Night Visions by Thomas Fahy Page B

Samantha.
    â€œShall we start,” he says without making it sound like a question.
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    The plastic goggles feel cold around her eyes, and wires run from her chest and forehead to the wall. Dr. Clay speaks softly from the chair next to her bed. “Try to relax. Once you put the earpieces on, I want you to breathe deeply and concentrate on the sequence of flashing lights and sounds. Are you ready?”
    â€œI think so.”
    The lights and sounds begin steadily. A deep boom like a bass drum or heartbeat. Red light flashes with each sound. New colors gradually overlap with the sound, and the tones become richer, more full. Yellows and blues merge with momentarybursts of red. The colors spray like water from a garden hose against her eyes. The sounds syncopate, becoming gradually faster and higher pitched. She imagines driving over yellow lines on a two-lane highway…. Gradually the images and harmonies begin moving away, farther and farther into the distant blackness, while the heartbeat still echoes steadily. The colors suddenly bleach, and everything becomes white—light without shadows, the lonely absence of color….
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    Then a new sound. It’s barely audible. The soft and steady footsteps of a familiar visitor who doesn’t need to knock before entering. All other sounds are gone except a deep baritone. The light around her changes into a hazy gray, and she vaguely recognizes a man’s voice.
    Dr. Clay has removed Samantha’s earpieces and is still sitting in the chair. As her eyes readjust, she thinks that something has gone wrong, that she has failed; her first attempt at hypnosis didn’t work. She must not have been susceptible or willing. Now he has to tell her to leave. She’ll have to deal with the problem on her own. She is no Endymion.
    â€œSorry,” she says. “I guess I wasn’t relaxed enough.”
    â€œQuite the contrary. You did very well. It’s time to get up.”
    â€œWhat time—”
    â€œSix A.M . You went to sleep shortly after ten last night. We want to get your body used to an eight-hour sleep cycle.”
    â€œI was asleep for eight hours ?” Tears well up in Samantha’s eyes. For the first time since Frank left, she feels relieved, happy. Happy with the hope of regaining control.
    â€œYes.” His manner is much less formal this morning, and Samantha can tell that he is pleased. “See you tonight at nine.” Dr. Clay walks to the door, then turns. “By the way, you snore.” His smile makes him look tired and older than she first suspected.
    â€œWhat about Phebe and Arty?”
    â€œThey’re fine.”
    â€œAnd the other person?”
    â€œStill a no-show.” He pauses, then looks at his watch. “I have to go, Sam. So far, so good. See you tonight.”
    Before leaving, Samantha wants to see Phebe to compare experiences. She gets out of bed and hurries next door. The room is empty. She turns and finds Arty watching her from the doorway. His mouth opens slightly, and for the first time she notices that one of his front teeth is chipped. He wears dark blue jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt. The overnight bag in his right hand dangles close to the floor.
    â€œHave you seen Phebe this morning?” Her voice is slightly hoarse at first.
    â€œShe left already.” He looks at her legs when he speaks. “She seemed upset. I don’t think she slept last night.”
    â€œDo you think she’s all right?”
    He shrugs.
    Samantha suddenly feels light-headed and unsteady. She touches her face to see if she is still wearing the goggles. Then a series of images—uneven hardwood floors, open boxes of Chinese takeout, a well-worn black book. Another flash, more visceral than the first. A black mirror hanging above a sink stained yellow-brown. A blade dripping red into a dirty porcelain basin. Her stomach turns, and she falls to the floor.
    Dr. Clay is standing above her