TRANSCRIPT: SOMNARIUM. S.007 – Delayed

Case of Brian Whitman. First seen by Dr. Susan Renwyck on June 26th, 2003 for acute anxiety, severe insomnia, and recurring nightmares following a series of delays that caused him to miss a significant life event.

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S.007 – Delayed

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INTRO

Well, the email wasn’t lying. I’ve been sleeping better. No more nightmares.

I’ve been hammering away at the hard drive constantly, trying to get that encrypted folder to open, but still no luck.

I’ve contacted a “friend” who might be able to help. I didn’t give her much information, but she was willing to give it a shot.

I’ll take it to her. I’m not letting the drive out of my sight.

Anyway… another day, another partially recovered folder.

This one’s about a guy whose flight gets delayed and delayed and delayed until he misses a… important life event.

You’ll see.

PATIENT APPLICATION

Applicant: Brian Whitman
Date: June 20th, 2003
Referral: Dr. [REDACTED]

Dear Dr. Renwyck,

I am writing to you by recommendation of my primary care physician.
Dr. [REDACTED] thought it was appropriate given everything that’s happened in the last week.

Your office told me I had to submit a written application so you could have a clear overview of what has happened, in my own words.

It all started a little over a week ago. I was on a business trip for work.

I work for BWF Construction as a Field Compliance Inspector. That’s a fancy way of saying I fly out to active construction sites on a regular interval and do the mandatory checks to make sure our buildings are being built according to company standards. I take notes, photos, and file a report for my boss.

I’m just another cog in the machine. But hey, at least this cog gets to travel all around the country on my employer’s dime.

It was June 13th and I had just finished writing my report the night before and I was scheduled to fly back home that day.

I was excited to get back because my wife was pregnant, and I had the next two weeks off to be with her in the final stretch. We were expecting our first child any day now, and I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

I made my way to the airport by taxi. We got stuck in traffic, but I guess that can’t be avoided. It was still early in the morning and my flight wasn’t until the late afternoon so I figured I had plenty of time.

When we finally arrived, it was nearly noon and there was another setback. The terminal drop-off was closed due to construction. I had to take the long way around to reach check-in.

When I got inside, I couldn’t even see the check-in counters through the crowd. The line just disappeared into the terminal.

Off to the side, there were a few of those new self-service check-in kiosks. I figured it would save me time, so I walked over and tried my luck there instead of getting in line.

At first it seemed to work. I punched in my information, answered the questions, and watched it think.

Then it froze halfway through.

The screen went blank, flickered back on, and restarted like I’d never touched it. When it finally printed something, it was my boarding pass… but no bag tag.

I flagged down an agent. She barely looked at the machine before telling me to step aside and wait. “It won’t take long”, she said.

It took twenty minutes before anyone even came over.

When a supervisor finally came to help, the printer jammed. She walked me over to a little “Kiosk Assistance” desk near the counters, where they had an older printer that could still print bag tags so I could check my bag.

I hurried over to the bag drop, handed over my suitcase, and watched it disappear onto the belt.

With a small victory in hand, I made my way over to security and yep… you guessed it. Random check.

At the front of the line, the agent looked at my boarding pass, then at me, then back at the pass.

He tapped something on his screen and said, “Step to the side, sir.”

A second agent appeared and guided me into a separate lane marked with a little sign that just said SECONDARY.

It wasn’t aggressive. It was worse than that. It was routine.

They had me empty my pockets again. Belt off. Shoes off. Arms out. A handheld wand traced slow lines along my ribs and down my legs like they were reading me.

Then they opened my carry-on and went through it piece by piece. Not quickly. Not like they were searching for something specific. More like they were making sure I understood that time belonged to them.

One of them swabbed my hands and the top of my bag with a little cloth and fed it into a machine.

“Just a minute”, he said.

The machine beeped once, then nothing.

He stared at the screen like it was loading.

Then he frowned, pulled the swab out, and did it again. This time on my belt buckle. Then my shoes. Then the zipper of my bag.

