Dr. Culver fiddled with the pen in his hand while debating over which direction was best to steer his patient. It was a delicate matter, very delicate indeed. One wrong turn and he knew his patient would lock up, sealing the doors of any and all conversation. That was something he definitely didn't want, not only for his patient's well being but for his own as well. There had been a lot of pressure of late for him to make headway with this particular patient. Many questions remained unanswered and time was running out. Soon both of them would be facing judge and jury and they wanted the answers that so far eluded him. Yes, it was a very delicate matter indeed.
"How about we start off today by you telling me about your job as a reporter?" he began, tentatively.
Rachel looked at him with an annoyed expression on her face. "Why don't we cut through the bullshit, doctor? I am tired and not in the mood for bullshit today. You couldn't care less about my job. Let's just get on with it."
"Have you not been sleeping well, Rachel?" he said, taking the opening he saw.
"No, I haven't been sleeping well. Would you?"
"Are you still having nightmares?" he proceeded, ignoring her question.
"Yes, only..." She fell silent.
"Only what, Rachel?"
"Only..." A shiver ran down her spine and her gut felt hollow. "Only they haven't all been while I was sleeping."
Dr. Culver looked at her but remained silent, an old psychiatrist's trick for getting patients to continue on their own.
"Well," Rachel continued. "It's just... It doesn't matter where I am or what I am doing anymore. They just come, these... these visions. Yes, that's what they are: visions. And whether I am asleep or awake they take over. They seem so real, so... real."
"And what are these visions of?" Dr. Culver asked, even though "visions" was not what he had discreetly written on his notes while Rachel was talking. He preferred the term "hallucinations."
"Different things: some good, some bad... very bad." The hollow in her gut spread throughout her body.
"Tell me about the good ones, Rachel," Dr. Culver said, steering her in the direction that he felt - for the moment anyway - was best. He didn't much like the angry, fearful expression that had come over her face.
"I'm dancing, dancing in a field of golden light." A smile came to her face. Rarely did she smile these days. "I am happy. Everything is so beautiful, so pure. And... and my son is there. Aidan, my sweet, little boy. My sweet..." She burst into tears.
Dr. Culver handed her his handkerchief.
"Thanks," she said, taking it, and then regained her composure almost as quickly as she lost it.
"Would you like to talk about your son, Rachel? Would you like to talk about Aidan?"
"NO!" she hollered, slamming her fist on the table between them.
A less experienced psychiatrist would have recoiled from the outburst but Dr. Culver sat there calm and collected. It was a crucial moment in their session. He knew that it was all up to him now. It would take tact and poise yet resolve for him to be able to proceed onward without losing this session entirely.
"Tell me then about the rest of your dream," he said.
Rachel wasn't biting.
"You were dancing..." he paused, hoping she would take over. "In a field of golden light...."
Nothing.
"Your son was there..." This, of course, was a dangerous move for Dr. Culver to make, but he had used dangerous moves as well as unconventional methods with Rachel before. Things he would never have done with other patients. Nothing extreme, though, just little psychiatric no-nos like affirming that a patient is having visions by he, himself, calling them visions. Normally he would not have done something like that, but Rachel was special and unconventional in Dr. Culver's eyes therefore warranted these measures.
"Yes, my son was there," Rachel finally said.
Whew, Dr. Culver thought, that was close. He thought for sure he had lost her. Now he slightly nodded, figuring a look and silence wasn't enough at this juncture, for her to continue.
"We dance and we play. There's a beach nearby and we run to it and then play in the water." Her eyes began to mist over. "We are having such a good time. He's smiling and laughing. Something he never did all that much."
Rachel then fell into silent reflection. She remembered how it used to be and it brought sadness to her heart. Closeness was something that Aidan and she never really had. She denied it for so many years but now she could no longer hide from the truth. If only she could turn back time. Would she do things differently? She would like to think so.
"Rachel?" Dr. Culver said, breaking her out of her trance. "You were telling me about your dream." He wanted to say "son" but knew better.
