Ethan, his fingers hovering over the keyboard, had just dispatched his cryptic message into the digital ether. He shut down the social media app with a decisive click, pushing away his laptop as if to distance himself from the words he'd just sent. Rising from his chair, he stretched, the movement lazy and deliberate, his gaze drifting towards the paper pinned to the wall bearing Nancy's name.
He made his way to the living room, a space that once housed a full-length mirror by the door. But since Ethan's arrival, the mirror had been obscured, concealed beneath a chaotic collage of his own making. To the untrained eye, it appeared as nothing more than a jumble of meaningless shapes and colors. But beneath the surface chaos lay a secret—a meticulously arranged face, youthful and imagined, birthed from the depths of Ethan's mind.
Ethan often found himself haunted by the thought that this imagined visage was his true identity, not the reflection that stared back at him from the rare uncovered surfaces in his studio.
"Dennis Marsh," the name seemed to whisper from the walls, entwined with the face in the collage. Ethan's memories of Dennis were fragmented, elusive, like trying to grasp smoke with bare hands. These memories, along with his own, were a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces.
Ethan's past was shrouded in mystery, marked by a seven-year coma that had left his mind a blank canvas. When he awoke, his parents painted the first strokes of his identity, telling him of a mountain climbing accident that had stolen seven years of his life.
But as Ethan began to navigate the world anew, another identity—Dennis—began to surface, bringing with it a deluge of disjointed memories. It was as if two souls were warring within him, leaving him to question the very essence of his being.
His parents, witnessing their son's struggle, sought the help of a psychologist. The diagnosis was as startling as it was unbelievable. Ethan's brain, active throughout his coma, had conjured up Dennis, a figment of his imagination, a phantom companion in the long, dark years of unconsciousness.
The theory that Dennis was a mere figment of his imagination, a creation during his coma years, had a scientific ring to it. This rational explanation provided Ethan a semblance of peace, yet one question gnawed at him incessantly: "Does Dennis truly not exist outside my mind?"
Driven by this haunting inquiry, Ethan had embarked on a journey as a "case consultant" for the LAPD, a role he embraced after his stint in the "Mastermind" program. His position not only allowed him to aid the police in unraveling complex cases but also gave him the means to delve into the mystery of Dennis.
Ethan's quest had led him across the vast expanse of the US, meticulously investigating every individual named Dennis Marsh. Yet, each search ended in the same frustrating conclusion – none bore any resemblance to the Dennis who lived vividly in his memories. Reluctantly, Ethan had to concede to the psychologist's interpretation: Dennis was a construct of his coma-induced imagination, a persona who had shared his mind's landscape for seven long years.
With this acceptance, Ethan attempted to shed the skin of Dennis and fully embrace his identity as Ethan. But the task was arduous.
That evening, as he stood before the chaotic collage on his mirror, a testament to his tormented psyche, Ethan's gaze lingered before he retreated to the sanctuary of his bedroom. In this sparse space, his bed lay disassembled, the mattress and bedding pushed against the wall on the floor – a makeshift arrangement that provided him an odd sense of security.
Stripping off his outerwear and T-shirt, Ethan cast them aside carelessly. He didn't bother with the lights, navigating in the semi-darkness to his makeshift bed. As he lay down, his back against the wall, exhaustion overtook him, and he sank into a deep slumber.
In his dreams, he entered Dennis's world, a realm he couldn't escape even in sleep. These dreams, vivid and uncontrollable, kept the essence of Dennis alive, blurring the boundaries between day and night, reality and illusion.
That night, Ethan's dream was intense and foreboding. He was Dennis, running frantically through a dense, rain-soaked forest. Mud caked his shoes as he stumbled along the treacherous path, his breath ragged, clothes clinging to his drenched body.
Behind him, the ominous sound of barking echoed, growing louder. Suddenly, wild dogs burst from the underbrush, their eyes fierce, teeth bared, closing in on him with terrifying speed. Despite Dennis's desperate efforts, the gap between him and the snarling beasts narrowed relentlessly.
