– So believe it or not,
there is, in fact, the case to be made that
your daughter is possessed. – What? – Not by a malevolent demon, but, well, by her
six-year-old self. – Six-year-old self?
What do you mean? – We suspect that this could be
the result of a trauma she experienced when she was
a little girl. – I don’t understand. – It’s called
Dissociative Repression. Disagreeable memories
or personality fragments are “split off” and then pushed
down into the subconscious. – Yeah, and in your
daughter’s case, this fragment has resurfaced and perhaps hijacked
her entire persona. – How could you possibly know
that’s what’s going on? – Well, aside from the bed
wetting and the tantrums, the biggest clue
is her language. It took me a while to realize this is not all
gibberish. It’s, well, it’s Lewis Carroll. There’s a poem called
“Through The Looking-Glass.” Do either of you remember
reading this to her when she was a child? – I didn’t.
Uh… – No, I don’t think so. – No? – Wait.
You did. When she was little,
I remember. [Katherine mumbling softly] – Mr. Ferris, would you mind
just reading a little bit of this? – Oh, this is ridiculous–
psychobabble. Look, my daughter’s very ill. She’s not a child;
she’s a demented adult. – Just humor me, please. – No, no. We need to get her to a real
expert and not this quack. – Just read the damn book,
Jerome. – No!
I’m not going to do it! It’s ridiculous. – In that case,
will you allow me? “‘Twas brillig,
and the slithy toves “Did gyre and gimble
in the wabe: “All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.” – No, no.
No, no. No.
No. – Stop it,
you’re upsetting her. – No, no, no, no. – “‘Beware the Jabberwock,
my son! The jaws that bite,
the claws that catch!'” – Don’t! No!
No, please. – Stop this!
– No! No! Please, please, please, don’t! – Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I remember.
She’d be crying. She’d say it was the monster
from the book, and I thought it was all
in her head, but… It was you. – Now see what you’ve done.
I told you that she’s unstable. – I always suspected you, but
I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t believe it.
I– – You’re insane.
– You touched her? – Oh.
– You did things to her? – I heard enough of this. I’m not listening to this
anymore. – Oh, my poor baby!
[sobbing] Oh, my God! [tense music] – Dr. Reese? ♪ – How could you do that? A child.
A little girl! – Leave me alone.
– You destroyed her. You know that?
– Dr. Reese, enough! – You’re the demon!
You! – Dr. Reese! You let this go. You hear me? He might be a monster; he’s not
the one who hurt you. He’s not the one you want
to be yelling at. ♪