"Huh? Oh... right. Well, that's pretty much it, really."
"The two of you on the beach playing and having a good time and then you just... what, wake up?" Dr. Culver pressed, fishing for more. He knew there was.
A ringing came to Rachel's ears. A ringing that slowly became a screech. She didn't want to think about the rest of the dream - vision - whatever the hell it was. She didn't want to think about her. About how she would come and take Aidan. Rachel hated her.
"Rachel?" Dr. Culver prompted again.
"No! I mean, yes! That's it! That's the end of the dream. There is no more. I don't want to talk about it anymore." The screeching suddenly fell silent.
"How about your other dreams?"
"No, I don't want to talk about those either," she insisted. All of her dreams had a common thread: they involved her. Rachel didn't want to talk, or even think, about her. That is what Dr. Culver wanted to talk about though. Rachel knew this and she hated him for it. Look at him, she thought, sitting so smugly over there. He has no idea of what he is really dealing with. He makes me sick with all his questions and beating around the bush. I can see him contemplating his next move right now. Trying desperately to figure out the best approach, the quickest way to get me to talk about her.
And, in fact, that is exactly what Dr. Culver was doing. The son was out, the dreams were out, and he dare not mention the little girl just yet, even though that was what he was most interested in - the meat of the matter, he had deduced from previous sessions. All the answers that he sought lay with the little girl, or, as he saw it, the fabrication of the little girl. The only problem in getting to the meat of the matter was the patient. It was like working a puzzle in his mind's eye. He just had to figure out what piece fit where. What subject of conversation would subtly lead him to the piece that he needed most?
"What about the video tape?" he asked.
"What about it?"
"Tell me about it again, if you please."
Predictable, Rachel thought. Every time he gets stuck he goes back to the tape. "I've already told you everything about it." She decided that she was in the mood for bullshit today after all but she would do all the shoveling.
"Please, Rachel, indulge me."
"You watch it, you die," she said, matter-of-factly.
"But you watched it and you didn't die."
Going for the throat early today aren't we, doctor, she thought. "No, I didn't die."
"Do you know why?"
"You know I don't!" She glared at him.
"But you thought you knew at one time, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did," she said, much calmer now. "I thought I was spared because I made a copy of the tape."
Even though it wasn't the meat of the matter, Dr. Culver found this particular bit of fabrication most interesting. It was one thing, he felt, to invent a separate personality and a supernatural way for that personality to interact with those around it - which, in this case, always resulted in death - but it was quite another thing to also invent an escape hatch - a rather uncanny one at that - so that those who had met the personality could avoid their untimely demise. Then, on top of all that, it turns out that the escape hatch was, in fact, a fabrication on an already existing fabrication. Thus making it irrelevant almost beyond comprehension. That is why this particular bit of fabrication not only fascinated Dr. Culver on a professional level but also convinced him that Rachel was, in fact, legitimately crazy. After all you didn't run across delusions this complicated every day.
"You no longer believe that though, do you? About copying the tape, that is."
She fixed her malicious stare on Dr. Culver. "No, I don't because if it were true then I would still have my son, wouldn't I?"
Uh-oh, he thought, I've done it now.
"WOULDN'T I, YOU SMUG-ASS PRICK!?" Rachel leapt up from her seat. "YOU THINK YOU'VE GOT ALL THE ANSWERS BUT YOU DON'T KNOW SHIT!"
This time Dr. Culver recoiled. He quickly gathered his notes and micro-cassette recorder and backed away towards the door, which then flew open as two burly men dressed in white rushed in to subdue Rachel.
"YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT ME OR MY SON! ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS SAMARA, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Rachel hollered, as the two men wrestled her to the floor. "THAT'S ALL YOU REALLY WANT TO HEAR ABOUT! SAMARA! SAMARA! SAMARA!"
The fluorescent lights overhead began to hum loudly and flicker violently.
"SAMARA! SAMARA! SAMARA!" The hum became a whine and then a screech as the flickering became more erratic. "SAMARA! SAMARA! SAMARA!"
