Wake to Dream(16)

Her eyes searched the large chef's kitchen, her attention skimming past the gleam of stainless steel that contrasted sharply against the intricate woodwork of the Queen Anne home.

Under any other circumstance, she would have taken the time to admire the luxury of the skillful blending of modern and antique. She would have longed to live in a house such as this - if it wasn't for the psychopath who called it home. Under this circumstance, however, a situation so utterly strange that she questioned whether it could be real, she chose to forgo her admiration of the interior design in order to map in her head every exit she could possibly use to escape.

Following the line of her gaze, Max tilted his head and smiled. The gesture was becoming commonplace to him, a curious behavior that made him uniquely bizarre.

"If you're looking for a way out, you won't find one." Inching closer to her, he explained, "Every window is barred and there is only one door that leads outside, a door to which only I have the key." His smile stretched over his cheeks, the scarring on one side becoming more pronounced as amusement shone in his eyes.

"Although it would have been entertaining watching you run about trying to free yourself, I thought it only fair that I warn you and save you the trouble." Darkness flashed in his eyes, his expression softening until it was neutral.

"You are now here, Alice. There is no other choice. There is no other place where you can exist any longer."





12:30 p.m.



"Alice? ... Ms. Beaumont? ... Alice Beaumont ..."

"Yes, Doctor."



Five steps across the room, three steps over the soft, patterned carpet. Four cushions. A white throw draped loosely over the armrest.

Alice lowered herself to sit on the couch, clutched a pillow to her chest, and raised her eyes to look at the doctor.

The glint of his metal eyeglass frames perfectly outlined the shadowed space of his eyes. Another shadow cut across his cheeks, a hollow space formed beneath the perfect and high cheekbones. His skin appeared rough with stubble, his full lips smiled kindly.

"How are you today, Alice? I hope the change in medications has helped you remember your day to day activities better."

Her head ticked to the side, a muscle spasm aching beneath the space where her neck met her shoulder. "You changed the medications?"

The kind smile dropped into a frown. "That answers my question," he mumbled.

Thought held him silent for five rhythmic ticks of the wall clock before he continued with the discussion. "You know, your condition is rather unusual. It makes me want to consult with you due to your expertise as a neurologist. That is, if you think you still have the ability to recall your training in that field."

At the mention of her education - a subject that was safe because it took her back to before, Alice's concentration perked up. Her mind suddenly sharp and without the confusing numbness that clouded her thoughts, she asked, "What would you like to know?"

"If I told you I had a patient who experienced bouts of probable amnesia that weren't particular to a specific past time period, to a specific event, or ongoing anterograde, what would you suspect was the likely cause?"

Pouring over the knowledge she'd gained in school, her hospital residency and later rotations, she pieced together the objective facts any neurologist would want to know before answering such a question.

"I would first wonder if there was a head trauma of some sort: an accident maybe, some type of impact or fall. If there was none, I would consider medical emergencies, a stroke perhaps, some type of bleeding or swelling in the brain, possibly a tumor. Beyond those causes there could be an illness, dementia, the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s, or maybe even infection."

"And if none of those existed? If the patient were completely healthy and unharmed?"

She laughed, "Then I would defer to your expertise as a psychologist."

He grinned, the low light in the room touching the soft tilted corners of his full mouth. "Why are you here, Alice?"

Her breath caught in her chest, uncertainty creeping along her spine, her nerves tingling cold where it touched. "To talk about the dreams. To save Delilah." She hated that her response sounded more like a question, a query sent out in search of some meaningful confirmation and agreement.

Drawing her legs up onto the cushion of the couch, Alice curled over herself, shrinking into a tight ball that she knew couldn't protect her from wherever the doctor was going with this conversation. Even knowing the position she held wouldn't soften the blow of whatever truth he thought he knew, it comforted her still.

"Can you think of any other possible reason you might be here, Alice? Anything that can explain the memory loss, the fact that you remember nothing outside this office? Is your reality hazy even now?"

She didn't like the soft quality of his voice. He was walking on eggshells while asking the question, attempting to awaken something inside her while being careful not to push her over the edge.

"I remember other things," she argued, indignation a sharp note to her tone.

His pen tapped against his pad, the papers rustling as he flipped through seeking out the bits and pieces he'd recorded of their conversations. "Let's discuss your memory. In a clinical context. Perhaps your past and your education can help clue me in to facets and symptoms - causes - I may have missed."