Chapter 15: Glitch
David woke up screaming again. He couldn’t detach the cold grip of absolute fear that seized him. His heart was racing, threatening to explode in his chest. Blood pounding in his ears. He tossed his long legs over the side of the bed, sitting up. Wrapping his arms around his torso, he tried to stop shaking. It didn’t work. His body settling into a rocking motion, moving back and forth. His thoughts were confused, still tangled up in the nightmare. He was back in the combat zone again…watching the girl die over and over. Her tiny hand kept slipping from his grasp.
“Enough of this,” he commanded himself hoarsely, striving to regain a measure of a self-control.
He had an appointment with his counselor at the Veterans hospital this morning. Doctor Jeff had been treating him for post-traumatic stress disorder. He’d want to know that the nightmares had returned.
After a shower and a cup of coffee, David felt more like himself. Still, he took a deep breath and exhaled. The dream had made him jumpy. Uneasy.
Putting his cup in the dishwasher, checking that the coffee maker was turned off, he wiped the counter and hung the dish towel on the rack. Surveying the kitchen with an air of satisfaction. He valued order and routine, anything new or unknown made him apprehensive.
Picking up his keys, he left.
When he got to the V.A. David didn't have to wait long.
Doctor Jeff's receptionist tried again, unsuccessfully, to flirt with him before showing him to the office.
"Glad to see you again David."
"Thanks... ma'am. Frankly, I'd rather not be here," he admitted bluntly, giving her a look of stern disapproval before shifting his expression to something more neutral.
David knew her name but he didn't want to encourage her. Practical, sensible and not about to date a girl from his therapist's office, he was a relationship guy, more interested in a high quality woman and willing to wait until he found her.
He glanced around the waiting area, it was empty. No wonder the receptionist is still batting her lashes, he thought sarcastically. She’s got no one else to flirt with.
The receptionist noisily cleared her throat, looking distinctly unhappy.
She’d been telling David a story about something that happened the night before and from the look on her face -- she clearly knew that he’d not been following along.
“Imagine how aggravating that was -- all my friends there with dates and me all by my lonesome...nobody to share a cocktail with.”
Yes, he could imagine, he thought, not in a kind manner. The woman flirting with everybody’s dates since she was flying solo. He scanned her face with a jaundiced mindset. From the pallor of her skin and the circles under her eyes, she’d had more than one. Not that it was any of his business.
The attention did not seem to make her self-conscious. On the contrary, she smiled a little too brightly for a little too long, licking the corner of her mouth with her tongue and using her index finger to adjust her lip gloss.
While his eyes rested momentarily on her countenance with slight curiosity, no smile touched his lips.
She must have finally detected the censure in his gaze. “This way,” she said abruptly, ushering David down the hall.
It’s not like he needed an escort, he thought wryly. It wasn’t his first visit.
Most who knew David would not call him a romantic, yet deep down he was. Part of him believed in love at first sight, even if he’d never experienced it. He wasn't interested in the one night stand that the receptionist’s swaying hips were plainly trying to offer.
They walked in silence.
The doctor was picking up his iPad as David entered the room, taking a seat in one of two nice, leather-bound, club chairs. The office felt like it belonged in a rich man's home library rather than a Veterans hospital.
There were floor-to-ceiling oak bookcases along two walls that were packed -- and not merely with medical or academic volumes, but nice hardbacks with ornate covers. A large desk stood flush against the third wall by the door and the remaining one held large windows. It was late enough in the morning, the sun high in the sky, that its rays didn’t stream through the panes as often happened when David had a session in the afternoon. There was a giant burgundy wool rug on the floor with an intricate pattern on it. Many a visit David had watched those rays dance across the woven floor-covering.
All in all, it was a restful room. There was nothing clinical about it.
"Good to see you, David," Doctor Jeff said, leaning over to shake his hand before sitting back down himself and turning to the girl,"Thanks... that will be all."
The receptionist backed out of the room glancing once more at David with a smile. He saw it out of the corner of his eye but didn’t acknowledge it. No point in giving her false hope.
She pulled the door closed with a soft thump.
His gaze moved, resting on his lap.
David had rehearsed this conversation in his head on the drive over, working himself up a bit. Expressing his feelings openly didn’t come easy-- from past sessions he trusted the doctor to be impartial and patient. David had reached the point that he felt comfortable talking to him about almost anything.
As soon as the door shut, he launched right in.
"I had another bad dream last night... It was the convoy attack all over again with the girl dying... I was in quicksand...fighting to get out... I couldn't breathe."
"The same nightmare about the ambush? Did you find the men who abused you…Hunter and Todd?" Doctor Jeff asked, familiar with the frightening details from a variety of patients’ reoccurring dreams.