One of the men produced a syringe and jabbed into Rachel's arm. "SAMARA! Samara! Samaraaaaa..." The lights exploded along with their protective covering, showering everyone in the room with glass. Everything went black.
"How about we start off today by you telling me about your job as a reporter?" he began, tentatively.
Rachel looked at him with an annoyed expression on her face. "Why don't we cut through the bullshit, doctor? I am tired and not in the mood for bullshit today. You couldn't care less about my job. Let's just get on with it."
"Have you not been sleeping well, Rachel?" he said, taking the opening he saw.
"No, I haven't been sleeping well. Would you?"
"Are you still having nightmares?" he proceeded, ignoring her question.
"Yes, only..." She fell silent.
"Only what, Rachel?"
"Only..." A shiver ran down her spine and her gut felt hollow. "Only they haven't all been while I was sleeping."
Dr. Culver looked at her but remained silent, an old psychiatrist's trick for getting patients to continue on their own.
"Well," Rachel continued. "It's just... It doesn't matter where I am or what I am doing anymore. They just come, these... these visions. Yes, that's what they are: visions. And whether I am asleep or awake they take over. They seem so real, so... real."
"And what are these visions of?" Dr. Culver asked, even though "visions" was not what he had discreetly written on his notes while Rachel was talking. He preferred the term "hallucinations."
"Different things: some good, some bad... very bad." The hollow in her gut spread throughout her body.
"Tell me about the good ones, Rachel," Dr. Culver said, steering her in the direction that he felt - for the moment anyway - was best. He didn't much like the angry, fearful expression that had come over her face.
"I'm dancing, dancing in a field of golden light." A smile came to her face. Rarely did she smile these days. "I am happy. Everything is so beautiful, so pure. And... and my son is there. Aidan, my sweet, little boy. My sweet..." She burst into tears.
Dr. Culver handed her his handkerchief.
"Thanks," she said, taking it, and then regained her composure almost as quickly as she lost it.
"Would you like to talk about your son, Rachel? Would you like to talk about Aidan?"
"NO!" she hollered, slamming her fist on the table between them.
A less experienced psychiatrist would have recoiled from the outburst but Dr. Culver sat there calm and collected. It was a crucial moment in their session. He knew that it was all up to him now. It would take tact and poise yet resolve for him to be able to proceed onward without losing this session entirely.
"Tell me then about the rest of your dream," he said.
Rachel wasn't biting.
"You were dancing..." he paused, hoping she would take over. "In a field of golden light...."
Nothing.
"Your son was there..." This, of course, was a dangerous move for Dr. Culver to make, but he had used dangerous moves as well as unconventional methods with Rachel before. Things he would never have done with other patients. Nothing extreme, though, just little psychiatric no-nos like affirming that a patient is having visions by he, himself, calling them visions. Normally he would not have done something like that, but Rachel was special and unconventional in Dr. Culver's eyes therefore warranted these measures.
"Yes, my son was there," Rachel finally said.
Whew, Dr. Culver thought, that was close. He thought for sure he had lost her. Now he slightly nodded, figuring a look and silence wasn't enough at this juncture, for her to continue.
"We dance and we play. There's a beach nearby and we run to it and then play in the water." Her eyes began to mist over. "We are having such a good time. He's smiling and laughing. Something he never did all that much."
Rachel then fell into silent reflection. She remembered how it used to be and it brought sadness to her heart. Closeness was something that Aidan and she never really had. She denied it for so many years but now she could no longer hide from the truth. If only she could turn back time. Would she do things differently? She would like to think so.
"Rachel?" Dr. Culver said, breaking her out of her trance. "You were telling me about your dream." He wanted to say "son" but knew better.
"Huh? Oh... right. Well, that's pretty much it, really."
"The two of you on the beach playing and having a good time and then you just... what, wake up?" Dr. Culver pressed, fishing for more. He knew there was.
