Page 19 of The Imaginary Friend's Obsession

Ezra takes a seat across from me. “All you have to do is listen,” he says. “I’m going to start by inducing you into a state of heightened suggestion. Your conscious mind will grow quieter and more pliable. Then I’m going to try to walk you back through your memories. You may remember some things without even knowing it, and this could help you bring those memories to the surface.”

Fear shivers through me—maybe I forgot for a reason—but I quiet the doubt. I need to do this. For Dorian. I glance again toward the viewing panel and the seemingly empty cell beyond.

Ezra follows my look. “He’ll be listening to us. As you begin to remember, I hope Dorian will become stronger. Perhaps he’ll even be able to communicate with us again.” His gaze turns back to me, scrutinizing. “Are you ready?”

I nod again, my mouth dry.

“If you’re uncomfortable at any time, say the word and we’ll stop.”

He turns the key on the metronome, moves the pendulum to the right, and lets it go. It begins to swing back and forth, its beat slow and even.

“Start by watching the pendulum,” Ezra says. “Keep your eyes on it as it goes back and forth.”

I do as he says, my eyes following its steady movement.Tick, tick, tick.I imagine my heart beating in tune.

“Listen to its beat and listen to my voice. If you get lost, let those sounds pull you back to safety. Remember that your body is here, with me, in this room. Nothing you see or hear can hurt you.”

Tick, tick, tick.

“Now shut your eyes. Let the sound of the metronome fill your thoughts and everything else fade into the background. Let your breathing slow as your mind empties. One deep breath in…hold it…and let it out.”

I breathe with his instructions, and then again, slower than before. The steady ticking of the metronome seems to slow. Ezra’s voice, when he speaks again, sounds farther away.

“Breathe in, and let calmness enter… Breathe out, and release your tension. Your body is growing heavier, sinking into the chair. Each breath relaxes you further.”

My breathing slows, deepens. My head lolls forward, sinking toward my chest, and rests there. My body seems to fade away.

“Good,” Ezra says. “Now we’re going to dive into your memories. Imagine them as a void within your mind, filled with sights, sounds, smells…but this void is within you. Right now it is disorganized, floating…but it is all under your control, and you can organize it as you wish.”

I imagine myself floating in the darkness, aimless. Peaceful. Fragments of memories floating around me. Dorian’s white mask rises from the shadows, his gloved hand stretching toward me. But when I reach for him, he fades.

“Imagine your mind as a house.”

I think of my own house. The house I grew up in, with its many doors. I know every inch of it, every nook and portrait and hidden secret, yet its wide-open spaces are too big for me to fill alone.

“You’re standing in the hallway of this house, looking at a series of doors. Do you see them?”

The hallway forms around me. Wooden floorboards stretch beneath my feet, creaking when I shift in surprise; doors rise up on either side of me; the ceiling thumps into place overhead.

“Yes,” I whisper to the empty hallway. My voice is loud in the silence. “I’m here.”

“Behind each door is a memory.” Ezra’s voice seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, echoing off the walls. “Some of them are locked, but you have the key.”

I look down into my hands and see that he’s right. I do hold the key, a huge, antique brass thing. I can feel its weight, the faint chill of the metal against my skin, like I just picked it up. I run my thumb over its metal teeth.

“This isyourhouse.” Ezra’s voice sounds fainter, but it’s still here with me. “There are no locked doors that you cannot open.”

I look down the hallway. There are so many doors, one after another, all wooden and identical and waiting for me. They stretch out endlessly. Every time my eyes wander farther down the hall, more appear.

My breath quickens as my eyes travel further, my chest tightening. “There are so many…”

“It’s your decision which ones to open, and when,” Ezra says.

His voice pulls me back from the brink of panic. But then my attention snags on the hatch in the ceiling.The attic. Just like the first time I saw it in reality, it sends a chill slithering down my spine.

The hatch rattles. I step back. The rattling turns to pounding, like something is throwing itself against the other side.

“I don’t want to open the attic,” I whisper, struck by a sudden fear that there is something terrible in there. Something better kept locked up.

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