"Tell me again about this woman. This...Loretta was it?" Dr. Kenner asks.
I nod slowly. "Yeah. I don't really know much about her. She was this...voice that used Linda's mouth to talk," I tell him.
"And she wasn't aware of it," he confirms, though I've already told him before.
I shake my head. "No. Nobody was. I was the only one who could hear her. I know it sounds crazy."
"And what did she say to you?"
Taking a deep breath, I sigh. "Well, she told me nothing was real. I mean, that everything that was happening was fake."
The doctor scribbles a little on his notepad. "Linda's death?" he asks.
"Well, yeah, but it was more than that," I say.
"Like what?"
I shrug. "I don't know. Everything, I guess. My whole life was some...experiment or something."
"And you say this happened before you went into the bank?" Kenner probes.
"Uh, yeah," I nod. "A few days before."
"When you were in the hospital for your accident," he says, flipping through my chart.
"Wonderful week..." I say dryly.
"Hmm," Kenner sounds thoughtfully. "The ER doctor says you reported hallucinations in relation to your concussion."
"That's right," I answer. "I thought there was someone else in the wreck."
"A woman," he says.
"Do you think it's related?" I ask him.
He smiles briefly. "Well, I'm not sure, though I do think that the concussion may have resulted in you being in a highly suggestive state. Tell me, Mike, have you heard the woman at all in the past three months?"
Three months...has it been that long? Come to think of it... "No, I haven't," I say.
Kenner nods and scribbles some more. "How have you been sleeping?" he asks, still writing.
I sigh again. "Oh, I don't know. Y'know, ok I guess. I get these weird dreams every once in a while."
"Tell me about those," he says, looking up from the notes.
"Well, they start off pretty normal for dreams, I guess. Sometimes I only remember from the middle or only the very end. There's always this...I don't know, guy. He's wearing this long black robe with a hood. Kinda' like death, y'know? Anyways, he attacks me..." I trail off, trying to remember.
"And what happens when he attacks you?"
I shrug. "I don't know. I black out. Or wake up."
"How often do you have this dream?" Kenner asks.
"Uh," I think aloud. "Maybe once or twice a week."
"Mm-hmm," he mumbles, scribbling once again.
I wait expectantly for his response to all of this, but the doctor simply takes more notes and rummages through a desk drawer for a few moments. He pulls out what looks like a small pad of paper and begins writing again.
"Am I going crazy?" I ask him impatiently.
He looks up with surprise. "I don't think you're crazy, Mike. You've been through a pretty tough time. Sometimes our brains do things that don't seem to make sense to protect us from things that would seriously harm our mental well-being," he explains.
I nod slowly. "So, Loretta?" I ask.
The doctor looks down at his desk for a moment and sighs. "Mike," he begins delicately, "I think Loretta was something that your mind created after the fact, again to protect you. I mean, think about her message that none of it was real. It may even be that she was created after your accident to reassure you about that, but when you lost Linda the a few days later, she arose once more."
All I can do is stare off into space. It seemed so real.
"Anyways, what I'd like to do is give you a prescription," he continues.
I swallow. "Anti-psychotics?"
He chuckles a bit at that. "No, no, Mike. This is a drug called EuphorZen. It's a mild anti-depressant. I'm going to start you off on a low dose. I think you'll find it will help you do what you need to do to get through this tough time."
To get through this 'tough time', eh? Do doctors have a knack for understating things? Is it something they teach in med school? Or psych school, in Kenner's case, if there even is such a thing.
The doctor tears off the script and hands it over the desk. "Take one a day and we'll continue our weekly sessions. You got a thirty day supply there, so we'll see how you feel in a month. If we need to adjust your dosage, we will then. Keep in mind that it usually takes a week or so for your body to adjust to either starting or stopping this medication, so you might feel some minor muscular fatigue and stomach upset. Just be patient and stick with it. You'll be glad you did."
"Ok." Great. Isn't that always the way? These drugs are miracles of modern medical science, but oh-by-the-way, they'll make you feel worse before they'll make you feel better. I guess I gotta try something, though. I've been pretty low key the last several weeks, but I'm not so sure that I've been taking things well. I've been seeing Kenner since about a month after...well, you know.
Honestly, I think I would feel a lot better if I didn't have the district attorney’s office calling me every other day. They want me to testify against the bastard that...that shot Linda. It sounds great in theory. They'll try him and seek the death penalty. His partner will go to jail for years for driving that car too. Justice will be served and everyone will be happy. Except Linda's still gone. She's gone...
I wonder how many of these pills I'd have to take to...
Stop. Stop thinking that crap. I'm gonna testify and get that sonofabitch what he has coming to him. And then...then I'll figure out what's going to happen next. I'll move on, never forgetting her, of course, but living the full life she would have wanted me to.
Yet, I can't help but wonder. If I died right now, would I see her? Was there something keeping me around besides her?
Let's go fill this script and just make it to tomorrow. That's how I got to today, except without the drugs. The past three months have been day after day of just delaying my decision about what to do with myself. Maybe the meds will make the decision to go on easier. God, I hope so...
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