Chapter 3
That night, Sam prepared for his first trial with the new treatment. Jess offered to sleep on the couch as to not disturb him while he tried to concentrate. He pulled on sweat pants and an old t-shirt, put on his watch, and slipped underneath the covers. He turned off the bedside lamp and turned over onto his side.
He demanded, he plead, he begged for no nightmares over and over again. "Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. No nightmares. No dreams. Nothing at all," he shouted in his mind until he slipped into darkness which then faded into light. Now, he was standing in the forest again and he spun in place, taking in his surroundings.
"No, no, no," repeated Sam to himself. "This isn't right. I shouldn't be here. Why isn't it working?" There was a slight tug on his wrist, and he looked down where the invisible force was pulling on hand. He still had the watch on. He lifted up his arm and looked at the watch which was too blurry to read. The numbers moved underneath the glass, and they blended into each other until the face was nothing but a gray mass.
"I'm dreaming," said Sam out loud. Then everything went black.
The birds chirped outside, and the sun brightly shined through the blinds. Sam woke up slowly instead of with a jolt of fear. His skin was free of a cold sweat, and his breathing was even and slow. He sat up slowly, and he chuckled and grinned. He turned to see if Jess was laying beside him, but the bed was empty.
"Jess," shouted Sam. "Jess! Come up here, Jess!"
A few moments later, Jess came sprinting into the room and ran over to Sam with her arms wide open to embrace him. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" asked Jess as she smoothed down his dark, messy hair and stared deeply into his eyes. Sam only stared back at her in silence. She looked confused and worried as she shook his shoulders. "Sam?"
With a wide, excited smile, Sam rejoiced, "I'm fine… no nightmares. No nightmares!"
He hopped up and began to bounce on the bed, laughing and giggling like a six year old on Christmas morning. When he offered a hand, Jess took it gladly and began to jump and laugh with him, but Sam stopped jumping suddenly and pulled Jess closer to him. He placed a soft gentle kiss on her lips and pulled her against him. After the passionate kiss, he pulled away slowly and hugged her around the shoulders, and he pushed his head into the crook of her neck.
"No more, no more," whispered Sam as he smiled.
Three weeks later, Jess and Sam pulled up to Dr. Winsor's office. He called two days earlier to see if Sam had been having any nightmares, and he seemed very pleased when they told him they had completely disappeared. He asked to see Sam to ask a few more questions. Jess and Sam hopped out of the car and went inside. The same woman sat behind the window, but when she saw them, she gave a faint nod of recognition and pointed at the door. They walked into the same large room and sat down on the couch as Dr. Winsor walked in with notebook in hand and a warm smile on his face. He shook their hands and sat down in the large chair beside them.
"So, Sam, how's the treatment working?" asked Dr. Winsor.
"Fantastic! Haven't had a single nightmare in three weeks."
Dr. Winsor beamed, happy that his advice worked. "Been sleeping well, I assume."
"Yes, sir."
"Great. Really great. Now, Sam, I have some more questions for you. Please answer them to the best of your ability."
Sam nodded, but he felt his heart sink. "Oh, no," he thought to himself.
Dr. Winsor cleared his throat and opened his notebook. "Do you avoid any place or topic that could remind you of the war?"
"Yes."
"Do you have problems concentrating?"
"Sometimes."
"Do you feel 'on guard' around people?'
"Yeah."
"Do you ever feel guilty, sad, depressed, or worthless?"
Sam looked down at his hands, avoiding any eye contact. "Yes."
"To which one?'
"All of them," Sam sighed.
"Any drug or alcohol use?"
"I'll have a beer now and again but never any heavy drinking."
"Do you ever feel detached from loved ones?"
He hesitated a long time. "Yes."
Dr. Winsor put down his notebook and pen and took off his glasses. "Well, Sam, I have good reason to believe you may have Posttraumatic Stress Disorder."
Sam looked up and asked, "What's that?"
"It's a type of anxiety disorder that is linked to depression. It usually occurs after a horrible experience. It's very common in returning soldiers. It makes you relive past experiences, mostly through flashbacks and… dreams."
"Why do you think I have it?"
"You have most of the common symptoms. The nightmares, for starters. Avoiding talking about it, detatchment, sleeping problems, feeling sad, depression, guilt, outburst of anger when anything related to what happened is mentioned."
Sam nodded. "He's right," thought Sam. "He's right."
"How do we get rid of it?" he asked.
"One sure way to get rid of it is face the fact that you will have to talk about it at some point or another."
"No, I'm not," spat Sam.
Dr. Winsor shook his head. "See, that's what I mean. You have depression, Sam. Do you know that it caused all those dreams? Do you know what caused the depression?"
"Yes, but-"
"The war," said Dr. Winsor. "The war did this, Sam-"
"I'm not going to talk about it if that's what you want," interrupted Sam, seething.
"You need to."
Sam shot up. "No, I'm not!"
"Ok, Sam, but you don't even have to talk to anyone. Just make yourself have a dream. No nightmare or anything like that but demand to meet your fears. Meet the person who is chasing you. Learn who it is. It will help put those feelings to rest."
Shaking in anger, Sam shouted, "No! I'm not! Go to hell!"
"Sam," whispered Jess.
"No, Jess! I'm done. Done with all of this!" Sam rushed out the door, past the woman behind the window, and out to the car. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth as he paced back and forth next to the car. Jess ran out the door behind him and when she caught up with him, she slapped him hard across the cheek.
"Jerk," shouted Jess as she hopped into the car and waited for him to get in on the passenger side.