Time is Smoke

The stale air of the Willow Creek Mental Institution hung heavy, thick with the scent of antiseptic and something indefinably human – a blend of fear, medication, and resignation. Dr. Eric Bookman, a man whose tie was always slightly askew and whose brow perpetually furrowed, adjusted his glasses and sighed. He was reviewing Jacob’s file again, searching for a key, a glimmer of understanding in the labyrinth of the young man’s fragmented psyche.

Jacob claimed to be experiencing…temporal echoes. He insisted he was living multiple versions of the present, simultaneously witnessing and participating in events that contradicted each other. One moment he was playing chess with a phantom visitor, the next he was convinced the walls were bleeding memories. Eric, grounded in the pragmatic world of cognitive behavioral therapy, initially dismissed it as a particularly vivid form of psychosis. But something about Jacob’s sincerity, the sheer terror in his eyes, gave him pause.

“Time is smoke, Doctor,” Jacob had whispered during their last session, his eyes wide and unfocused. “It swirls and drifts. I see the eddies…the places where the smoke loops back on itself.”

Eric found himself increasingly drawn into Jacob’s world, a world that challenged the very foundations of his understanding. He’d read Einstein, of course, understood the theory of relativity, the concept of spacetime. But Jacob wasn’t talking about theoretical physics. He was talking about lived experience.

He flipped to the last page of the file, a note scribbled in hurried handwriting: “Consult Beatrix Moreau?”

Beatrix Moreau. The name conjured up images of darkened rooms, flickering candles, and whispers of forbidden knowledge. She was an occult practitioner, a woman rumored to dabble in things best left undisturbed. Eric, a man of science, would normally dismiss her out of hand. But desperation, he realized, was a powerful motivator.

He found Beatrix in a small, unassuming shop tucked away in the oldest part of town. “The Serpent’s Eye,” the faded sign read. Inside, the air was thick with incense and the shelves groaned under the weight of strange artifacts – dusty books bound in leather, curious trinkets carved from bone, and jars filled with unsettlingly organic-looking ingredients.

Beatrix herself was an enigma. Her long, silver hair was pulled back from a face etched with the wisdom of centuries, or perhaps, Eric thought skeptically, the lines were simply the result of a lifetime of late nights and questionable habits. Her eyes, however, were sharp and penetrating, seeming to see straight through him.

“Dr. Bookman,” she said, her voice a low, melodic rumble. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Eric, despite his skepticism, felt a prickle of unease. “You have? How…?”

Beatrix smiled, a subtle curve of her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Let’s just say the universe whispers to those who listen. You have a patient, a young man named Jacob, who is experiencing…temporal disturbances.”

Eric’s jaw dropped. “How did you know?”

“Knowledge is a river, Doctor. Some drink from the surface, others dive into the depths. Jacob is…unusually sensitive to the currents.” She gestured to a stool opposite her cluttered desk. “Tell me about him.”

He described Jacob’s symptoms, his fragmented memories, his obsession with the fluidity of time. Beatrix listened intently, her expression unreadable.

“He’s not insane, Doctor,” she said finally. “He’s seeing something…real. Time, as you perceive it, is a linear construct, a convenient fiction that allows you to navigate your reality. But it’s not the truth. Time is a tapestry, woven from infinite threads, each representing a possible reality. Jacob is seeing the threads unravel, witnessing the connections between them.”

Eric scoffed. “That’s…absurd. There’s no scientific basis for any of that.”

“Science only scratches the surface, Doctor. There are forces at play beyond your comprehension. Time dilation, for example, proves that time is not absolute. What if there are other forms of dilation, subtle distortions that your instruments can’t detect? What if past, present, and future are not fixed points, but fluid states, constantly interacting with each other?”

Beatrix leaned forward, her eyes piercing. “You think of time as a river flowing in one direction, but imagine a river with eddies and whirlpools, places where the water flows backward, where different currents converge. Jacob is caught in one of those whirlpools.”

