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Patient: “I see him. I see Luke. He’s . . . he’s alive and he’s smiling. He says—oh, God—he says, ‘I forgive you.’”
Therapist: “Where is he?”
Patient: “In the warehouse, I mean fish cannery . . . the abandoned one on the waterfront, built on piers over the river.”
Therapist: “I know the one you mean. You’ve told me about it before.”
Patient: “But it’s been condemned. For a long time.”
Therapist: “I know. Is anyone else there?”
Patient: “Yes. Oh yes. We are all there. The ones who were there on the night . . . on the night Luke died.”
Therapist: “The night you were playing the game?”
Patient, frowning, voice a whisper: “Yes . . . it was supposed to be a game. We had those pretend guns. Trying to shoot each other.”
Therapist: “Your friends?”
Patient, a deeper frown as the patient’s head moves side to side: “No. Not all friends. Others were there.”
Therapist: “You saw them?”
Patient: “It was too dark. But they were there.”
Therapist: “And now? They’re back?”
Patient, swallowing hard: “I don’t know. But I think so. It’s so dark.”
Therapist: “But you’re certain you’re in the cannery.”
Patient: “Yes. Yes! I hear the river running beneath the floor—smell it—and I hear voices of the other kids but not what they’re saying. It’s too noisy. All those clicking guns and pounding footsteps.”
Therapist: “But you see Luke?”
Patient: “Yes!” The patient’s lips twist into a fleeting smile. “Oh my God! He’s . . . he’s alive!”
Therapist: “You’re talking to him?”
Patient: “Yes. I told you.” The patient pauses. The smile fades. “But it’s hard to hear him. Other kids are talking, and laughing; some of the guns are going off and echoing. The building is so big. So dark. So . . .”
Therapist: “So, what?”
Patient, becoming sober, almost frightened, hesitating before whispering: “Evil. It’s like . . . it’s like there’s something else in that old building. Something hiding in the darkness.” The patient’s voice begins to tremble. “Something . . . malicious.” Then the panic sets in. As it always does. “Oh, God.” The patient’s tone is suddenly frantic. “I—we—have to get out. We have to leave. Now! We have to get out. We have to!”
Therapist, calmly: “It’s time. You’re rising. Getting out of the cannery. Leaving the building and the evil far behind you.”
Patient: “But Luke! No! I can’t abandon him. Oh my God. He’s been shot! He’s bleeding! I have to save him!”
Therapist: “You are becoming more aware.”
Patient: “No! No! No! I can’t leave him. I have to help!” The patient is in a full-blown panic. “Someone! Help!”
