Wake to Dream(5)

"After what? Did you see your family after the phone calls? Did you go home?"

Agitation was rough against her skin. Anger built in her veins, an unsettling and inescapable pressure. "Does it matter?" She could only remember bits and pieces, fractured memories and images coming to her on the winds of a tempest storm.

"Do you really need to ask? What would you like to know about first? My mother screaming? My father drowning himself in a bottle of whiskey? Or about my younger brother rocking himself slowly on his bed? Will any of that help me find my sister?"

"No," was his curt, steadfast answer, "but it could help me find you. Isn't that the point of all of this? To help you?"

She glared at him, a feminine snort blowing from her before she declared, "You can't help me until I find her. It's that simple."

Without dignifying the statement, or acknowledging it so that it settled in her head as truth, he asked, "When did you see your family like that? So torn apart? When did you go home, Alice?"

"I don't know. Yesterday, today, back then. It could have been any of those times. If you want a specific date, I can't give it to you. It's all a jumble of chaos in my head, memories and thoughts scattered together with no order or reason."

She was crying, embarrassment rolling down her cheek on a single salty tear. Slapping at it, she knew the doctor saw the physical sign of her lack of control, but she hoped he wouldn't see it again.

"I'm not crazy, you know? I'm not. I just know things, dark things, sick things...really bad things. I know them, and I need your help to understand how to use them to save Delilah."

His eyes stared at her from behind thin, metal-framed glasses. His shoulders covered with the white jacket typical of doctors. In his lap was a clipboard and folder, the papers of which he flipped through after he released her from his inquisitive gaze.

"You told me you went to college. Was it for real estate?"

She laughed. "I thought you had a medical degree, Doc. You should know that you don't need traditional college for a real estate license."

"What did you study in college?"

Her head flinched to the left, a tic that she couldn't control when she was forced to remember information that was fleeting. "Neurology," she answered, the details springing back now that she'd forced herself to return to the past. "Cognitive neurology, specializing in sleep medicine."

Dropping the papers into his lap, the doctor sat back and studied Alice, more questions brewing behind his eyes. "And yet, you sold houses for a living?"

"Do you have a cigarette, Doc? I feel like I need one."

"Do you smoke?"

"No."

A shallow nod of his head, some decision made that he hadn't voiced. "You're looking for a distraction. I won't give it to you. Tell me about your education, Alice."

Glancing around the room, Alice spotted a box of tissues on the table by the couch. She hadn't noticed them before, but still took the opportunity to pull one from the box, her fingers working quickly to shred it.

In silence, the doctor watched her hands move over her lap, the thin sheet of tissue becoming confetti where she sat.

"Shred as many tissues as you like if it helps you relieve what you're feeling, but talk while doing so. Why did you go into neurology?"

"I had problems sleeping as a child. Night terrors. Sleepwalking." Her voice fell to a whisper, nightmares creeping back to her when she remembered those horrible nights.

Logically, she knew they were in the past, so far away that she shouldn't worry they'd return. "I wanted to understand."

"Understand the cause or -"

"I wanted to understand the nightmares, Doc. There has to be a reason for them, right? Like now?"

Scratching his chin, the doctor scribbled notes. "What you're talking about sounds more like the realm of psychology."

A burst of laughter escaped her throat, a chortle that surprised her as much as it made her cringe. Politics and polite behavior be damned.

"Psychologists are nothing more than glorified psychics."

Slamming a hand to her mouth, she attempted to catch words that flowed through her fingers like water. She wished to take them back, her eyes peering up at the man she'd just insulted and condemned.

An easy smile creased his lips despite the insult. "Explain."

Embarrassment was an acrid taste on her tongue. She hadn't meant to belittle his profession. Perhaps logic would ease the sting.

"Psychology, for the most part, is subjective. You ask me a question. I answer the question and explain what it makes me feel. Based on those answers, and my behavior, you calculate possible causes, and determine likely physical stressors that influence my behavior. And after that, you determine a treatment plan."

His eyes widened. "That's a thorough and well thought out response, Alice. I'm surprised."

Her head jerked to the side, her body reeling against her attempt to follow the logic of the conversation. Reality was no longer simple. Not when dreams continued to taunt her from within.

"Why?"

"Your response was linear and logical. That's atypical for you. But I'm confused as to your statement. You laid out a formula for my profession that is clinical in nature, yet you mock it as a psychic, and thus non-clinical, profession."