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2:15PM.
Silence emanated throughout the pale blue room, broken only by the incessant ticks of an antique wall clock. Alyson sat slumped against the cool leather of a worn sofa and stared down at her twiddling thumbs. She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there, but it was long enough for her legs to become stiff and achy. It didn’t help that the temperature in the room was roughly five degrees cooler than courtesy should allow, and Alyson often tugged at the skirt of her too-short lime green waitress uniform. Her tall, fur-lined boots offered some comfort as they hugged her calves, but the spaces between them and the edge of her uniform were speckled with goosebumps.
With every echoing tick, she grew more and more uncomfortable, and inched closer to rising from her seat and bolting out the door. She would have too, had it not opened moments later, allowing a long-legged beauty in a black blazer and matching pencil skirt to enter. Her discomfort melted and a small smile played at her lips as her long-time friend, Liz—Dr. Elizabeth Hanley—sat down in the stiff-backed chair across from her.
Liz was sporting a pair of brand-new glasses that Alyson knew all too well were unnecessary. For as long as Alyson had known her, Liz had been the type of person to go all out when trying to portray the image of whom she wanted to be. In this case, it seemed, that person was an excessively professional, world-renowned psychiatrist improving the lives of her patients one prescription at a time.
It was ironic, Alyson thought, as she gazed around the bare, miss-matched room. The only high-end thing about it was Liz herself. To be fair, Liz wasn’t scheduled to be seeing patients until the end of next week, so she had some time to spiff up her somewhat outdated office space.
Alyson was the exception.
Liz made herself as comfortable as possible and flipped open a small notebook, pen at the ready.
“Is that necessary?” Alyson asked as Liz began scribbling something on the paper.
This meeting hadn’t been her idea, and even now she was unsure about it. Liz had been like a therapist to Alyson for years, but this was different. Sitting across from her friend, who was, as of two months ago officially proclaimed a doctor, made it different.
“You know me,” replied Liz. “I want to do things right, let me have my fun.”
Alyson saw the excitement glowing in her friend’s eyes and found it somewhat comforting. Even though this differed from two girls chatting over a glass of wine, she couldn’t help be at ease in Liz’s presence.
“I thought these places were supposed to be warm and inviting,” Alyson teased. “Rather than, you know, glacial.”
Liz frowned in a show of disappointment and annoyance. “I need to get someone in here to fix that. If I’d known the furnace was a piece of crap, I’d have rented a different office.”
“You should leave it. Maybe it’ll make your patients so intent on getting out of here that they’ll spill their guts the second they walk in.”
Alyson knew Liz well enough to know that she’d be stressing herself out over every minor detail until her private office was up and running, and didn’t want to make things worse by showing just how much she didn’t want to be there. A smile touched her lips as she continued. “I’m assuming the more extravagant furniture is on its way.”
“You know it,” Liz said, straightening herself in the chair to signal that the chitchat was over. Alyson shifted in response, though this was because of nerves rather than the urge to bask in new found authority. Once Liz was satisfied, she asked the question that Alyson had been dreading. “Did you see him last night?”
Alyson let out a heavy sigh. She’d had this conversation with Liz many times already and was convinced on some level that this was what inspired her friend’s career choice.
“I see him every night. You know that.”
“Pretend I don’t,” Liz insisted. “Tell me about last night.”
Alyson closed her eyes, remembering the dream. She pictured the scene in her head and did her best to convey the image to her friend. Her dream world was all floaty and everything seemed to shimmer, so finding the words wasn’t easy. Because of that, she stuck to the basics.
“We were at The Coffee Shop again. Out on the patio. He was sitting at our usual table.”
The place she called ‘The Coffee Shop’ was the most common location in her dreams. There were other times where they had taken place in her own neighborhood, or in an apartment she could only assume belonged to Daniel himself. On more than a few occasions, she had even found herself in a brilliant forest by a rippling stream. This was no doubt her favorite dream spot, for the whimsy of the dream gave psychedelic life to the environment around her. The swirling haze caused the trees to dance as she sat beside him, toes dipped in the cool water. Butterflies of every color would fly around them, dragging behind tails of shimmering light.
The Coffee Shop was less whimsical. The haze still clouded her vision here, but there was less color to fascinate her. As far as she could tell, she’d never been to a coffee shop like this before, though it was eerily familiar. It was quaint, and built of dark, reddish wood. Alyson always found herself on the balcony patio whenever she dreamed of this place. More than once she’d tried to explore the rest of the building, but was pushed back by some unseen force determined to keep her where she was. As the months flew by, she’d stopped fighting and embrace the dreams as they appeared to her.
“He was drawing,” Alyson continued. In this particular dream, when she’d found herself on the patio, Daniel was already there. She’d walked up behind him and peered over his shoulder. On the table in front of him was a sketchbook. She watched as his hand whisked across the page, drawing something the haze prevented her from seeing clearly, though she could have sworn it was the figure of a woman. When she sat down beside him, he greeted her with a wide smile.
