Wake to Dream(6)

The tic in her neck was fierce, her hands working over the tissues she pulled from the box, one after the other, until they were nothing but scraps in her lap. Aggravation fought her ability to think clearly.

"Because it's subjective. You missed that part. The answers I give you could be lies. You base your diagnosis on lies."

Tapping the tip of his pen against the paper, he studied her. "But behavior doesn't lie, does it, Alice? Like you said, it's a factor in what I do."

Reality fragmented around her, the frustrating conversation slipping from her hold until she could no longer stay on topic.

The scraps of tissue fell to the floor when she answered, "I want to talk about the dreams."

A beat of silence, the clock ticking from the wall, the intervals of sound unevenly spaced. Had her mind shattered so much that even normal rhythm had been lost to her?

...drip...

"Fine. Let's talk about the dreams. We can come back to other topics at our next session."

He sighed.

"Tell me about the first dream, Alice. What do you remember?"





It was disorienting, the ephemeral glow of fractured light, filthy windows lining the top of a room, her exposed skin practically frozen against a floor as cold as ice. Blinking open her eyes, she watched the barren walls morph and bend around her, the ability to focus on any one thing stolen by her confusion.

Where am I? Alice thought, metal links clanging together as she lifted an arm to push the hair from her face; bracelets slapping against each other over her wrists.

Damp and dirty, the room was unfamiliar. A destitute place with crumbling plaster walls and a sickening stench of mildew and filth. Everything was out of focus, not one object settling within its own perimeter lines.

Pure panic flooding her heart, she opened her mouth to scream. The sound tore at her ears as much as her throat, an echo of her fear encompassing her in a room she'd never seen before.

"Scream all you want. Nobody will hear you. Although, I prefer that you stop." Calm, cool, collected. Not a worry in the world. Not a trace of the visceral terror that flooded Alice's veins.

Flinching in response to the deep timbered voice that responded, her eyes searched the myriad of shadows, but saw nothing that would explain the presence of another breathing body in the room. She screamed again, her mind reverting to primal instincts, a victim made helpless by chains.

Her throat was hoarse and raw, the sound of her voice dying off into a ragged burst of uncontrolled breath.

"Are you done? Or will you continue going until you pass out?"

He was amused, the humor evident in his eerily calm voice.

"Who -"

"Stop talking," he demanded, cutting off her question before she could ask it.

"Please," she begged, "let me go. I won't -"

He laughed, the sound soft before he answered, "You know, it's always the same - in real life as well as in entertainment. It never ceases to amaze me how the same lines are used in movies: Please let me go. I won't tell. I'll keep this a secret. They never change the script, and even when it actually happens, people follow the same typical path. What do the victims expect to happen when they beg? That they'll be let go? That the person who took them will respond: Oh sure, here, let me loosen those ties, and would you also like my name to take to the police? Perhaps a copy of my driver's license would be helpful?”

He paused, a resigned sigh filling the dark room. "I'm sorry, Alice, but that won't be happening this time. Save your breath."

He knew her, the use of her name a jarring realization. Changing course after gathering her wits and an odd bit of bravery, she said, "I can't see you. Where are you? At least show your face."

No response, no noise, nothing.

He stepped into view after a minute, but only so much that Alice could see his silhouette, a dark shadow in contrast to broken and dirt-filtered light.

"Is that what you want? To know your monster?"

Seeing him, knowing he was real and not an illusion cast by a frightened and disorganized mind, didn't help her in the slightest.

Unable to peel her eyes from the form of his body, she watched silently as he sat down in a chair she hadn't noticed before, the wood feet scraping against the cold, concrete floor.

"Where do we go from here, Alice?"

She didn't know. Her mouth opened again on her screams.





12:30 p.m.



Gray walls.

Black table.

Plastic red roses.

"Good afternoon, Alice."

Still safe.

"Hello, doctor."

"Follow me into my office. We'll start where we left off last time."

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

Still the same.

"We spoke of the first dream you had last time. Do you remember?"

Alice sat back against the cushions of the couch, her mind unsettled by the doctor's determination to start in again without giving her the breathing room that came with conversational pleasantries. "You just jumped right in there, didn't you, Doc? No how are you? No questions regarding my medications?"

He chuckled, although the smile on his lips didn't quite reach his blue eyes. "Would you remember taking them if I asked? Has your memory improved so much that you recall anything beyond my office walls?"