A ringing came to Rachel's ears. A ringing that slowly became a screech. She didn't want to think about the rest of the dream - vision - whatever the hell it was. She didn't want to think about her. About how she would come and take Aidan. Rachel hated her.
"Rachel?" Dr. Culver prompted again.
"No! I mean, yes! That's it! That's the end of the dream. There is no more. I don't want to talk about it anymore." The screeching suddenly fell silent.
"How about your other dreams?"
"No, I don't want to talk about those either," she insisted. All of her dreams had a common thread: they involved her. Rachel didn't want to talk, or even think, about her. That is what Dr. Culver wanted to talk about though. Rachel knew this and she hated him for it. Look at him, she thought, sitting so smugly over there. He has no idea of what he is really dealing with. He makes me sick with all his questions and beating around the bush. I can see him contemplating his next move right now. Trying desperately to figure out the best approach, the quickest way to get me to talk about her.
And, in fact, that is exactly what Dr. Culver was doing. The son was out, the dreams were out, and he dare not mention the little girl just yet, even though that was what he was most interested in - the meat of the matter, he had deduced from previous sessions. All the answers that he sought lay with the little girl, or, as he saw it, the fabrication of the little girl. The only problem in getting to the meat of the matter was the patient. It was like working a puzzle in his mind's eye. He just had to figure out what piece fit where. What subject of conversation would subtly lead him to the piece that he needed most?
"What about the video tape?" he asked.
"What about it?"
"Tell me about it again, if you please."
Predictable, Rachel thought. Every time he gets stuck he goes back to the tape. "I've already told you everything about it." She decided that she was in the mood for bullshit today after all but she would do all the shoveling.
"Please, Rachel, indulge me."
"You watch it, you die," she said, matter-of-factly.
"But you watched it and you didn't die."
Going for the throat early today aren't we, doctor, she thought. "No, I didn't die."
"Do you know why?"
"You know I don't!" She glared at him.
"But you thought you knew at one time, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did," she said, much calmer now. "I thought I was spared because I made a copy of the tape."
Even though it wasn't the meat of the matter, Dr. Culver found this particular bit of fabrication most interesting. It was one thing, he felt, to invent a separate personality and a supernatural way for that personality to interact with those around it - which, in this case, always resulted in death - but it was quite another thing to also invent an escape hatch - a rather uncanny one at that - so that those who had met the personality could avoid their untimely demise. Then, on top of all that, it turns out that the escape hatch was, in fact, a fabrication on an already existing fabrication. Thus making it irrelevant almost beyond comprehension. That is why this particular bit of fabrication not only fascinated Dr. Culver on a professional level but also convinced him that Rachel was, in fact, legitimately crazy. After all you didn't run across delusions this complicated every day.
"You no longer believe that though, do you? About copying the tape, that is."
She fixed her malicious stare on Dr. Culver. "No, I don't because if it were true then I would still have my son, wouldn't I?"
Uh-oh, he thought, I've done it now.
"WOULDN'T I, YOU SMUG-ASS PRICK!?" Rachel leapt up from her seat. "YOU THINK YOU'VE GOT ALL THE ANSWERS BUT YOU DON'T KNOW SHIT!"
This time Dr. Culver recoiled. He quickly gathered his notes and micro-cassette recorder and backed away towards the door, which then flew open as two burly men dressed in white rushed in to subdue Rachel.
"YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT ME OR MY SON! ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS SAMARA, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Rachel hollered, as the two men wrestled her to the floor. "THAT'S ALL YOU REALLY WANT TO HEAR ABOUT! SAMARA! SAMARA! SAMARA!"
The fluorescent lights overhead began to hum loudly and flicker violently.
"SAMARA! SAMARA! SAMARA!" The hum became a whine and then a screech as the flickering became more erratic. "SAMARA! SAMARA! SAMARA!"
One of the men produced a syringe and jabbed into Rachel's arm. "SAMARA! Samara! Samaraaaaa..." The lights exploded along with their protective covering, showering everyone in the room with glass. Everything went black.