Abigail immediately thought of Rebecca Steinman as an attractive mature woman that appeared not a day over fifty. Thin, long-legged with just a small bump for a belly, Rebecca had her lightly gray-flecked dishwater blond hair pulled back in a single ponytail and wore almost no make-up. Topping off a rudimentary appearance, she also wore thick-framed reading glasses, a gray cotton blazer, and a matching knee-length plaid skirt.
Walking through the office door, Abigail takes a quick glance at Rebecca, sizing her up for personal interests. She then floats meticulously around from the psychiatrist to her messy office, looking over numerous the awards, especially paying attention to Rebecca’s doctorate degree framed on the wall behind her desk. Rebecca Steinman had received her PhD in psychology in 1986 from Brown University, an Ivy League school in Rhode Island. She went on to write her first book in 1989 entitled Charting the Human Psyche then followed up with a second book in 1997. To Abigail, Rebecca may have appeared to have the necessary credentials to be an authority on her situation; however, Abigail began to feel uneasy as she continued her inspection of Rebecca’s office.
She found it untidy, cluttered with various charts depicting drawings of the human brain and nervous system as well as scattered stacks of books and folders on the floor around Dr. Steinman’s desk. Short of the typical psychiatrist’s gadgets, her office looked contrary to her profession. In fact, the only outstanding object at the time was a raspberry suede couch, where Abigail chose to sit.
“Abigail?” Dr. Steinman addresses her with effervescent enthusiasm. “I am Rebecca Steinman. You may call me Rebecca, Dr. Steinman or simply doctor—whichever makes you feel more comfortable. Believe me, I’m really not a stickler for formalities.”
Abigail says nothing, giving the doctor a scrupulous look while arching an eyebrow. She is not ready to drop her guard just yet. Instead, Abigail remains reserved, sitting motionless on the couch, taking in Rebecca’s office while thinking about how she agreed with Rebecca’s statement about formalities.
Abigail reasons that Rebecca probably preferred wearing her hair down around her shoulders, ditching the blazer and matching plaid skirt for something more casual and comfortable, like a sensible loose-fitting blouse and a pair of blue jeans; the quirky doctor seemed like the type to Abigail. In fact, Abigail bets she only wore that conservative getup to keep up the appearance of professionalism, which Rebecca falls short of with her untidy workspace.
“Please don’t mind the mess, I’m kind of scatterbrained these days. Currently, I’m in the middle of researching my third book. I tend to focus on more relative issues.” Rebecca looks around her messy office, disregarding it as normal. “The office cleaning services actually used to try to clean up, although… that didn’t work out so well. You can imagine walking in with thoughts on the old noggin only to find your research has been neatly rearranged or stacked away on a shelf.”
Abigail notices that Dr. Steinman’s eyes are visibly anxious as they roam around the disorderly condition of her office; she felt embarrassed, as did Abigail.
“I’m sorry. I’m just a tad bit nervous. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Nonsense, please, think nothing of it. I should be apologizing, I’m sure you expected my office to be stuffy and typical—the scent of disinfectants hanging in the air.” Rebecca waves her hands out in front of her, signifying the spraying of disinfectants, and Abigail, unnoticing herself, giggles at Rebecca’s foolishness. “The truth is I can stay focused on my research if I am less focused on the trivial day-to-day nonsense.”
Abigail agrees with a nervy nod and slight smile, although she never thought of cleanliness as day-to-day nonsense, at least not while living with the likes of her clean freak of a mother. However, she does fully understand Rebecca’s predicament, and because of this, Abigail almost immediately decided she admired the peculiar psychiatrist.
“Well, if you don’t mind, I’d like to jump right in and learn a little bit about yourself.” Rebecca sits back in her divan and slides a notebook off her desk, flipping to a blank sheet of paper. She then begins to write, and when she is finished, Rebecca reaches beside her to a bookshelf and presses the record button on a Wollensak reel-to-reel tape recorder.
“Please begin wherever you might feel comfortable. Take your time and only speak about matters you feel like sharing. We can stop at any time if you start to feel anxious or uncomfortable.”
Abigail leans against the couch, rubbing her palms nervously on her legs. She takes in a noticeable breath and exhales. “I’ve played it back a thousand times in my head to that exact day. It has been a little over a month since I received Bill’s last letter. I had just come home from school when Mom told me the devastating news. My entire life just seemed to stop in its pivotal motion that day and hasn’t moved forward since.”
