Oleksandr Dan - Insomvita

“Trevor, you don’t understand. She’s got incredible skills! And her looks…” Jovan winked at Trevor and continued: “I can introduce her to you, if you want. She's an incredible woman in every sense. I have my last session with her tomorrow morning. By the way, she is classy and she is single.” Jovan pronounced the last word with a knowing tone and winked.

A real hypnotist, thought Trevor. A classy woman and a good psychologist. Seems like too many praises for one person.

“How about your job? I think I remember you wanted to be in politics,” Trevor said, again trying to change the subject. Then he seemed to remember something: “I think you went to Moscow State Institute of International Relations?”

“Yes, I graduated with honors”. Jovan nodded. “You have a great memory, my friend. After I graduated, I worked, got married, had two children, and joined a small law firm in the center of Prague. The calm, measured life relaxed me and I almost ended up losing everything. But I hope that’s all in the past now.”

“Yes, Jovan, life has a tendency to adjust our plans. Sometimes it seems we are simply watching life go by. So, you are saying you leave tomorrow? When?”

“We leave by train at midday, right after the session. We’ve rested, fortified our constitutions, so enough, duty calls. This time tomorrow, I’ll be in Prague, but don’t worry, we will speak tomorrow. The most important thing is that we found each other,” replied Jovan, patting Trevor on his shoulder.

“Right, and I am really happy we did. It's kinda weird that we so unexpectedly…”

“You have some business in Geneva?” Jovan asked. “Are you here alone or with somebody?”

“No, Jovan. I’m done with business for the year. I’m vacationing here. By the way, now's a good time for some decent brandy.” Trevor pointed towards the downtown. “Let’s go, I know a great place here. You won’t drink, I know, but you can keep me company.”

“No, Teo,” Jovan protested. “I’d love to, but I keep a strict schedule. I must be in bed in 30 minutes, and preferably on an empty stomach.”

“Well, if you have to, I won’t keep you.” Trevor smiled. “I wanna hang out a bit longer. I like the liveliness of the city. Besides, I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately.”

“That’s another reason to speak to a good psychologist,” Jovan said happily. “You just need to reboot your brain. You will sleep like a baby after the first session with her. What have you got to lose? An hour of relaxation and you will feel better right away.”

“Fine, Jovan,” Trevor answered after a moment’s thought. “Have it your way. I’ve got time anyways. Let’s go to her tomorrow. When is your session?”

“Okay, look, it starts at 9am and lasts not more than 40 minutes. I will schedule you for 10 am and wait for you there. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” agreed Trevor and hugged his friend goodbye. “Let’s see your ‘classy woman’. By the way, Jovan, what’s her name?”

“Amanda. Her name is Amanda.”

The two friends bid each other farewell and agreed to meet the next morning at Rue du Cendrier 19.

"Insomvita [10] Insomvita (Latin “in” – “into”, “upon”, Latin somnum – “dream”, and Latin vitae – “life”) – life in the dream. ? A life in dreams? Right… Interesting… Very interesting… Ahem… Insomvita… Is this your own idea or did somebody put you up to it?” a man in his sixties in a white coat and a thin gray beard said as he examined Robert. He paused and stared into Robert’s eyes, half-smiling in distrust. “Mr. Blanche, if everything you are saying here is true and there is not a hint of deceit, then you are a true discovery for a psychiatrist!”

Dr. Alexander Friedman did not look one bit like a psychiatrist. To Robert, a psychiatrist was a serious, stout man in an expensive suit, with the neat hands of a piano player, high forehead and wide, neatly trimmed beard up to the ears. But the man standing before Robert was short, skinny, and elderly, with a small, carefully trimmed beard and a closely clipped moustache. His face, streaked with a web of thin wrinkles, was well cared for, small and feminine by most metrics. His gray hair was neatly cut and combed back in long streaks.

The doctor was very nimble. When he spoke, and he spoke very quickly, his hands flew in a flock of gestures. At the same time, his enunciation was precise and he spoke every word very clearly.

The psychiatrist followed his examination ritual, going from eyes to tongue and throat, massaging hands and lightly swinging the reflex hammer against the knees.

“Everything seems to be in order! Do you take antidepressants? Do you suffer from migraines?”

“No. I’ve never needed antidepressants and I hardly ever take pills,” Robert answered. “For a migraine, I don’t even know what to say. I don’t remember the last time I had one.”

“What about your sleep? Maybe you suffer from insomnia?” The doctor was clearly confused and did not try to conceal it. “You look a bit fatigued."

“Doctor, I sleep like a baby. I can sleep anywhere and in any position.” Robert smiled. “I just got back from a business trip. Haven’t slept for nearly 24 hours – different city, the flight."

“Exhaustion? Sleep deprivation? You work a lot?”

“No, doctor. I'm fine. The question is totally different. I want to know if you’ve seen anything like this before?”

“Did you use to take drugs? Smoke pot?” the doctor continued his interrogation, ignoring Robert’s question.

“Doc, nothing like that. I even have alcohol intolerance. So, I almost don’t drink and I’ve never smoked.”

Robert tried to speak in a steady, calm voice to convince the psychiatrist as his eyes bore into Robert during this interrogation.

“Right…right…right… Oh, got it! Have you been to a doctor with this issue before?

“I’ve already told you that I’ve never been here. Amanda recommended that I see you. She was the one who suggested it."

“Right…right…right… Amanda," the doctor drew out, ignoring Robert’s last words. He got up and began to examine his head again. “You say that you've not had any head trauma. What about when you were a child? Maybe intense stress, mental disorders, phobias, some juvenile anxiety?”

“No, doctor, nothing like that. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever been seriously ill.”

The psychiatrist looked at Robert in the eyes and resumed feeling around his head. His fingers, like a massage device, slid pleasantly through his hair, leaving no inch of the patient’s skull unexamined.

“If this helps, doc… I don’t know whether it’s a phobia, but I feel really uneasy on a train.”

The doctor continued to ignore Robert and probe his head.

“Why is that, do you think? As far as I know, trains are the safest mode of transport.”

He suddenly stopped, still leaving his hands partially buried in Robert’s skull, leaned in close and quickly asked: “Why are you so scared of the trains?”

“It’s because of the rail crash at Ladbroke Grove in London."

“Ok, tell me about it,” the psychiatrist said.

“This was a long time ago, in October 1999, I think. In the morning, right before getting on the train in Reading, I suddenly felt very sick, right on the platform. I experienced severe dizziness and I thought I was about to lose consciousness. And then I had a vision. I saw myself lying among the dead in the wreckage of a train carriage filled with mangled corpses. I could even feel the heat of the fire on my face that engulfed the carriage. Then suddenly I heard a clear voice in my head instructing me not to get on that train. In the evening, I was watching the news and saw the horrifying rail crash that happened at the fourth kilometer from Paddington Station. Two trains had collided, killing over thirty people and leaving more than five hundred injured. And the first car, which I was supposed to board, suffered the worst."