"By . . . ?"
"I don't know." Then she opened her eyes and said flatly, "Something weird and supernatural that's out to get me. And I have dreams about the apocalypse."
Paul blinked. "The-apoc ..."
"The end of the world. At least I guess that's what it is. Some huge battle that's coming: some giant horrible ultimate fight. Between the forces of . . ." She saw how he was staring at her. She looked away and went on resignedly. "Good." She held out one hand. "And evil." She held out the other. Then both hands went limp and she put them in her lap. "So I'm crazy, right?"
"No, no, no." He fumbled with the pencil, then patted his pocket. "Do you happen to have a cigarette?"
She glanced at him in disbelief, and he flinched. "No, of course you don't. What am I saying? It's a filthy habit. I quit last week."
Hannah opened her mouth, closed it, then spoke slowly. "Look, Doctor-I mean, Paul. I'm here because I don't want to be crazy. I just want to be me again. I want to graduate with my class. I want to have a great summer horseback riding with my best friend, Chess. And next year I want to go to UtahState and study dinosaurs and maybe find a duckbill nest site of my own. I want my life back. But if you can't help me ..."
She stopped and gulped. She almost never cried; it was the ultimate loss of control. But now she couldn't help it. She could feel warmth spill out of
her eyes and trace down her cheeks to tickle her chin. Humiliated, she wiped away the teardrops as Paul peered around for a tissue. She sniffed.
"I'm sorry," he said. He'd found a box of Kleenex, but now he left it to come and stand beside her. His eyes weren't analytical now; they were blue and boyish as he tentatively squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry, Hannah. It sounds awful. But I'm sure I can help you. We'll get to the bottom of it. You'll see, by summertime you'll be graduating with UtahState and riding the duckbills, just like always." He smiled to show it was a joke. "All this will be behind you."
"You really think?"
He nodded. Then he seemed to realize he was standing and holding a patient's hand: not a very professional position. He let go hastily. "Maybe you've guessed; you're sort of my first client. Not that I'm not trained-I was in the top ten percent of my class. So. Now." He patted his pockets, came up with the pencil, and stuck it in his mouth. He sat down. "Let's start with the first time you remember having one of these dreams. When-"
He broke off as chimes sounded somewhere inside the house. The doorbell.
He looked flustered. "Who would be . . ." He glanced at a clock in the bookcase and shook his head. "Sorry, this should only take a minute. Just make yourself comfortable until I get back."
"Don't answer it," Hannah said.