Page 36 of The Chamber

“Hey,” Jeremiah said softly, reaching across the table to place a hand on Kenneth’s forearm. “Don’t go back there, okay? We made it out. Survivors—that’s us.”

Kenneth nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He wanted to believe that he was free and left the horrors behind. Unfortunately, the lingering trauma clung to him like a shadow, refusing to let go.

“Ken, listen to me,” Jeremiah urged, his grip tightening. “We survived, and we’re going to heal from this together. I’m going to start working with that therapist of yours. He’ll help us get through this. There’s light at the end of our tunnels.”

Kenneth stared into Jeremiah’s eyes, searching for the reassurance he desperately craved. He knew their shared experience had created a bond that went beyond mere friendship, but could it be enough to help them finally conquer the demons of their pasts? And precisely what form would their relationship take?

“Promise me,” Kenneth whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the cafe. “Promise me that we won’t fail.”

“I promise,” Jeremiah replied without hesitation, his gaze never wavering. “We’ve endured the worst of it. We—um—Richard’s gone. Forward—that’s the only direction.”

As Kenneth let out a shaky breath, he allowed himself to believe Jeremiah’s words, at least for a moment. Perhaps healing wasn’t impossible after all. And with Jeremiah by his side, the weight of his memories felt a little bit lighter.

* * *

Kenneth’s hand shook as he held his toothbrush, slowly trying to move it toward his mouth. The simple task of brushing his teeth felt like an impossible challenge some mornings. As he looked in the mirror, his reflection was a ghostly echo of the man he used to be.

“Come on, you can do this,” he muttered, his voice wavering. “It’s just like before.”

But it wasn’t like before. Every time he closed his eyes, the terror of the Chamber flooded back, the screams and the blood, the crushing weight of fear and pain, being bound to a post for a bloodthirsty audience. He squeezed toothpaste onto the brush with a shaky grip, and when a dollop fell into the sink, Kenneth saw blood instead of the white paste.

His cell phone rang, and he was all too eager to set the toothbrush aside. The phone rested on his dresser, and he punched the button to answer.

“Ken?” Dr. Bridges’ voice was comforting. “I thought I’d check up on you. You missed our last appointment.”

“Sorry, Doc,” Kenneth replied, forcing a weak smile. “Been having trouble adjusting.”

“It will take some time,” Dr. Bridges said gently. “The trauma from your experience is taking its toll, but we can work through this.”

“Can we?” The question slipped out before Kenneth could stop it. Doubt chewed at his insides, making him feel hollow and lost.

Dr. Bridges’ voice was firm. “Yes, we can. Trust me. You’ve made progress before, and you will again.”

Kenneth nodded and returned to the bathroom to see the abandoned toothbrush in the sink. “Alright. Let’s try.”

“Good.” Dr. Bridges said. “How about you come in late this afternoon for a catch-up session? I’ve had a cancellation.”

“I’ll be there, Doc. Thank you.”

Kenneth hung up the phone and returned to his task. As he raised the toothbrush to his mouth, he focused on Dr. Bridges’ faith in him, letting it act as a flame in the darkness, spreading both light and warmth. Thinking about the good doctor at his side, he successfully brushed his teeth. It was a small victory but one that felt monumental all the same.

* * *

Kenneth’s heart pounded in his chest as he clutched a ceramic mug, the steam from the hot tea inside clouding his vision momentarily. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, and the soft sound of the clock ticking on Dr. Bridges’ office wall filled the silence between them.

“Tell me about your new nightmares, Kenneth,” Dr. Bridges said with a gentle nudge.

“Nightmares—yes, there are new ones, but—“Kenneth hesitated, searching through the tumultuous landscape of his recent dreams. “The war—the war nightmares aren’t as bad anymore.” He looked up at his therapist, startled by his own revelation.

“Interesting,” Dr. Bridges said, tapping his pen against his notepad. “Do you think the Chamber experience somehow helped reduce those?”

“Maybe.” Kenneth’s grip tightened around the mug. “It’s strange. I didn’t even notice until now.”

Dr. Bridges leaned forward, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the light. “Our minds can be quite mysterious. Confronting the war simulation might’ve had some long-term effects. But we still need to address the new nightmares and flashbacks you’ve been having.”

Kenneth nodded slowly, his eyes drifting to the framed painting hanging behind Dr. Bridges. It was one he’d painted months, maybe even more than a year ago. It was an abstract swirl of colors that reflected the chaos inside the artist. “I know I need to do that, but it’s hard to find the strength sometimes.”

“Take it one step at a time,” Dr. Bridges suggested softly. “Remember, healing is an ongoing process.”

---