#95 The Room

by Carmen Ruelas VonTickner

“How long have you been having this same dream?”
“About a month,” came her reply.
“What happens after you see the room?”
“I walk in, but it’s like I’m floating in.”
“Do you remember what this room looks like, can you describe it?”
“Yes, I dream it almost every night.” “It’s long and narrow, with a door at the other end.” “There is a staircase that goes up a few steps, and then it makes a turn and continues on up.” “The floor is a pattern of blue and white squares.” “There are two high back chairs against the stairs upholstered in a burnt orange color fabric.” “There’s a narrow wooden table between the chairs, and there are pictures on the walls.” “One picture is rather striking; it looks like something Van Gogh painted.” The doctor opened a folder took out a picture, and held it up. “Have you ever seen this before?” Her eyes opened wide, clutching a hand to her mouth. “Yes, that’s the picture on the wall, the Van Gogh one.” “What does this mean?” she cried out. “In time we will find out; for now there is nothing to worry about,” he assured her. He asked her a few questions; made a couple of notations in her file, and then brought the session to a close.

Alone in his office, the doctor reached for his private phone and dialed.
“Will proceed as planned,” he said. “I’ve located the picture.”