Recoil

My alarm going off was like a bell swinging back and forth in my head and rattling my brain. Those two hours of sleep were as useful as an umbrella in a hurricane. Since my husband died last year, I haven’t gotten more than four hours of sleep in a day. I finally went to the doctors last week to try to break this cycle, and the doctor started by recommending melatonin and a regular nighttime routine. Clearly, that hasn’t been working too well. I have another appointment today where I will hopefully get something stronger for my insomnia.

I finally dragged myself out of bed. I drank my regular three shots of espresso, brushed my teeth, threw on some clothes, and headed out the door. I arrived at the doctor’s office a couple of minutes late, because who wants to be early and wait until it’s ten minutes after your appointment time?

“Fern Boone for Dr. Harris,” I stated at the front desk.

“Sure. Go ahead and take a seat. We’ll call you when a room’s ready.”

I sat down and continued my ongoing project of ripping my cuticles off until they bleed when finally, they called me into an examination room. I sat down and continued my project. A few more minutes later the door swung open, jostling me in my seat.

Dr. Harris sat down at the little desk to pull up my file on the computer. “Fern, how’s it going?” he said.

I’ve gone through four doctors since Miles died. The last three didn’t make it past introductions. I walked out as soon as they gave me “the look.” That look people give you when they feel sorry for you. They take one look at me and think they know it all. Granted, my life is a mess, but that look makes me feel like there’s no hope. It makes me feel like they view me as inferior. Dr. Harris never gave me that look. He took the time to get to know me and my story, and never looked down on me.

“Pretty much the same,” I responded while keeping my head down.

“Still not sleeping?”

“Nope,” I said, keeping my gaze trained at the floor. I felt ashamed that the plan we made at my last visit didn’t put a dent in my insomnia. I looked up - no look. He just nodded and stared intently at the computer.

We sat in silence for a couple of minutes as he typed on the computer. Finally, he said he’s decided on the medication he is going to prescribe me - ramelteon. Finally, I thought to myself, the good stuff. I’ve done so much research on sleep medication, and I was begging him to prescribe me some last time.

“I would also like to recommend you to a hypnotherapist.”

My mind started to race. Would I need to talk about Miles? I’m so not ready for that. “Would I need to talk about my problems?” I asked.

“It’s not required for the therapy, but many patients find that it helps, and the therapist can use it to your advantage.”

All I heard is that it’s not required and I was sold. I took the business card and prescription, and we discussed the dosage of the medication. He suggested I book one hypnotherapy appointment and go from there. Apparently, many patients see results after just one session.

I went to the pharmacy to get the drugs and started heading home. On the way, my hands started shaking so bad I dropped my prescription. Damn, I forgot to eat again today. I picked up my prescription, stuffed it into my tote bag, and went to my favourite sandwich shop - another place where I never get “the look.”

After I got home I called the hypnotherapist's office and set up an appointment. I was able to get an appointment for the next day! I wasted the rest of the day away watching Netflix and eating snacks, then I looked at the time: 11:00 pm. I took the ramelteon and got ready for bed. This time, it only took me 3 hours to fall asleep! That’s a win in my books.

I woke up the next morning feeling the same as the day before. Yeah, I guess this is going to take some time. I went through my morning routine, taking the time to eat some cereal, and headed to my appointment. When I walked into the office the T.V. caught my eye. There is a serial killer in the area! Before I could continue reading the subtitles, I was greeted by the receptionist and was ushered right into the room where the appointment would be. It turned out I shouldn’t have been a few minutes late that time.

When I walked in I soaked in the room. It was phenomenal - so warm and inviting. It was painted ivory, with two of the walls made of exposed brick. There was a plush velvet couch - comfy looking enough to lie down on, but not too squishy that sitting would be uncomfortable. The sun was trickling in through the window, and it lit up the plants that filled the room. It made the room glow green.

“Come on in and have a seat!” invited the therapist, “My name is Thana.”

“Hey, I’m Fern. Your office is so homey.”

“Thanks! How are you doing?” she asked.

Wow. No look. There was something a bit off-putting about her though. Was she too happy? I guess it’s her job to make people feel welcomed, but it doesn’t feel genuine.

“I’m ok I guess. I mean I’m here, ya know?” I replied. We proceeded to talk for a bit, and get to know each other a little bit. I ended up being so excited to start the hypnosis. I was just so ready to get back on track with sleeping.

“Look around the room and choose one plant to focus on. Look at how the leaves bask in the sunlight. When you feel relaxed and ready, you can close your eyes…”

I opened my eyes to see the stark white ceiling. “Wow. It’s done? I had the expectation that I would be able to hear you the whole time.”

“In rare cases, clients lose consciousness, and you happen to be one of them! Do you feel refreshed?”

