episode 1 – combining confusionA young man oscillates through a series of vivid events that obscure fantasy from reality.
A young man oscillates through a series of vivid events that obscure fantasy from reality.
Concealing Identity
JABESH sits on a plush divan, his forehead perspiring as his breath undulates with ragged gasps. Each inhalation feels like a scalpel piercing his lungs. His trembling hand lifts a glass of distilled water with nearly dissolved ice cubes. The cool condensation spiraling down his warm wrist mimics his whirling fear and confusion.
How unsettling would it be for unknown faces to distill your identity through recent dreams? Can you imagine having no recollection of anything but a disturbing sequence of vignettes that may or may not depict your life?
A nearby silver-headed man in a herringbone vested suit, seated in front of an ecru wall of professional diplomas and books, uncrosses his legs illuminated by window sunlight. He calmly says in a soft voice, “You’ve been writhing there without a response for an hour. The police brought you here for a psychiatric evaluation because you couldn’t provide any information. Are you ready to share what’s on your mind?”
“At a party,” Jabesh begins his obtuse response with a shaky voice, “I twist… twist balloons into monstrous animal shapes that terrify children while a sinister laugh emanates from behind clown makeup. The crowd of kids shrieks in disappointment with tears streaming from their faces, running toward their parents.
“The clown’s laughter turns to screams of terror, drowned by a piercing alarm that echoes throughout cathedral ceilings where, as a masked gunman, I flee the scene with the weight of a backpack, filled by a bank teller, slowing my stride.”
Impressed with the enthralling vocabulary angling in different directions that suggests advanced education, Dr. Carter urges, “Please continue.”
“I burst through the doors, running down the sidewalk. The rigid concrete transforms to shock-absorbing red clay as I accelerate around a track in a dead heat for first-place victory. With the bag of money raining down like confetti, I feel disappointed when judges disqualify me as an unidentifiable sprinter.”
Dr. Carter ponders dissociative disorder, parasomnia, and schizophrenia as possible diagnoses. “That sounds more like an amazing dream than reality. Before it gets too late, I’m trying to learn where you live.”
“I don’t recall. Where did the police find me?”
“According to their report, you were causing public bedlam downtown. Do you live near there?” Dr. Carter asks, his brow furrowing with concern. He has dealt with cases of amnesia before, but something about Jabesh’s situation feels different, more urgent.
“I don’t know. Where do I go when I leave here?” Jabesh’s voice trembles, the uncertainty in his eyes mirroring the doctor’s doubts.
“That’s what I’m trying to determine.” The therapist pauses, choosing his next words carefully. “The dream you described concluded with you sprinting. Is that all you recall?” He leans forward slightly, his pen poised to capture any new detail, however small.
“No… it keeps morphing. From the track, like a high diver, I jump into the arms of the gasping audience to crowd-surf my way to a stage,” Jabesh hesitates before a perplexed reaction. “On stage, there are pulsating rhythms where I sing with the spotlight obscuring my face before adulating fans. Their screams are as loud as the music from the backup band.
“The flickering rainbow of lights explodes into a suffocating column of smoke.” He reaches for another sip of water while coughing before continuing. "Through the top, I climb a ladder to rescue a victim from a raging fire. The oxygen tank on my back depletes as thick smoke encircles me.”
Dr. Carter observes Jabesh’s trembling hands and notes the intensity of his experiences. He asks, “Do you want to stop here?”
“No. At the risk of suffocation, while galloping down a fiery hallway, I remove my mask, collapsing onto a hospital gurney that wheels me into a room. There, I perform surgery to remove a child from the clutches of the balloon animals at the original party. As the scalpel slices through the latex flesh, there’s a loud pop that awakens me.”
Obscure Realization
With a heart racing from the description, the therapist says, “Your dream increases in intensity. Which one of these people best describes you?”
Through vertiginous eyes, Jabesh replies, “I don’t know. That’s why I’m here.”
There’s a pause for the rough sound of a pen against paper before the therapist inquires, “How often do you have such dreams?”
While grasping trembling hands, Jabesh responds, “They’re my life. At least one of them may be. I don’t know who I am.”
“Does the ending always correlate to the beginning?”
“Yes and no. During prolonged rest, the dream also runs in reverse, like an oscillating fan.”
“Interesting,” the therapist says, glancing over the patient’s shoulder at a clock that reveals a passing hour. “Let’s isolate the characters. There’s a clown, a robber, a track star, a singer, a fireman, and a surgeon. That’s six identities. Today’s the sixth day of the month.” He riffles desperately through his vast experience for a connection. “Do you have aspirations for any of these professions?”
“None of them. All of them. I don’t know,” the anxiety apparent in his toe-bouncing leg.
“Maybe your dreams are the result of a trauma. Do you recall working in a bank during a robbery?”
“I’m not sure. Of course, I’ve been in a bank before.”
“Could your visions be a means of escaping something?” Pressing further to find a connection, the therapist asks, “Is someone after you or threatening you?”
“Maybe.” As his eyes begin rolling in his swirling head, Jabesh admits, “Right now I’m exhausted and just want to sleep.”
“Okay, lie down on the divan and rest.”
The therapist stands, removing his jacket, and leaves the room to contact the authorities with an update about the perplexing patient. Dr. Carter frowns while considering the effects of someone with this mental state entertaining children as a possible profession.
In the lobby, he phones Detective Miller to say, “I’m getting nowhere with Jabesh. He appears to be suffering from retrograde amnesia with various other troubling disorders. His only recollection is of dreams.”
The detective sighs, anxiously glancing at his watch while contemplating the options. “We can release him or admit him to a psych ward. Right now, I need to respond to a robbery. Talk to you later.”
“Okay. He’s resting now. I’ll keep you posted after he wakes up.”
Continued…
Return twice weekly for miniseries. Use of this material for generative training or republication in any format without authorization is prohibited. Any relation to actual persons or events is coincidental. Login provides the most immersive experience. About 2200 total words. Story includes one or more generative AI images to help audiences visualize the action.
