TRANSCRIPT: SOMNARIUM. S.012 – A Familiar Face

Case of Vanessa Pike. First seen by Dr. Susan Renwyck on October 14th, 2009, for severe insomnia, escalating paranoia, and reported auditory hallucinations following a sudden rise to public attention.

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S.012 – A Familiar Face

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INTRO

I didn’t imagine the radio laughing at me after the last case.

I checked. Then I checked again. It’s definitely on the recording.

After all the files I’ve read through, I guess it wouldn’t be that surprising if I started hearing things too. Stress does strange things, and reading about people spiraling into paranoia week after week is… starting to get to me a little.

But we already know there’s something more going on here than just a random collection of unrelated cases. Like I said last time, there are too many similarities for them to be coincidences.

And Renwyck noticed that too.

I know I keep coming back to that, but there is something she figured out, something important, and for whatever reason, it isn’t in these files.

Or maybe it is.

Maybe I just haven’t found it yet.

This case is marked dangerous, and honestly, part of me wants to leave it alone.

But if I want answers, I’m gonna have to keep digging.

Maddy would probably call me an idiot if she knew what I was doing. Digging through someone else’s life like this. Looking for patterns in things that maybe should have stayed buried.

Anyway, I’ve come too far to stop now.

Once again, curiosity is getting the better of me.

Alright, Let’s do this.

[clears throat]

[static in the background]

PATIENT APPLICATION

Applicant: Vanessa Pike
Date: October 10th, 2009
Referral: [REDACTED], Agent at Noren Talent Group

Dear Dr. Renwyck,

My agent suggested I reach out to you for an appointment regarding some issues I’ve been having lately.

I was told the quickest way to get an appointment with you is to write out what’s been happening.

Until a few weeks ago, I could go practically anywhere without anyone looking at me twice. Overnight, that changed.

But let me start with some background, otherwise this won’t make any sense.

Ever since I was a kid, I dreamed of acting. I played parts in school plays, and later, while I was in college, I joined a few local community theatre productions.

After graduating, I finally got my first real break. Through a friend, I was recommended for a small role on a daytime soap. I got the part, and for a few years that was my life. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills, and for the first time, acting felt real.

When the show ended, I started auditioning again. Not long after that, I heard a new series had been greenlit. The director was young, unknown, and supposedly difficult, which in my experience usually means talented enough to get away with it.

I auditioned, and he told me I had exactly the face he was looking for.

Part of that, I think, was my eyes. I have heterochromia. Which means my left eye is blue and my right eye is brown. And people tend to notice that.

The show was called Greywater.

I play Samantha, the older sister of a missing girl. Alongside the actor who plays the private investigator, I ended up as one of the main characters.

The first episode aired on September 23rd. By the next morning, everything had changed.

The show was a success almost immediately. Reviewers praised the cast, the writing, the atmosphere. But most of the coverage kept circling back to me. My performance, my face, my eyes. They wrote about my acting, but they always came back to how I looked.

A beautiful young woman with unmistakable eyes.

And not long after that, people started recognizing me everywhere.

More than once, complete strangers would look at me for a second too long and say, “You have such a familiar face.”

It started pretty mundane at first. Someone in line at a coffee shop asking if I was the actress from Greywater. A stranger on the sidewalk saying I looked familiar. People staring too long before walking over to ask where they knew me from.

Then it stopped being small.

One morning I was ordering coffee when someone recognized me, and within seconds everyone in line was looking at me. A few people asked for my autograph. Someone else asked for a picture. I remember feeling trapped more than anything else.

The owner noticed I was getting overwhelmed and stepped in. He told everyone to back up and give me some space, then offered to let me sit at a table near the back while he brought my coffee over.

His name was Dennis.

He didn’t ask me about the show. He didn’t mention the articles or tell me how much he loved my performance. He just treated me like a person. After the week I’d had, that felt almost unreal.

But the coffee shop was only the beginning.