I did feel refreshed. We made a plan moving forward, that I would see her every day for one week, and then reassess after that. I went home feeling better than when I arrived, and that gave me hope. On my way home, I stopped by my favourite sandwich shop. This time, I actually sat down at the picnic table to eat. I hadn’t done that since Miles died. Today was different. I felt the breeze tickle the back of my neck, the sun warming my skin, and the rough paint from the picnic table bench through my jeans. I was so aware of what was around me - it was the closest to normal I had felt in a long time. I ended up reading a whole book when I got home. Then I took my ramelteon and went to bed.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

My eyelids were as heavy as anvils. Not in the good way that comes with a long restful night of sleep, but in the bad way where I felt like I hadn’t slept a wink. It didn’t make any sense! From what I remembered, I fell asleep right after I laid down, and woke up with my alarm at eight. That should have been nine hours!

Two more hypnotherapy sessions, and two more nights. It was the same! I should have been feeling better, but I was feeling the same as before. After my fourth session, I decided I would do something crazy. I got home and bee-lined straight for Miles’ closet. I got his camera and tripod out and set them up facing my bed. “I’ve officially lost it. This is crazy, right?” I murmured to myself as I fumbled trying to extend the legs of the tripod.

That night after taking my meds, I had a harder time falling asleep, thinking about what I might find on the camera the next day. Finally, after an hour and a half, I fell asleep. That morning I woke up before my alarm, and my first thoughts were going towards the camera sitting a couple of metres away from me. I sucked as much air into my lungs as possible, and then let it out slowly. I slipped out of bed and trampled over to the camera. Shit. I forgot to check the memory card last night. An error message was on the screen saying there was insufficient room on the memory card, and that the recording had been automatically stopped. I went to playback, and the last video was only two and a half hours. I was barely asleep by then! I skipped forward until I finally saw my body relax after tossing and turning for an hour and a half. I kept skipping until I saw myself get out of bed. I’ve never slept walked before so this was concerning to me. My jaw dropped as I saw myself walk to the camera and just stand there, and stare right at me. I’ve been pretty uncomfortable before, but I have never been this disturbed and unsettled before. I was having a staring contest with myself - like an out-of-body experience.

Finally, after what felt like hours, I watched myself leave my room. I skipped ahead an hour - to the end of the video. I hadn’t returned. Sleepwalking would explain why I still felt so tired even after sleeping for so long. Still troubled by what I watched, I got ready and headed to my therapy appointment.

When I walked into the office for the fifth time, I saw the headlines on the T.V. again - no new murders, but no new leads. The segment continues as they report that an anonymous source close to the case said that the MO at all crime scenes is the same, but there is no physical evidence at all seven crime scenes that points to the same person. I picked up my phone and Googled the case. It looked like a murderer was going around and killing seemingly random people living alone. It didn’t look like there were any clear connections between the victims, except that they were all murdered with one shot to the head in the middle of the night while sleeping. Suddenly, I was terrified. I realized that this could be me.

I was so hyper-focused on the research I was doing I didn’t notice that I was called into the office. We got formalities out of the way, and then I mentioned the footage I took of myself. She had a look of concern and asked why I would ever film myself. I told her about how I was getting an adequate amount of sleep, but I woke up feeling just as tired as when I got less than four hours of sleep per night consistently. I showed her the clip I saved on my phone of me getting up, staring at the camera, and then walking out of my room. She asked me how I felt after I watched that this morning.

“I was terrified. Did you hear about the serial killer?” I answered.

She nods. “I don’t think you should be filming yourself anymore. It’s clearly not doing you any good.”

“I guess, but now I’m scared I could unlock the door and accidentally let a killer in!”

“I appreciate that, but it’s highly unlikely for you to do that in your sleep because your mind is still partially aware of what you are doing. If your mind is aware of the risks of leaving your door unlocked when you’re awake, that knowledge should carry into your sleep.”

This is the most unguarded I’ve seen her. She doesn’t have this fake aura around her as she speaks. I don’t know what to make of it. Highly unlikely, the knowledge should carry - where is the confidence she always projects when speaking?

We ended up talking about morals, which I was ok with talking about because as deep as it was, we still weren’t talking about Miles. Even though my moral compass changed after he died, she still never asked me about him more than what I offered. Since Miles died, I’ve become more reckless. I care so much less about what others think and the implications of my actions. We talked about justice and what I would do if someone was getting away with horrible crimes and I knew about it. For some reason, it felt really good to process this. It lit this flame I didn’t know I had for justice.

After the hypnotherapy, I felt the need to channel this new energy I had. Maybe I’ll start doing something with my life, like volunteering, or I could even go back to school! At only 24, I felt I had so much life ahead of me - a thought I hadn’t had in a long time. That night I fell asleep when my head hit the pillow - thirty minutes after I took my ramelteon. I had so much peace…

Beep! Beep! Beep!