Another beep. Another pause.

“Inconclusive”, he muttered, like he was reading a weather report.

He told me to wait behind a little strip of tape on the floor. Not a room. Not a chair. Just a corner where people could look at you without looking at you.

Every few minutes, he’d come back, swab something else, feed it into the machine, and tell me the same thing.

“Just a minute.”

At one point a supervisor came over. She glanced at the screen, sighed, and said, “Run it again.”

I checked my watch. Then checked it again. Then again.

By the time they finally waved me through, it had been forty-five minutes.

I grabbed my things and put myself back together on the move. Belt, shoes, bag, boarding pass in my hand. I rushed to the nearest departures board and found my flight. Gate changed. Figures. I checked the time and felt my stomach drop. Twenty-five minutes until departure. Boarding would already be underway.

I started moving before I even finished reading it. Down the concourse, past closed storefronts, past people walking like they had all the time in the world. I could feel my pulse in my throat.

When I finally reached the gate, they were already boarding.

They scanned my pass. It failed once. The little machine chirped and the agent frowned at the screen. For a second I just stood there, frozen, waiting for her to tell me to step aside again.

Then it beeped a second time, and she waved me through like nothing had happened.

I got to my seat, sat down, and turned my phone off like they told us to.

We didn’t take off for a very long time.

There were announcements. Delays. More delays. A weather system somewhere else. Paperwork. Crew scheduling. I lost track of how many times they said “just a little longer.”

When we finally landed, I turned my phone back on.

It lit up immediately. Missed calls. Voicemails. Texts stacking on top of each other like they had been coming in for hours.

My wife. My sister-in-law.

Over and over.

“My water broke!”
“Where are you??”
“Call me NOW.”
“Brian, she’s coming.”
“My sister is driving me to the hospital, please be there.”
“Answer your phone!”
“Where are you?”

And then the last one, sent minutes ago:

“Brian… she’s here.”

My daughter had been born while we were still on the tarmac.

Since that day, I haven’t been sleeping. When I do, I dream about being late.
About running through a train station where everything is designed to make you late.

I need your help Dr. Renwyck.

Kind regards,

Brian Whitman

CONSULTATION NOTE

Applicant: Brian Whitman
Date: June 26th, 2003
Subject: Initial consultation; Start of sleep diary

Mr. Whitman presented today following an acute stressor and subsequent sleep disruption. He described persistent insomnia since June 13th, with marked daytime irritability, reduced concentration, and a preoccupation with timing and “missing the next step.” He repeatedly returned to the idea that events were “stacking” against him in a way that felt deliberate, though he was able to acknowledge this as an emotional impression rather than a stated belief.

Primary complaint remains recurrent nightmares centered on being late and being prevented from reaching a connection. Dream content is consistent across multiple nights and includes an unfamiliar train station environment, shifting signage, and repeated cues indicating departure or boarding. Patient reports a recurrent figure within the dream described as a conductor or station attendant. He emphasized that the figure does not pursue him in the conventional sense, but appears in positions that block progress or redirect him. Patient described feeling a disproportionate level of panic and helplessness in response to this imagery, and noted that he wakes with tachycardia, sweating, and a sense of imminent consequence.

Patient denies suicidal ideation. No evidence of thought disorder observed during consult. Notably anxious, with periods of agitation when discussing the travel event and perceived loss of time. Insight preserved. The combination of acute stress, sleep deprivation, and guilt related to the missed family event appears to be driving symptom intensity.

Plan is to begin a structured sleep diary immediately, with emphasis on bedtime, wake time, awakenings, nightmare content, and daytime functioning. Discussed sleep hygiene measures and avoidance of compensation behaviors that may worsen arousal, including repeated clock-checking and prolonged time in bed while awake. Prescribed a short course of anxiolytic medication to reduce baseline anxiety and improve sleep initiation, with instructions regarding sedation risk and avoidance of driving if drowsy. Recommended follow-up in two weeks to review diary data, reassess symptoms, and determine whether additional intervention is indicated.