“And what do you suggest I do?” Eric asked, his voice laced with skepticism despite himself.

“Help him navigate. Help him understand what he’s seeing. Don’t try to force him back into your linear reality. He needs to learn to control his perception, to ground himself in a single reality before the threads unravel completely.”

Beatrix then told him about specific meditation techniques, ancient rituals designed to anchor the mind in the present moment. She warned him about the dangers of temporal paradoxes, the potential for Jacob to become lost in the labyrinth of time.

Eric left the Serpent’s Eye feeling more confused than ever. He was a scientist, a rationalist. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Beatrix had given him something valuable, something that might actually help Jacob.

He began incorporating Beatrix’s techniques into Jacob’s therapy. He guided him through complex visualizations, encouraged him to focus on sensory details, to ground himself in the present moment. Slowly, painstakingly, Jacob began to show signs of improvement. His temporal distortions became less frequent, less intense. He started to distinguish between the different “threads” of reality, to choose the one he wanted to inhabit.

One day, Jacob told Eric about a recurring vision he was having – a beautiful woman with silver hair, a shop filled with strange artifacts, a sense of profound peace. He described Beatrix, the Serpent’s Eye, with uncanny accuracy.

“She’s helping me, Doctor,” Jacob said, his voice calm and clear. “She’s showing me how to navigate the currents.”

Eric, despite his reservations, decided to confront Beatrix. He returned to the Serpent’s Eye, his heart pounding in his chest.

“You’ve been communicating with Jacob,” he accused. “You’ve been influencing his therapy.”

Beatrix simply smiled. “I’ve been guiding him, Doctor. I’ve been helping him find his way back to himself.”

“But you’re not a doctor! You’re a…”

“I’m a student of time, Doctor. And I see something in Jacob that you don’t. He’s not just experiencing temporal disturbances, he’s capable of manipulating them. He has the potential to bend time to his will.”

Eric stared at her, dumbfounded. “That’s…impossible.”

“Is it? Or is it simply beyond your current understanding? You see time as a prison, a linear progression from past to future. I see it as a playground, a realm of infinite possibilities.”

As Eric continued Jacob's treatment, something shifted within him. He found himself questioning his long-held beliefs, acknowledging the limitations of his scientific worldview. He started to see the world through Jacob’s eyes, to glimpse the shimmering edges of temporal anomalies.

One evening, after a particularly intense session with Jacob, Eric felt a strange sensation, a disorientation, as if the room were subtly shifting around him. He looked at Jacob, and saw a flicker in his eyes, a spark of raw power.

“Doctor,” Jacob said, his voice barely a whisper. “I think…I think I’m ready.”

Ready for what? Eric wanted to ask, but the words caught in his throat. He felt a pull, a tug on his consciousness, as if he were being drawn into another reality. He looked at Jacob, and saw not a patient, but a guide, a fellow traveler on the uncharted seas of time.

And then, everything changed. The room dissolved around him, the familiar walls melting away into a swirling vortex of colors and sounds. He felt a sensation of infinite possibilities, of countless realities unfolding before him.

He saw Beatrix, standing at the center of the storm, her eyes glowing with an ancient light. She smiled at him, a knowing, welcoming smile.

“Welcome, Doctor,” she said. “Welcome to the true nature of time.”

He realized then that he was no longer just a doctor, a scientist. He was something more, something…else. He was a traveler, a seeker, a lover of the infinite. And he was in love with Beatrix, a woman who held the keys to the universe in her eyes. The past, present and future swirled around him as he took her hand.

The vortex stilled, the kaleidoscopic chaos resolving into a scene that was both familiar and utterly alien. They stood within the Serpent's Eye, but it was not the dusty, cluttered shop Eric remembered. This was a vibrant, almost ethereal version. Sunlight streamed through the windows, illuminating shelves overflowing with thriving plants, glittering crystals, and artifacts that hummed with barely contained energy. The air thrummed with a silent symphony of possibilities.

