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Aerophobia – Patient Record LSA6041778-W
Patient Name: Lucan-Smith, Autumn Age: 37 Sex: Female Diagnosis: Aerophobia; fear of flying. The following is a speech to text transcript spanning multiple sessions between Patient LSA6041778-W and Dr. H. Phineas Denton, who has annotated it with his own notes. The passenger manifest of Patient LSA6041778-W’s ill-fated flight suggests another candidate of interest may have been present. This, however, is likely a coincidence, as neither case has an obvious link. Agent 11 recovered these from a locked desk drawer in Denton’s home office in Boulder City, NV. Denton reported a robbery when he returned home from running errands. Recommend retraining or reassignment for Agent 11. Ms. Lucan-Smith was removed from Southwest Airlines flight 712 in a sorry state. My patient was hyperventilating to the point of losing consciousness, reawakening, and beginning the process again. I hesitate to call the period between passing out a "lucid" state because her extreme phobia had rendered her unable to respond to any stimulus. She whispered "no" to herself repeatedly, shaking and crying, until her body went limp for a few moments. I wasn't present for this, myself, but I have watched footage sent over from McCarran Airport. By the time Ms. Lucan-Smith arrived at my office, she was no longer panicking but the extreme fear had exhausted her. She fell asleep several times while we talked before I decided to end the session. Denton: Hi, Ms. Smith. I’m Dr. Denton. Before we get started, can I get you a water or a soda? Lucan-Smith has her arms wrapped around her even though, in typical Vegas fashion, it is decidedly warm outside. Her eyes are red and she has a tissue clutched in one fist. Lucan-Smith: It’s Lucan-Smith, actually. Hyphenated. I wanted to keep my maiden name for my work. And nothing, thank you. I’m fine. Denton: I’m going to grab a cherry Pepsi for myself. What line of work are you in? Lucan-Smith sits in the large, plush chair I keep in the corner of the room. Patients with anxiety – though not claustrophobic patients – usually choose that chair. Lucan-Smith: Physics. Well, physics with a little geology, actually. I investigate light diffraction in different types of crystals. Lately, I’ve been looking at ambient light data from NOAA satellites and how it relates to crystalline structures in local geologic features. Denton: Well, that’s… pretty fascinating, actually. What is the NOAA? Lucan-Smith slowly releases herself from her own embrace as she talks. I hand her a bottle of water as I return from my mini-fridge and she leans forward to accept it. Lucan-Smith: The National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration. They own the National Weather Service and all the… network of satellites up there collecting terabytes of data every day. It’s a really valuable resource. Denton: It sounds that way. I might ask you to tell me more about your work off the clock. I bet you’ve got some findings you’re dying to tell someone who will listen. She smiles. Lucan-Smith: I do. Denton: So. You had an eventful flight. Lucan-Smith: You could say that. Denton: What I got from the EMTs says another passenger – man, I really shouldn’t say this since I’m a mental health professional – another passenger went nuts and tried to open the door of your plane. My god. And then he was restrained by three flight attendants. Lucan-Smith: He got free at one point and went for the emergency release handle again. Denton: Jesus. Sorry, excuse my language. That’s just- Lucan-Smith: Oh, it’s fine. I said a lot worse on the plane. I nod, trying to convey approval and acceptance at that. I can’t say I would have done different. Denton: And then what happened? Her bottle of water slips out of her hands and falls to floor as her eyes shut briefly. Lecan-Smith: Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m just so tired. You wanted to know about after he, uh, after they got him. I… Well, I’ve never been good at flying. My dad flew a lot when I was a kid and I remember being creeped out by the whole thing. I have to pop a Xanax or two every time I fly and, I know this is bad, but I chase it with a beer when I’m really shaky. When that guy tried to open the door, though, I couldn’t keep my mind off all the horrible things that could happen. They just kept fucking popping in there. Everyone getting sucked out the door, heads slamming against the frame and exploding in a mess of blood and brains. The plane depressurizing and freezing everyone to death. A body going through the engine and fucking it like those geese in that Sully Sullenberger plane, then the whole plane falling. What it would feel like in my stomach. What