Keep Myself Awake

That was when I made my theory, my decision. My mistake. It seemed pretty simple. Courtney was at an age when sex was a big, scary concept that had a way of fucking with your head, and she'd just been on a trip with plenty of cute boys to hyperstimulate her libido. She'd come back, repressing all her feelings about the local eye-candy, and associating it all with the bangle that she couldn't get off, and it had all come out in dreams, which had scared her so badly she was refusing to sleep, which was just making things worse because sleep deprivation isn't exactly conducive to calming rest. Nice and easy. Tied everything up in a neat bow. Good job, Doctor Linders.

I summoned an orderly. Told him to give her a shot of 2 milliliters of diazepam, tell her it was a bit of a stimulant to help keep her awake until we could talk some more. "If she doesn't believe you," I said, "give her the shot anyway. But she might be more co-operative if she doesn't know we're giving her Valium." And then I went on the rest of my rounds. Just another day for Christine Linders, super-doctor.

Fuck!

*****

I went back the next morning, and Courtney was still asleep. No big surprise there, she'd been up for nine days. I checked the EEGs. She was in REM sleep, the nice healthy sleep of a nice healthy dreamer. I looked at her through the window, feeling proud of myself. Goddamnit, I actually fucking felt proud of myself!

As I watched, she stirred and sat up. She stretched, and slowly rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She smiled, a real, happy smile for the first time in days. Then she looked over at the one-way mirror and waved. "Hi, Doc," she said, her voice free of that jangling stress she'd had every other time I'd spoken with her. "You're in there, right?"

I couldn't help myself, I waved back, even though she couldn't see me. I was just so glad to see her healthy, see her...well, not cured. She'd still need to see a therapist, someone who could help her work through her anxieties about sex. But she didn't need me anymore...and despite what people say about psychiatrists, we do like it when a patient stops needing our help.

Then I looked down at the EEG. And back up at Courtney. And that's when my blood ran cold.

Because Courtney was getting up, trying to get her hair into some kind of semblance of order, smiling at me through the mirror...but in the EEG readings, Courtney was still asleep. Sound asleep. Her readings were textbook REM sleep, the stage of sleep where you dream. Courtney was still asleep and dreaming, even if her eyes were open. Even if she was walking and talking like she was awake, she was still dreaming. I knew she had to be dreaming of the temple. Of Him.

I raced into the room, grabbed her arms and shook her. "Courtney, wake up!" I shouted. "Wake up!" I knew I sounded a little crazy, but the EEG readings would back me up in an inquest. I shook her for a long moment, and then I noticed something else. And I realized I'd made another mistake.

She wasn't wearing the armband anymore.

She shook off my hands like I was a little girl and grabbed my wrist with one hand. She was strong, terrifyingly strong. I'd worked in enough mental hospitals to know that insane people could sometimes display amazing strength, but this was...different. I remembered her words. 'They were stronger because they were His.' She didn't have any problem at all slipping the armband onto me, sliding it up my arm. My struggles didn't mean a thing to her.

She leaned in as she grabbed me, whispered in my ear too softly for the camera to catch. "He's fucking me right now, Doctor Linders," she said. "His cock is sliding in and out of my wet slave pussy, sinking into me as i'm sinking into Him, and it feels so good. You'll love it too, once you sleep in His will. It's like a never-ending orgasm, cumming and cumming as your mind just drifts away into eternal slumber, eternal pleasure in His dream. The armband is my gift to you, Christine, my thanks for sedating me and helping Him to break my will. The only suitable gift from a slave like me is more slavery. And you will love it when He fucks you, too."

Afterwards, she just let me go. "I'm awfully sorry to put everyone through all this trouble, Doc," she said, smiling like a girl who'd been caught reaching into the cookie jar. She knew I wouldn't tell anyone. What was I going to say? That the crazy screaming paranoid girl had been the sane one, that this smiling, well-adjusted young woman was really in the thrall of ancient Greek gods? That she was dreaming right now of staring into His black eyes, sinking deeper into the endless dream of slavery as the cock of a god fucked her soul? "I'm feeling much better now."

The way she said it sent chills up my spine. It sounded like...

It sounded like a promise.

*****

I'm at home right now. I've got a pot of black coffee, a six-pack of Red Bull, a package of No-Doz and I think tomorrow I'm going to sneak some amphetamines home with me from work. That should be enough to keep myself awake...for a while at least. While I consider my other options.

It's three o'clock in the morning. But I can't sleep.

THE END