Before long, I couldn’t go to the grocery store or walk down the street without someone recognizing me. I started wearing sunglasses, even when it was cloudy, just to cover my eyes. It didn’t help nearly as much as I hoped it would.

The stress started affecting my sleep. I began having nightmares about people surrounding me, asking me personal questions, reaching for me, calling my name like they already knew me.

During the day, I tried to avoid attention. At night, I couldn’t escape it either.

Then the second episode aired, and everything got worse again. More praise, more press, more photographs of my face in magazines and newspapers.

A few days ago, I was out walking and got recognized again. I remember people gathering around me, and then I remember feeling like I couldn’t breathe. I think I may have had some kind of panic attack, because the next thing I knew, I was waking up and Dennis was leaning over me.

It turned out I had collapsed right outside his coffee shop.

He helped me inside, locked the door behind us, and sat me down.

And that is when I heard the voice for the first time.

I don’t know if it came from the television, the radio, or from somewhere in my own head. But I heard it clearly.

“With Dennis to her rescue, she suddenly felt much safer.”

It was narrating me.

That is the only word I can think of. Narrating.

And what frightened me most was that it wasn’t wrong. I did feel safer with Dennis there.

Since then, I have been hearing it on and off. Not constantly, but often enough that I dread leaving the house. Sometimes I hear it when I’m alone. Sometimes I hear it in public, usually when I already feel exposed.

Please help me, Dr. Renwyck. I feel like I’m losing my mind.

CONSULTATION NOTE

Patient: Vanessa Pike
Date: October 14th, 2009
Subject: First consult; emerging pattern

Ms. Pike presented as visibly exhausted, anxious, and overstimulated, though cooperative throughout the consultation. She described a sudden and overwhelming rise to public attention following the premiere of a television series in which she holds a principal role. Since then, she reports severe insomnia, recurring nightmares, escalating paranoia, and intermittent auditory disturbances.

Despite the severity of the reported symptoms, patient remains coherent and largely insight-oriented. She is aware that the voice she describes should not be present and expressed repeated concern that she may be experiencing some form of psychiatric break. The voice itself is not described as commanding or overtly threatening. Rather, it appears to comment on her surroundings and emotional state with unsettling accuracy.

What stands out most is the nature of the patient’s distress. Ms. Pike does not primarily describe fear of ridicule or negative judgment. Instead, she returns again and again to the loss of anonymity. To her, recognition itself has become a form of violation. Ordinary social interactions are now experienced as intrusion.

I initially considered marking this case with Glass, given the patient’s fixation on appearance and the public nature of the precipitating stressor. That no longer feels correct. The resemblance may only be superficial. Her distress does not seem rooted in humiliation, but in the collapse of privacy. This feels adjacent to prior patterns, but not identical. I need to discuss this with Detective Raynor.

Plan is to prioritize a stable sleeping pattern, symptom monitoring, and continued assessment of the reported auditory disturbances. Patient was advised to document voice episodes, nightmare content, and approximate sleep duration as accurately as possible before next consultation.

SLEEP DIARY

Thursday, October 15th, 2009

I saw Dr. Renwyck for the first time yesterday and she asked me to keep track of my sleep, the nightmares and the voice.

Just writing that down makes it almost too real, but maybe she just wanted me to acknowledge it?

Maybe writing it down makes it easier to see it for what it is. A hallucination. A symptom. Something explainable.

I think I slept maybe 3 hours total last night, in bits and pieces. I kept hearing noises outside my apartment. People talking, a dog barking, a car door slamming. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but I could’ve sworn they were talking about me. That’s ridiculous of course.

At some point during the night I had a dream. I don’t fully remember it now, but I was back on the set of my old soap opera. I think there was a live audience.

I heard someone talking, but I couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from. All I really remember is the feeling that my body was moving with its own will.

Then I woke up.

I ended up staying inside all day and just took some time to myself to rest up.

I left the TV off and unplugged the radio. I didn’t want any more noise in the apartment than I could help.

I kept peeking through the curtains to make sure no one was looking up at my window.