Abigail recounts the events of that dreaded day in vivid detail, and Rebecca jots down notes on her pad. She shares the details of their last summer together when Bill, Shelly, Garret, and she had spent two months at Bill’s aunt’s summer home in Lake Eufaula in Oklahoma. She then spoke of the violent argument that occurred between Bill and his father after returning from Eufaula. Abigail shared her concerns about Bill’s rash decision to join the marine corps to escape his father and about their own argument that soon followed.
“I remember Bill telling me how he could make a steady paycheck in the military and we wouldn’t need his dad’s money. He wanted to start a life together, one that we built. I was concerned, though. There was just too much going on in the Middle East back then, and it scared me to think about him going off to fight in a war. I wanted Bill to stay with me. He needed to try working through his problems with his dad. He was so impatient… Anyway, the next week and without anyone knowing, Bill enlisted in the marine corps. I’d never seen him act out so unreasonably. We shared everything with one another. I guess back then I really didn’t understand the depth of his pain.”
“What about the war? Did Bill write home regularly?”
“Bill’s correspondence was hopeful. I could tell he was proud being a marine, and despite my constant worry for his well-being, I was proud of him as well. He often spoke of his squad, admitting he felt really close to each of them, not unlike brothers. Back then, Bill always ended his letters by confessing he felt closest to me and missed me all the same. However, as the months passed, he became more withdrawn. His letters became less personal and more focused on the ins and outs of a stressful routine and sometimes detailed the unspeakable things he had witnessed or had done. I could tell the war was changing Bill. He was pulling away from us and his home. We were losing him. It was important that I stayed positive in my letters. I reminded Bill of a different world waiting for him when he got back home, but I could tell I was beginning to have very little effect. I felt so helpless.”
“Let’s talk a little about after Bill passed away, if that is all right. I want to understand how you view life after Bill Colden.” Dr. Steinman purposely directs the session away from Abigail’s distant memories. “Your mother has explained to me that you still endure quite the mental quandary.”
“It really wasn’t a voice, if that is what you mean. It was more like a thought or empathy or something. It was as if I could feel Bill’s presence. Sometimes, without warning, I get these visions of him or he appears to me. It happens anywhere, like when I am out shopping or after a shower. Usually, I am thinking about Bill when they occur.” Abigail pauses to watch Rebecca’s immediate reaction, which is next to nothing. “I know this must sound weird, right?”
“Well… how does it make you feel to tell me that?”
Abigail looks down at her hands. She could not remember when she had started rubbing them over her lap. She had been ranting for several minutes now, completely immersed in the past.
How does it make me feel exposing myself like a loony person to a complete stranger? Her hands are clammy now. What kind of a question is that?
“I guess… I feel nervous, like maybe you won’t believe me. It’s a lot to swallow.”
“It’s normal to feel nervous, even reluctant. These are both signs of having a healthy mind.” Rebecca jots down notes on her pad. “Please, go on.”
“Lately, I sleep a lot in class even though I’m not tired. I dream about Bill, although I find it strange how my dreams are never about the time we spent together. Almost always, I find Bill in some dark cave and I’m not sure if it’s just that or I fear the worst for him or it’s a figment of my imagination, but Bill always appears like a disfigured creature.”
“Please explain how Bill appears in your dream.”
“Well, for starters, very thin. No. I would say almost like a mummy. His skin is gray and leathery, and his blue eyes are now yellow and always appear to be burning. He has claws… but he never attacks me even if I get the distinct feeling it is his every intention.”
“When was the last time Bill appeared to you as a creature and not himself?”
“Today… during seventh period. I fell asleep in class again.” Agitated, Abigail shifts uncomfortably. “Is this making any sense to you? You think I’m loony, don’t you?”
Dr. Steinman places her pad on her lap and her pen on her desk. She removes her eyeglasses, resting them along with her hand on the arm of the chair. She thinks to herself but for only a moment and then speaks. “What I think isn’t as important, although I believe you’re a very brave young lady, Abigail.” Contrary to a typical shrink, Rebecca appears every bit genuine in her gesture, if not empathetic. “It is very difficult to deal with the loss of a loved one, especially at such a young and impressionable age. I get the sense that you feel guilty about Bill’s death, and what you are experiencing may be attributed to this.”
“You think I’m doing this to myself then?”
