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Deep Cleaning 

This is a science-fiction piece inspired by my own experiences with Cognitive Behavioural Therapy.

Storm Lomax

“Your parole officer tells me this is your first time?” Olivia relaxes back against the sofa, keeping her tone soft and her eyes kind.  

The man sitting across from her sits with a straight back and his hands clasped tightly on his lap. Fluorescent lights catch the sweat across his hairline. A heart rate monitor stands next to him, beeping only slightly faster than normal.  

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers. Olivia notes the shaky undercurrent to his voice and gives a friendly, practised smile.  

“Darren.” She uncrosses her legs and leans forward. “Trust is a vital part of this whole process. The success rate hinges on it.”  

“I understand, ma’am, and I’m willing to do what I need to build that trust. I know that I’ve done some things—”  

“No, Darren,” Olivia interrupts gently. “It’s you who needs to trust me.”  

A crease forms between his brows. Olivia waits a moment but he doesn’t follow up.  

“The first session is always the hardest,” she continues. “But I’m hoping you’ll notice a difference. And it’ll only get easier the more sessions we have. Does that sound okay?”  

Darren shifts uncomfortably.  

“Don’t really have much of a choice.”  

“You always have a choice here. In this room, every week with me, you always have a choice.”  

He looks at her. It’s a look she’s seen before, on many faces, because no one ever believes her at first. But he will.  

“Let’s get started.” Olivia smiles and stands, crossing the few feet between them.  

Darren remains still, his jaw set. He lets her press two small, circular pads onto his temples, the muscle beneath his left eye bouncing. The heart monitor speeds up.  

Olivia sits back down, sticking a second set of identical pads onto her temples with the ease of muscle memory. She clicks a button on her watch and a timer for sixty minutes begins counting down. Settling back into the cushions, she rests her hands loosely at her sides.  

“Close your eyes,” she tells him, keeping her voice low and soothing. After a moment’s hesitation, he obliges. “You may feel a slight pinch in the centre of your forehead. Don’t worry, it’ll pass quickly.”  

“And then what?” he asks hoarsely.  

“And then you’ll wake up in about an hour. I’ll see you soon, Darren.”  

Olivia closes her eyes and sinks backwards through the sofa. She tumbles, on and on in the darkness, and forces her body to relax. To not fight against it. There’s a sharp pinch at the front of her mind, somewhere above her eyes. She opens them and finds herself on solid ground.  

In Darren’s mind.  

Olivia goes through protocol. Taking a deep breath, she focuses on the solidness beneath her feet. The disorientation was enough to bring her to her knees the first time, but now she’s able to calm the instinctive alarm in her mind and adjust quickly. The brain struggles to process diving into another’s mind, so it’s important to take a minute to acclimate. As she does, the warning bells fade away. Darren’s mind comes into focus around her.  

Olivia’s in a house. Turning slowly on the spot, she takes it in. The house is decrepit, creaking and groaning as though physically sick. The windows gape into pitch blackness. It’s possible she’s standing in the living room but it’s difficult to tell for sure—black bin bags pile high in the corners, and the carpet is covered in a thick layer of grime. Even the yellowed wallpaper peels from the walls like hangnails.  

The air shifts. Olivia turns to see Darren standing next to her, looking queasy. His wide eyes find hers, and he sucks in a breath.  

“It’s all right,” she says before he can scream.  

Her voice echoes around his mind, bouncing off the walls and disappearing into the darkness. Darren wobbles on the spot but his knees hold—a good start.  

“What… w-where…” Darren stammers, his eyes wide.  

 “Take a breath,” she tells him, and makes a show of breathing deeply herself.  

He blinks once, twice, before doing as she says, matching her long inhale, albeit with a tremor in his breath.  

“Where are we?” he asks, calmer now. Olivia knows his own alarm bells have quietened.  

“We’re in your mind,” she replies simply and watches him cast a weary glance around the living room. His gaze lingers on the rubbish strewn across the room.  

“It’s…” He trails off with a grimace.  

“Yeah.” Olivia offers a sympathetic smile.  

“What are we meant to do?” The crease appears between his brows again. “This is… it’s a mess.”  

Olivia pushes her sleeves up and gives him her firmest look.  

“What we do with all messes,” she says. “We start cleaning.”  

She considers what they’ll need and decides on a wheelie bin first. Rubbing her hands together, she reaches into the air and pulls it forth, wheeling it into existence. It looks unnaturally clean against the rest of the house. Olivia flips the lid open, positioning it in the middle of the room.  

Darren watches her, lips parted and eyebrows raised.  

“Now you try,” she encourages him. “Just imagine what you need and it’ll come to you.”  

Darren shuffles awkwardly but obliges, rubbing his hands together as Olivia had done. He reaches into the air, face pinched in concentration, and pulls forth a second wheelie bin. He stares at it for a moment, as though unsure he really did it.  

“Wow. That’s… wow.” He grins, delighted, before looking back around the room. His face snaps shut.  

Olivia pats the top of his bin and says, “Let’s get to work.”  

They approach one of the bigger piles of rubbish and Darren grabs a bag, hauling it up. He stumbles slightly under the weight of it, but doesn’t drop it. Olivia nods to herself—that’s good. They’ll start with the lighter stuff first.  

