15

My head snapped up.

I jerked awake, an instant from sliding to the floor. Adrenaline hit me like a kick in the balls. So much for staying alert.

It took a moment to get my bearings. Dr. Lowell’s depressing lobby. The world’s least comfortable chair.

I rubbed my eyes. Turned, spat in the wastebasket. My brain shifted from reliving the nightmare to full-on panicking about it. God, what was taking him so long? Lowell was the only person I could be real with.

A twenty-minute wait. I’d drifted off. Hadn’t slept well in days.

Years? Ever?

Not without my medication. My prescription always ran out on my birthday. Lowell was the only place to get more. And I needed those pills. Needed to sleep again, without fear.

I glanced at the clock: 6:10 a.m. Come on!

He cancels my appointment, can’t see me for two excruciating days, and now he’s late.

I rose, began pacing. Man, I didn’t need this. Changing the routine, right when he knew I needed him most. It’s not like I was looking forward to it.

My birthday session, on a bad year.

Time to admit I’m still crazy. Hooray. Shit.

Finally I couldn’t take it any longer. I strode to his office door and yanked it open, knocking only as I stepped inside.

“Dr. Lowell? It’s Noah Livingston. We have an appointment right now, and I really—”

I halted midstep. Lowell was on his hands and knees before his old wooden cabinet. He twisted around in surprise, a stack of folders clutched in his arms.

“Stop right there!” he shouted, glaring. “What are you doing, just barging in?” Lowell hastily shoved the files into the cabinet and slammed its door. Locked it. Then he lurched to his feet, anger clouding his pale features.

I stepped back, stunned. In all the years I’d known him, he’d never once raised his voice. I didn’t even know he was capable of it.

Dr. Lowell took a deep breath. When he spoke next, he’d recovered his normal soothing tenor. “What are you doing here, Noah?”

I gave him a troubled look. “We were supposed to meet. You canceled my special visit on Monday, and weren’t able to see me yesterday.”

Lowell closed his eyes. “Of course. I’m so sorry, Noah. This week has been . . . chaotic. Please sit down. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

I took my usual seat in a recliner and waited anxiously. This was almost too much. I’d been living with crushing anxiety for two days, had gone off my meds, and now my psychiatrist was acting like a totally different person.

“You got my calls? I tried to reach you from the cave, but there was no reception. Then when you canceled our appointment, I . . . I didn’t know what . . .” My voice choked off. Dr. Lowell had never postponed a visit before.

“It’s been a trying week. That’s no excuse—I know you rely on me, and I’ve let you down.” Lowell reached into his jacket and removed a medicine bottle. “Have you run out of your prescription?”

I nearly snatched the bottle from his fingers. Nodding tightly, I waited for him to hand over the pills, then swallowed one dry before he was able to continue.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“In the dream, or the cave?”

“Let’s start with the dream.”

I told him about my nightmare. Every nauseating detail. Stabbed in the heart this time—I couldn’t wait to hear the explanation for that one. What the knife “symbolized,” or whatever. What Black Suit actually speaking to me might mean.

But Lowell merely nodded, so I kept going. Admitted the rest.

The cycle was always the same: a sleepwalking dream I couldn’t distinguish from reality, followed by waking up in the cave. It wasn’t even a cool cave, just a random crack in the western canyon wall, bordering a pond. It’s a miracle I’d never stumbled into the water and drowned, or fallen into the gorge.

This was the fifth time I’d blacked out. Always on my birthdays, even years only.

Nuts. I’m freaking nuts.

It was terrifying. Humiliating. Getting worse.

The entire awful story spilled out, including the aftermath. Opening my eyes in the gloom. My hands flying to my chest, where no wound existed. Shame setting in. Crying, huddled on the stone floor, unable to make myself move. A tough guy, that’s me.

Tears stung my eyes, but I forced them back. “I’m just so tired of this. I’d been doing well these last two years. I accepted the truth of my problem, and I mask my feelings every day, like you taught me. I . . . I work as hard as I can to be normal.”

Lowell nodded. “How is the anxiety?”

“I try to compartmentalize. I can make it through most days without a problem if I stay detached. But without my pills I can’t sleep.”

He frowned. “That’s odd. You’ve been off them for how many days now?”

“Only two. I tried to come in yesterday, but—”

“I know. It couldn’t be helped. Just be sure not to miss another dose this week.”

“But why didn’t it work?” I could hear the tension in my own voice. “What’s wrong with me?”

“You experienced a regression,” Lowell said calmly. “A minor setback, nothing more. I don’t want you to worry, Noah. We’ll get to the bottom of it together, I promise.”

I shook my head. “It’s not fair. I’ve been taking my pills. Every damn day!”

“That’s only part of the work, Noah. A big part, of course, but our time speaking together is just as vital.”

