THREADS OF THE BROKEN FUTURE

CHAPTER EIGHT

Unraveling the Threads

The receptionist knocked three times on the door before it was opened by a young woman.

"Thank you, Clarissa. Please make sure that I'm not disturbed while in session," the woman said softly, flashing a polite smile.

The pretty, dark-haired receptionist nodded, her eyes briefly flicking to him before gesturing that it was okay to enter. He caught her glance, reading it as neutral but curious, perhaps because of the name he'd given.

"Come in," the young woman said, extending her hand with a warm, open gesture. "I'm Alyssa Johnson, and you're…", she paused as her eyes glanced down at her clipboard, and a flicker of amusement crossed her face.

"Mr. George George." One eyebrow arched, but she didn't comment on the absurdity of the name.

He followed her into the office, his gaze automatically sweeping the space. Windows, one. One to his right. No cameras that he could see, but there was a faint hum, probably from the climate control unit in the ceiling. His eyes had already found the exits—one through the main door he came in and perhaps another that led somewhere behind her desk, maybe a private office, storage or a closet.

He sat in one of the two chairs in front of her desk as she had indicated, his movements smooth but calculated, his muscles tense as though prepared for an unexpected shift in circumstances.

He wasn't quite sure what he'd been expecting, but this wasn't it. He'd figured his therapist would be a middle-aged woman with her hair pulled tight into a severe bun, glasses perched on her nose and dressed in something dreary like gray wool.

Instead, this woman was young, attractive, with blonde hair in a French braid. Her outfit - a sharp blue skirt and matching jacket - looked professional, but her blouse was unbuttoned just low enough to reveal a duo of thin, dainty necklaces. Her earrings - two in each ear - caught his eye. Small blue stones on the top and delicate gold hoops on the bottom that moved when she turned her head. Even her nails were polished, a pale pink. She wore only one ring, a blue stone, on her right hand.

Not that he was interested.

"So, Mr. George," she began with a faint smile, settling in behind her desk. "I'm Doctor Alyssa Johnson, but I prefer first names. I find it helps us develop a more comfortable relationship. What name would you prefer to go by?"

"George," he said evenly, settling back in the chair, his body never fully relaxing.

"Okay, George." She glanced back at the clipboard, scanning it. "I noticed you didn't fill out much of the intake profile," she said, her voice soft but with a trace of curiosity. "Name, 'in between jobs,' and 'recurring dreams' were the only things you mentioned."

He gave a slight nod, the leather of his black jacket creaking as he shifted in his seat. He didn't plan on saying much today - just feeling things out. He wasn't even sure that he would come back for another appointment.

Alyssa's smile widened. "You can take off your jacket if you'd like, George," she offered gently.

His muscles tensed. How could he explain that he preferred to keep it on, just in case he decided to bolt?

"No thanks," he said, his voice flat but polite.

If his refusal fazed her, she didn't show it. "Okay," she said smoothly, leaning back slightly. "It helps me to know a bit more about who I'm working with. Are you married?"

He shook his head quickly. "Not hardly."

Alyssa nodded, jotting something down in her notes. " Divorced? Widower?"

"Single."

"Okay," she said softly, her pen scratching against the paper. "Children?"

"Good gods, no!" he exclaimed much louder than he should have.

Her eyes flicked up, gauging his face for a moment before she asked, "Would you like something to drink? I have fresh coffee, bottled water," she paused. "Or… maybe you prefer tea?"

He couldn't help a slight smirk. "I'm not that British," he quipped, the hint of amusement in his voice surprising even him.

Alyssa smiled, her eyes glinting with interest. "Well, the accent made me wonder."

He waved it off. "And no thanks, I'm not thirsty."

A pause lingered in the air before she asked, "In between jobs?"

"Yeah," he muttered, crossing his arms tightly.

"Layoff?"

His jaw tightened. "Let's just say the place doesn't exist anymore," he said, keeping the details to a minimum. He wasn't ready to lay everything on the line, not yet. He cleared his throat, suddenly remembering something.

"By the way, I need to cancel next week's appointment."

Her head tilted slightly, surprise and curiosity flashing across her face.

"Are you so certain already that you don't wish to continue?"