What in the world?! Why do I feel so horrible?! I slept for nine hours, and still, I felt like lifting my eyelids was an impossible task. I had this sense of uneasiness too. Sometimes I get this after I have bad dreams. Since Miles, I haven’t put any effort into remembering my dreams. The first thing we used to do when we woke up was discuss our dreams - because we did this, my dreams were so vivid. Then I chose to forget, so when I woke up it was just the feeling I had in the dream that I would remember.

At this point, I was getting angry. This sleep-walking thing was getting out of control. I called Dr. Harris’s office to see how early I could get an appointment, and they said he would squeeze me in that day! I know what that means though, I’ll be the one that causes everyone else’s appointments to be late.

My appointment was right away, so I didn't have time to eat after my espresso. I sat down in the waiting room and noticed a dull and achy pain in my hand as I picked my cuticles. I often get weird cramps from dehydration, but it looked like my body just discovered a new place to cramp, or I smacked it while sleepwalking last night. As I waited, I massaged the hand at the base of the thumb. I got called into the exam room for the second time this week, and told Dr. Harris about my sleepwalking, and how I woke up every morning just as tired as I was before. As usual, he listened intently, then focused his gaze on his computer for a couple of minutes. We discussed hypnotherapy. I told him how I’m generally enjoying it, but don’t know if the therapist I’m with right now is the best for me.

“That might just be a good thing because I was thinking of recommending you to a new one that specializes in insomnia and sleepwalking,” he conveyed, with a sense of relief.

“Yeah you don’t have to worry about the big therapist break-up - I’m not too attached.” I reciprocated with a smile.

I got the new therapist’s card and called right when I got home - after I got my sandwich of course. I cancelled the appointment I was supposed to have that day and made an appointment with the new therapist for the next day. When I went to bed that night, I decided to film myself again, because I wanted to see if the sleepwalking was an isolated incident. When I woke up the next morning, I felt incredible! I felt like a new woman, I fell asleep fast and slept through the night, and I felt it! I hopped out of bed to check the camera. Thankfully, I remembered to clear the card so I could film the whole night. I stopped the recording and played it back. I skipped through nine hours of footage, and nothing! Why was I sleepwalking before? Was I just not used to sleeping that much?

I walked to my kitchen to get my espresso going, and decided to turn on the news. I watched the same news show that was on at the hypnotherapists’ office. Like clockwork, they were reporting on the serial killer, which they are calling the sleeping executioner. Charming. I sat down with my third espresso shot as the reporters began talking about the victims. That’s when I decided to do some detective work of my own.

I took a deep dive into the corners of the internet and ended up in some forums talking about the murders. If what these people are saying is true, the victims are not only victims but also perpetrators. It looked like most of them had been accused of some super disgusting things - including pedophilia and rape. Maybe it was that new sense of justice I had, but I was relieved they were dead. The people on these forums had dirt on every single one of the victims, it was hard to believe that it was all fabricated.

I got to reading on a thread about the evidence found so far at the crime scenes, and it didn’t make sense! The murders were being called serial, but no set of DNA was found at all crime scenes. The victims were all living alone, and apparently, there was one set of DNA other than the victim’s at each crime scene. The catch is they were all different, and none were in the system. No set of DNA had been at every crime scene - allegedly.

I left the house to go to my therapy appointment. Thankfully it was at the same building, so I didn’t need to worry about driving there. On my walk, I couldn’t stop thinking about the case. I absentmindedly started massaging my hand again, and suddenly a thought rushed into my head. That was the same feeling I felt after I tried going to the shooting range.

A month after Miles' accident, a friend recommended that I go to the shooting range to get some frustration out. I hated it, but I remember the feeling I had in my hand for a couple of days afterwards from the recoil. Why would I be feeling this now?

The craziest thought I’ve ever had entered my mind: what if my hypnotherapist hypnotized me to shoot someone? I held back a burst of laughter. It was so ridiculously outlandish, but why did it almost make sense? The only time I had ever slept walked was after I was hypnotized, she got very defensive and uncomfortable with me filming myself sleeping, we had a long conversation about justice and vengeance, and to top it off we also talked about the time I went to the shooting range.

I tried my best to push the thought out of my mind as I walked into the office. I had hoped to talk to Dr. Thana to “thank” her for her help, but when I walked into the waiting room I saw the new breakthrough in the case. They were saying that different people killed each of the victims, and that police are now looking for someone who could be manipulating each killer into doing so. Next, they showed what seemed to be a press conference. A man wearing a navy windbreaker with the letters F-B-I on it stood at the front.

“The BAU has been called in to work on this case and is currently working on a profile with the new evidence. We will be sharing it this evening, and urge anyone with any information to call the number on your screen. Thank you,” the agent said according to the subtitles.