But the odds were against him. Four-legged predators were rapidly closing in, their ferocious snarls a chilling harbinger of what was to come. In a split second, the inevitable happened. The dogs pounced, their jaws clamping onto Dennis's left arm with brutal force. He hit the ground hard, his screams piercing the night as he flailed helplessly.
More wild dogs joined the fray, encircling Dennis with a gleam in their eyes, a bloodthirsty pack ready to claim their prize. Dennis's shoulder bled profusely, another dog latched onto his leg, and yet another poised to strike at his vulnerable neck. The situation was dire, escape seemed impossible, and then...
Bang! A gunshot shattered the night.
Ethan, entangled in the throes of this vivid nightmare, twitched violently in his cramped sleeping space. His hands flew up instinctively to protect his face, but the dream held him captive.
In the dream, Dennis witnessed the dog at his neck being felled by a bullet, its blood spraying onto his cheek with a burning sensation. The gunshot sent the remaining dogs into a frenzy, scattering in fear.
Dennis, drenched in fear and relief, pushed the lifeless dog off and scrambled to his feet. Wiping the blood from his face, he turned towards the source of the gunshot. A silhouette emerged from under the dense canopy, a figure holding a hunting rifle, features obscured in the shadowy moonlight.
Dennis stood frozen, his heart racing, unsure if this shadowy figure was a savior or another threat. The man with the rifle held his gaze on Dennis, an unspoken tension hanging between them, before finally lowering the weapon.
The moonlight bathed the forest in an eerie glow, revealing the grisly scene. The distance between Dennis and the mysterious figure was a mere sixty feet, yet it felt like an insurmountable chasm. Dennis, unable to discern if this person was friend or foe, remained motionless, his instincts screaming caution.
After a tense standoff, the figure finally moved. He lowered the rifle and approached, causing Dennis to retreat instinctively. The figure reached the dead dog, picked it up by the hind leg, and then turned to look at Dennis.
His face was weathered, marked by a life of hardship, his eyes stern and ruthless, and a deep scar marred his cheek. The mere sight of this face was enough to send shivers down Dennis's spine.
Dennis, aware of his vulnerability in this unknown terrain, couldn't help but acknowledge a begrudging gratitude towards the shadowy figure. Without this mysterious savior, the night might have ended in a tragic encounter with the ferocious wild dogs. With this realization, Dennis cautiously rose to his feet.
The figure, holding the lifeless dog by its hind leg and the rifle in his other hand, sneered with a chilling, sinister smile. He then proceeded to venture deeper into the forest, his steps deliberate. Dennis, a mix of curiosity and apprehension churning within him, followed at a safe distance. The sight of the once menacing dog, now reduced to mere prey, dragged unceremoniously through the underbrush, was a stark reminder of the forest's ruthless law of survival.
As dawn approached, the dream world that held Dennis captive began to dissolve. Ethan, back in the confines of his own reality, opened his eyes slowly, a sense of weariness washing over him. Despite a night's rest, his fatigue seemed to deepen rather than abate. He rose from his makeshift bed, methodically folding the bedding before leaving his bedroom.
In the solitude of his bathroom, Ethan filled the bathtub and submerged himself in the warm water, his mind replaying the vivid images from his dream. These nightly visions of Dennis were always oppressive, but this latest dream, with its dense forest, wild dogs, and the enigmatic hunter, was particularly unsettling. It was the first time Dennis encountered another being in his dreamscape.
Reaching for his tablet computer, Ethan opened a drawing application and began to sketch the face of the hunter from his dream. His stylus captured the rough, scarred features, the thick eyebrows, and the piercing gaze. Satisfied with the likeness, Ethan scrutinized his work before saving the sketch. He then proceeded to recreate the forest scene, detailing Dennis's harrowing encounter with the wild dogs.
Once the drawings were complete, Ethan saved them in a folder labeled "Dennis, Dreamscapes," a digital archive filled with hundreds of sketches documenting his dreams about Dennis.
Finishing his bath, Ethan dressed and moved to the living room. Glancing at his phone, he noted the time: 7:25 AM. He recalled his appointment with Nancy. He was to meet her at the café today. With this in mind, Ethan quickly dried his hair and left his apartment, stepping into the crisp morning air, his thoughts still entangled in the remnants of his haunting dream.