"No, it's not that," he said quickly. "I have Pilot Recertifications I need to handle next week."

"Oh," she said, her face clearly showing interest. "So, you fly planes? That's fascinating."

"I don't exactly fly planes," he mumbled.

Alyssa raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Helicopters?"

He shook his head.

Her face lit up with confusion but a touch of humor. "Well, you're not going to tell me you fly UFOs, are you?"

Despite himself, he chuckled. "No, definitely not UFOs…although my grandmother calls them damn flying machines."

Her eyes twinkled as she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. "So, George...what do you fly?"

He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable under the spotlight. Then, with a sigh, he shook his head.

"Classified," she said, nodding knowingly. "Are you a spy?"

He laughed again, a little louder this time. "Lady, what would make you think that?"

"Well," she said, her tone light but deliberate, "when you came in, your eyes swept the entire room – window, hiding spots, exits. If you're not a spy, my guess is former military or law enforcement."

He exhaled slowly, feeling the tension creep into his chest. She was sharp, he had to give her that.

She leaned back in her chair, her gaze never leaving him. "George, being this close to Washington, I've had clients in intelligence. If something's classified, you can tell me without getting into specifics."

"I am not an intelligence operative," he said carefully. "And I am not former military, either."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, a thoughtful smile tugging at her lips. "Law enforcement, then."

He shrugged, not confirming but not denying either. "I guess you could call it that."

Alyssa tapped a finger to her lips, nodding to herself. "You're an interesting man, George. So, let's talk about these recurring dreams. When did they start?"

"End of August," he said quietly.

"Did something happen around that time that might have triggered them?"

His fingers clenched against the armrest of the chair. "I fell, basketball game, hit my head—was unconscious for hours. That's when the dreams started. They've been happening almost every night since."

Alyssa's brow furrowed in concern. "You did have your head examined, right? No brain trauma?"

His lips curled into a wry smile. "Best damn doctor in the universe. No brain trauma."

"That's a confident statement," she said, scribbling something down. "Best doctor in the universe?"

He nodded firmly. "I would have trusted her with my life, would've trusted anyone's life with her."

Her eyes sharpened. "Would have?"

Damn, this woman didn't miss a thing. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his fingers curling into fists beneath his crossed arms. Maybe it was time to make an excuse and leave before he said too much. But something held him there - an itch in the back of his mind, a need to explain the unexplainable, even if it meant giving away pieces of himself.

The black leather of his jacket creaked again as he crossed his arms more tightly over his chest, a subtle defense. His face remained impassive, though, as he watched her scribble something in her notepad, her pen moving in smooth strokes before she looked up at him again with that same gentle, probing expression.

"George," she said softly, leaning in just a little, "tell me about these dreams. Why did you feel the need to see me?"

He exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of her question settle on him. He could lie…make something up…but that wasn't why he was here. He had to let it out, even if he didn't understand half of it himself.

"Because," he began, his voice quieter now, as though speaking the truth meant betraying something deeper inside.

"Because they feel like my future… a future that never happened. Except it feels like it did…like it was in my past." He shrugged, frustration tightening his features. "I don't know how the hell to explain it."

She didn't push, only nodded patiently. "Why do you say 'a future that never happened'?"

His jaw clenched as the words came up hard and fast. "Because it sure as hell can't happen now," he said through gritted teeth, barely restraining his anger at the absurdity of it all.

She tilted her head, watching him carefully, as though she sensed there was much more beneath the surface.

"You're confident in that as well?"

How the hell could he tell her that, yeah, he was absolutely confident.

For a moment he wanted to yell at her. Ask her when the last time was that she had seen the moon in the nighttime sky? She hadn't seen it, he hadn't seen it and nobody else on Earth had either, not since that night in September, because the universe had ripped her away from them.

His lips curled into a humorless smirk, but the pain beneath it was palpable. "Let's just say... it's not possible anymore," he said, his voice tight. His fingers drummed against his forearm, betraying the turmoil beneath his calm exterior.

Alyssa didn't flinch at his abruptness. She remained composed, watching him with a deep understanding that made him both wary and oddly comforted. Her voice softened, drawing him in just a bit further. "And this future... what was it like?"

