Chapter 3: Whispers in Therapy and Echoes from Other Worlds
Dr. Helena's office was a contrast to the chaos in Joey's mind. Soft colors, indirect lighting, and the faint scent of lavender created an atmosphere of calculated calm.
Joey sat in his usual armchair, hands clasped in his lap.
He always found it difficult to speak about his feelings, preferring people not to know what he was thinking unless he chose to tell them, and this setting, while peaceful, still felt like a stage for his vulnerabilities.
"So, Joey, how was your week?" Dr. Helena's voice was patient, without judgment.
Joey hesitated, his mind racing to organize his thoughts before speaking, a common habit when he wasn't entirely comfortable.
"It was... normal, I guess. I had breakfast with my parents today." He offered this fact, a safe, observable event.
"And how was that?"
"Like always," he replied, a slight trace of resignation in his voice. He felt uncomfortable expressing emotions beyond anger, and resignation felt like a muted, acceptable state.
"My dad... well, he is who he is."
"And you, how did you feel?"
"A little anxious." He paused, then added, "But I stayed there. My mom made cake." A small, fleeting smile touched his lips but quickly vanished.
He thought about mentioning the flash in the garden or the hooded figure. The images were persistent, but a deep-seated fear of being misunderstood or judged as even more unstable than he already felt made him recoil.
He was already battling depression and social phobia; adding "seeing things" to the list didn't seem like a good idea, especially given his own doubts about what he'd witnessed.
Still, the image of the disoriented person lingered, an unsolved puzzle for his analytical mind.
"Did anything else happen? Anything different?" Dr. Helena asked, her calm gaze noticing his hesitation.
Joey drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, a small tell of his internal debate. He trusted facts over emotions when making decisions, and the lack of facts here was troubling.
"I don't know if it was real," he began cautiously, choosing his words with care.
"I saw... a person on the street, near the bus stop. They looked... lost. Their clothes were very strange."
Dr. Helena listened attentively. "And how did that make you feel?"
"Confused, I think. A little uneasy." He looked at his own hands.
"Sometimes, I feel like the whole world is a little off-kilter. Or maybe it's just me."
This sentiment of being an outsider looking in, of feeling fundamentally different, often haunted him. He tended to worry more than other people, and this new, inexplicable observation amplified that tendency.
The therapist jotted something down in her notepad. "It's common, when we're dealing with anxiety and depression, to feel that our perception of reality is altered, Joey.
But it's good that you're noticing these things and bringing them here." He knew it was important to understand his own feelings and those of others, and therapy was, in theory, the place for that.
They continued the session, talking about Joey's small goals, his interaction difficulties, and his persistent dream of a more peaceful world, a world without the wars and malice he so reviled, a world where his own pursuit of harmony wouldn't feel like such a constant battle.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, in a bustling park, a peculiar scene was unfolding, completely unbeknownst to Joey.
A young woman with long, silver hair and pointed ears, wearing light armor that looked straight out of a fantasy novel, gazed around in amazement and apprehension.
Children pointed, adults whispered and took pictures with their cell phones.
The young woman, whose name was Lyra, tried to ask where she was, but her tongue was incomprehensible to the locals, and their language sounded like barbaric noise to her.
She backed away, frightened by the "noisy metal birds" (cars) and the "talking boxes" (cell phones). To her, this place was a noisy, incomprehensible nightmare.
A municipal guard approached, cautious, trying to communicate.
Lyra, feeling threatened, instinctively drew an ornate dagger, causing a small panic among the onlookers. She didn't want to hurt anyone, only to understand where she was and how she had ended up there, so far from her enchanted forest.
This was just another of the anomalies, another being from another universe torn from its reality and spat out onto Earth.
Just like the hooded man Joey had seen earlier, Lyra was profoundly confused.
And, at some point, fate – or whatever was causing these displacements – might cross her path with Joey's, the shy young man who dreamed of a world where neither he nor she would have to feel so out of place.
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