Beatrix's hand, warm and firm in his, grounded him. Her eyes, no longer simply penetrating, radiated a soft, joyful light. "This is one of the threads, Eric," she said, her voice resonating with the power swirling around them. "One of the realities where the potential for good outweighs the shadows."

He looked questioningly at Jacob, who stood beside Beatrix, his face radiating a serene confidence he hadn't seen before. "I stabilized it, Doctor," Jacob explained. "With Beatrix's guidance, I learned to anchor this reality, to bring it into focus."

Eric felt a surge of gratitude toward Jacob, a profound respect for the young man's abilities. "But... what about the other threads?"

"They still exist," Beatrix answered. "The tapestry is vast, and some threads are frayed, dark, and dangerous. But we can influence the weave, Eric. We can strengthen the threads of hope, diminish the power of despair."

She led him further into the shop, revealing hidden chambers filled with bubbling cauldrons, intricate astrological charts, and shelves upon shelves of grimoires bound in shimmering hides. "This is a place of learning, Eric," Beatrix said. "A place where we explore the mysteries of time and consciousness."

Over the next few weeks, Eric immersed himself in Beatrix's world. He learned about the ancient rituals, the meditation techniques, the subtle art of manipulating temporal energies. He discovered a hidden talent for divination, a knack for understanding the intricate language of the cosmos. He was no longer just a doctor; he was an apprentice, a student of the universe.

He and Beatrix spent hours poring over ancient texts, deciphering cryptic symbols, and experimenting with arcane practices. Their connection deepened, transcending the boundaries of mentor and student. He found himself drawn to her wisdom, her strength, her unwavering belief in the power of good. He fell in love with her not just for her knowledge, but for her soul.

Their love was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was a love that spanned centuries, traversed dimensions, and resonated with the very fabric of reality. It was a love built on shared purpose, mutual respect, and a deep understanding of the mysteries that bound them together.

One evening, as they sat by a crackling fire in the heart of the Serpent's Eye, Beatrix turned to him, her eyes filled with a gentle sorrow. "There is something you must know, Eric," she said. "My connection to time... it comes at a price. Each time I intervene, each time I influence the threads, I expend a part of myself. My time in this reality is limited."

Eric felt a cold dread grip his heart. "What do you mean?"

"I am an anchor, Eric. But anchors eventually rust and crumble. I have guided Jacob, and now I must guide you. You must be ready to take my place."

He shook his head, refusing to accept her words. "No, there has to be another way. We can find a solution, a way to prolong your time here."

Beatrix smiled sadly. "Some things are inevitable, Eric. But do not despair. My essence will remain, woven into the fabric of this reality. And you will carry on my work, alongside Jacob, ensuring that the threads of hope remain strong."

In the weeks that followed, Beatrix focused on preparing Eric for his role. She shared her deepest secrets, imparted her most profound wisdom, and entrusted him with the future of the Serpent's Eye. She showed him how to harness his own innate abilities, how to tap into the infinite source of energy that flowed through the universe.

As her strength waned, their love deepened. They found solace in each other's arms, cherishing every moment, every touch, every shared glance. He knew that her time was running out, but he refused to let grief consume him. He would honor her by embracing his destiny, by dedicating his life to the pursuit of knowledge and the preservation of hope.

The day Beatrix's time came was both heartbreaking and beautiful. Surrounded by Eric and Jacob, in the heart of the Serpent's Eye, she faded away, her essence dissolving into the very fabric of the building.

Eric felt an overwhelming sense of loss, but also a profound sense of peace. He knew that she was not truly gone. Her spirit lived on, woven into the threads of time, guiding him, supporting him, loving him from beyond the veil.

He looked at Jacob, who stood beside him, his eyes filled with a quiet strength. "We have work to do, Jacob," Eric said, his voice firm. "We have a tapestry to weave."