“Worthless…” the rubbish mutters, barely above a whisper. “Worthless…”  

Darren’s lips draw into a thin line. As soon as he throws it in the wheelie bin, the whispers come to an abrupt stop.  

“What was that?” He stares at where he’d thrown the rubbish away, fists clenched. “It had my voice.”  

“Your thoughts,” she replies, walking him back to the pile of binbags. “Sometimes they get stuck and clog up your mind. It’s hard to get rid of them when that happens.” She smiles and taps her temples, where the pads are attached in the real world. “These help, though.”  

Darren glances at the piles of rubbish, passing a hand over his forehead.  

“I… I don’t know if I can do this.” He pauses. “It was… heavier than I thought. We have to clean up all of this?”  

He gestures vaguely around them. Olivia stands back and puts her hands on her hips, appraising the room.  

“Yep,” she says. “And it’s going to be hard, but it needs to be done, right?”  

Darren’s fists clench and unclench.  

“Does it?” he asks, his voice quiet.  

“You tell me.” Olivia shrugs. “I can’t do this for you, but I’ll be here to help.”  

She looks at him and sees only air. She looks down. Instead of the large, fully-grown man, there stands a small boy. His eyes are round and he chews his thumbnail.  

“I don’t know if I can do it,” he whispers.  

He sits down on the carpet, skinned knees drawn up to his chest. With one small finger, he draws shapes in the grime.   

“Always was a naughty child…” the grime drawls. “Misbehaving… always was a naughty child…”  

Olivia twists her lips, thinking. Her trained eyes scan the room, settling on something squashed between stained sofa cushions. Crossing the room, she gently pulls it free. The cushions protest – “Can never sit still… can never sit still…” – but eventually relent.  

Aha.  

“Darren, can you tell me about this?” Olivia asks, presenting it to him.  

Darren looks up with watery eyes, frowning at the video game cartridge. A thick layer of dust coats it like grey fur. He wrinkles his nose but takes it from Olivia.  

“Waste of time…” it grumbles. “Waste of time…”  

“My favourite game,” Darren says miserably. “I played it all the time and always got in trouble. I should have done something else instead.”  

“Mmm.” Olivia nods at it. “Why don’t you try cleaning it a bit?”  

Darren grumbles but wipes the cartridge with his sleeve. The voice clings to the fabric of his shirt but quietens. Another voice comes through instead, hiding under the dust.  

“…talented little boy…” it whispers. “…talented little boy…”  

Darren stares at the cartridge, face clearing.  

“Wait,” he breathes.   

In a blink, he’s fully grown again.   

“What do you remember, Darren?” Olivia prompts gently.  

“I… I entered a tournament, I think,” he murmurs. “I was the youngest there, and I didn’t win, but I came second or third or something, and the judges were impressed.”  

Darren sucks in a breath and Olivia glimpses the round-faced boy.   

“It must have been hard,” she says.   

“It was,” Darren replies, gripping the cartridge. “But I did it.”   

Olivia offers her hand and he takes it, letting her pull him to his feet. Distantly, the echo of the timer goes off.  

“Our time is up for today,” Olivia says, putting a careful hand on his shoulder.  

Darren wipes away the rest of the dust from the cartridge and places it delicately on the arm of the sofa.   

“Will I remember this?” he asks quietly.  

“Your subconscious will, but the rest of you won’t.”  

He nods, shoulders slumping. His physical body won’t be tired, but his mind is. Olivia waits until he fades away before closing her eyes, letting herself tumble, tumble, tumble back into her body. When she opens her eyes again, she’s back in the room.  

“Darren,” she says, and watches his eyes flutter open. He looks around, dazed.  

“Is… is it over?” he asks, blinking.  

Olivia looks at the slight relaxation of his shoulders and the muscle in his jaw that’s unclenched. The deep line that was between his eyebrows has smoothed out.  

“Yes,” she nods, her cheek curved into a satisfied smile. “How do you feel?”  

“I-I don’t know,” he looks down at his hands. “I think…”  

He rolls his shoulders and then his neck, dipping his head to the side.  

“Yeah, I think I feel a bit better.”  

“Wonderful,” Olivia says and she means it. “You made good progress but we’ve got a lot more work to do.”  

“How much work?”  

She thinks of the dilapidated house, nearly falling apart. The thoughts and feelings ground into the nooks and crannies of his mind, dug into the foundations of his being.  

“I can’t put a timescale on it,” she says apologetically.  

“Ah.”  

“You have some core values and unhealthy thought processes that we need to work on clearing out. But it’s nothing that you can’t overcome, I promise.”  

Darren looks at her, chewing the inside of his cheek.  

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies with a little more conviction.  

“I’ll see you at the same time next week,” Olivia stands. “Before you leave, what was that video game you used to play when you were young?”  

Darren blinks at her, startled.  

“Video game?” He licks his lips, thinking, before his expression clears. “Oh. That one… it was a waste–”  

He stops short, throat bobbing.  

“I think… I think I actually used to be pretty good at it.” The corner of his mouth ticks up. “Yeah, I nearly won a tournament or something. Why?”  

“See if you can find it again, maybe play it for a couple of hours,” Olivia suggests. “Could be fun.”  

Darren considers her for a moment before nodding.   

“Yeah,” he says. “I think I will.”