Free Sybil by Flora Rheta Schreiber Page A

as well as Sybil."
    The doctor waited a moment; then she proceeded: "And who is Sybil?"
    The doctor waited, and Peggy replied, "Sybil? Why, she's the other girl."
    "I see," the doctor replied. Then she asked, "Where do you live?"
    "I live with Sybil, but my home, as I told you, is Willow Corners," Peggy replied.
    "Was Mrs. Dorsett your mother?" the doctor asked.
    "No. No!" Peggy backed away, cowering against the small pillow. "Mrs. Dorsett's not my mother!"
    "That's all right," the doctor remarked reassuringly. "I just wanted to know."
    There was sudden movement. Peggy had left the couch and was moving across the room with the same swift, spiderlike movement with which she had earlier rushed to the window. The doctor followed her. But Peggy had vanished. Sitting on the small mahogany chair near the desk was the midwestern schoolteacher --Sybil. This time the doctor knew the difference.
    "What's my purse doing on the floor?" Sybil murmured. She leaned over and with patient restraint replaced the scattered contents of her purse. "I did that, didn't I?" she said, pointing to the window. "I'll pay for it. I'll pay for it. I'll pay." Finally she whispered: "Where are the letters?"
    "You tore them up and threw them into the wastebasket," the doctor replied with conscious deliberateness.
    "I?" Sybil asked.
     
    "You," the doctor replied. "Let's talk about what happened."
    "What is there to say?" Sybil remarked in hushed tones. She had torn the letters and broken the window, but she didn't know when, how, or why. She leaned toward the wastebasket and salvaged parts of the letters.
    "You don't remember, do you?" the doctor asked softly. Sybil shook her head. The shame of it. The horror of it. Now the doctor knew about the terrible, the nameless thing.
    "Have you broken glass before?" Dr. Wilbur asked quietly.
    "Yes," Sybil replied, hanging her head. "Then this is not different from what you've experienced before?"
    "Not entirely."
    "Don't be frightened," the doctor said "You were in another state of consciousness. You had what we call a fugue. A fugue is a major state of personality dissociation characterized by amnesia and actual physical fright from the immediate environment."
    "You don't blame me, then?"
    Sybil asked.
    "No, I don't blame you," the doctor replied. "Blame has nothing to do with it. We need to talk more about this, and we'll do it on Friday."
    The hour was up. Sybil, fully in control, rose to go. The doctor followed her to the door and said: "Don't worry. It's treatable."
    Sybil left.
     
    "What do I have here?" the doctor said to herself as she dropped into her chair. She seems to be more than one person. A dual personality? Sybil and Peggy, totally different from each other. It seems quite clear. I'll have to tell her on Friday.
    The doctor wondered about Miss Dorsett's next appointment. Or should she say the Misses Dorsett? She (they) was (were) now coming three times a week because of the Christmas vacation. Well, Sybil had better continue to come that often. This case was more complicated than she had first thought. Miss Dorsett would be back on Friday. Who?

5
    Peggy Lou Baldwin
     
    It was Sybil. Sybil calm; Sybil collected.
    "I want to apologize for not keeping my appointment on Wednesday," she began this December 23, 1954. "I ..."
    "You did come on Wednesday," Dr. Wilbur replied with deliberate bluntness. "But you were in one of those fugue states, and you don't remember."
    Using "fugue states" as a framework, the doctor planned to tell Sybil that, while she herself blacked out during these states, someone called Peggy appeared. But Sybil, skillfully changing the subject, did not give the doctor the chance. "I'm relieved," Sybil said, "that I didn't let you down. And now I have something I want to tell you. I really need to get it off my chest. May I tell you right now?"
    The "important" revelation was, however, only: "You should have heard Klinger this morning. That man has no instinct for modern art. He has