“Yes.”
“Interesting,” Doc says. “And when did this start?”
Mike doesn’t know. “A few weeks.”
“Sleep disrupted?”
“Yes.”
“Vivid dreams?”
“Yes.”
“Do you find yourself thinking something, but losing your train of thought?”
“Yes.”
“Pockets in your memory? Little bits and pieces—” He cuts himself off, and Mike watches as his eyes slide out of focus, jaw slackening. Then it all snaps back into place like it’d never happened at
all. “—of time that you can’t quite remember?”
“Yes,” Mike says slowly.
“Absolutely fascinating.” His voice is lighter than it was before, a little higher. “Tell me more about these hallucinations.”
“You okay?” Mike asks.
Doc looks up at him and blinks. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” His voice is back to normal.
“I don’t—never mind. It’s… uh. People. In my room at night. Voices that I hear even though I know I’m alone.”
“Do you remember what they say?”
Because when is a door not a door? When it’s ajar, but also when it’s been blown to pieces and there’s nothing between us.
“I can’t remember.”
“Mike,” Doc says. “Do you… know what’s real?”
Mike forces a laugh. “Of course I do.” Not all the time.
“This is real.”
“I know.” Is it?
“Good,” Doc says. “Just kidding with you. How’s your sleep?”
“Mostly good.”
“Mostly?”
“Those dreams.”
“Are you getting full REM sleep?”
Mike thinks, How does one even know that? “Sure.” The scribble of the pen over the paper is the loudest thing Mike has ever heard in his life. He’s sweating a little bit. It’s distracting, because he can feel it trickling down the back of his neck.
“These hallucinations,” Doc says. “Tell me about them.”