“But why did the dream come back? Why can’t I ever remember falling asleep?” In a fit of pique, I jerked up my sleeve and thrust my shoulder forward. “Why does this stupid scar burn every time?”

I was panting, had risen halfway from my seat. The last two days had been the worst of my life. I felt broken and alone. I’d kept my head down at school, avoiding people, wishing everything and everyone would just go away. But nothing I did made me feel better, and now my shrink couldn’t help either.

“Let’s go through the rest of that morning. Step by step. Tell me exactly what happened.” Lifting his notebook, he looked at me expectantly, pen in hand.

I dropped back into my chair, embarrassed. Took a breath. Ordered my thoughts like he’d trained me. “I woke up in the same place, then snuck home like always. No one saw me slip back into the house—Rosalita was still in her quarters, and the cook never shows up before eleven. Our property takes up most of the block, so I know the neighbors didn’t see.”

Not that they’d have said anything. Winding Oaks is the most exclusive address in Fire Lake—tucked in the southwestern corner of the valley, its steep streets rising in tiers that provide spectacular views of the lake. Our place sits practically alone at the top. Dad likes looking down on people. No one bothers him if they can avoid it.

His name alone had gotten me out of a few jams growing up. Which is good, since I hate conflict and try desperately to avoid it.

If they only knew how little my father cared about me.

How much of a disappointment I was to that ruthless old shark.

“So you’re sure no one noticed you’d been missing overnight?” Lowell seemed strangely intent on the question. “Not even your father?”

I snorted. “Dad ghosted four days ago for a wine-tasting holiday with Mandy. One last trip to Italy, in case the worst was about to happen. He left me a birthday check on the coffee table.”

“I see.”

“I went to school that morning, just in time for the Announcement hysteria. People were fighting, and our teachers acted like we were all going to die. Did you know someone blew up Ethan Fletcher’s Jeep in the parking lot?”

“I heard.” Lowell glanced at his watch. I blinked. He never did that. “It must’ve been a huge relief when they announced the miss.”

“Well, yeah, obviously. But then I got dragged around to a bunch of parties. People were acting like lunatics, while I was barely holding it together.” I swallowed. “It happened again, Dr. Lowell. I . . . I need it to stop.”

“I understand, Noah. Believe me, I do. Tell me about your friends.”

I hesitated. “Same as always. Sometimes I’m not even sure they like me.”

“That’s not true, Noah. You’re highly regarded by your peers. The problem you’re having—the problem you’ve always had—is that you don’t like you. We must continue to work on that.”

I didn’t respond. About this, Lowell simply didn’t understand.

But he wouldn’t drop it. “The accumulated stress of your sleepwalking experiences has manifested in an acute insecurity. We need to delve into those feelings. Unpack them individually, and shove them into the light of day. Because they aren’t accurate, Noah. You’re a special, talented young man.”

“I’m a coward.”

Lowell tsked. “You have a generalized anxiety disorder. A medical condition doesn’t make you a coward.”

“Tell that to my father.” My fingers made air quotes. “He says ‘mental illness’ is a crutch for the weak-minded. That psychiatry is a scam to separate suckers from their money.”

Lowell’s voice hardened. “Then he’s a fool.”

“No argument here.”

But in some ways, my father was right. Lowell might give fancy names to my problems, but the facts remained the same. I was weak. I was afraid of my own damn shadow. I ran to my shrink every week and prayed he could fix me.

Lowell glanced at his watch again. I felt sick. He wanted rid of me.

Suddenly, the room began to vibrate. Lowell’s green eyes rounded in surprise.

He shot to his desk. I gripped my armrests as the shaking increased, watched a dolphin figurine shimmy across a shelf before dropping to the carpet.

Lowell had spun his laptop to face us and was opening his web browser.

The tremors ceased.

Lowell was breathing hard as he navigated to CNN and opened the live stream.

“—at Yellowstone National Park just minutes ago. Officials estimate the initial quake was somewhere in the low sevens on the Richter scale, causing damage throughout—”

I lost the thread. Was watching my psychiatrist wheeze, red-faced, his hands locked onto the sides of his computer. Lowell’s forehead was damp with sweat.

“Doctor? You okay? Sounds like a minor earthqu—”

“Go.” Lowell pointed to the door without looking up. “Now please, Noah. We’ll, uh, resume where we left off tomorrow. Or perhaps the next day. I’ll be in touch.”

“Okay. No problem.” Unnerved. This whole visit had been a disaster.

Trudging toward the exit, I stopped to gather a few books that had fallen.

“Leave them!” Lowell ordered. “Thank you, Noah, but I’ll clean up. Off you go now.”

I retreated into the lobby, shaking my head. Earthquakes are scary, no doubt, but that one had barely rattled a teacup.

What was he so afraid of?