SLEEP DIARY

Brian’s sleep diary is unfortunately incomplete. There are multiple pages missing but I’ve pieced together what I could here.

Friday, June 27th, 2003

I saw Dr. Renwyck for the first time yesterday, she congratulated me on my newborn daughter. She seems nice.

I stopped by the pharmacy on the way home to pick up the prescription Dr. Renwyck gave me, took a pill immediately as I got them but didn’t feel much of a difference. She said it could take a couple of days to start working so I guess I’ll see.

When I got home Becca’s sister had made dinner, she’s still staying with us for now after coming to my wife’s rescue when I was delayed.

We sat quietly at the dinner table, Becca asked how it went with Dr. Renwyck. I told her what we had talked about. Keeping the sleep diary, the anti-anxiety medication and the follow-up.

She was supportive but I still think she blames me for not being there.
Why should she be supporting me? She’s the one who just birthed our beautiful daughter. She’s the one that gave us the miracle of life. I should be tending to her every whim, not laying awake at night reliving the same nightmare.

After dinner I went straight upstairs, I went to bed. I was absolutely exhausted.

That night was the same as it has been in the past week, I find myself in this train station.
Following signage and instructions from the staff. Boarding trains and switching platforms.

To what end? I never get anywhere. I just wander around following the path they lay out in front of me but it never gets me anywhere.

Between waking up from the nightmares and the crying of the baby I managed to get maybe two hours of sleep last night.

I hope tonight will be better.

Sunday, June 29th, 2003

The train station again last night. For the first time I noticed an Info Booth, snuck away between two pillars somewhere in the center of the station.

I walked up to it, hoping to get any clue as to where I have to go. I asked the booth attendant where I had to go.

How do I get out of here?

They didn’t respond, they just… pointed.
With a pale, bony finger. The skin pulled tightly over the knuckles.

Behind me. They pointed behind me. Towards the far end of the station, where it was darker.

“Are you sure?” I asked. The booth attendant nodded stiffly and for a second I could’ve sworn I heard bones crack.

Hesitantly I made my way over to the darker side of the station, at that point curiosity had gotten the better of me. This was the only part of the station I hadn’t dared to step foot in.

It just looked so… ominous. Like I wasn’t supposed to be there.

I descended down the staircase and was overcome with this metallic scent.
It was noticeably colder down there.

On the platform, there was a train, waiting. It looked old, like a steam train.

There wasn’t a single soul down there, save for a uniformed man. I could see him near the end of the platform, where the steam engine was.

I stood there, weighing my options.

Before I could decide, he took out a pocket watch. Looked at it, then put it away.

And then… he looked right at me.

I jolted awake and to my relief I could hear the baby crying.

The rest of the day I was completely out of it. Becca and I took the baby to the park and we sat on a bench enjoying the weather for quite a while.

When the cool evening breeze finally hit, that was our call to go home.

Becca’s sister made lasagna, I love lasagna. That cheered me up, even if only for a little while.

She’s going home again tomorrow, so it’ll just be the three of us from here on out.

Hopefully once I get some sleep things will take a turn for the better.

At least I don’t have work to worry about now.

Wednesday, July 2nd, 2003

The station again last night.

Info booth attendant. Descend the stairs. Steam train.

The uniformed man was closer than he was the night before.
Still staring at his pocket watch, like he was waiting for the perfect time for… something.

I approached slowly, ducking behind the pillars to stay out of sight.

When I got close enough to finally get a better look, it was immediately obvious.

A train conductor. But dressed in old attire. Like he’d been pulled straight from the 19th century.

At some point I must’ve leaned out too much because suddenly he slammed the pocket watch shut and snapped his head towards me.

I jerked awake so hard I nearly fell out of the bed. Becca asked me if I was alright.

I didn’t know what to say.

After breakfast we went out to do some light shopping. Necessities for the baby and such.

We genuinely had a nice time and for the first time I didn’t feel as anxious in public.