Oh, and before I forget, I did not hear the voice today. So maybe that’s a good sign?

Saturday, October 17th, 2009

I didn’t write yesterday. Partially because I was exhausted and partially because I thought if I stopped bringing attention to all of this it might get better.

I was wrong, it didn’t.

I still slept terribly, I still dreamed of the soap opera set. I still felt my body being puppeted.

I tried my best to just go about my normal life this morning. I put on a large coat and my sunglasses, kept my head down and headed out to get a few things from the pharmacy and the grocery store.

I had just made it inside the pharmacy when someone looked at me for a few seconds too long, approached me and said: “I’m sorry, you have such a familiar face. Do I know you from somewhere?”

I laughed nervously and told her I just have one of those faces.

Then she asked if I was on television.

I told her no, but she kept staring at me anyway.

I was visibly upset at this point and turned to walk out. I must’ve taken a detour of about two blocks before I made it back to my apartment, just to make sure that woman couldn’t figure out where I lived.

On my way in, I grabbed the mail and the newspaper.

The front page had a zoomed in picture of my face, focusing on my eyes. I think the headline said something about being the city’s most interesting set of eyes.

I immediately locked the door behind me and collapsed onto the couch.

I must’ve fallen asleep at some point and I dreamt I was walking down the street in the city center. Every billboard, every advertisement poster and every magazine I could see had that same zoomed in picture of my face on it.

I woke up to the sound of the voice saying: “Only then did she realize how afraid she was.”

When I came to my senses, the TV was on. But it was only static.

I know I hadn’t turned it on myself. I unplugged it after that, just in case.

Monday, October 19th, 2009

More of the same dreams and even more lack of sleep.

I think I was lucky to get even one complete hour of sleep last night.

I went to Dennis’ coffee shop today, I told myself I needed a pick me up and a breath of fresh air after the last few days.

I put on my large coat and my sunglasses and made my way over there. Dennis spotted me through the window before I even came in and gestured me toward the back table without drawing any attention to it.

He brought me my coffee and a plate with one of those almond pastries I like and told me it was on the house. He said I looked like I needed it.

I said it was fine and that he needed to stop doing that. He just shrugged and told me he was looking out for his best customer.

For a good twenty minutes I felt normal again. I even felt comfortable enough to take off my glasses.

Nobody stared, nobody came over and nobody asked for anything.

I just enjoyed my pastry and listened to the low murmur of people chatting over a hot cup of coffee. And all of the ordinary noises you’d expect of a public place.

I completely froze when I heard the voice again.

That same distorted, sadistic voice.

“Back in her little refuge, Vanessa almost believes she can disappear.”

Dennis must’ve noticed because he immediately came over and asked if I was alright.

I told him I was fine. That I was just stressed and that all that fame was getting to me.

I don’t know why I lied. A reflex, I guess. Or maybe it was just embarrassment.

Maybe I just wanted there to be a version of me where I didn’t have a voice inside of my head that was narrating my life.

The rest of the time I sat there I stayed on edge, waiting for the voice to speak again.

It didn’t and I ended up going home and cried myself to sleep.

Tuesday, October 20th, 2009

I woke up in a cold sweat. Somehow I’m even more tired than when I went to bed last night. I’m not even sure if I got any sleep at all.

I dreamt that I was trying to cut through a crowd in the street, but people kept jumping in front of me and asking me all sorts of questions. They just wouldn’t leave me alone.

It all feels like it’s been getting worse and worse.

I had to meet with my agent today. I didn’t want to, but it meant I couldn’t avoid having to go outside.

As I was about to leave the apartment, I heard the voice again. “Vanessa is about to face the public once more. Let’s see how that works out for her.”

I’d been hearing the voice long enough by then that I was just trying to ignore it. I figured if I didn’t react or bring attention to it, it would eventually just go away.

I met up with my agent to hear out what he had to say. What he told me was too much. He wanted me to do interviews, photoshoots, appearances on live shows.

I told him the sudden rise to fame was too much for me already and that I couldn’t possibly deal with the stress of doing any more public appearances.