David tensed, trying not to flinch. Biting down on the inside of his top lip to halt the quivering. Recalling the painful assault, his body shuddered briefly. He fought to control it. His hand moving by reflex to his long-healed shoulder, massaging it while his subconscious relived the injury being inflicted. As much as he’d psyched himself up to talk about the current nightmare, he didn’t want to think about the previous attacks by fellow soldiers.
He was silent for a moment before emitting a long sigh. "Not in this one..."
Doctor Jeff eyed him for some time in silence. His expression indicating a comprehension that some psychological torments took longer to process. Then he veered his questions into safer territory. "Did you see the dead girl from the house?"
"Nope... She wasn't dead in this one... she was still in the house."
"Your C.O? The attack that he, Hunter and Todd died in?"
"Nope, none of that...none of the bullying or threats... It ended with the girl from the convoy... I know it sounds crazy...but I feel like I somehow let her down... I don't know why."
An image of the girl’s tiny hand slipping out of his flashed through his mind. David winced at the memory.
"We've talked about this...about survivor's guilt...it's quite common among former soldiers like you who've had extensive combat."
"Doc, I really want to get on with my life...I thought I'd put all of this crap behind me."
"Interesting... Your combat nightmares completely stopped a few years ago... We have to find what's triggered their return... Then maybe we can stop them."
Feeling anxious, David ran a hand through his hair not caring if it was out of place. He wanted to fix this, get through it. He stared at the therapist.
"I'm ready to do what ever it takes."
"Good, good…Has anything changed in your life lately?"
"No, work's the same...I mean my dad’s wanting me to take on a larger role in the family business…but that’s not new…nothing to complain about there. I can handle him," he grinned sardonically.
David worked at his father’s publishing company, one of three heirs to the family fortune.
"Seen any of the guys from your unit?"
"Yeah, actually,” David paused, surprised by the question. Why would the doc want to know that? he pondered, curious, “My buddy John. We were stationed at F-O-B Kopet-Dag
together. He was here…visiting from L.A. last week. He's been having some problems…adjusting."
"Problems?" prompted Doctor Jeff.
"He's been edgy...short-tempered... having nightmares about being in-country... surrounded by insurgents...not able to escape."
"Interesting... He came to see you because he was struggling with nightmares about his experiences and now your nightmares have returned."
The doctor’s gray brows knit together. “Hmmm.”
David was baffled.
John’s a close friend, like family. He was fiercely loyal. The idea that helping John had somehow caused his own nightmares to return didn't sit well, nor did what the doctor was implying.
"I don't think I like what you're saying." David’s puzzlement shifted, his thoughts turning stony.
It wasn’t the first time that he’d been like this in the doctor’s office.
David could be like a rather large boulder. Hard and immobile. And at the moment, showing no signs of crumbling.
Both were silent for a lingering period of time.
"Oh relax David... I'm not blaming your friend. I think it’s good that he has you to confide in. But the fact remains that when you discuss something good or traumatic...say your experiences on the battlefield...the mind can take its own sweet time in how it chooses to process it." The doctor’s tone was placatory.
The boulder moved.
David nodded, drawing his lips together in a contemplative pout. Concerned. He wasn't one hundred percent sure that he understood. Rather than mope with worry--he was willing to listen.
"The mind is a wonderful puzzling place. It’s a great big vault...if you will...all of our experiences are stored inside. There are emotional connections to memories of sights, smells, sounds that can be triggered years after those events are long forgotten. You may not be consciously aware of the degree to which it extends to your waking life... but your brain processes things...the experiences you take in daily...and tries to make some sense of them....to see if it fits in with other memories. It persistently modifies itself," the doctor explained.
His expression was kind and tolerant, the look of a man who didn’t expect an immediate reply, if any.
In his original therapy sessions, David had often been incredibly pigheaded although he suspected that the doctor’s professional ethics kept him from saying so. Once or twice though, David had glanced at the doctor’s notes. He’d certainly been thinking that.
Right now, the doctor’s words echoed in his ears.
Just talking about the past could trigger such horrors in his mind? A shudder threatened to shake him, he struggled against it, remaining still as he weighed the options. Assessing and dismissing each as an array of emotions swept through him. Finally, some minutes later he spoke.
"Great...so about this big vault that’s in my head...now all I have to do is figure out the combination...clear out the bad memories... and hopefully make some new ones to store in there... Is that about right, doc?"
David had been through this process years before when his PTSD tried to get the better of him. He was not afraid of trudging though his wartime memories again if it meant ending the nightmares.
"You got it. If it helps...don't think of me as your doctor...think of me as your handy safe-cracker," Doctor Jeff smiled ruefully at his attempt at humor.