We live in a fantasy world, a world of illusion. The great task in life is to find reality.

       – Iris Murdoch

Cissa doesn’t know how long she’s been here. Sometimes she thinks she’s always been on the beach, under the sun, with this tanned young man by her side. It doesn’t really seem to matter. She is the best kind of content. She is happy in a way that is all-encompassing and brimming with possibilities.

She builds castles in the soft sand and swims in a sparkling blue sea. She is always collecting bits of glass, dulled by waves and sand, and putting them in her pockets. Her favorite activity is to sit and watch the waves come in with Eli. Much of the time, he is the most agreeable company. He is handsome and kind, and very thoughtful in conversation. It seems they are never apart, so they talk often, although Cissa knows there are times when a blackness descends on him, weighing down his words.

“Sometimes I think I’ve never felt so free,” she tells him one day, overwhelmed with the wide blue sky above them. A shadow appears on his brow.

“Freedom,” Eli mutters darkly, “is an illusion at the best of times.” To Cissa’s eyes, the shadow grows and lines his face, which abruptly becomes older and gaunter. Then he turns to her and smiles, achingly, and the sudden apparition is replaced with golden Eli, healthy and strong. Cissa smiles back, relieved. She turns her face up, looking toward the sun. She doesn’t feel the need to squint.

  • • •

Far behind the water’s edge, a dark forest of pines rises up from the edge of the sand. Most days, she turns her face away. Something about the murmur of the trees unsettles her. Today though, it compels her closer, until she can hear a persistent beat, dull notes of sound. As she approaches, they become clearer, and a dread starts to form. Her breaths come faster, and the sound is getting quicker, sharper, louder–

“Cissa!”

She whirls, eyes wild and wide. Eli is smiling stiffly, staring at her. “Cissa,” he laughs, a bit choked, “don’t you think we should be getting back? The sun will set soon.”

All at once Cissa needs to touch him, feel that he’s there. She runs to him and throws her arms about his chest, and he feels broad and warm and real. He lets her, of course, murmuring soft reassurances. After a while she stills. She looks up at him, smiling through her drying tears. “The sun will be going down,” she reminds him. “Let’s go watch the sunset on the beach. I just want … I want to see some color.” They walk back to the shore, Eli leading, and the world solidifies around them, leaving the faint smell of antiseptic behind.

  • • •

Cissa and Eli watch the fading sun together, the orange-gold light now skimming the horizon. “I’m sorry,” he says. His face is drawn, and the shadow licks at its edges. “I’ve been selfish. You don’t belong here anymore.”

“But I can’t,” says Cissa, panicked without knowing why. “If I go back, you’ll be alone.”

“You couldn’t understand. This place – this is where I belong. Here, in the dark. Please go while you still can.”

Cissa has always known that Eli is unhappy, but never has she seen him so resigned, so deeply sad. She looks out to where the sun has vanished and then behind her where the trees bend forward, beckoning.

“You’ve been very good to me. Thank you,” she tells him and kisses his cheek before making her way across the sand.

It is twilight, and the world is blanketed a deep blue. Cissa is ready, and the waiting pines no longer seem so sinister. There’s a soft sound from somewhere in the trees, and she strains to hear it. She catches the notes of a guitar, a slow melody that takes shape the closer she gets. The rumbling bass of a man’s voice joins it, a warm sound that seems to fill her, pull her in. Entranced, she moves forward, away from the sun-warmed beach, into the inviting shadows of the forest.

• • •

In a hospital bed in Ohio, Carissa Randall opens her eyes for the first time in four months.

“It’s not unusual in cases like yours,” the young specialist tells her, “for a patient to experience vivid, lucid dreams. It’s called REM intrusion. Your brainwaves actually slowed while you were comatose. It’s fascinating, really.”

It doesn’t seem right, she thinks. Something’s wrong.

“There was someone else there … a man. He would calm me when I started to get scared. He seemed so …” she clutches her head, frustrated. His name is already slipping from her grasp.

“So real? Yeah. Most likely, your mind was trying to work through something. A car accident of that magnitude would have been traumatic for anyone. You bring someone into the dream with you, and you’re not completely alone. It’s stabilizing.”

But I was never alone. He was there first.

  • • •

Cissa decides to move on. She does her physical therapy, reconnects with friends and family. She doesn’t think about the way her car flipped over and over. She doesn’t think about blue oceans reflecting blue skies. She goes back to her life. And sometimes, when she wakes up, she tries to remember her dreams.

  • • •

She sees his picture in the paper. It’s on the bottom of page seven.

Millionaire Still Institutionalized After Attempted Suicide

Her coffee cup shatters on the floor.

It takes her months to track it all down, to find a way in. In the end, it’s too easy.

“As few as three years ago,” says the esteemed psychiatrist, “this establishment was in a constant state of chaos. Its leading doctors employed primitive techniques – quite messy and painful for all of us. My revolutionary new treatment makes these obsolete, even for the most resistant patients. One might say,” he chuckles, “we practically treat them while they sleep.”

The woman’s hands grip her notebook. “Clearly,” she says, “your facility must yield the most remarkable results.” The doctor’s mouth stretches into a razor slash of a smile. “Oh yes, my dear, and I would very much like to show you. The grand tour, if you will. As a reporter,” he enunciates the word. “You must want to see for yourself the remarkable treatments we have to offer our patients.” He gestures for her to walk with him. She follows helplessly.

When they reach the big metal door, Cissa hesitates, glancing back down the hall to where sunlight filters through grimy windows. Her hands tremble, but before her lies the possibility of uncovered secrets and a glimmer of hope. The doctor is on the other side, holding out his hand for her, waiting. Summoning up all her courage, she puts on a smile and steps through the door.

The grate closes.

The lock clicks.

The lights go out.