And then there’s the matter of whether any of it is even relevant at all.

“I keep seeing these pictures,” I explain. “I’ll see something in reality, and then these things will flash through my mind, kind of like the ones I first told you about. But they’re like fragments in time. I can only see them for a second, and then they’re gone, and I have no idea if they were even real to begin with.”

“What kind of pictures?” he asks, leaning forward.

“The first one was a snapshot of a party,” I say. “I think it might be the party I went to that night. Or maybe that’s just what my brain wants me to think.”

“There’s a very strong possibility it could be real,” he reassures me. “What about the others?”

“I had this dream. I was trying to talk to a little boy in the park, but he wouldn’t answer me. He pointed over my shoulder and a car came out of nowhere, heading straight for me. I barely got out of the way in time, and then I woke up.”

The doctor takes a moment to consider my words as the clock on his desk ticks in the background. “It could very well be a tilted reflection of what you witnessed the night you got into the accident. Trauma, when repressed, can reveal itself to you in different ways.”

“Tilted?”

The notion that the gut-wrenching sight of bright headlights barreling in my direction might’ve been what I actually saw that night is harrowing.

“That’s right. Sometimes our brain shifts what we remember about traumatic events, so some pieces of what you saw may be real, and others may be completely fictional.”

I contemplate what this new information might mean for my memory. Does it make what I’ve been seeing more real or less so? And how am I supposed to tell the difference between what’s real and what’s not?

“Allie,” he says, leveling a serious look at me. “We’re going to try something different today. Are you familiar with hypnotherapy?”

An uneasy feeling settles in my chest. “Vaguely.”

“You’re perfectly safe here,” he remarks, holding his hands out. “We’re just going to ease you into a state that might make it easier to retrieve some of your memories. You’ll still be totally in control.”

“I don’t know . . . A lot of what I’ve seen so far has been frightening.”

“It may be scary at first, but remember, you’re in my office,” he says. “Nothing is actually happening to you. This is a safe space.”

“And you really think this will help?”

“It’s worth trying.”

I bite the inside of my lip. “Okay.”

“Excellent!” he exclaims, standing from his seat and walking over to mine.