Chapter Thirty-Five
Daphne
Sitting in Doctor Campos’ cramped, softly lit office, I can’t help but notice the way the tension etches deeper into his furrowed brows. A silent admission of worries he struggles to contain.
“Ms. Brooks,” he starts slowly, as his eyes settle with a mix of concern and skepticism on a faded medical chart, “in reviewing the records from your previous doctors, I noticed something unsettling. Each noted that you believed the seed of your trouble was rooted in a dream. Is that how you see it too?”
I lean forward; my uncertainty palpable in the unsteady tone of my voice.
“The origin, Doctor?” I echo, almost doubting even as I speak. “I can’t pinpoint a moment or a cause. All I know is that it began with that first dream, years ago. And it still harasses me.”
Doctor Campos’ eyes narrow further, and he methodically flips through a thick stack of neatly organized documents.
“I see you’ve meticulously recounted summaries of this dream for every doctor you’ve seen,” he notes, his tone both curious and conflicted. “Did you ever give them all the details?”
I nod my head slowly, my hands fidgeting in my lap as if trying to hold on to something intangible.
“Yes. I don’t understand why, but each time I rewrote it, the words came out the same. Like it wasn’t so much a memory of a dream, but facts I just—know.”
“Interesting,” he murmurs after a weighty silence. “Tell me, Ms. Brooks—how often does this dream come to you?”
I swallow hard, my voice catching in the thick uncertainty.
“Does it occur?” I manage, hesitance trembling through my words.
“Doctor, this nightmare never lets up. Midday. While I sleep at night. When I space out at a traffic light. At any time, I'm dragged back into that endless, relentless dream. It feels as if I’m condemned to wander a massive, monstrous building. Less a structure than a twisted labyrinth of my own making. I trudge along stale corridors, despite knowing omens of my inevitable doom. It’s as though my own subconscious has sealed my fate.
” My voice breaks as I plunge into the disquieting details.
“I descend endless, sorrow-filled stairs, floor after floor, trapped in a vicious loop. And every time, a hideous creature lurks around the bend. Its eyes, like scorching coals, seem to burn into me, whispering that escape is impossible. The terror overwhelms me. My tears spill without respite, yet I can’t fully acknowledge my despair, too tightly bound by the nightmare’s terror.
” Overwhelmed, I sink deeper into anguish, my head falling into my hands as uncontrollable, ragged sobs take over.
Doctor Campos exits the room briefly, returning with a small, worn box of tissues. After placing it gently into my trembling hands, he closes my file and sets it on the floor beside his chair, as if to contain the chaos.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Brooks,” he mutters, his voice heavy with conflicted sympathy and concern.
“I don’t wish to stir these raw feelings, but I need to understand the gravity of your experience.
” After a long, measured breath, he lays a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
“Regardless of its origin, be it real or a shadow of your mind, something is tearing you apart inside.”
“I just wish it would go away.” I snivel.
“Did it ever stop, even briefly?” The doctor digs more.
“Years ago, for a while, yeah,” I respond.
“Okay, that’s good,” he acknowledges. “Then, how long ago did they start again?”
“I don’t really remember,” I lie. It was when he left me. “One night, when I was having a breakdown, it came back.”
“That might be the key,” he points out. “What happened at the start of this breakdown, as you called.”
“Ugh,” I sigh. “Frankie ghosted me.”
“Frankie?” he repeats inquisitively.
“Yeah. My first love. Frankie.”
I dab at my wet cheeks, my eyes pleading for reassurance, when suddenly a piercing scream shatters the fragile calm.
“Aaah!” I cry out, jolting upright in shock.
Hovering above Doctor Campos’ shoulder, the creature from my nightmares manifests in a form too vivid to ignore. Its iridescent eyes blazing with an unholy fury. In that heart-stopping instant, I recoil violently, my chair toppling backwards and leaving me sprawled onto a cold, unyielding floor.
“It’s here,” I stutter, dread and confusion warring within me.
“What? What do you mean, Ms. Brooks?” Doctor Campos’ eyes widen in disbelief.
My trembling finger points over his shoulder, though my voice is too conflicted and quivering to be clear.
“It—it’s behind you.” I can’t bring myself to lift my eyes, too terrified to lock gazes with that burning, infernal stare.
And yet, as if defying my desperate denial, the figure etches itself irrevocably into my mind.
In a daze, Doctor Campos slowly turns in a full circle, scanning the empty room with growing anxiety. All he finds is the unsettling silence broken only by my shivering form. Then, in that suffocating void, a cold, hissing voice seems to whisper both from nowhere and everywhere at once.
“How dare you reveal my presence,” It snarls, dripping with venom and accusation. “You have failed me. Put an end to this. NOW.”
“He said I shouldn’t speak to you, Doctor,” I whimper, barely able to string words through the thick haze of terror and inner conflict. “That I need to leave.”
“Ms. Brooks, what are you saying?” Dr. Campos implores, his tone rising with worry. “You’re in no condition to leave. Please, stay until you can find some semblance of control.”
But then, like answering an inner command from another, darker side of my mind, the creature bellows “No!” with an intensity that shakes the very air, forcing my gaze upward in dread.
In flash, the shadowy figure lunges, rushing toward me like a force of nature.
A sudden, shocking surge paralyzes every part of me in terror.
“No, just… leave me alone,” I manage to choke out, my protest fading into the maelstrom of panic. The entity stops mere inches from my face, Its breath as chilling as a winter gale. “You have disappointed me,” It declares coldly, the words laced with a promise of further torment.
Then, with a display of power that overwhelms my conflicted disbelief, the creature hurls my limp body through the air like a discarded ragdoll.
I crash into the wall, each impact echoing a relentless ache through my bones, until, in one final surreal moment, It dissolves into a swirling mist of forgotten nightmares and vanishes.
“Oh my God, are you okay, Ms. Brooks?” Doctor Campos’ voice cracks with incredulity and genuine concern as he rushes to me.
“I’m sorry, Doctor. I—I just can’t,” I whisper, struggling to catch my breath and torn between fear and a desperate need for help. My soul feels fractured. My body battered. As conflicting emotions of relief and dread churn within me.