“I believe the mind is capable of creating fantasies, and most often, it can manifest from deep-seated feelings of guilt or loss. This cave could very well represent a prison, one where you hold Bill’s memory captive. As far as Bill’s disfigurement goes, often, when such a violent death occurs, we tend to dwell on it, giving our nightmares a life of their own. Nevertheless, I would like to try an experiment that could help us both get to the root of these dreams.”
“Sure.” Abigail volunteers without hesitation or forethought. “Okay.”
“Well, if you would permit me, I would like to try putting you in a state of hypnosis so I can speak to your subconscious without restraint.” Rebecca explains further, “what we remember while we are in a state of awareness are just fragments of the actual, more vivid details of our dreams. Information is lost in the distractions of life, and most of the time, we lose the memory of the dream all together. Rest assured, all of this information is stored neatly away in our subconscious. Through hypnosis, I can communicate with the part of your brain that stores these memories.”
“So you can tell if I am inflicting this on myself or if my dreams are more than just dreams?”
“Yes, Abigail. That is correct. Now, as I put you under, I want you to delineate all the good things you remember about Bill. This should be your focus point.”
“I can do that.” Without as much as flinching, Abigail agrees to the hypnosis. This would be the proof she so desperately needed to reveal what was happening to her.
“You are eighteen, so according to the state of Kansas, that makes you a consenting adult. We won’t need to bother with parental consent. If you are ready, Abigail, I would like you to lie back on the couch and rest your arms at your sides so we can begin.”
“What? Now?”
“Yes, please.”
“Okay.”
Reluctantly, Abigail slides over a few inches and then slips her feet up on the couch, resting her head back on the cushion. Although she desperately wanted answers, Abigail now looked as if she was about to go through a life-changing surgery.
“It’s perfectly safe, Abigail. Try to relax your muscles as well as your mind.”
Rebecca instructs Abigail to close her eyes. She then tells her to find her focus point and fix her thoughts on it. For Abigail, it was Bill’s eyes and the depth of their dark blue bewilderment. She asks Abigail to imagine she is weightless, like a feather blowing in the gentle breeze, whirling and pushing along toward Bill. The lighter Abigail allows herself to become, the more relaxed she becomes. Everything melts away, except a gentle feather blowing in the wind and an image of Bill’s beautiful dark blue eyes.
“Abigail, I will count backward from three, and when I say one, you will be in a deep, relaxed meditative state. You will only respond to my voice as I guide you.” Dr. Steinman begins. “Three… You are completely relaxed now… Two… You are safe, gently blowing in the soft breeze… One…”
* * *
Abigail stands alone on a dark deserted highway, watching as her feather blows along the cold pavement. The frigid air stabs relentlessly at her skin like pins and needles, and once again, she can smell salt in the air. Debris and overturned burnt and abandoned vehicles clutter the highway. In the distance but not too far away, she makes out a military vehicle. As Abigail moves closer, she sees an American soldier. His rifle is up and ready to fire, its muzzle pointing at another man dressed in a dark ankle-length robe. Neither man is Bill.
The soldier’s rifle goes off and the man in the robe falls face down to the ground. Abigail stops, breathless. She can hear shouting on the other side of a median separating the two lanes of the highway and notices another soldier half sticking out from the top of the vehicle, spinning around a large machine gun.
Abigail then hears Bill’s voice just as an explosion erupts into a bright fireball. It lifts the vehicle up off the ground, and the military vehicle smashes violently into the median wall. Screaming out Bill’s name, Abigail desperately runs toward the dissipating flames. Frantically, she repeatedly screams out his name until she comes upon the gruesome scene, where she stops and desperately searches for Bill.
The soldier with the rifle, now thrown thirty feet from the vehicle, is covered in blood and unmoving. The robe-clad man is no longer in one piece but incinerated and scattered over the road in burning embers. Abigail hears Bill’s voice from the other side of the vehicle. He is alive. As she moves around the wreckage, she sees another American soldier, crushed between the vehicle and the median. He groans, semi-conscious, blood spills from his mouth in between quick shallow breaths. Abigail looks up from the dying man and as she does, she and Bill lock eyes with one another, her expression is utterly confused.
“Abby?” Bill says, shocked by her presence. “What… What are you doing here?” His hardened expression softens but still seems unresolved. “Abby?”
