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“That’s disturbing.”
I kept going. “Other physical abnormalities?”
“Like?”
Most people just answered the questions. “I don’t know. Crooked toes? Extra tooth? Vestigial tail? Get creative.”
“Nothing’s coming to mind.”
Okay. Next. “Sleeping difficulties?”
I waited for him to demand examples, but instead, after a pause, he just said, “Nightmares.”
I nodded, like Got it. “Frequency?”
“A couple of times a month.”
A couple of times a month? “Recurrent?”
“What?”
“Is it the same nightmare every time?”
“Yep.”
“Can you tell me what it’s about?”
“Do you need to know?”
“I mean, kind of.”
He worked the steering wheel like he was considering his options. Finally, he said, “Drowning.”
“Okay,” I said. It was only one word, but it felt like a lot. Next question. “Any phobias?”
A pause.
Then a curt nod. “Also drowning.”
I noted that in the file and was about to move on when he added:
“And bridges.”
“You have a phobia of bridges?”
He kept his voice tight and matter-of-fact. “I do.”
“The idea of bridges or actual bridges?”
“Actual bridges.”
Huh. Okay. “How does that manifest?”
He chewed on the inside of his lip as he weighed his options, deciding how much to share. “Well, in about twenty minutes, we’re going to come to part of the highway that goes over the Brazos River. And when that happens, I’m going to pull over, stop the car, get out, and walk across the bridge on foot.”
“What about the car?”
“You’re going to drive it over the bridge and wait for me on the other side.”