When Becca went to change the baby during lunch, I just sat there thinking how stupid it was that I had been letting nightmares get to me that badly.

For a minute I might’ve even smiled.

And that’s when I saw him. The conductor.

The same one from my dreams.

I was upset. No, I was angry. How was it possible that the person that had been terrorizing my nightmares was now standing right there, in the flesh.

I got up and went to confront him, I’ve had enough of whatever this was.

Before I got the chance to say anything, he opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something.

But no words came out, just a sound. That same two-tone announcement chime I had heard in my nightmares.

I was stunned, frozen in fear.

And then he opened his mouth farther and it just kept opening.

I saw light coming from his mouth, growing brighter. Like headlights approaching.

And when I couldn’t see anything else but the light. The horn of a train blasted into my ears as if I was standing right next to one.

I must’ve passed out because when I saw anything else but that bright light again, I was on the floor. I saw the face of my sweet Becca, she looked concerned.

She wouldn’t let me drive us home, she drove me to the hospital instead because I was bleeding from the back of my head. I must’ve hit the pavement quite hard.

The attending physician sent me home with some painkillers and the diagnosis of a light concussion. Nothing a dark room and some sleep wouldn’t fix.

Sunday, July 6th, 2003

The last couple of nights have been a blur. After I hit my head on the pavement I slept quite a bit and I can’t remember if I dreamt or not.

Anyway, I remember last night. I really wish I didn’t.

Same dream. Train station. Info booth attendant. Descend the stairs. Steam train.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs he was already standing there, staring at his pocket watch. Like he was waiting for me.

As soon as my foot touched the ground of the platform he snapped it shut. And looked at me.

He opened his mouth and that two-tone chime rang out once again. Only this time it came from him, and everywhere around me.

I lost it at that point.

I turned and ran, I had to get out of there. I didn’t know what that conductor wanted, but that was not the way out.

I ran up that flight of stairs so fast I could’ve sworn it was shorter. Only this time, there was a door at the top.

I didn’t have any time to hesitate, he was already right there behind me.

I swung open the door stepped through and slammed it shut behind me.

I… didn’t know what I expected…

I was in an airport. The same airport that had caused all of this grief.

Only it was different, wrong somehow. Like the layout didn’t make sense.

It was empty, there was not a single soul in sight.

I just… wandered for a bit. Until I got to one of the windows that looks out onto the tarmac.

There wasn’t a single plane to be seen. Just… more empty nothingness.

And the sky… the sky was… not there?

I know, I know that sounds confusing. What I mean is, it wasn’t like it was night or anything. It wasn’t dark. No, it was bright outside. Like the same artificial light that was present in the building.

But the sky was, black. Not dark, black. Like there was nothing there.

I woke up to the sound of the baby crying and at that point it made me happy enough to get out of bed.

Next week I’m seeing Dr. Renwyck again, maybe she can make some sense out of all of these dreams.

Wednesday, July 9th, 2003

It’s not the train station anymore now, it’s the airport. Always the airport.

Luckily the conductor hasn’t found me there yet, or if I’m lucky can’t find me there.

I’ve wandered that same building night after night. And every corridor and walkway is just more of the same emptiness.

It’s not like it’s abandoned, it’s just empty. Like the entire building was thoroughly cleaned of anything that wasn’t supposed to be there. People included.

I’m seeing Dr. Renwyck tomorrow. I’m going to see if she can put me on medical leave. I don’t think I’m ready to go back to work yet.

I’m just… so tired.

Thursday, July 10th, 2003

The airport again, nothing new to say at this point.

Saw Dr. Renwyck today. She found it interesting that my dream had evolved from a train station to an airport. She said something about how the subconscious tries to process what the conscious cannot, or something like that. I think she called it displacement? I’m sure she’s right, she’s the expert after all.

I told her about not wanting to go back to work and she agreed. She wrote a letter for medical leave that I can send to work. At least that’s one less thing to worry about.