“Bill!” Abigail hops over the median and runs to him. Her arms slide past his chest and lock tightly around his waist; She presses her head against his bulky protective vest. She refuses to let him go—refuses.
“How is this possible?” she whispers.
Before Bill can answer her, they both hear the sound of the charging rifle from behind Bill. Abigail opens her eyes, seeing a second man in a dark robe frantically pulling back the handle of a rifle while keeping his desperate and confused eyes on Bill. Her eyes widen. Bill turns pushing Abigail to the ground, bringing up his own rifle.
“Wait… please!” Abigail begs the man holding the rifle. “You don’t need to do this.”
It was too late. She not only heard the exchange of gun fire, but also witnessed the robed man fire first and watched as Bill’s body jerked under the force of the penetrating rounds. He stands quietly in disbelief moments after the gunfire ceases. He then topples over with one shoulder planted on the ground and then rolls onto his back.
“No! Bill! No. No. No.” Abigail scurries to him, on hands and knees. “No. Bill, please!”
Lying on the cold asphalt with blood spilling out from under his flak jacket, Bill grunts in disbelief. He coughs once and blood spews out of his mouth. Abigail looms over him, witnessing a pool of blood widening on the road under Bill.
“I don’t want to lose you again.” Tears swell in her eyes. “I can’t.”
Bill smiles faintly as he peers up into Abigail’s flustered desperate face.
“Abby, you never lost me.” He coughs and more blood spews up.
“Just tell me what to do, Bill! Please! i don’t know what to do!”
Desperate sobs followed by even more frantic tears quickly ensue with the expanding pool of blood under Bill. She rips open his vest and camouflage shirt, applying pressure over the two wounds on his lower abdomen, constantly looking at Bill’s face. “Please, baby, tell me how to fix you.”
Bill unsnaps his chinstrap with a painful groan and removes his helmet. He closes his eyes a moment, feeling the cold air against his face and then reopens them. “It’s okay, Abby.”
“No. no, it’s not!” she cries out. “Tell me what to do. I can help you!”
“You can’t fix this, not with two in the stomach… Abby—” Again, Bill grimaces as pain shoots through his body.
“Bill, please.” She bends over, kissing his face and forehead, and then plants smaller kisses, trickling downward until she is kissing him on the mouth. She remembered their first kiss, so long ago—she now wanted for both Bill and her to be back at Sucker’s Billiard or anywhere else, far away from here. She kisses Bill repeatedly until Abigail feels him exhale his last breath into her. She pulls away slowly; Bill’s eyes are vacant. His muscles relax and his face is without expression. She looks down at those beautiful eyes that now vacantly stare at her and hold no life.
“No,” she mumbles in disbelief. Tears splash down her face. “Bill…” She nudges him, but he does not move or respond “Bill? Bill? bill—”
Abigail brings both hands together, interlacing her fingers with the heel of her palm placed just above Bill’s solar plexus. Pushing down two inches into his chest, she allows him to compress. She repeats this relentlessly as she once practiced on the dummy in her high school gym class. Bill is unresponsive…
Abigail then places her hand against the back of his neck, tilting his head forward. She pinches off his nose using her mouth to create a tight seal around Bill’s own mouth. Abigail breathes life into his lungs. After the third try, Bill is still unresponsive. She repeats the process three more times, yet Bill’s beautiful blue eyes remain vacant. His chest does not start to move up and down as he chokes back to life with a new breath. He is truly gone… again.
“Bill?” Abigail runs her hands over his head stroking his short dark brown hair. “Bill, please. Don’t leave me.”
She collapses on his chest, and as she stares off through her tears, Abigail watches her feather blow past them, looping repeatedly through the darkness. Lifting herself up in a burst of defiance, she slams her fist down onto Bill’s chest… One… Refusing to go without a fight, she slams her fists a second time… Two… She throws her head back and cries out as the feather disappears into the night… Three…
* * *
Suddenly and hysterically, Abigail wakes on the raspberry suede couch in Dr. Steinman’s office. Frantically lifting herself from the couch, she gasps for air, and then like a fleeting memory, Abigail relaxes, although tears stream down her face. She is unable to process why she is crying or why Rebecca Steinman now sits slack-jawed in her chair. Rebecca’s face has turned white. Her reading glasses are off and her eyes seem completely unfocussed and tearful. She lets her pad drop to the floor and her pencil dangles by the eraser, suspended between two fingers.
