Thread: A Psychiatrist's Hive I (whtbitch4u2own & Alan23)

He had seen her again. Every other night, it seemed, she was there. The scenario, the background varied, even the other people present. Sometimes it was in his own school, in inner city London, and he was leaving class after a maths lesson. Other times, he might be fighting a war, perhaps as part of Napoleon's army at Waterloo. Drifting alone on a raft, and fetching up on the shores of a desert island. Once while driving a sports car that dream logic being what it was had no steering wheel. At school, she had been waiting in the yard outside. On the European battlefield, she had been standing, watching as he marched by on the way to engaging the Brunswickers in a firefight. She had been standing on the shore of the island, sitting beside him in the car. Always the same, Always she. A haunting figure in chains, a long turquoise gown. Details varied. In the eighteenth century she'd worn her hair as Josephine Bernaise had, and the gown was of definite empire cut. In the schoolday dream she'd been dressed as a rich executive might have been in that period. In the car, her clothing had been contemporary, on the island the dress had been ripped, as if she'd been marooned some time, her hair stringy. But always the same. The deep green eyes, auburn hair. The chains. He was not frightened. Nothing about her scared him. He woke from the dreams with a feeling of wistfulness, sadness even, but he was not afraid, not trembling, not sweating. But... he had to know. Who was she? What was she doing in his mind. Did she have a message to convey? Which is why, right now, he sat in the office of Doctor Kendra Peters. He had no idea if she could help, and suspected not. But anything was better than doing nothing. Than never, ever knowing. Even now, sitting in the waiting room of Dr Peters' rooms - she would not, he realized, ever be so vulgar as to refer to it as a surgery - Jacob Rivers was not sure if he'd done the correct thing. After all, mysterious and haunting as the dream figure was, he could hardly say the dreams were damaging his life in any way. His job, that of a clerk in a government office, was hardly demanding, and his stock portfolio - which he relied upon to supplement his income - was doing better than ever. Nor could he really call the dreams nightmares as such. He woke from them perfectly composed and calm, albeit puzzled. It was a tiny bit spooky that the same figure should appear, amongst so many dream backgrounds or scenarios, but this was mysterious rather than intimidating. He had thought long and hard, attempting to work out for himself just who the chained figure might be. He'd had plenty of girlfriends, and she resembled none of them. Nor any woman he knew. Yet, weirdly, neither was she a stranger. There was a faint scent of recognition about her, like a stranger one sees of whom one thinks Hey, I know you from somewhere. A person who used to run the local drugstore three years ago, an actress seen in a movie a decade before, a person you see waiting at the subway stop twenty feet away every morning. He ran over her description in his mind. Tall, willowy... insubstantial, almost, though hardly ghostlike in the traditional sense. He gained the feeling that if she wished, she could reach out and touch him. yet, she never spoke, never changed her facial expression. Never attempted to communicate, tell him why she was there, what she required of him or might give him or take from him. Well, it was too late to turn back now. He looked around the room. Somewhat surprisingly, there was no receptionist, not even a trace of a reception desk. Come to think of it, he recalled he'd spoken to Dr Peters herself, which had seemed a pleasantly personal touch at the time, though now he was not so sure. Was she so unsuccessful she could not even afford an assistant? yet the framed qualifications on the wall would seem to give the lie to this. He forced such thoughts from his mind, concentrating on keying in his details into the tablet attached to his waiting room chair which, he supposed, was a far more efficient way to register than with a human receptionist. perhaps, after all, the empty waiting room was a sign of superior efficiency, not professional failure. Well, time would tell. So now he had to wait, he supposed, until called for. And as these thoughts went through his mind, she did indeed emerge, and call his name. He gave her a polite glance, respecting her professional status, yet... for he was a male, after all... a tiny part of him registered and scored her by the usual criteria. Was she attractive? Would he like to have sex with her? Would she let him if he did? Was she in a relationship? Well, she was pretty enough. Deep eyes, that were her best feature. A wide, rounded face, showing perhaps a central European descent. protruding teeth, that many might have found off-putting, but that he found nothing but sexy, for he was a sucker for a small overbite. But when it came down to it, what did her looks matter? He was here to find out about the chained woman. The first move, he hoped, in bringing the mystery to a close.