“So,” I spoke after an extended pause. “What do you think about the nightmare, Doc? Anxiety? Chemical imbalance? Or, have I finally just lost it?”

She let out a thin “hmph” but kept her attention focused on the cigarette in her hand. I wasn’t bothered at all by the wordless reply because I knew it simply meant she was still digesting everything I had been saying over the past quarter hour. Of course, knowing her as I did, I should have realized that it also meant I hadn’t really changed her course at all.

After a moment, she spoke. “It is most certainly anxiety, but you already knew that. However, the truly important question here is ‘what do you think’, Rowan?”

“Well, that sounds like a typical response right out of the therapist handbook,” I commented with a chuckle.

She let out a small laugh as well. “Yes, I suppose it does, but since you attempted to circumvent my earlier observation, I am now electing to pose it to you as a direct question.”

“Caught that, did you?” I grunted the question.

“Was there any doubt that I would?” she countered.

“Well, I was hoping…”

“Rowan, we both know that in your case there is more to this nightmare than a bad horror movie or too much anchovy pizza for a midnight snack.”

“Now, see, I was hoping you would tell me that’s exactly what this is.”

“But, you know better than that, do you not?”

I let out a resigned sigh before I gave her the answer. “Yes, unfortunately, I do. For one thing, I don’t watch horror movies. I see enough of it without them.”