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12:30 p.m.

Gray walls. Black table. Plastic, fake red roses.

Everything in place, the dust on the tables untouched by human fingers.

Nothing can change because if anything changes, the room is no longer real.

…drip...

"Alice? ... Ms. Beaumont? ... Alice Beaumont ..."

Fast enough to wrench the muscles in her neck, Alice's delicate and emaciated face shot up to lock eyes with Dr. Chance, fingers of anxious dread tracing along her spine. She found him to be sensitive and sweet, if not for his insistence to return her to places she'd rather remain buried.

"Is it my time, doctor?"

He nodded.

Gray walls. White door. Dark wood desk. White and beige striped couch. Still the same. Still safe.

...drip...

"How are you today, Alice? You appear...stressed." His voice was discordant, bits and pieces understandable, but the rest filtered by the white noise of air rushing from the vents in the ceiling.

"Are you taking your medications?"

"Yes," she nodded, her lips forming the word, but her voice so weak she wasn't certain she'd spoken.

"Good," he answered, his assured tone a bare whisper in her thoughts.

"Please, sit down."

Five steps across the room, three steps over the soft, patterned carpet. Four cushions. A white throw draped loosely over the armrest. Her jaw clenched, her head ticked sharply to the side. Her body had a mind of its own.

"I'm having the dreams again. They don't stop." Terror softened her voice before breaking it apart entirely. "They're relentless." With a soothing voice to coddle the fragility of Alice's psyche, Dr. Chance asked, "Are the medications helping you sleep?"

Her head shook, a wild movement that felt impossibly fast. "I sleep too much."

Thick silence fell, only broken apart by the doctor's gentle voice.

"You've never told me about the beginning, you know? All I have to help you are the dreams." Another suffocating moment of silence.

"Tell me what happened in the beginning."

"Can it matter?"

Seconds passed, the clock ticking oddly from the wall. Why hadn't he answered?

Had she actually spoken?

A grumble sounded, her throat clearing away the lump of festering fear that clogged it. "Will the beginning help, doctor?"

"Yes."

Violent tremors shook her, the nightmare of the beginning a wash of pure horror across her thoughts. "She was taken."

"Who...was taken?"

"My sister. They took her. Those bastards took her." It was as if a finger had pressed the volume button, Alice's voice increasing until it was a feral screech on her lips. "They are hurting her! Don't you understand? We have to find her. I have to find her."

"I don't want to talk about the dreams today, Alice." Annoyance in the doctor's voice, determination to make her discuss the topic he wanted. "We're going to start from the beginning."

Hair slapped her face when she shook her head again. Alice's arms were a tight band wrapping her torso, her feet tapping out a rhythm too fast for any sane person. "I don't know if I can."

Suddenly soothing, the doctor's voice changed as fast as Alice's emotions, his patience vying against her insanity to wrestle her behavior under control. "Let's go back to the beginning, Alice, to before the day Delilah was taken. Maybe remembering where you came from will tell me more about where you are now."

"It's not pretty."

...drip...

"It's never pretty."

"Take me there," he insisted.

"You'll scream, Doc."

Silence. He always let silence hang there, a thick and obscene shroud that promised death. "I won't scream."

Hers was a smile that could only be achieved by the insane.

"They all scream."