Medea's Curse Read Free Page A

those who have come in late,’ said Wadhwa, ‘we had just heard that Celeste has
deteriorated.’
    ‘Did anything happen over the weekend?’ said Natalie.
    ‘Just her brother visiting as usual,’ said Kirsty.
    Wadhwa looked at his list. ‘She is married. Why did her husband not visit?’
    Natalie tried not to smirk. ‘He’s probably still upset about her cutting his dick
off.’
    In the absence of any response, Kirsty continued handover. ‘Susie has been slashing
up again.’
    ‘How?’ said Wadhwa.
    ‘Her own toenails,’ Kirsty said.
    Wadhwa’s nodded. ‘Perhaps her medication needs review.’
    ‘Does she need suturing?’ Natalie addressed Kirsty.
    ‘No; she’s so scarred you wouldn’t be able to is my guess.’
    ‘Consider lamotrigine,’ Wadhwa said.
    ‘Last time I looked at the College guidelines there wasn’t a medication likely to
cure severe borderline personality disorder.’
    Wadhwa was shaking his head, giving up. ‘So,’ he paused and Natalie knew what was
coming. ‘Along with your other patients there will be sufficient to keep you busy,
I should think?’
    ‘Busy enough,’ said Natalie. ‘But don’t worry, I can still squeeze Georgia in.’
    ‘She’s completing my assessment forms.’
    ‘I’ll be sure to ask if she needs them explained.’
    ‘She has D.I.D., Dr King.’
    ‘Well then, Associate Professor Wadhwa, I imagine that’s what my diagnosis will be,
don’t you?’

    Natalie started her rounds, mindful of the research meeting she was meant to attend.
She was going to make time to see Georgia and had no intention of kowtowing to Wadhwa,
or Corinne for that matter.
    Celeste was back to the state she had been in at admission: rocking and pleading
with her dead mother to stop yelling at her. Natalie pulled the treatment sheet from
the file.
    ‘Besides her brother, anything different? Could she have been putting the pills under
her tongue?’ Natalie asked Kirsty.
    ‘Doubt it; we watch her after the pile we found under her mattress. Saturday she
was playing table tennis with a few of the others and she seemed fine.’
    ‘Spending time with anyone in particular?’
    ‘Not really. Georgia’s the only patient that seeks out company, and she prefers the
nurses.’
    ‘Good morning, Georgia.’
    ‘Good morning, Dr King.’ Unlike the other women in the unit, Georgia was well groomed—hair
and makeup nicely done, clothes casual. She gave no indication that she was there
for anything more serious than a chat with a girlfriend over coffee; in fact, she
had a mug in her hand. In her late thirties, slim, with pale blue eyes and bobbed
blonde hair, she looked younger than her years. Natalie wondered if her appearance
had contributed to Wadhwa’s rejection of borderline as a diagnosis. She was a qualified
nurse and halfway through an online arts course. Until her arrest Georgia had been
married and middle class: a gym membership and a first-name relationship with her
hairdresser.
    Natalie decided to deviate from her focus on building a trusting relationship. Right
now she needed some hard facts and time was short. Georgia would be returning to
the main prison soon.
    ‘How are you finding Professor Wadhwa’s forms?’
    ‘Interesting. A lot of very unusual questions. They pass the time.’
    Natalie made a mental note to check them out. She knew one was a personality inventory.
Georgia was too smart not to know what the forms were looking for. In any case, Wadhwa
had already shared his opinions with her lawyer.
    ‘What do you think of his diagnosis?’ Natalie asked.
    Georgia gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘I don’t really know. It doesn’t make much sense
to me.’
    ‘Have you had periods where you lose time?’ Natalie had already been through many
of these questions, but one of the hallmarks of Dissociative Identity Disorder was
that memories changed according to which ‘personality’ was present. Natalie hadn’t
seen any sign of this, though. She only ever saw the same