The third session start with Dan sat across from Dr. Lane in her dimly lit office, his face pale and gaunt. The air felt thicker this time, heavy with unspoken tension. He clutched the edges of the sofa, his knuckles white, his breathing shallow. His eyes darted around the room, as though searching for something solid to anchor himself to.
"I can’t keep living like this," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I don’t even know what’s real anymore. It’s like... like everything around me is a facade. My mother. My neighborhood. Even Carter—" He stopped, his voice breaking. "Carter feels... off, like he’s not really him."
Dr. Lane leaned forward slightly, her expression calm but intent. "Dan, the blurring of reality and dreams is a sign that your subconscious is fighting to reconcile something—something buried deep. You’re teetering between two worlds, and it’s painful, I know. But this could be the key to unlocking the truth."
Dan looked at her, his eyes hollow and dark. "Truth," he muttered bitterly. "What if the truth kills me? What if I find out I’m already dead, or insane, or—"
"Dan," she interrupted gently but firmly. "The mind can only heal when it confronts its darkest corners. But you have to want this. Do you want to keep running from it, or are you ready to face it?"
He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Do or die," he said quietly, more to himself than to her. "I’ll go deeper. I’ll see whatever it is I’m afraid of."
Dr. Lane’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes momentarily betraying a flicker of concern. She adjusted the room’s lighting, plunging it into that familiar twilight, and gestured for him to lie back.
"Let’s begin," she said.
Dan closed his eyes again the weight of the world pressing down on him as Dr. Lane’s voice guided him deeper and deeper. Her words became distant, fading into the void as the darkness enveloped him. This time, the descent felt different—faster, sharper, as though he were plummeting into an endless chasm.
The cold hit him first, seeping into his bones. Then came the silence, broken only by the rhythmic pounding of his own heartbeat. And then, he saw it—the familiar door.
"Open it, Dan," Dr. Lane’s voice echoed faintly, as though coming from far away.
Dan hesitated, his hand trembling as he reached for the handle. The door creaked open, revealing the shifting darkness beyond. He stepped through.
This time, the abyss wasn’t empty. Shadows swirled around him, forming fragmented images that flickered like an old film reel. He saw his childhood home, the kitchen where his mother used to hum while cooking. But something was wrong. The colors were muted, the edges blurred. His mother stood at the sink, her back to him, motionless.
"Mom?" he called out, his voice echoing.
She didn’t respond. When he stepped closer, she turned. Her face was blank—just like the man’s from his nightmare.
Dan stumbled back, his chest tightening. "No. No, this isn’t real!"
The scene shattered like glass, and he was thrust into another memory—or was it a dream? He stood in his neighborhood, but the houses looked different. Older. The streets were eerily quiet, the air thick with a metallic tang.
Ahead of him, Carter appeared, standing near the edge of the woods.
"Carter!" Dan yelled, running toward him.
But Carter didn’t move. His face, too, was blurred, his features indistinct. He turned slowly, raising a hand as though to stop Dan from coming closer.
