FRAGMENT – Denial of Reality

Dr. Alan Reeves had spent 30 years as a renowned psychologist, guiding people through their deepest fears, regrets, and traumas. His office, lined with books and the faint scent of old paper, had been a sanctuary for many. But today was different.

His final patient of the evening had booked an appointment under an unfamiliar name: Elias Crowe. There was no record of him in Alan’s files. Yet, something about the name unsettled him. It felt… familiar.

At precisely 7:00 PM, the door creaked open. A tall, gaunt man in a dark suit stepped in. His presence carried an eerie calm, like a whisper before a storm. He sat down across from Alan and placed an old, leather-bound notebook on the desk.

"You don’t remember me," Elias said, his voice smooth yet distant.

Alan studied him. Something stirred in the recesses of his mind, but the memory remained just out of reach. "Should I?"

Elias smiled faintly. "I suppose that depends on how much you choose to forget."

A silence stretched between them before Elias pushed the notebook forward. Alan hesitated but opened it. His breath caught. The handwriting was his own. Notes from sessions he had no memory of. Names, dates, conversations—all erased from his recollection.

"What is this?" Alan murmured, his fingers tightening around the pages.

Elias leaned in. "It’s the truth you’ve been avoiding."

Alan flipped through the entries, his pulse quickening. Patients he had supposedly treated—people who had vanished, disappeared from his records, his life. He had always dismissed the gaps in his memory as overwork, as the wear of years spent inside other people’s minds. But here, in ink, was proof of something far more disturbing.

Then, his eyes stopped at the last page.

Patient: Alan Reeves.

Diagnosis: Denial of Reality.

Final session: Tonight.

His hands shook. "This is some kind of joke."

Elias exhaled slowly. "Dr. Reeves… what if I told you that you were never the doctor?"

The room felt colder. His mind raced. Images flickered—his office, his patients, his own face in a reflection that had always seemed… detached. The door behind Elias creaked again. Alan turned and saw a figure in a white coat standing in the doorway.

A familiar voice called out.

"Dr. Reeves… It’s time for your medication."

Alan turned back to Elias, but the chair was empty. The notebook was gone.

And then, it hit him.

Elias Crowe wasn’t a stranger. He was a fragment. A name his mind had conjured to tell him the truth—he was the patient, not the doctor.

And this… was his final session.