He told me it wasn’t optional, that all of this was agreed on in my contract. And of course, it was.

I could either do what I was told, or I could breach contract. That meant paying a large fine and I definitely would never act again after that.

With a big smile on his face he told me to think about it, and choose wisely.

I rushed out of there and passed by some people waiting to be seen by my agent. Other actors hoping to make it in the industry, no doubt.

I passed by one of them and she whispered something to another girl about it being me, the actress with the unmistakable eyes.

I snapped at her and told her to leave me alone.

I stormed out of the front door and practically bumped into two big delivery guys. I excused myself and as I started walking away I heard: “Hey isn’t that the girl from Greywater?”

Why couldn’t people just leave me alone?

I started walking faster and faster until I was practically running. When I finally stopped hearing voices around me, I realized I had yet again ended up at Dennis’ coffee shop.

He saw me through the window, hurried outside and asked me if I was alright. He said I looked visibly shaken.

I told him it was all too much, that everything was getting to me and that I felt like I was completely coming apart.

He told me it was going to be alright, he guided me inside and instead of sitting me down at the table he told me to go through the door marked private and wait for him upstairs.

It was the first time I’d seen Dennis’ apartment, and it felt strangely comforting to be there. Because he lived above the shop, there was a faint smell of coffee everywhere.

Then the voice spoke again: “Once again, Vanessa finds her way back to Dennis.”

I ignored it. I didn’t acknowledge it. It wasn’t real.

A few minutes later Dennis came upstairs and told me I’d be safe from prying eyes there, at least for a little while, and I was welcome to stay as long as I liked.

I appreciated the offer but still ended up going home, really late when it was already dark.

Wednesday, October 21st, 2009

I barely slept.

If I got any sleep at all, it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes at a time. Every time I closed my eyes I either heard the voice or dreamt that I did.

At one point I got up and walked through the apartment just to make sure I was alone.

I checked the front door. The windows. The curtains. The TV was unplugged. The radio too.

None of it made any difference.

I heard the voice while I was standing in the kitchen, holding a glass of water.

“Vanessa is learning that privacy is a temporary thing.”

I dropped the glass.

It shattered all over the floor and for a few seconds all I could do was stand there and stare at it.

I don’t think the voice even sounds distorted to me anymore. Not always. Sometimes it sounds almost normal. Calm. Amused. Like it’s enjoying itself.

I spent most of the day trying to stay busy, trying not to think, trying not to pay attention. My agent called again. I didn’t answer. Someone knocked on my apartment door around noon and I stayed completely still until they went away.

By the afternoon I felt so trapped I decided I had to go outside, if only for a few minutes.

I put on the sunglasses and my coat. I kept my head down and walked to the corner market because I needed something ordinary to do. Something normal.

It didn’t matter.

I had barely made it inside when a little girl near the fruit display tugged on her mother’s sleeve and said, “Mom, that’s the lady from TV.”

Not actress. Not Vanessa. Not even Samantha.

Just the lady from TV.

I grabbed a basket and kept moving, hoping that if I didn’t react no one else would either.

Then I heard someone behind me say, “You have such a familiar face.”

I froze.

Another voice, closer this time. “Aren’t you that girl from Greywater?”

I looked up and saw a man smiling at me like he expected me to be flattered. A woman a few feet away was already reaching into her bag for a camera.

And then the voice spoke again.

“Recognition spreads so quickly once the audience has a clear view.”

I dropped the basket and walked straight for the door.

Someone called after me. Then someone else did. I heard the automatic doors open, footsteps behind me, a voice from somewhere across the street saying, “It is her,” and then I was moving too fast to think.

I started walking faster and faster until I was practically running.

Every person I passed seemed to glance at me for a second too long. Every laugh sounded like it was about me. Every voice behind me sounded like it was calling my name. I couldn’t tell anymore which voices belonged to strangers and which one belonged to him.

I turned down one street, then another, and then another. I don’t even know where I was trying to go. I just wanted to be out of sight.