“Dr. Steinman?” Abigail wipes the tears from her eyes, unable to recall the trance. “What happened? Did the hypnosis work?”
Rebecca fails to respond.
“Rebecca?”
Rebecca shakes her head, trying to somewhat regain her composure. Blindly reaching over, keeping her eyes locked onto Abigail’s confused state, she pushes stop on the reel-to-reel recorder. Rebecca looks as if her mind is incapable of processing anything that had just happened. Seemingly distracted by her thoughts, she leans back in her chair.
“Did it work?” Abigail rubs her eyes. “Dr. Steinman… Rebecca?”
“Um… Hmm… Yes, I, I’m sorry. I just… I mean I’ve never seen anything quite so remarkable before,” Rebecca admits. “The raw emotion and the candid honest detail you expressed was beautiful.”
“What was beautiful? What happened? Tell me.”
“You don’t recall any of it?”
Abigail thinks it over, trying to recall any details. No. She was a blank page. “No… nothing.”
“So… you don’t remember anything,” Rebecca pauses to think then adds quickly, “well, I think that should be all for today.” She stands up, picking up her pad and placing it and the pencil down on her desk. She then walks to her office door, opens it, and quickly ushers Abigail out into the waiting room so that she can be alone to mull over the details of such a fantastic find.
“Wait. What—NO! What happened?”
Rebecca appears lost, ignoring Abigail, dwelling deeper within her thoughts. Responding with a simple cold-shoulder brush-off, she mumbles, “please speak with my secretary. She will schedule another appointment for early next week.”
“I need to know what happened. TELL ME.” Abigail carefully watches the extremely shaken doctor with hopeless conviction. “Please, Rebecca.”
Rebecca mulls it over one last time then lets out a frustrated breath, fully understanding she was not going to be alone with her thoughts until she came clean.
“Fine—” She puffs.
Rebecca walks to the couch, taking a seat and folds the loose fabric of her skirt properly under her lap. She then gestures to Abigail to sit next to her. Initially, Rebecca is without words. She simply looks up at the rotating blades on her ceiling fan, trying to reason with what had happened and to somewhat settle her nerves.
“Please, I need to know what happened,” Abigail pleads. “I need answers.”
“The truth is, I have never witnessed such behavior from a patient before… and certainly not while they are under. Abigail, I’m not entirely sure what that was but we’ve definitely stumbled upon something unprecedented.” Again, Rebecca pauses. “It was like you were telling Bill’s story firsthand. You explained in graphic detail and way beyond your own comprehension, facts pertaining to the events that led up to his death. It was as if you were right there when it happened, and I don’t understand how you could possibly know any of that information. Either you have one active imagination or it’s something else altogether.”
“Tell me everything—now.”
“I’m not so sure you need to hear this. The way you portrayed the scenario… it was… it was horrifying.”
“REBECCA!” Abigail snaps at her and then pauses, calming herself. “Rebecca, you have to understand. I live with Bill’s memory every day. The guilt… the sorrow… I only agreed to see you so that I could get answers. You need to trust me when I say I can handle whatever you have to tell me.”
“It’s certainly not that I don’t trust you, it’s just, well… what I have to say borders on astral projection, ESP, and no one today has legitimately theorized either phenomenon. Right now, your situation is ineffable.”
“ESP—”
“Extrasensory perception—the use of clairvoyance or telepathy, or as your case might suggest, a telepathic intrusion… You displayed such remarkable ability.”
“So—are you going to tell me what happened?”
“Okay. I’ll play back the tape but under a few non-negotiable conditions. One of them being you let me prescribe a mild sedative. It should help you sleep peacefully and take some of the edge off your anxiety. Second, I want to see you again on Monday. I need to put you back under.”
“Whatever you say—fine.”
“I have to warn you, you should make every effort to remain calm. I certainly don’t want you getting hysterical as you listen to the tape. Do we have an agreement?”
“Yes. Yes.”
“Great. This is fantastic.” Rebecca goes to her desk to find her script pad.
“So you think I have this ESP then?” Abigail picks herself up following Rebecca to her desk. “You believe me about Bill?”
“Abigail, I believe you are an extraordinary young lady. Just extraordinary.” Rebecca fills out the prescription and then tears it from the pad, handing it to Abigail. “And I promise you, you have my full attention. We will certainly get to the bottom of these dreams soon enough.”