Wake to Dream(21)

"Yes," she answered, her voice a haunted whisper, "Max."

"Was it that dream, in particular, that led you to believe that all the dreams are a message from your sister?"

Alice nodded. "I think I'm being shown what's happening to her. How she's being held. How she's being treated."

"How do you know it's her?"

"Because of what Max told me. He said that the proxy only worked because he'd been raised with the prince. If I'm the prince in that scenario, then the only person the proxy could be is Delilah." She was practically shaking by the time she finished her response, so angry that she had to explain every miniscule detail to make him understand.

Taking a calming breath, she counted off the seconds in her head, forcing her hands to stop trembling in an effort to regain control. "The features that I could see fit Delilah: the color of her hair, her body type. It all fit. Who else would it be?"

Not looking up from his notepad, the doctor asked, "Do you believe there's another woman being held with Delilah? That you've somehow stepped into the shoes of another missing person? Another victim?"

"No." Her response was immediate, absolutely certain in its tone. The strength of her voice surprised her. It had been so long since she'd been sure of anything. But this? This she was sure of. It was the reason she was here. It was the message she couldn't ignore.

"I think my role in the dreams is a fabrication of my mind, a fabrication intended so that the story makes sense. I'm an observer. But, there's something I'm missing. Something right there in front of me that I can’t figure out."

"I think you're right. I think you are missing something."

Her eyes studied the doctor, his easy posture, his demeanor, the way he toyed with the pen in his hand as he waited for her to acknowledge his words.

"You believe me?" Her heart pulsed harder, an uneasy feeling in her stomach that, perhaps, she'd misinterpreted what he'd said.

He sighed, his face cast down at the notes in his lap, his pen ticking with agitation in his hand. "We should discuss your memory, Alice."

It wasn't an answer to her question; it was a deflection.

"What about my memory?"

"I'd like to discuss what you do and do not remember in your waking life."

Alice turned to lean against the armrest of the couch, purposefully diverting her eyes. She wasn't interested in her waking life. It didn't matter if Delilah wasn't part of it. Until her sister was found, until Alice learned what happened to her, she was perfectly fine with forgetting every detail of such a cruel and unfair existence.

"My memory is fine. The dreams -"

"I'm not here to help your sister, Alice."

Her eyes shot to his, a sore muscle in her neck wrenched by how quickly she'd turned her head. Alice had never heard his tone so sharp. He was frustrated, possibly angry. The shift in his temperament sliced through her.

"I'm here to help you."

Struck by the firmness in his voice, Alice resigned herself to the topic he wished to discuss. "Fine. Let's talk about my memory."

He stared at her, his pen tapping against his notepad before he admitted, "You'll be happy to know some of this has to do with the dreams. At least, in part."

When she didn't respond, he continued, his tone that of a doctor ignoring the disinterested attitude of his patient. "Have you suffered any traumatic head injuries in your life?"

"No," she responded quickly.

"And your memory of your past is complete enough for you to know this for a fact?"

Guilt rode her for being obstinate. The doctor was only trying to do his job, but she felt like time was escaping her due to these silly questions. They wouldn't save Delilah, therefore they held no importance to her.

"Except for the nightmares, I had a normal childhood. I never suffered any accidents or illnesses that would explain significant memory loss. Beyond the night terrors and other sleep issues, I was a normal, healthy person. At least until -" Her voice trailed off leaving a weighted silence where her words had once been.

"Until what, Alice?"

"Until that phone call," she admitted.

"The call you received at the house you were selling? The one about your sister's disappearance?"

"Yes," she breathed out. "That one."

The sound of the doctor flipping through the pages of his notes wasn't loud enough to distract from the annoying drip of the leaky bathroom faucet. Alice counted the drips, reaching three before the doctor's voice drew her attention back to the conversation.

"You seem to have excellent recall of the dreams. The details you're able to give me are much more consecutive, much more intricate than anything you've given me about your day to day life. In fact, it appears to me that even within the dreams, you're aware of events that occurred in previous dreams. Does any of that make sense to you?"

Alice grinned, the expression mocking an odd truth she'd lived with her entire life.

"I've always remembered my dreams...my nightmares. It was a large part of my problem as a child. I'd wake up screaming, and even though I didn't remember them immediately upon waking, I'd always return to them when I next went to sleep. It was as if waking up did nothing to dispel them, they always returned, the details never lost to me while I was sleeping." She paused, her eyes studying her hands as they worried the frayed hem of her shirt. "Being awake meant nothing. Real life was simply an intermission."