“And?” Liz pressed.
Alyson shrugged. “That’s it. It was a short one.”
Some of Alyson’s dreams seemed to run on for hours, while others lasted for what felt like minutes. She didn’t understand the varying factors that could affect this, so she just assumed that time worked differently in the dream world. The only thing that her dreams always had in common was Daniel. The dreams of him started seven years ago, yet she remembered that first night like it was yesterday—because of its significance.
It was the night her father died.
––––––––
ALYSON SAW NOTHING but darkness. She knew she was asleep, but lacked the conscious ability to do anything about it.
She was content with the nothingness. It was a welcome change after the events of that day. The constant fighting with her husband had drained her both mentally and physically, and sleep had continued to elude her. She’d been sitting at her kitchen table next to an empty bottle of wine turned over on its side, a phone she had purposely turned off, and a shattered photo from her wedding day on the floor below.
She sat like that for what felt like hours as she waited for her father to arrive. After her husband had stormed out, she’d called her father and asked him to drive out to Anchorage to be with her. She felt bad, given that it was late in the evening and he lived a fair drive away, but she didn’t want to be alone.
As time passed, she grew anxious, but the insatiable urge to close her eyes—brought on by a cocktail of exhaustion and booze—soon replaced those fears. It didn’t take long for her to drift off into a deep sleep.
Darkness swirled around her before a brilliant light emanating from some unseen source erupted through it. As it drew nearer, it broke off into two beams, like angled search lights that flashed in her eyes and blinded her. The screeching of tires and revving of an engine filled her ears as the source of the light was almost upon her. She dropped to the ground and threw up her arms protectively in front of her face. A rush of air blew passed her, and a deafening crash came from her right. When she relaxed her arms and opened her eyes, she found herself on the side of a road.
There was nothing around her. No car, no sign of an accident, not even an out-of-place scrap of metal. She pulled herself up off the rocky road just as she heard another sound, this time to her left. The darkness was thick, so she took a few weary steps in the direction of the sound, careful not to trip. As she drew nearer, the faint outline of a man sitting in the snow formed. He was young, with scruffy brown hair that hung down over his face. His head was in his hands, and the image of him tugged at Alyson’s heart. Pain and remorse emanated from every inch of him, and all Alyson could think in that moment was that she wanted to find some way to help him.
He lifted his head as she stooped down beside him. Silent tears rolled down his cheek as they locked eyes for the first time. Neither of them said anything. They just stared into each other, and Alyson could have sworn she felt their souls touch. She had never seen this man before, but, in that instant, she knew him.
“Are you okay?” she asked, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. The electricity that sparked between them surprised her. It wasn’t unpleasant, yet it reminded her of the tingling sensation felt when an arm or leg fell asleep. He shook his head in response to her question, and she pulled him in close, wrapping her arms around him. As he cried into her, his tears caught in the tips of her long, amber hair.
––––––––
“ALYSON? ALYSOOOON?” Liz waved a hand in front of Alyson’s face.
“Huh? Oh, sorry,” she said, snapping out of the memory. “What were you saying?”
“I’m worried about you. This has been going on far too long, and it’s not healthy. It’s extremely unusual to be dreaming about the same person every night, especially when that person doesn’t exist. I’m worried that if this continues, you’re going to end up believing he’s real and start seeing him while you’re awake.” Alyson looked down at her hands, and Liz noticed. “What?”
“Nothing,” Alyson replied, a bit too quickly. “You’re right.”
Liz’s brows creased, and her eyes narrowed. “This is me you’re talking to. Not as a therapist, as a friend. Tell me.” When Alyson didn’t respond, she pressed again. “You haven’t seen him, have you?”
“No, no. Of course not,” Alyson assured her.
“But you believe in him?”
“How can I not? He’s been there for me ever since my father died.”
“Exactly. Aly, your fantasy of Daniel was your way of coping with the death of your father and dealing with your divorce from John.”
The words stung, but Alyson had no reason to doubt her friend. The idea that Daniel was real was unrealistic at best, and there was no science to back it. Despite that, she couldn’t help but see him in that light. Over the years, he’d gone from a support system and grown into something more. She knew him, as well as her dreams would allow, and often went to bed earlier to see him all the sooner.
“Then why am I still seeing him?”
“He’s become a symbol of safety, and you’ve become accustomed to it. I’m going to prescribe something that I think will help,” Liz said, reaching for her prescription pad.
“What happened to just talking as friends?” Alyson grumbled.
“You don’t have to take them, but I think they’ll help. If you decide to try them, take one pill in the afternoon, and one before bed. In a few days you should notice a difference.”
“I’ll think about it,” Alyson told her, accepting the prescription. She wasn’t sure she wanted her relationship with Daniel to end, but she understood her friend’s concern. It wasn’t healthy. How could it be? But then again, it wasn’t hurting anyone. They were only dreams, after all.