I looked over at Thana’s office to see her get up to use the washroom. I glanced at the receptionist to see her facing the other way to her computer. A burst of adrenaline rushed over me as I stood up and slipped into Thana’s office. I don’t even know what I’m looking for! I thought about what kind of evidence might be there, and then I remembered the recordings. She mentioned in the first session that she records each session, but where would she put them, and in what form? I looked at the drawers in her desk and saw a drawer with a lock on it cracked open. I slowly slid it all the way open trying to make as little noise as possible. The drawer was stacked with trays of USBs - each one with a name written on it. Thankfully, they were in alphabetical order, so I found mine quickly, plucked it out of the tray, and shoved it into my pocket. I slowly slid the drawer back into the same position I found it and snuck out of the office back into the waiting room chair.

“Fern Boone, for Dr. Taylor?” called the receptionist, which seemed a bit pointless considering I was the only one in the waiting room. I stood right back up and headed into Dr. Taylor’s office.

Before she could say a word I blurted, “Hey I’m so sorry, but I actually had a great sleep last night - a day in which I didn’t have hypnotherapy - and I didn’t sleepwalk either! I’m sorry to do this, but I won’t be seeing you today, feel free to charge my card, I gotta go.” Before she could muster up a response, I was out of her office headed for the exit.

I burst out of the door and onto the sidewalk trying to decide where to go. Do I go to the police with this outlandish claim and a USB with a recording I haven’t listened to, or do I go home first? I turned right and started walking before my mind reached a decision, and I just kept walking until I reached the police station. While I was walking I thought more and more about what I would say, and I came up with nothing. There was no way to say what I needed to say and not sound crazy - especially since I looked like a crazy person. Imagine a woman who hadn’t slept in six months, was dressed like a homeless person, and generally only consumed espresso until 7 pm. That was me. All my confidence was gone by the time I approached the station. I got a glimpse of the FBI vehicles and became even more terrified.

I walked inside and an officer greeted me. “Hey miss, are you ok?”

“Um, I think I might have evidence about the case?” Wow, nice. Could I have said that with less confidence?

“Sure. Let me get an officer to talk with you in private,” he said with an edge of ridicule in his tone.

Fair, I thought, I wouldn’t believe the girl who looked like a 16-year-old drug addict either. I was ushered into an interrogation room with a cop, who was clearly fresh from the academy, and we both sat down.

“So…” he said in an attempt to break the ice while he tapped his pen on his notebook.

“I think the murderer is my therapist!” I blurted.

“Um, Rogers?” he called to the open door. The man who greeted me walks in. I shrunk even further down into my chair. “Say to him what you said to me.”

“Well, I think I killed the last victim,” I repeated.

“What do you mean, think?” Rogers said, now taking me seriously.

I responded, taking time between each word. “Well, I have this pain in my hand, like from recoil, and… I think my hypnotherapist made me do it…”

They looked at each other and let out a snicker. I slammed the USB on the desk in front of them and they both straightened up.

“I’m well aware I sound crazy, but if there’s any truth to what I’m saying it’s on there. It’s the recordings from my sessions.”

Rogers rolled his eyes as he grabbed the USB and walked out of the room. The new guy looked at me, failing to suppress a smirk, and told me that it would be a while and that I could just “sit tight.” After about fifteen minutes, an FBI agent came into the room, a woman this time, and sat down. She asked me if I knew where Dr. Thana was, and I told her that as far as I knew she was at work. The agent left the room for a bit and came back. As she sat down, a pack of agents and officers swiftly left the station.

“So they believe my crazy story?” I implored.

“We believe there is some truth to it, yes,” she replied. “I’m Special Agent Orange, and I’m going to be asking you a few questions if that’s okay.”

She questioned me for no more than 30 minutes when we heard a commotion coming from the front door. I saw a couple of officers walk in with Dr. Thana. She saw me as she walked by the room, and did a double-take in disbelief.

After another hour of interviewing, another FBI agent came into the room. He asked me if I would be comfortable talking to Thana. He said she stopped talking, and would only keep talking after she got to talk to me. I immediately agreed, despite their caution, and was brought to the room where they were holding her.

Agent Orange looked at me and assured me, “we can leave the room whenever you want.” She opened the door to the room with a police officer, an FBI agent, and an empty chair for me - to sit across from a murderer.

I sat down, only looking at the dinghy table in between us. It looks like it used to be white, but has greyed over time, probably because these rooms don’t get used very much in this boring town. I sat there staring at the table and took a few deep breaths. Finally, I looked up and saw her - watching me - probably trying to get a read on me. It’s the only sense of control she’d have in this room with everyone else trying to get a read on her.

“How did you know?” she asked calmly.

Without breaking eye contact, I put my hands on the table and started massaging my right hand. I made a gun with my fingers, shot it into the table, and went back to rubbing my trembling hand.

“Recoil.”