Chapter 01: The First Echo
Dr. Elaine Harper sat in her office, the ticking of the clock on the wall unnervingly loud in the quiet space. The room, a blend of muted earth tones and soft lighting, was designed to evoke calm. Yet, in that moment, it failed her. She felt a flicker of unease as she glanced at the thick folder on her desk—the case file of her newest patient.
The name on the tab read Michael Ainsworth. Forty-two years old, an accomplished architect, and recently diagnosed with a severe dissociative disorder. He had been referred to her by a colleague who’d found his case… unusual.
Elaine exhaled and reached for the folder. A faint shiver ran through her fingers as she flipped it open. She was no stranger to complex cases. Her reputation as a psychiatrist was built on her ability to untangle the knotted threads of the human mind. But something about Michael’s file set her on edge.
Her eyes scanned the notes:
Patient reports vivid dreams of being in places he’s never visited, performing actions he does not recall. Increasingly, the dreams bleed into his waking life, leading to confusion and paranoia. Patient claims he is “not alone” in his own mind.
A chill prickled the back of her neck. She set the folder aside and stood, moving to the window. Her office overlooked a small park, where children played and joggers weaved through the paths. The normalcy of the scene grounded her, though the unease lingered.
The intercom buzzed.
“Dr. Harper, your 10 a.m. is here,” her assistant said.
Elaine straightened her blouse and adjusted her posture. “Thank you, Jessica. Send him in.”
The door opened a moment later, and Michael Ainsworth stepped in. He was taller than she’d imagined, with a lean frame and a nervous energy that radiated off him like static electricity. His eyes, though sharp and intelligent, carried a shadow of something fractured.
“Mr. Ainsworth,” Elaine greeted, extending a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He hesitated, then took her hand briefly. “You can call me Michael,” he said, his voice soft but tense.
“Please, have a seat.”
Michael sat across from her, fidgeting with his fingers. Elaine noted the slight tremor in his hands and the way his eyes darted to the corners of the room, as if expecting something to emerge.
“How are you feeling today?” Elaine began, keeping her tone light.
Michael gave a hollow laugh. “How do I feel? Like I’m losing my mind. Like… someone else is living inside me, and I can’t stop them.”
Elaine leaned forward slightly. “Can you describe that feeling? When did it start?”
“It started about six months ago,” Michael said, his voice trembling. “At first, it was little things. Forgetting where I’d put my keys or leaving the stove on—things anyone might do. But then…” He paused, swallowing hard. “Then I started waking up in places I’d never been. One night, I woke up in a hotel room in another city, with no memory of how I got there.”
Elaine’s pen moved swiftly across her notepad. “Do you ever hear voices? Or feel like someone is speaking to you directly?”
Michael hesitated, his eyes darting to hers. “Yes. But it’s not just voices. It’s… images. Memories that aren’t mine.”
“Can you give me an example?”
Michael leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “A few weeks ago, I had this dream—or what I thought was a dream—about a woman. She was standing in a kitchen, crying, holding a knife. I woke up, and I could still smell the onions she was chopping. I don’t know her. I’ve never seen her before. But the memory felt… real.”
Elaine nodded, her mind already working through possible diagnoses. Dissociative identity disorder? PTSD with dissociative features? She would need more sessions to piece it together.
“Michael, I want to help you,” she said gently. “But it’s important that we approach this step by step. For now, I’d like you to start keeping a journal. Write down everything you experience—dreams, thoughts, feelings, anything that seems out of place. Can you do that for me?”
He nodded slowly. “I’ll try.”
As the session continued, Elaine couldn’t shake the feeling that Michael’s words were resonating with her on a level she couldn’t explain. The vividness of his descriptions, the raw fear in his eyes—it all stirred something buried deep within her.
When Michael finally left, she sat in silence, her mind racing. She glanced at the clock. It was just past 11 a.m., but the day already felt heavy.
Elaine reached for her coffee, but as she lifted the cup, her hand froze. The faint aroma of onions wafted through the air—a smell that hadn’t been there before.
Her stomach twisted. She set the cup down, her eyes scanning the room. Nothing seemed out of place, but the unease had returned, sharper this time.
For the first time in her career, Elaine wondered if she might be the one losing her grip on reality.