How could he describe it? The dreams were vivid, like snapshots of something too real to be imagined. Glimpses of things that he had lost. But the details were fragmented, elusive, like trying to piece together a puzzle with missing parts.

"I don't know," he finally admitted, shaking his head, feeling the frustration mounting again.

"I see people... I feel things, emotions that don't make sense. I'm somewhere familiar, but it's like I don't belong there anymore. And there's this overwhelming sense that I lost something…something I was supposed to protect."

Her gaze held his for a moment, as though she understood without needing him to explain further. "Something important?" she murmured, her tone low and thoughtful.

His chest tightened, the weight of that word crashing into him like a tidal wave. "Yeah," he whispered. "Something damn important. I just don't remember."

There was a long silence as Alyssa jotted down another note, her eyes flicking up at him again, more intent now.

"George," she began carefully, "when you say you don't belong there anymore... do you mean physically, or emotionally?"

The question caught him off guard. He'd never thought of it that way, but her words hung in the air like a challenge to dig deeper into his own confusion. Physically? Emotionally? Hell, maybe both.

"Emotionally," he muttered, feeling the word tumble out before he could stop it. "It's like I don't fit into that world anymore. Like it moved on without me. Or like maybe I was never there. I don't know how to get back, I don't know if I was supposed to be there in the first place."

He shook his head again, his fingers brushing his forehead as if trying to wipe away the thought.

Her pen stilled for a moment, as if she was weighing his words carefully.

Then she spoke again, her voice soft but firm.

"Do you think these dreams are trying to tell you something, George? That maybe there's something unresolved from your past that's bleeding into your present?"

His throat tightened as he processed her question. Unresolved? Maybe. He was pretty positive in a little over thirty years, he had to have stuff from the past that he hadn't dealt with, but he shoved that into the back of his mind. He failed to see how that and these haunting dreams were connected.

He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure. "Maybe," he admitted grudgingly. "Doesn't everybody?"

The silence between them stretched, but Alyssa didn't rush him. Instead, she leaned forward slightly, pen poised but waiting. "The dreams, what are they like?"

His breath caught. How the hell could he explain this to her without sounding as though he were off his rocker. Vivid dreams, things not of this Earth. He knew no matter what he said, he was going to sound like his elevator didn't go all the way to the top floor.

When he didn't answer her question, she moved on to another one. Her voice softened. "Do you think these dreams are trying to tell you about something that needs fixed, George?"

He felt his jaw clench. "Maybe," he said grudgingly, his voice thick. "But it's not something I can fix. I know that. Whatever it might be…it's gone."

Her expression didn't waver, her calmness was unshaken by his frustration. "Do you believe that, or are you just convincing yourself?"

Her question lingered in the air, and he felt the weight of it sink deep. Did he believe it? Or was it just easier to tell himself that nothing could be fixed? That whatever he lost was irretrievable?

His fingers clenched tighter against his arms as he fought back the emotion rising in his chest. He wasn't ready to go there. Not yet.

Just then, a soft chime echoed through the room. He raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the source of the sound.

"I always set a timer for ten minutes before our session ends," she explained with a small smile.

"Oh," he muttered, feeling a surprising wave of relief wash over him. He hadn't realized just how much he wanted to get the hell out of her office.

"Before you go, George, I'd like you to try something until our next appointment," she said, her voice gentle but direct.

"Yeah?" he responded, trying to keep his tone neutral.

"I want you to take a notebook and write down everything you can remember from your dreams. Anything at all."

He glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. "And then what? Hand it in like some homework assignment?"

She chuckled softly. "No, this is for you. Keep it private. Use it as a tool. If anything in the dreams stands out or triggers questions, jot that down too. It might help us get a clearer picture."

He watched her as she stood and walked toward him, extending her hand. "It was good to meet you, George. I look forward to our next session."

Standing up, he gave her a quick handshake, then turned sharply toward the door, already planning his escape.

Just as his fingers touched the knob, she called after him. "And good luck with your recertifications."

He paused, glancing over his shoulder with a nod. "Yeah, thanks," he muttered before slipping out of the office, moving a little quicker than necessary.