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Sequel: Paradise ›
Status: in progress
The Bird
Chapter 3
I had never been so thankful in my life. Even in my dream I was thankful.
No, I didn't have a different dream than normal, but this one ended differently.
Instead of being frozen, looking at the blue eyes, I was pulled out.
Warmth enveloped me as my world got lighter.
"Ma'am?" A calm voice asked me. "Are you alright?"
I cracked my eyes open, only to be met by blue eyes again. Only, these eyes were different. Instead of being the icy blue of the man on the meteor, they were bright blue, like the American flag.
I shot up in bed, my heart beating erratically. Who was he? Now I had even more questions about my dreams.
So I found myself sitting in the waiting room of Dr. Smith, Clinical Psychiatrist. I was reading an article about bipolar disorder, trying to keep my hands from shaking. Hopefully he wouldn't think I was crazy and lock me up.
I about had a heart attack and died when his door opened.
"Miss Stark, I am Dr. Smith. Pleased to meet you."
I stood up, shaking his hand. He didn't look anything like a psychiatrist. He looked more like a football player. We walked into his office which was full of books and leather furniture. "Please, have a seat."
The leather chair was more comfortable than I thought. He sat across from me, pulling out a file.
"Your doctor told me you were having recurrent dreams."
"Yes."
"And he thought it might be a symptom of PTSD. He had mentioned you've been through quite the...ordeal over the past year. Why don't you tell me everything that's happened."
So I did. I started at the beginning when my dad disappeared clear to a couple months ago when I had almost died in an explosion. He just sat there, nodding his head and occasionally writing on his notepad. When I finished, he looked back over his notes for a second.
"Well, you have been through an ordeal. Your doctor sent over your lab results and they found traces of phencyclidine in your blood."
"What's that?"
"PCP. A hallucinogenic drug. Which leads me to believe your account with your mother wasn't real."
"What?"
"Your memories of being in Hammer Industries are rather scrambled, some blurry to you. This leads me to believe most of what you experienced there was a hallucination. Which explains, in part the dreams. Your mind's defence to everything that's happened. Your doctor was right when he linked it to PTSD. I'm going to prescribe you some sleeping pills. It'll take a day or so for them to really work but they should put you in a deep enough REM state that you won't dream." He wrote something on a piece of paper before handing it to me. "If the dreams don't stop within a week, call me and we'll try a different route."
He stood up and led me out of the office.
"Remember, give it a week or so."
"Yes, thank you."
I went out to the Rolls, climbing in the back.
"Where to now?"
"Walgreens." I pulled out my beanie, slipping it on my head. I didn't need to be noticed right now.
No, I didn't have a different dream than normal, but this one ended differently.
Instead of being frozen, looking at the blue eyes, I was pulled out.
Warmth enveloped me as my world got lighter.
"Ma'am?" A calm voice asked me. "Are you alright?"
I cracked my eyes open, only to be met by blue eyes again. Only, these eyes were different. Instead of being the icy blue of the man on the meteor, they were bright blue, like the American flag.
I shot up in bed, my heart beating erratically. Who was he? Now I had even more questions about my dreams.
So I found myself sitting in the waiting room of Dr. Smith, Clinical Psychiatrist. I was reading an article about bipolar disorder, trying to keep my hands from shaking. Hopefully he wouldn't think I was crazy and lock me up.
I about had a heart attack and died when his door opened.
"Miss Stark, I am Dr. Smith. Pleased to meet you."
I stood up, shaking his hand. He didn't look anything like a psychiatrist. He looked more like a football player. We walked into his office which was full of books and leather furniture. "Please, have a seat."
The leather chair was more comfortable than I thought. He sat across from me, pulling out a file.
"Your doctor told me you were having recurrent dreams."
"Yes."
"And he thought it might be a symptom of PTSD. He had mentioned you've been through quite the...ordeal over the past year. Why don't you tell me everything that's happened."
So I did. I started at the beginning when my dad disappeared clear to a couple months ago when I had almost died in an explosion. He just sat there, nodding his head and occasionally writing on his notepad. When I finished, he looked back over his notes for a second.
"Well, you have been through an ordeal. Your doctor sent over your lab results and they found traces of phencyclidine in your blood."
"What's that?"
"PCP. A hallucinogenic drug. Which leads me to believe your account with your mother wasn't real."
"What?"
"Your memories of being in Hammer Industries are rather scrambled, some blurry to you. This leads me to believe most of what you experienced there was a hallucination. Which explains, in part the dreams. Your mind's defence to everything that's happened. Your doctor was right when he linked it to PTSD. I'm going to prescribe you some sleeping pills. It'll take a day or so for them to really work but they should put you in a deep enough REM state that you won't dream." He wrote something on a piece of paper before handing it to me. "If the dreams don't stop within a week, call me and we'll try a different route."
He stood up and led me out of the office.
"Remember, give it a week or so."
"Yes, thank you."
I went out to the Rolls, climbing in the back.
"Where to now?"
"Walgreens." I pulled out my beanie, slipping it on my head. I didn't need to be noticed right now.