THE TUESDAY NIGHT GROUP
The Tuesday night group met in the basement of St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, a few blocks from Vance’s office. Maya had learned about it from Rachel Bennett, who had learned about it from Clara. “It’s not a regular therapy session,” Rachel had said. “It’s more like a support group. People who are struggling. People who need someone to talk to.”
Maya arrived at 6:45 PM, fifteen minutes early. She wore plain clothes, no makeup, her hair pulled back. She had used a fake name again—not Maggie Hale, something new. Sarah Keane. A recent transplant to Barrow Falls. Lonely. Anxious. Looking for connection.
The basement was warm and dim, lit by floor lamps that cast soft shadows. Folding chairs were arranged in a circle. A small table held a pot of coffee and a plate of store-bought cookies.
She was the first to arrive.
Then the others came.
One by one, they filed in. A man in his forties, wearing a janitor’s uniform. A woman in her thirties, pregnant, rubbing her belly. A teenager, seventeen at most, with dyed black hair and tired eyes. An elderly man with a cane. A middle-aged woman in a business suit.
And then Dr. Vance.
He entered last, carrying a leather satchel, smiling his gentle smile.
“Welcome, everyone. I’m glad you could make it.”
He greeted each person by name. Asked about their week. Their struggles. Their dreams.
When he got to Maya, he paused.
“Sarah. You’re new.”
“I am.”
“Welcome. What brings you here?”
She had prepared an answer. A divorce. Insomnia. A sense of dread.
But when she opened her mouth, something else came out.
“I think someone is following me.”
Vance’s expression didn’t change. But his eyes flickered.
“Following you? In what way?”
“I don’t know. I just… feel it. When I’m walking home. When I’m in my apartment. When I’m sleeping.”
“Do you dream about it?”
And there it was. The question she had expected. The question he asked everyone.
“Yes.”
“What do you dream?”
“A bridge. Dark water. A railing.”
The room went silent.
Vance nodded slowly.
“That’s a common image. For people who are struggling with anxiety. The bridge represents transition. The water represents the unconscious. Do you know what it means when you dream about falling?”
“No.”
“It means you’re afraid of losing control. Of surrendering to something you can’t stop.” He leaned forward. “Have you ever thought about acting on the dream? About stepping off the bridge?”
Maya’s heart pounded.
“No.”
“Good. If you ever do, I want you to call me. Immediately. Day or night.”
He handed her a card.
The same card he had given her before.
She took it.
The group continued.
Maya listened.
And watched.