Salvinorum

“Accept it, Nora. It’s made up. A fairytale, a dream, an unconscious fictional tale of the mind. There’s no more to it.” That’s what my psychologist told me. It couldn’t be right. This memory was no dream. I had seen it with my own eyes; the blood running in dark red trails along the cold grey concrete floor, the woman’s lifeless body lying on its side strapped tight to an old wooden chair. I have had nightmares before, but this…this wasn’t one of them. Yet Dr. Sternly had the audacity to sit in his big blue leather lounge chair with degrees galore on the wall behind him and shrug the entire thing off as a ‘fairytale’. I wasn’t paying 35 dollars an hour for crap like that. It was just last week this had happened. My memory of the scene is way too muddled to remember any part of it properly. The problem was, I knew why Dr. Sternly doubted what I had told him. I knew why most people would doubt it. The reason is that this is not the first time I have had a problem like this. Anyone close to me knows that I suffer from heavy depersonalization. I feel stuck in time, and life can seem very unrealistic and out of place for whole days sometimes. I would doubt myself if it felt like any normal situation, but there was something different about this one. There was nothing I could do to convince Dr. Sternly that what I had seen was real. He was being completely stubborn on the issue. I guess I just wasn’t going to the right person. Of course my psychologist is going to tell me to get over it, that’s what he’s there for. I had to contact the police or someone that could do something about the situation instead of counsel me. The problem was, all I can remember is one single image. Everything is so foggy, I would not be able to give any details at all. I got into my apartment that night confused and frustrated. I sat on the sofa in my living room and went to light my cigarette. ‘Motherfucker!’ I shouted in my head as the flame from the lighter burnt my thumb. My hands were tense and shaky, my palms clammy. I needed to calm down. I carefully lit the cigarette and relaxed as the long stream of smoke filtered into my lungs. I blew it out slowly, watched how the smoke smoothly moved through the air as if it was cautiously creeping up to something. I called Rachel on my cell phone, hoping she would be able to come over this late. “Hello?” Rachel said as she answered her phone. “Rachel, it’s Nora. Look, I know it’s late but do you think you could make it over?” I said to her, crossing my fingers and clenching my mouth as the last words came out. “Yea, no problem! I was bored anyways. Is everything alright?” Rachel said on the other end. “Yea, it’s fine. I’ll talk to when you get here. Bye.” I said, clicking down the dirty black flip phone that was about 2 years outdated now. It isn’t easy to keep buying shiny new electronic gadgets, especially with a shitty job. The buzzer rang. I let Rachel up, and she came in looking like she’d had a long day. “Is everything ok at work?” I asked her. “Yea work is fine. What about you? You look like you’ve been through hell Nora.” She said, with a somewhat worried look on her face. “No, I’m fine. I’ve just had another one of these…things. These images.” I said, trying not to paint the gruesome picture in my head. “Oh no! Is it bad? Look, you were able to deal with the other ones. I’m sure this will be the same kind of thing. What did Dr. Sternly say?” She asked me. “He said what he always says. It’s an illusion! You’re wrong! It’s all fake!” I said, imitating his lackadaisical attitude. “Look, Nora. Remember what he said about your brother?” “I don’t want to talk about my brother.” I said strongly. My brother, even though I don’t like talking about him, is probably the centre of all my problems. I know I should talk about it, sort it out, but there’s something stopping me from getting to my feelings about him. We were born twins. I didn’t want to think about it any further. Rachel and I spent the rest of the night watching television. The next day I went back to Dr. Sternly. I had called in sick for work after waking up with an awful pain in my head and feeling very strange. I had to sit in the waiting room when I arrived – he was finishing up with a patient. I took a seat in one of the many uncomfortable chairs lined up against the wall. The secretary and I waited in awkward silence. There was a very dreary atmosphere to the waiting room, and being in the business of design I did not care much at all for the bland, stereotypical office decorations. Woven baskets, a small flower pot stuck in the corner of two beige walls. I became conscious of my feet pushing up and down against the tile floor, and immediately stopped. Nervous twitches don’t look good, especially in a psychologist’s office. “Dr. Sternly will see you now.” Said the secretary