in the classroom stares.
Did I fall asleep? Did I have a nightmare in class?
Without asking to be excused, I grab my backpack and hurry out of the room. I sprint down the hall. I don’t wait to see if Mr. Lotsam or Leela come after me. I run out of the building and I get into my car and I drive to the Edward Brooks Facility.
I need to speak with Dr. Roth.
*
“What did you do to me?”
Dr. Roth looks up from whatever he’s working on at his desk.
I walk over to him, plant my palms flat on his desk, and glare. “I want to know what you did to me during hypnosis.”
“I didn’t do anything except bring you through a few relaxation exercises.”
“That’s it?”
Dr. Roth looks at me sympathetically and motions to the chair on the other side of his desk, not the red cushy ones we usually sit in. I wonder how many insane people he has diagnosed throughout the years.
“Why don’t you have a seat, Tess. You can tell me what’s going on.”
I sit down and clutch my bag in my lap while he removes my manila folder from the file cabinet behind him and begins scanning the papers.
“Is there anything in there about my grandmother?”
His attention snaps up. “I wasn’t aware you knew about your grandmother.”
“I overheard my parents talking.”
Dr. Roth doesn’t say anything for a while. The silence gives me too much time to think. A thousand questions somersault through my brain. No matter how hard I try to make them sit still, they keep hurtling over each other. I don’t know where to start. “You obviously know about her.”
He nods.
“Do I have what she had?”
He scratches his goatee. “I’m not sure.”
“My parents say she suffered from psychosis.”
He stares, unblinking.
“Are they right?”
Dr. Roth takes off his glasses, rubs the corners of his eyes, then puts them back on.
“Do you trust me, Tess?”
I clutch my backpack in my lap, unsure. “I don’t know.”
“I need you to believe that everything we talk about here is confidential. I won’t report anything to the authorities. I won’t tell your parents. I won’t even plug anything into the computer.” He holds up the folder, a reminder of his archaic filing system. And its necessity. “If I’m going to help you, you have to let me. And the only way I can is if you’re honest.”
I rake my teeth over my bottom lip. “I think maybe … I might be experiencing psychosis.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m having hallucinations.” Surely, that is what they are. They can’t be real if nobody else sees them. “And delusions.” Prophetic dreams? A cute boy keeping tabs on me ? Really? Talk about false beliefs if ever there were any. I wipe my palms against my jeans and hug my backpack tighter. “The things I saw at that séance?”
He leans forward. “Yes?”
“I don’t think I fell asleep.” I scratch my patch of eczema and look down at my fidgeting feet. One Converse All Star rests on top of the other. Then they switch. And switch again. It’s like they are somebody else’s feet. “I also have dreams …”
“Yes?”
“They come true.”
A spark of excitement flashes in his pupils, but disappears so quickly I immediately doubt myself. He pulls at his goatee. “Could you elaborate?”
“I dreamt about an explosion at a fetal modification clinic and there was the next morning.”
“There has been a lot of violence around those clinics lately. I’m sure many people are dreaming about clinic explosions.”
“The two people who died were in my dream. I’ve never seen them before in my life. But the next morning, they were on the news.”
Dr. Roth’s face remains neutral.
“And last night, I dreamt this girl was about to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge and I … I stopped it from happening. She was in the paper this morning. Still alive.”
I see the spark again, but he looks down at my file and jots something in his notes.
“Are you going to give me medicine now?”
He continues his
Did I fall asleep? Did I have a nightmare in class?
Without asking to be excused, I grab my backpack and hurry out of the room. I sprint down the hall. I don’t wait to see if Mr. Lotsam or Leela come after me. I run out of the building and I get into my car and I drive to the Edward Brooks Facility.
I need to speak with Dr. Roth.
*
“What did you do to me?”
Dr. Roth looks up from whatever he’s working on at his desk.
I walk over to him, plant my palms flat on his desk, and glare. “I want to know what you did to me during hypnosis.”
“I didn’t do anything except bring you through a few relaxation exercises.”
“That’s it?”
Dr. Roth looks at me sympathetically and motions to the chair on the other side of his desk, not the red cushy ones we usually sit in. I wonder how many insane people he has diagnosed throughout the years.
“Why don’t you have a seat, Tess. You can tell me what’s going on.”
I sit down and clutch my bag in my lap while he removes my manila folder from the file cabinet behind him and begins scanning the papers.
“Is there anything in there about my grandmother?”
His attention snaps up. “I wasn’t aware you knew about your grandmother.”
“I overheard my parents talking.”
Dr. Roth doesn’t say anything for a while. The silence gives me too much time to think. A thousand questions somersault through my brain. No matter how hard I try to make them sit still, they keep hurtling over each other. I don’t know where to start. “You obviously know about her.”
He nods.
“Do I have what she had?”
He scratches his goatee. “I’m not sure.”
“My parents say she suffered from psychosis.”
He stares, unblinking.
“Are they right?”
Dr. Roth takes off his glasses, rubs the corners of his eyes, then puts them back on.
“Do you trust me, Tess?”
I clutch my backpack in my lap, unsure. “I don’t know.”
“I need you to believe that everything we talk about here is confidential. I won’t report anything to the authorities. I won’t tell your parents. I won’t even plug anything into the computer.” He holds up the folder, a reminder of his archaic filing system. And its necessity. “If I’m going to help you, you have to let me. And the only way I can is if you’re honest.”
I rake my teeth over my bottom lip. “I think maybe … I might be experiencing psychosis.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m having hallucinations.” Surely, that is what they are. They can’t be real if nobody else sees them. “And delusions.” Prophetic dreams? A cute boy keeping tabs on me ? Really? Talk about false beliefs if ever there were any. I wipe my palms against my jeans and hug my backpack tighter. “The things I saw at that séance?”
He leans forward. “Yes?”
“I don’t think I fell asleep.” I scratch my patch of eczema and look down at my fidgeting feet. One Converse All Star rests on top of the other. Then they switch. And switch again. It’s like they are somebody else’s feet. “I also have dreams …”
“Yes?”
“They come true.”
A spark of excitement flashes in his pupils, but disappears so quickly I immediately doubt myself. He pulls at his goatee. “Could you elaborate?”
“I dreamt about an explosion at a fetal modification clinic and there was the next morning.”
“There has been a lot of violence around those clinics lately. I’m sure many people are dreaming about clinic explosions.”
“The two people who died were in my dream. I’ve never seen them before in my life. But the next morning, they were on the news.”
Dr. Roth’s face remains neutral.
“And last night, I dreamt this girl was about to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge and I … I stopped it from happening. She was in the paper this morning. Still alive.”
I see the spark again, but he looks down at my file and jots something in his notes.
“Are you going to give me medicine now?”
He continues his
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