Together, they embraced their destiny. They became guardians of time, protectors of hope, and lovers of the infinite. They traveled through the threads of reality, mending the frayed edges, strengthening the weak points, and ensuring that the light of love and compassion shone through the darkness.

Eric never forgot Beatrix. Her love remained his guiding star, her wisdom his compass, her spirit his eternal companion. He carried her memory in his heart, a reminder of the infinite possibilities that lay beyond the boundaries of time and space.

And so, the doctor, once bound by the rigid constraints of science, became a traveler, a seeker, and a lover, forever entwined with the woman who had shown him the true nature of reality, the woman who had taught him how to love beyond time itself. He and Jacob continued her work, knowing that as long as love and hope persisted, the tapestry of time would continue to unfold, rich with beauty, wonder, and the promise of a brighter future. The Serpent's Eye remained a beacon, a testament to the enduring power of love in the face of eternity.

Eric woke. The sterile white walls of Willow Creek Mental Institution pressed in on Eric, suffocating him more effectively than any ancient tomb ever could. He sat on the edge of the narrow bed, the thin cotton blanket a pathetic shield against the bone-chilling cold that seemed to emanate from within him. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, the coarse strands feeling alien against his skin. Was it all a dream? Had the Serpent's Eye, Beatrix, Jacob, the endless threads of time, been nothing more than a figment of his fractured mind?

He looked around the room, searching for any sign, any echo of the life he remembered. But there was nothing. Only the bare necessities: a bed, a small metal table, a barred window offering a sliver of a bleak, overcast sky. The air hung heavy with the scent of disinfectant and despair.

He remembered the fire in the Serpent's Eye, the warmth of Beatrix's hand in his, the weight of responsibility as she entrusted him with her legacy. He remembered the dizzying sensation of traversing timelines, the thrill of unraveling ancient mysteries, the bittersweet joy of their love. But here, in this sterile environment, those memories felt like fragile butterflies trapped in a jar, their wings slowly crumbling to dust.

A wave of nausea washed over him, followed by a sharp, throbbing pain in his temples. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the images back, to hold onto the reality he feared was slipping away. He saw Beatrix's face, her eyes filled with wisdom and a gentle sadness. He heard her voice, echoing in his mind, "Remember, Eric. Remember everything."

He opened his eyes, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had to know. He had to find out if any of it was real.

He stood up, his legs unsteady, and walked over to the barred window. He peered out, trying to get his bearings. The institution was surrounded by a sprawling, unkempt lawn and a dense forest of skeletal trees. It was isolated, remote, a place where inconvenient truths could be easily buried.

A nurse, her face etched with weariness, entered the room. "Dr. Bookman," she said, her voice devoid of warmth. "It's time for your medication."

He turned to face her, his eyes narrowed. "I'm not crazy," he said, his voice hoarse. "I know what I saw. I know what I experienced."

The nurse sighed, as if this was a conversation she'd had countless times before. "Of course, Doctor. That's what they all say. Now, please, take your medication. It will help you feel better."

She held out a small paper cup containing two pills. Eric stared at them, his mind racing. Were these designed to help him, or to further erase his memories, to cement him in this fabricated reality?

"What are these?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Just your regular antipsychotics, Doctor. They'll help calm your delusions."

Delusions. The word hung in the air like a death knell. Was that all it was? A series of elaborate delusions brought on by stress, trauma, perhaps a latent mental illness he'd never known he possessed?

He hesitated, then snatched the cup from her hand and swallowed the pills with a gulp of water from the small sink in the corner of the room. He needed to play along, to gain their trust, to find a way to escape and prove that he wasn't insane. He had to find Jacob.

Days turned into weeks, and Eric settled into a routine of forced compliance. He attended his therapy sessions, listened politely to the doctors, and swallowed his medication without complaint. All the while, he meticulously observed his surroundings, searching for clues, for any sign that could validate his memories.