I’m looking forward to the weekend though. Saturday is poker night with the guys and Sunday Becca and I are going to visit her parents. They live about three hours away, so time to take our baby on her first road trip.

Saturday, July 12th, 2003

The airport again.

I knew it was only a matter of time, but the conductor found me.

I was wandering the same corridors again trying to find anything that I might’ve missed, anything that might’ve led me out of there.

Instead I found him. He was just there, in the middle of the walkway, waiting for me.

When he noticed me, he calmly put his pocket watch away and opened his mouth.

The two-tone chime is the last thing I heard before waking up.

Tonight is poker night, hopefully the guys will be able to take my mind off all this.

At least I’ll have something to occupy my mind.

Because when I’m all alone, I could swear I hear the sound of a train horn blaring in the distance.

PATIENT RECORD ADDENDUM #1

Patient: Brian Whitman
Date: July 17th, 2003
Subject: Patient deceased; attached newspaper clipping

I was informed today that Brian Whitman, his wife Rebecca Whitman, and their newborn daughter were killed in a motor vehicle collision earlier this week.

There are no words that feel appropriate. I can only note the fact of it, and the weight of it, and how cruel it is that a family can be taken in a single moment after fighting so hard to hold itself together.

This file is closed. The loss is not.

Attached to this addendum is a scan of a newspaper article.

Local Couple, Newborn Die in Crash

Date: July 14th, 2003

A young family of three was killed Sunday in a single-vehicle crash, according to police.

Brian Whitman, 32, his wife Rebecca Whitman, 29, and their newborn daughter were pronounced dead at the scene after their sedan left the roadway and struck a concrete barrier. Authorities said the family was believed to be traveling to visit relatives at the time of the collision.

Police described the incident as sudden and severe.

“Traffic camera footage shows Mr. Whitman swerving as if to avoid something in the roadway, then losing control of the vehicle,” a police spokesperson said. “No other vehicles appear to be involved.”

The roadway was closed for several hours Sunday while investigators documented the scene and crews cleared debris.

The crash remains under investigation.

PATIENT RECORD ADDENDUM #2

Patient: Brian Whitman
Date: January 10th, 2006
Subject: E-mail exchange with Detective Raynor

From: Raynor, J [EMAIL REDACTED]
To: Renwyck, S [EMAIL REDACTED]
Date: November 28th, 2005
Subject: Inquiry – BWF Construction

Dr. Renwyck,

Have you treated any patients connected to BWF Construction, directly or indirectly? If so, I would like the dates of treatment and any relevant context.

— Detective Raynor

November 28th, 2005

Detective Raynor,

I cannot confirm or deny whether an individual is or was a patient of mine, and I cannot provide records or clinical details without a court order or the patient’s written consent.

— Dr. Susan Renwyck

December 1st, 2005

Dr. Renwyck,
Understood.

Attached is a photocopy of a sleep diary recovered from the Whitman residence after the crash.

I don’t think it was an accident.

— Detective Raynor

December 2nd, 2005

Detective Raynor,

I am responding only to what you have provided, and only in general terms.

The name you mentioned matches a former patient file. His intake materials indicate employment with BWF Construction.

— Dr. Susan Renwyck

December 2nd, 2005

Dr. Renwyck,

BWF in BWF Construction stands for Blackwell Foundation.

I’m starting to think there’s more victims connected to the Blackwells.

— Detective Raynor

CONCLUSION

That’s everything I could recover from Brian Whitman’s file.

The intake, the diary, the closure note… and then that email chain, years later, when Detective Raynor finally starts pulling on the right thread.

BWF Construction.

Blackwell Foundation.

I don’t know what to do with that yet.

I’m going to have to do some research into this Blackwell Family.

So… two cases in a row that are somehow connected to the Blackwell Family.

[pause]

What is it that you’re trying to tell me?

I’m going to take the drive to my friend tomorrow, hopefully she’ll be able to crack this encrypted folder.

I need to know what’s in there.

NO FURTHER MATERIAL RECOVERED

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