The Deal

Part I-One-Bernadette

S

itting across from my husband, pretending to be his wife, is becoming mentally and emotionally exhausting. Not only is he a man whom I don't love, but I'm sure have never met before. Even as he tries to help me get over the fear I've been having from the constant nightmares, our relationship is foreign to me. His cologne, his laugh, and the way he calls my name all feel like something I've been watching on TV. My whole life has been a movie ever since the coma. Honestly, I can't tell what's real or fake. Whatever I do, no matter how many therapy sessions I have, this empty void inside me will never be filled.

"Look directly into the light in front of you, honey," Thabo instructs, gesturing towards the tripod stand behind him.
"Alright," I reply. But before I do so, he reaches for my hand and gives it a gentle rub. I look at him, and a warm smile lights up his clean-shaven face.
"You can do this, Nettie," he mutters to me. Instead of gazing into his beady blue eyes, I study my reflection in his glasses and nod back. Thabo may be a gentle soul, but his demeanor makes me wonder if he'd always been like this in his previous life. Before the accident, I mean.

"Look into the light. As your eyelids feel heavy, I want you to close them. Relax."
Immediately, I shut my eyes, tossing my head back.

"When I snap my fingers," Thabo goes on, "you will relax and only listen to the sound of my voice. You will feel the weight of your body sink into the couch. You will listen to every word I say as you drift into a dark hallway."

I keep on clenching my fists, bracing for the journey. Gone were the times when I used to scream and toss stuff about. Now I'm much calmer. I hope.

Thabo snaps his fingers. Just like that, the blowing of the chilly air conditioner, the squeaky chirping of birds outside, and the rapid ticking of the clock diminish. The soft furniture I'm sitting on fades away, even though I still feel like I'm sitting on something. I can only hear my husband's breathing.

"You're doing good, Nettie. Now I want you to imagine taking a stroll down this dark corridor. Picture many doors down the path of which you walk. When you see a door with the number Eight on it, you will open it."

Instantly, I'm walking down the shadowy hallway. White doors tower above me on the way. For a short while, I spot the number Eight on top of one of the towering doors. I open it slowly.
"Now, when you enter, you will see the bedroom and the closet, but the windows are left open. You will close the window."

I amble toward the window, but when I do, I get the feeling he's behind, watching me. Waiting for me to turn around so he can strike. My fingers crumble on the windowsill, and before I know it, I'm paralyzed.

"Take a deep breath and relax. When you close the window, you will see the faceless man creep towards you. But you will not panic. You will not cower or run into the closet and hide. You will look around and face him. Picture this."
Now, the imagery of the faceless man is the only visible thing in the room. My heart rate quickens as my breath hitches. Instead of running, I stand there and watch this bulky, dark figure draw close. The glint of the knife in his hand grabs my attention.

"Screaming, you will shove him into the closet and lock him in, along with all the fears, trauma, and nightmares he causes."

I imagine my trance-self letting out a scream as I shove him into the closet with brute force. The nightmares I've been having of him are in there as well. I lock the closet, smirking fully.

"Now, you will walk out of Room Number Eight a free woman. No more burdened or haunted by this unknown stranger. You are leaving the room with the fears, trauma, and nightmares inside. You are locking the door. Picture this."

I do so. When I close the door, locking it, I walk across the dark hallway, no more afraid.

"The hallway you walk is no longer dark, but brightened with lights all around."
My eyes light up as I walk across the hallway, beaming with glowing lights. No more fear. The nightmare is gone.
"I'll snap my fingers, and by the count of three, you'll open your eyes and come back to reality. On the count of three, two, one." He snaps his fingers. When I open my eyes, the torchlight still flashes in my direction. The chirping birds and the blowing of the air conditioner return. The smell of cedar wood flows through my nostrils.

Thabo clasps his palms together and shoots me a heart-filled smile. "You did good, Nettie. I'm proud of you. We're making progress."

I smile back at him, but when I try moving, it's as if I just walked out of water, with my feet tapping dry land. I crack my neck a bit. "I hate going into this trance thing, honey. It's very draining."

"It's technically supposed to be, but everything we do is worth it till we get the trauma out of your head."

I scoff when a memory pops out. "I used to stand on a bridge down the street. In fact, I think I remembered standing on it right before the night of the car crash."
Thabo lifts his eyebrows. "Wow. That's friggin' good news." He pulls off his glasses. "I just hope you'll forget the nightmares. That's all I want."

I chuckle at him. "Yeah, but I hate it and love it at the same time. This hypnotherapy thing. That I get to relax and fall asleep on this big, comfy couch is the best part of this whole session."
Thabo cackles, but even though I find it uneasy when he does, I just force myself to laugh with him. I try to reflect on something. "You said we fought that night. I got mad, went straight to the bar, had six bottles of wine, rushed into my car, and drove straight into a pole."

"Yeah, but we still don't know if he showed up at the bar or not." Thabo folds his arms. "The only thing we knew on the night of the crash was that you drove heavily under the influence."

I furrow my brows. "Oh, really. I'm sure I was only drunk, Thabo." A sick realization hits me, and my heart races a little. "You don't think he had something to do with it, do you?"

Thabo nods. "It's a possibility. This guy has been stalking you ever since your Soap Opera days. Maybe he finally got to you. This is only my speculation, but if he had anything to do with your accident, for all we know, this was a way he could impact your life. He wants to haunt you for as long as he lives."

No doubt, this sounds terrifying. Really terrifying. But it's so ironic that I forgot all about this stalker. His whole motive was that he wanted me to remember him, so why did he do it? This is one thing I hate discussing, so I go for a change of topic. "Out of all the sessions we've had, which one's been your favorite?"

Thabo's smile stretches, his dimples showing. "Well, I can't lie to you, but this has been my favorite."

"Really. Why?"

He leans forward, flicking a strand of long-braided hair off my face. "Oh, a few reasons. One, you didn't strangle me this time. Two, my documents are left intact. Three, you didn't attack my television, and four—"

"I know. I know," I say, chuckling with him. "If you don't stop teasing me, I'll do it again. If we do have another session."
"Oh, Lord. Then I better back off. We can't have that. I might bring security guards this time."

I shake my head at him. "Hey, I can take them all out on my own. I remember hitting the gyms with Yvonne, you know."

Thabo chuckles. "Oh, really. You couldn't even remember our worst honeymoon vacation. Or my dad walking in on us at the beach resort. And you still don't remember where I proposed to you. But hitting the gym with your bestie is what you immediately recall." He touches his chest, mocking defeat. "Why do I think you're planning on cheating on me with Yvonne?"

I roll my eyes at him. "Don't be overdramatic. Relax, the memories will come gradually. You're worried we can't make new ones?"

He smiles. "No, of course not. Like you said, they'll come gradually." When he kisses my forehead, my face straightens. I hear the woman's voice again. The next thing that comes to mind is the bar, and mumbling voices around me. A glass of martini in front of me, and a book I used to read. A hand covers the page I'm reading. There's a presence around me, and it's furious. Negative. I get up and try to leave, but the hand grips one of my arms. The figure is faceless. But then it leans closer to my ear and says to me; "Let's make a deal...." It's a woman, but the voice is so unrecognizable.

"Let's make a deal....". These are the words I heard as soon as I awoke from the coma. This happened on the night of the accident, I'm sure of it. I hate myself right now for not telling Thabo or anyone about it.

How did you find this chapter? You can leave your comment or feedback. Will edit this pretty soon.

Chapter Soundtrack: No More Free Rides(Jeffrey Dahmer Netflix)