He learned that he had been admitted to Willow Creek after a "breakdown" following the death of his mentor, Professor Douglas Thomas, a renowned historian and archaeologist. The doctors believed that his obsession with ancient texts and forgotten languages had led to a psychotic episode, blurring the lines between reality and fantasy.

Professor Thomas… Eric remembered him vaguely, a kindly old man with a passion for history. But he wasn't the one who had introduced him to the Serpent's Eye. That was Beatrix.

He tried to find information about Professor Thomas, hoping to uncover some connection to the Serpent's Eye, some evidence that his life before Willow Creek had been more than just a descent into madness. But the institution's library was limited, and his requests for access to external resources were consistently denied.

One day, during his daily walk in the courtyard, he noticed a maintenance worker repairing a section of the outer wall. He watched as the man carefully chipped away at the crumbling stone, revealing layers of brick and mortar beneath.

An idea sparked in his mind. He approached the worker, a burly man with calloused hands and a weathered face. "Excuse me," Eric said, his voice calm and polite. "I'm Dr. Bookman. I'm curious about the construction of this building. It looks quite old."

The worker grunted, barely making eye contact. "Yeah, it's old alright. Been here for over a hundred years."

"Do you know anything about its history?"

The worker shrugged. "Not much. Just that it used to be something else before it became a mental hospital. A sanitarium, I think they called it."

"A sanitarium?" Eric pressed. "What kind of sanitarium?"

The worker paused, scratching his chin. "I think... I think I heard someone say it was for people with… unusual ailments. Like those who claimed to see things others couldn't."

Eric's heart skipped a beat. "Unusual ailments," he repeated, his voice barely audible. "Do you know where I could find more information about that?"

The worker shook his head. "Nah, not really. But I did find something interesting the other day while I was working on the old boiler room. Found a bunch of old papers and documents tucked away in a hidden compartment."

Hope surged through Eric like a jolt of electricity. "Do you still have them?"

The worker hesitated, glancing around nervously. "I might… I don't know if I should show them to you, Doc. They're probably nothing important anyway."

"Please," Eric pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. "It could mean everything to me. I need to know."

The worker looked at Eric for a long moment, his eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and pity. He seemed to see something in Eric's desperate gaze that resonated with him.

"Alright," he said finally, his voice low. "I'll show them to you. But you can't tell anyone where you got them, understand? And you can't get me into trouble."

Eric nodded eagerly. "I promise. I won't say a word."

That night, under the cloak of darkness, the maintenance worker led Eric to the old boiler room, a dark and cavernous space filled with rusted machinery and the lingering smell of coal. He pulled out a dusty box from behind a pile of discarded pipes and handed it to Eric.

"Be careful," he warned. "These are old and fragile."

Eric opened the box with trembling hands. Inside, he found a collection of yellowed documents, handwritten letters, and faded photographs. As he began to sort through them, his heart pounded in his chest.

He found medical reports detailing strange and unexplained symptoms, patient testimonials describing visions of other realities, and cryptic diagrams that seemed to depict the flow of time. He even found a faded photograph of a woman who looked remarkably like Beatrix.

As he delved deeper into the documents, a chilling realization dawned on him. Willow Creek Mental Institution wasn't just a place to treat the mentally ill. It was a repository for those who had glimpsed the truth, those who threatened to expose the secrets that powerful forces sought to keep hidden.

And he, Dr. Eric Bookman, had stumbled upon that truth. He wasn't crazy. He was dangerous.

He knew then that he had to escape. He had to find Jacob. He had to expose the truth about the Serpent's Eye and the forces that were trying to control it. He had to honor Beatrix's legacy, even if it meant risking everything.

He closed the box, his eyes filled with a newfound determination. The sterile walls of Willow Creek no longer felt like a prison. They felt like a starting point. The game had changed. He was no longer a patient. He was a player. And he was ready to fight.