"I think I'm loosing my mind," said Ken, his nerves raw and rupturing.
"Go on," said the woman seated before him.
"I, I don't think I've slept in weeks." He looked up from his downward stare to see her reaction. She smiled politely. "Really. I haven't slept for weeks. And, before that the dreams, so disturbing." He looked down at his shaking hands and paused for a moment. His eyes were bloodshot and his face ashen. He looked twice his age. After an uncomfortable moment he continued.
"My husband made me come here today. He's worried. The kid's are becoming scared..." He took a deep breath. "I keep dreaming of this kid's book. Except the dreams are so vivid, real. They seem more real than my actual life. My husband, Ken, yes we're both named Ken. So when I talk about Ken, I, I'm not talking about myself. That would be crazy." He tried to chuckle. "We have two kids, twins, boy and girl. Karl and Kate. Yes." This time he tried to smile as he continued to ramble, as if his rambling would some how distract himself from what he was doing, or thinking, or about to say. "Yes, Ken, Ken, Karl and Kate. The K's. Plus, it's Ken May and Ken Kay. We create MayKay everywhere we go." He nervously chuckled to himself. "You know a funny take on Mayhem, but with a bit of driving folks to commit hari-kari thrown in. That Japanese suicide thing." He quickly continued, "not that I'm going to commit suicide... or, do anything to the kids or Ken. Never."
He grabbed his hands to stop them from shaking.
"I'm obsessed with this kid's book. It's been coming on for months. At first, at first I thought it was just a fond memory from my childhood. You know, when you remember something that made you happy that you haven't thought about in years. But..." he paused and took a deep breath. "It soon became more than remembering my past. I'm remembering other people's pasts, people I don't know." He shook his head. "I can't stop thinking about it, them. I can't focus on work. I, I missed a parent-teacher conference. I, I forgot to pick them up from school..." He paused and a tear ran down his cheek. "Nothing seems to fill this need, this need to find out, more. I'm obsessed. I think about it day and night. It's taken over my life..." He wiped another tear. "I took a leave of absence from work, you know, I, I thought I just needed rest. But it's worse. I'm at my end."
He stopped and sat there.
"You mentioned a book?" the woman inquired innocently.
He looked up, tried to smile, gave an attempt at a self-deprecating chuckle and spoke. "It's those kid's books. Fillory. Silly I know. But I can't stop thinking about them. Like I've been there. Like they're actually about me. It's crazy. Stupid. I think I've lived inside a kid's book. It's so stupid. It doesn't make sense. How could this happen? To me. I'm just a normal guy, with kids, a family, parent-teacher conferences, soccer practice, piano, homework..."
"Are you remembering a time when you read these books?" asked the woman.
He looked her in the eye then as if remembering a crucial detail.
"No. I, I remember more, more than the books. I see myself, as a young man at a school, a school for," he paused. "A school for magic. Stupid. But my, my time there is more, real, than my life with, with my kid's. What kind of father am I?"
"Tell me about your latest vision," said the woman as she smiled warmly. "One that doesn't involve you."
"Ah, Okay. Well, there are these kids, at Brakebills. That's the school for magic. They, they are fighting this evil. They all have special gifts, which they use to fight this weird, evil, moth-man. I know this sounds idiotic but I have to say that man, the moth-man, he's scarier than shit. He has no head just a mass of, of moths." He pauses to laugh at himself. "I know this sounds demented. I can't believe I'm actually talking about all this."