in a dull, monotone voice as the previous patient left the office. I walked into the office to see Dr. Sternly awaiting my entrance. “Hello, Nora. Have a seat. Your back early, is everything ok?” “Yea…somewhat. It’s just this vision. It’s strong this time. Too strong, it feels as if it happened just around the corner. I mean, I have no idea what it is or where it’s coming from, but I know it isn’t some dream or illusion. It can’t be.” I said, trying to work things out in my head once again, grasping at straws in my mind for some sort of explanation. “Well, Nora, I know it is a touchy subject for you and your mental state, but I think we have no other choice than to look at the implications of –” “My brother. I know. I’ve been dreading it, but I knew it would come to this.” I said, taking a nervous gulp. It was time to face the facts of my brother and the effect he has had on my life, and I honestly wasn’t sure if I was strong enough to have the conversation that was about to take place. “What he did was a horrible thing, I know. But you and I both know he is most likely the root cause of these problems.” ‘Yes, I know this Dr. Sternly, can we please just get through it already’ I thought to myself. “So after the incident back in New York when you were teenagers, he has disappeared. You know, at first I would assume that these ‘visions’ would be flashbacks to your traumatized youth and the single gruesome action you heard your brother had done. But maybe…hmm. Twins have a…connection.” “Are you saying that I’m a crazed murderer or something?” “No, no, Nora. What I’m saying is that, these mental pictures and feelings could be close to what your brother may be feeling, or perhaps thinking, at the same moment. There is a slight possibility that maybe these occurrences you claim to be real without any viable proof could perhaps be real.” “I really don’t know how to respond. I mean, that seems impossible. I’m seeing what he’s seeing? Come on.” I said, when in all honesty it might explain a lot about my condition. “All I’m saying is that people who are close to one another, such as twins, can sometimes ‘feel’ a connection in times of overriding stress or emotion.” I left Dr. Sternly’s office confused. I didn’t know what to think of what he said, it was too much and I was bound to worry myself to death over it. I pushed the idea out of my head for the time being. On the elevator up to my apartment, I felt faint. ‘Oh no, it’s happening again’ I thought as my vision got blurry and my knees started shaking. I broke out into a sweat and before I knew it I had passed out. As I lay crumpled on the elevator floor, I had another image. It was blurry, hard to see. I could make out the words ‘Gardenrow’ and then another word – too blurry to see – plated on the front of a maroon colored building. Gardenrow Apartments. My complex. I had a vision of my own apartment building, a rare thing to see, rare because it was familiar. Usually my images are in places unknown to me and focus on a person, usually a dead or dying person. I awoke to find several people trying to wake me up. Are you ok? Get her some water! The voices were loud and annoying to wake up to. Just like other times, I awoke feeling normal, just confused and dehydrated. “Here, drink this.” Said a man I had seen pass by a couple times while coming to and from my apartment. He handed me a cup of water and I drank it steadily. “I’ll be fine, I’m just…dehydrated. I just need to get to my apartment.” I said and walked quickly away from the small crowd of neighbors. I walked up to the front door of my apartment. ‘32’ it read, in fancy gold lettering. I put the key in the lock, but hesitated, thinking of what Dr. Sternly had said to me. Connecting to my brother…but surely I wouldn’t have an image of my own apartment complex then unless…no, it couldn’t be. He’s been missing for almost 10 years now. I opened the door and closed it shut behind me, making sure to lock it again once inside. I needed to cool down; I still had a nervous sweat on my face. I staggered to the washroom and rested my arms on the sink. I turned the tap all the way to the cold side. The crisp, cool water felt nice against my sweaty face. I paused for a moment, feeling that something was not right. I looked around the washroom, noticing that the shower curtain was closed. I remembered leaving it open. I pushed the curtain aside and let out a ghastly scream. It was Rachel. She was lying in the tub, deep gashes all over her body. Blood dripped from the numerous wounds, filling inches of the bathtub. Dark red vertical lines covered her in every area. I lay on the ground of my washroom horrified. And then the figure appeared – a large man in a dark black trench coat, leering in the doorway. “Wyatt…” I gasped, completely out of breath. It was the last word I ever spoke.