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I nod, licking my lips. I know that it’s inappropriate to be checking this woman out, when I’m here to find out if she can unlock memories of the night that I possibly raped someone. But I can’t help it. I’ve been a lonely man for a long time.
She walks over and sits in her matching blue chair, crossing her legs before turning a recorder on and letting her back hit the chair. Clicking her pen open and readying her clipboard, she lets out a small breath to prepare.
“Now, we’re here to find buried memories, is that right?” she asks.
I nod. “Yes, there was a night when I was young... It involved a...” I clamp my mouth shut, eyeing her as she smiles.
“Anything you say in this room is confidential, doctor patient confidentiality, Mr. Stanner.”
I nod. “It involved a massive fire. I’ve been having flashbacks, nightmares really. Where I see myself attacking someone before the fire. Hitting her, and possibly... Look, I just need to know,” I manage.
She eyes me, all subtle vibrations of flirting gone because she hadn’t known what kind of man I was when she was flirting.
And I can’t blame her.
“I see. Well, let’s begin, shall we? Close your eyes.”
I do so reluctantly. To close my eyes while someone else is in the room feels uncomfortable. I feel vulnerable.
“Now, I want you to envision you’re at the top of a staircase. There’s a wall to the right of the staircase, and on the wall, as you descend, are picture frames hanging on it. Can you see it?”
“Yes, I can see it.”
“Good. Now, inside these picture frames aren’t photographs, but memories, little snippets in time, caught inside the frame and moving like the image on a film reel. Do you see them?” she asks softly.
I feel heavy and sluggish under her direction, but I say, “I can see them.”
“What memory is before you?” she asks.
I step closer to the black frame, small images moving about inside as I lean in to watch. “It’s me and David, we’re kicking a soccer ball in the front yard. We got it for Christmas the year before, but it’s the first time he let me play with him. He was being nice this day,” I admit, smiling as warmth at the memory wraps around my insides.
“Good. Now, I want you to begin your descent down the stairs, and as you go down, you’re going to get very heavy. You’re not going to fall asleep; you’re just going to trek deeper into your subconscious for me, can you do that?” she asks.
I nod. “I can.”
I turn away from the happy memory and begin going down the stairs. It’s odd. There’s no end in sight, and there’s no wall to the left of me. I keep my hand just below the picture frames housing my memories as I take each step one at a time.
“Don’t pay attention to the memories, alright? Not until youfeelyourself near the right one.”
“And how will I know it’s right?” I ask, but my voice sounds almost robotic. I’m so heavy, asleep, but not.
“You will just know. Tell me when you’ve found it,” she answers, and she sounds far away.
I take five more steps, and then ten, and then all the sudden, I stop. My hand feels warm, tingles rippling through me as my hand catches the corner of a frame on the wall. I don’t dare turn. I can feel the weighty emotion tied up within the memory.
“I—I found it,” I grit out.
“Good. When you’re ready, let’s have a look, shall we?” she asks, sounding even further away. “I’m right here,” she adds, as if she could sense my panic. I wonder if I’m outwardly panicking.
I finally regain the nerve and turn, eyeing the mahogany frame hanging askew on the wall. There are char marks surrounding it, and embers light the edges of the frame itself.
“It’ll only hurt for a moment,” I tell Carina, and she whimpers.
I rear back. “You don’t have to do this, Emery. I know you; I’ve watched you. You’re a good person! Please, don’t do this,” she begs.
I halt, staring down at her with drugs and alcohol weighing me down, but I want her. I want her so damned bad. Those eyes. I want to drown in them.
But she isn’t mine to take.