Then I passed an electronics store.

All of the televisions in the window were on.

At first I thought they were just showing the news, but when I looked properly I saw my own face.

Not really mine. Clips from Greywater. A promo still. Some entertainment segment. A close-up. Then another close-up. My eyes. My smile. My face over and over again across a whole wall of screens.

And his voice, right there with them.

“There she is.”

I stopped dead on the pavement.

“The face they know.”

I don’t remember backing away, but I must have because suddenly I was in the street and somebody was shouting at me to watch where I was going.

I kept walking. Then running again. I don’t remember most of the way home.

I remember fumbling with my keys. I remember getting inside. I remember locking the door and still not feeling safe.

I don’t think people see me anymore.

They see the thing they recognize.

The articles were right. The people in the street were right. The little girl was right. The voice is right.

It’s my face.

My eyes.

That is what they know. That is what they keep finding.

I know Dr. Renwyck asked me to write things down exactly as they happen, so that’s what I’m doing.

The voice is getting worse.

The sleep is getting worse.

The fear is getting worse.

And I know now what the problem is.

I know what they see first.

I know what makes me easy to find.

I know what has to stop.

PATIENT RECORD ADDENDUM

Patient: Vanessa Pike
Date: October 23rd, 2009
Subject: Patient deceased

Detective Raynor sent me a report this evening regarding Ms. Vanessa Pike after local police responded to a welfare check at her residence.

At approximately 8:47 PM, officers entered the apartment after repeated attempts to contact the patient by her agent and associated staff had gone unanswered over the preceding twenty-four hours.

Patient was found deceased at the scene.

[static starts]

According to the responding officers, the patient had sustained-

[Alex gets interrupted]

[door creaks open]

[The Presence, layered whispering Alex’s name]

[static rises]

The Voice:

No, No, No, Alex. That’s not how you tell a story.

[Alex breathing, frozen, panicked]

[brief pause]

Oh, don’t worry. She won’t hurt you.

She’s just here to make sure you listen.

[pause]

Now… let me tell you how it really happened.

She got home shaking.

Locked the door. Then locked it again. As if a cheap little lock had ever kept anyone out.

She stood in the dark for a while, listening. No footsteps in the hall. No voices outside. No knock at the door. Just silence.

Ah, but you know what people always get wrong about silence?

They mistake it for privacy.

That’s the funny thing about people, Alex. They want to be seen, adored, remembered. But the moment the world actually starts looking, they discover how badly they miss being left alone.

Then she looked at the magazines again. The papers. The photographs. Every lovely little close-up teaching the world exactly where to look.

Unmistakable eyes.

A familiar face.

The one they wouldn’t forget.

And finally, finally… she understood.

Not the crowd. Not the questions. Not even me.

The eyes, Alex.

It was always the eyes.

One blue. One brown. Such a memorable little detail. The window to the soul. The sort of thing audiences adore.

She leaned in closer.

Still crying. Still trembling. Still hoping, I think, that there might be another way out.

There wasn’t.

She didn’t want to die.

That’s the tragedy.

She only wanted to disappear.

She only wanted one thing back. Something that still belonged to her.

So…

She went for the eyes first.

And after that, well…

Stories like this tend to move very quickly.

Panic. Blood. Screaming. Collapse.

A tragic little ending, really.

But at least, she did give them a different face to remember.

[The Voice laughs]

You see, Alex?

That’s how you tell a story.

That’s how you put on a show.

[distant audience applause]

You read the notes. The symptoms. The aftermath.
But the interesting part is always the moment they understand.

Tell me, Alex… when was the last time you were certain no one was listening?

When was the last time you felt truly, entirely alone in this room?

[the hard drive begins seeking]

Ah… but it seems we’re out of time for today.

I’ll be seeing you again, real soon, Alex.

[The Voice laughs as the static dies down]

[hard drive errors]

[door slams shut]

[Alex grasps for air]

[hard drive shuts down]

[Alex can be heard breathing heavily in the background]

OUTRO PLAYS