Some awkward emotion pulled at the corners of her chapped lips, some disturbing thing that caused her to want to laugh off his words as an obvious statement. "That I could love a man like him?"
Turning her head slightly to give the doctor a brief look at her soft eyes, she noticed the rigid set of his shoulders, the seriousness of his attentive posture. He was on edge and she'd been the one to make him that way.
A new guilt rode her, and one she hoped could be lessened with a simple acknowledgement of his concern. "I didn't love him for the abuse, Doc. That's not something that makes you love a person, is it?"
Rather than responding, the doctor sat motionless in his seat, patient and waiting for whatever explanation she would give.
Returning her attention to the hair she continued toying over her fingers, she said, "I didn't love him for that. I loved him because he was dangerous enough to chase away the nightmares." As an afterthought, she added, "He was dark enough that he overshadowed my light, and the nightmares couldn't find their way."
The tip of his pen scribbled over his notepad, the pages rustling as he turned them to continue jotting down thoughts. "He is a nightmare, Alice. The relief you're describing was nothing more than one element of a dream."
"But it's a small bit of peace I never had before. A dream within a nightmare, I guess. Unless you lived a life like mine, you can't understand how special, how rare, that small ray of light was for me."
In his typical fashion, he didn't immediately respond, allowing her words time to fully form so that every hidden nuance of meaning could be seen.
However, the quiet moment couldn't last.
"Have you considered my theory at all, Alice? That these dreams aren't a tie to your missing sister, but instead, are about you? About something inside yourself that is so terrible, you can't face it except through dreams?"
Delilah. She hadn't once thought of her since stepping foot inside the doctor’s office. But the spoken reminder was enough to set her back on that edge of panic and guilt, the very real understanding that her sister was the one in danger...the one who would pay for Alice's crimes.
"I don't think you're correct in that, Doc. I still think the dreams are a link to her, a clue into her disappearance. I feel ashamed for finding even a small amount of peace while her nightmare continues."
With more censure in his tone than she'd ever heard from the man, he argued, "You felt love for a man who a stole you, Alice. For a man who hurt you, who raped you. Do you understand what that could be? There are conditions -"
"What? Like Stockholm Syndrome?" She laughed. "Isn't that what every dark story is about these days?"
"Not every story," he answered, his words solemn and dripping with sorrow.
The clock ticked.
The faucet dripped.
The doctor tossed out a reminder that shot terror through her veins.
"You're running out of time, Alice."
Breath shaking over her lips, she said, "I know."
Blood rushed through her head, the quiet rolling thunder that followed a flash of blinding fear. “We need to save her, Doc. We need to find Delilah.”
His pen tapped, an annoying tick that was a key to the mystery of his personal thoughts and feelings. Ever the professional, Alice knew he would follow his training and push those feelings aside to redirect his patient to where he needed her to be. And having gone to school for a similar field of study, Alice could respect him for his persistence.
“We need to save you,” he reminded her.
Another tap of his pen and Alice smiled at the sound of it wondering if he knew it was an outward symptom of his own frustration.
“Am I really that difficult, Doc?”
A twitch of his lip betrayed his amusement. “So, you’re saying that you didn’t fall in love with this man because of the abuse, but rather, because he was somehow able to quiet the sleeping disorders that you suffer?”
Damn, he was good. She grinned to realize that he wouldn’t be so easily distracted from his path.
“It’s never happened before,” she admitted. “And I don’t care if it was just a dream. That was the first time I woke up not drenched in sweat. The first time that my teeth and jaw didn’t hurt from grinding. That I was able to move without fighting to regain the use of my arms and legs. I don’t think anybody can truly appreciate how terrifying it is to wake up in places you don’t remember falling asleep. To feel like you’re tied to a bed, or that some unseen force is holding you in place.
It’s like you see in horror movies, except it’s not a ghost and I’m not possessed. But I wake up sometimes to look down on myself sleeping. To see demons hovering nearby with sharp teeth and eyes that glow or are completely black. It’s like being a prisoner within your own body. And I’m always tired, Doc. I’m constantly tired because I never actually sleep.”