“Hi, I have an appointment this afternoon, my husband made it for me.” Anastasia stood nervous in front of the receptionist’s desk in the small office.
“Name, please?” the woman asked without even looking up from her keyboard. There wasn’t a single hair out of place in her red bun.
“Anastasia Parker.”
“Anastasia, so nice to finally meet you.”
The voice sent ice up her spine, and she turned slowly to face Dakota’s colleague. She backed up as far against the desk as she could get and had the receptionist huffing at her.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Parker?” Vincent asked worriedly, and took a step towards her.
“Yes, I’m sorry, I’m fine. I-I just need a moment.”
“Dakota warned me about your episodes. Come with me and we can talk about it.” He reached his hand out for hers and she pushed further back, knocking over one of the photos on the desk.
“Excuse me,” the receptionist said rudely.
“I'm so sorry.” Anastasia picked the photo back up and then turned to face Vincent. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.
“There is nothing to be sorry about, Mrs. Parker. These things happen. Dakota had told me that you were having trouble discerning fiction from reality as of late. Come with me and we can speak about it.” He held his hand out again, and this time she took cautious steps towards him.
“It’s not real, it’s not real,” she muttered to herself as images of Vincent attacking her popped into her head.
“Have a seat.” He motioned to a couch that was seated across from a large desk.
Anastasia couldn’t seem to calm herself. Vincent kept flashing between the psychiatrist that stood before her and the hooded villain she knew him as. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt tears slide out. She tried to steady her heartbeat, but it only picked up. Black spots began to show in her vision, and she knew that if she didn’t calm herself soon, she was going to pass out.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Parker?”
“Yes, I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath and managed to gain some minor control.
“No need to apologize here, no judgment will be passed on you within these walls.” He took a seat in a chair next to the sofa and pulled out a notepad. “So tell me what is going on.”
A voice inside Anastasia’s head kept telling her not to trust him, not to tell him a thing and to run away from this place as fast as she could, but she kept picturing Annabelle and Dakota. They were all that were keeping her grounded.
“I’ve been writing a book.”
“So I’ve been told. Tell me about it.”
She took a deep breath and continued, ignoring him. “I woke up two days ago and couldn’t remember anything from my life. Instead, my memories had been replaced with those of the heroine in my story. I can’t remember the day I married Dakota or the birth of my daughter.” Tears began streaming down her face. “Am I going crazy?”
“It is not unheard of for an author to be so entwined with their story that they begin to lose sight of their life. What you need to do is remove yourself from this story and the rest will come back to you.”
“Remove myself?”
“Yes.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Delete it, admit openly that you are not this heroine and that you do not possess magical powers.” He laughed lightly and leaned forward in his chair.
“I never said she had magical powers.” Anastasia’s voice calmed, and she felt pieces coming together. Had any of this been real?
“I must have heard Dakota speaking about it,” he brushed it off and sat back again.
A knock at the door had her head turning.
“She wanted to see you.” Dakota walked in carrying Annabelle.
“Hi Mommy!” Annabelle laughed and came running towards her.
“How is the session going?” Dakota asked her, and sat down on the couch.
“It’s going well, wouldn’t you say, Anastasia?” Vincent looked at her, and she nodded slightly.
“Vincent was telling me that I needed to remove myself from my story and that if I did so then my memories would begin to come back.”
“That sounds like a good thing.” Dakota smiled widely and Anastasia’s heart cracked.
“Mommy, that would mean there would be so much more time for us!” Annabelle grinned and clapped her hands.
“Yes it would, baby.” Anastasia smiled, but the tears began to fall. She looked up and in the mirror she saw the reflection that pulled her from the illusion. Her Dakota stood watching her from the mirror. He wore jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, not scrubs. He had a shoulder holster with two handguns instead of a stethoscope.
“Come back to me, Ana,” she heard him say in her head. “I am what’s real.”
Anastasia closed her eyes tightly and stood, gently setting Annabelle to the side. She was giving up everything she had ever wanted in her life. And for what? So she could continue to fight? But she knew that this wasn’t reality. She needed to get back to whatever was real regardless of the consequences.
“Dakota is a cop.”
“What?” The Dakota that sat before her laughed. “Anastasia, I really think we need to do what Vincent said. You need to erase that book and admit that you are not the heroine of this story.”
“He never calls me Anastasia.”
“Ana, come on.”
Anastasia backed towards the door.
“Mommy, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”
“I’m so sorry, Annabelle. I will have you one day.”
“What are you talking about? Daddy, what is Mommy doing?” Annabelle started crying. “Please just do what Vincent said! Just erase the book, Mommy! We will play!”
“This isn’t real.” But it felt very real to her. Anastasia felt her heart being ripped out of her chest, and she knew that she would never be the same. “This isn’t real,” she repeated. “I am Anastasia Silvan, daughter of Gregory and Annabelle Silvan. I was kidnapped by my uncle, Vincent Silvan, and sent to live with Mitch and Monica Carter.”
“Mommy!” Annabelle yelled.
“Ana, don’t do this!”
“You can stay with us, Mommy!”
“Mitch was abusive, but I lived next door to Dakota Carter and his parents, George and Elizabeth. My father came for me and brought me to Terrenia. I have magic. I am going to beat Vincent.” She relayed everything that she knew to be truth and tried to drown out the sound of Annabelle’s sobbing and Dakota’s anger.
The cold returned, and she knew that whatever spell she had been under had been broken. She opened her eyes and saw the four damp walls that had surrounded her for what felt like an eternity. Anastasia curled into the corner and cried for the loss that she had suffered.