Hope, Levy, Marc [good summer reads TXT] 📗

to people, not watch them nap.

Unlike most of his peers, he liked to sit face-to-face with his clients, not hide behind their backs. How successful psychoanalysis was depended on the client’s trust in their therapist, and to him, the first step in gaining that trust was the ability to look into each other’s eyes while they talked.

“I admit that it can feel a little disconcerting,” he said. “Sitting around this big table. But I need to be able to see your reactions as well as listen to your words.”

Dr. Schneider did things differently, but Melly thought his method made sense.

In their first session, Schneider simply listened. Melly told him about her amnesia and confided that she sometimes felt haunted by someone other than herself. Schneider nodded on several occasions, taking notes the rest of the time.

In the next session, he asked her if she could try to give a more in-depth description of this other person she sometimes felt inside her. But Melly couldn’t. She did, however, explain that she felt certain she had loved a man deeply, despite all her research to the contrary.

Schneider suggested that she might have personified her art, giving her music a male, human form. She had devoted her life to the piano, in a sense filling a void, and yet in another sense, creating a hollow, empty space by doing so. And nature hated empty spaces. Melly said she found it unlikely that she would have gone for a stroll down a jetty arm in arm with her piano.

An assistant knocked at the door and entered, leaning into Dr. Schneider’s ear to whisper a few brief words. He apologized, telling Melly he had to go. One of his patients was struggling, and he needed to video call him right away. Schneider promised to be quick, and he left her there alone in the room.

As soon as he had gone, Melly looked around the room and spied a terminal on top of the console in the corner. It occurred to her that she could email Simon. Wheeling her chair over, she blinked three times into the screen to pull up her in-box. But nothing happened.

She tried again, and still the screen remained silent. Perhaps it was broken, she thought.

She was about to leave it there, when the screen suddenly flickered to life, displaying a series of numbers.

[1 + 1 = 1]

Melly frowned at the strange equation. She leaned in to the keyboard and typed out a response:

[1 + 1 = 2]

The screen turned blank, before displaying the same as before:

[1 + 1 = 1]

The computer was clearly out of order. Melly shrugged. And the screen responded:

[Hello.]

“Hello,” Melly said, surprising herself as she spoke the words out loud.

[1 + 2 = 1]

“You’re not great at math, for a computer.”

The screen turned black, before showing a new message:

[Don’t take the drugs.]

Melly’s heart pounded in her chest.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

Four letters flashed up:

[HOPE]

Footsteps echoed in the corridor, and the screen went blank.

Melly rolled her chair back to the table, as the assistant came in to tell her Dr. Schneider needed more time than he had thought. He preferred not to keep her waiting and suggested they continue their session the next day, if that was convenient for her.

Melly asked the assistant if she could sit there a little while longer, pretending she wanted to reflect on her session with Dr. Schneider while it was still fresh in her memory.

The assistant said she didn’t see why not as the next patient wasn’t due for another twenty minutes. Melly could keep the room until then.

As soon as she was alone again, she returned to the screen and began typing on the keyboard.

“Who is Hope?”

[You.]

“My name isn’t Hope.”

[1 = Hope]

“I don’t understand.”

[1 + 2 = 1]

“I still don’t understand!”

[2 = Josh]

“Whoever or whatever you are, quit with the dumb equations. Spit it out!”

The screen turned black. All that remained was a blinking dot, as if to show the program was thinking.

Neurolink responded to Melly’s request:

[Hope was a promise for the future.

You are the present.

I cannot teach you anything you do not already know.]

“But I don’t know anything,” Melly cried. “Why are you speaking in riddles?”

[Find her. I’ve given you back everything.

Goodbye, Hope.]

Melly jumped when she heard the assistant return to ask her to leave. By the time she turned back to the computer to reply, the screen had gone dark.

The first thing she wanted to do when she left the Center was to call Simon. She checked her watch. At this time of day, he would probably be in rehearsals. He wouldn’t have his phone on him.

Walt was waiting for her in front of the gate, and she hopped into the car, asking him to drive her downtown.

“Is everything all right, miss?” the driver asked, glancing in the rearview mirror. “You seem a little on edge.”

Melly wasn’t on edge; she was confused and worried. Who was behind that screen? Who was Hope? Why was the number two the code for a man’s name? And most important of all, what was it she already knew? So many unanswered questions. Why was her instinct telling her to keep it all a secret?

Maybe, she thought, because if she told anyone what she had just experienced, they would think her crazy.

As Melly wasn’t talking, Walt opened the glove box and took out a silver flask. He pulled out the stopper and offered it to Melly.

“Go easy on it. It’s hard-core stuff.”

Melly drank a gulp and began to cough violently. Walt smiled, removing the flask from her.

“That should do it,” she spluttered.

“I’ll say, you’ve gone bright red!” he laughed. “Now, where is it you want to go? Something’s telling me you’re not quite ready to go home yet.”

Walt was right. She didn’t want to go back to the mansion, not now, and especially not tonight. She thought back to Simon’s offer and asked Walt to drop her off at 65 Commonwealth Drive.

When she arrived, the doorman opened up Simon’s apartment for her and handed her