologue
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
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  69. 64
  70. 65
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  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. 75
  81. 76
  82. 77
  83. 78
  84. 79
  85. Author’s Note
  86. Acknowledgements
  87. About the Author

She walked away, but marched back. She stood over me and said, “Those other doctors with renowned names had a big city hospital to pay millions for their settlements. Those famous doctors, the ones who conned my husband into their make-believe notions of MPD and satanic cults, they are still practicing. My husband doesn’t have a big city hospital to back him up. Our insurance would crush us. This house is not even paid off.”

I laughed into the wet sock. It seemed so funny. Her house wasn’t paid off, and they were going to dump me in the river. I got it though, it was a money thing. Even if your crimes are decades old, your life insurance policy could be voided. She couldn’t have patients digging up their old cases.

“Alice? I think someone’s here,” from the top of the stairs.

“Don’t come down. I’ll come up,” she yelled, out of breath. “He’s fucking exhausting. Even if we were stripped of our money and reputation, he’d still think he did nothing wrong.”

Her footsteps moved away quickly, her flats clicking on the floor. Like a cockroach.

My wrists felt fat and bloated but nothing hurt anymore. I felt good. I tried to roll onto my forehead, butt in the air, but I fell onto my side. She got you good.

I imagined Emily’s wild smile, her teasing Trevor. He’d feign anger, say, “That’s it,” stomping toward her, and she’d squeal and run away, loving to be chased, knowing she was going to get a tickle. And Sawyer’s laugh, it was the absolute best. You didn’t get to hear it much, so it was such a treat.

I loved them so much. I felt light, and the room was curling sweetly around me like the softest blanket.

“I had this one patient, a woman, who came to me for depression. She was depressed for many reasons, including the murder of this girl, a friend of hers. Through intensive therapy involving medication and hypnotherapy, I drew out the truth of her situation. It was like pulling a thread and watching her whole life unravel. As a result of her childhood trauma from satanic ritual abuse, she had developed Multiple Personality Disorder. As you know, severe and chronic abuse can cause disassociation. More than that, she was actually the one who had murdered her friend. She had repressed those memories, shoved them down so deeply, she wasn’t aware until I pulled them out.”

Doctor Clifford Paulson, PhD Psychology
Transcripts from the Sixth Annual Conference on
Adult Manifestations of Childhood Trauma
November 14, 1991

THE RADISSON PLAZA HOTEL, CINCINNATI, OHIO

76

76

Gentle pressure under me, lifting me. I was being carried by an angel. God rays warmed my skin. I was dying again and it didn’t hurt. Same as last time.

“Trust me,” he said.

The smell of woodsy cologne.