The man nodded and slipped out the door. He was large and imposing, and yet he moved without a sound.
“Do you pay him extra to sneak up on you?” I half-joked.
“No, but I do pay him to go unnoticed.”
Dr. Vorbusch was in her late fifties with a round face and brown hair that was cropped at her chin. She was already seated in a wingback chair in the library when we entered, a pen and pad of paper in her lap with a few notes scrawled across it.
“Dr. Vorbusch?” I asked.
“Yes.” She had a firm handshake and a smile that extended all the way into her eyes. “I understand you’ve had a relapse.”
I nodded, and she gestured for me to take a seat on the couch across the way from her.
Ryan remained just outside the door. “Please let me know if you need me.”
When neither the doctor nor I spoke up, he flashed a smile in farewell and disappeared down the hall. There was a weird sensation when he was gone, a mixture of disappointment and... relief?
The doctor studied my response, or better, my lack of one. “You would prefer he stay?”
“I don’t know. Does he usually?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean he can’t.”
“It’s fine.” I was anxious to get on with it, to see if she could help with my memories. “Do I lie down?”
“If you’d like. It’s however you’re comfortable.”
Lying down seemed awkward, so I stayed seated.
“Last time we met, I asked you to keep a journal. I’d like you to keep trying that and write at least once a day. I’ve found it helps organize your thoughts and can create a map back to the memories. How does that sound?”
I nodded, willing to try anything. “What do I write about?”
“Your thoughts, even if they seem strange or silly. The way you feel. Dreams you had if you remember them when you wake up.” She jotted something on her notepad as she spoke. “You can even make up a story. Stream of consciousness can help unlock parts of the brain and get you faster access to your memories.”
“Okay,” I said. “I can do that.”
“Excellent.”
And just like that, another memory bloomed inside my mind.
I was bouncing on a trampoline at my friend Stacey’s house and fell, breaking my wrist. Then another, where I was playing games outside in first grade recess.
I blinked, returning to reality, and it felt like I’d stepped out of a fog.
“You’re making great progress,” Dr. Vorbusch declared.
She slipped her notepad into her briefcase, the page now full of notes. When the hell had that happened?
When had I decided to lie down on the couch?
She pulled the bag strap over her head and rose from her chair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ryan appeared, crossing paths with her as she made her exit, and he came toward me.
She gave him a reassuring squeeze on the arm. “She’s doing much better this time.”
A lurking shadow stood in the hallway, and I watched as Plavko escorted her away. It left me alone with my fiancé.