I would see out the window, all those green and tan squares growing like a bad acid trip. Wanting desperately to die so I didn’t have to watch my fate race up at me. And then fire. If I survived the crash, burning to death in jet fuel. Lucan-Smith: It just kept playing on repeat like a DVD menu from hell. And when it stopped, I was in an ambulance on my way to the psych ward at Desert Springs. Then I called up my insurance and ended up here. I need to note here that my patient is describing psychosis. While commonly associated with severe mental illnesses, use of some controlled substances, and even types of meditation, it can be a symptom of an extremely stressful episode. In short, Autumn’s consciousness was not present in the physical world. She was elsewhere, in nightmare land. Prior to Autumn, I have never come across a patient with a phobia so severe it brought on a fully psychotic episode. This is a profound case of aerophobia. Denton: You said flying’s always been tough for you. Do you remember a time when it was ever easier? What I mean is, did it become less scary for a time and then become scarier after, say, really bad turbulence? Or maybe it gets scarier every time? Lucan-Smith: I think it’s gotten worse… Her eyes fall shut again for about half a second before she jerks herself awake. Lucan-Smith: Whoa. Oh my gosh, I’m sorry! I think it’s gotten worse each time I set foot on an airplane. Maybe I think my time is closer to being at hand after each successful landing. How many do I get? Her eyes flutter. Denton: Ms. Lucan-Smith – Autumn – you’ve had a rough day. I have a free appointment tomorrow at 11. Why don’t you come back then? No charge for today’s visit. Autumn leaves and I have my secretary call to book her a cheap room for the night. It’s at a casino and probably stinks of cigarettes and buffet farts, but it’s cheap. The next session is fairly uneventful; Autumn tells me about her past history with flying which is, predictably, troubled. In phobia cases, I usually try to use either exposure therapy (gradually easing the patient into their discomfort zone) or implosion therapy (exposing the patient to the most extreme version of their discomfort). These are both behaviorist methods and the best tool for the job depends on both the patient’s personality and the nature of the fear. For Autumn, however, I don’t think either will work. She just experienced the most extreme aerophobic implosion therapy I can imagine and came out much worse than she went in. I’m not a Freudian psychologist, and I often think hypnotherapy has a lot in common with good fertilizer: they’re both bullshit. Autumn did, however, mention that her father flew a lot for work and that she used to go with him. She wasn’t scared of flying as a very young child, but started to associate negative emotions with it around age 7 or 8. I have to wonder if one of those early flights ran into a problem she’s either forgotten or doesn’t want to remember. Autumn is effectively stuck in Nevada while her husband and son are in Tallahassee, FL with Autumn’s mother-in-law. She desperately wants to be with them, and I can understand that. I want to help her be able to board a flight and find comfort with her family. With that in mind, I call Derek Proschutz, a friend from graduate school who practices more new-agey remedies like meditation. And hypnosis. I drive Autumn to Derek’s office – one corner of which is so crowded with incense sticks it looks like the Tunguska forest, post-explosion – and watch over the procedure. Proschutz: She’s under now. It’s not like you see on TV, Phin. You can still talk and interact like normal, she’s just very relaxed. Very… ‘reflective’ is the appropriate word, I think. Don’t bring the energy up too much; if she gets frightened or finds something funny, we’ll have to put her under again. Denton: Autumn, I want you to consider those plane flights- Proschutz: I’m going to bring in some lavender essential oils to create a nice atmosphere. Denton: Uh, sure. Good idea. Autumn, think about the flights with your dad when you were very young. Remember the clothes you wore, the games you took with you, what you wanted to watch on- Proschutz: Phin, would you like some rooibos tea for your session? Denton: Uh… No, man. We’re… I’m good. Proschutz: Remember, keep the energy low. You seem like you’re getting worked up. Collaboration is hard sometimes. Denton: What was your father like, Autumn? Lucan-Smith: Did you ever read The Great Gatsby? Denton: The green light over the bay. Yes. Lucan-Smith: Do you remember the billboard? The oculist? Denton: Doctor T. J. Eckleburg. Lucan-Smith: I knew I liked you for a reason. Yeah, him. The description of the billboard always reminded me of my father. Good old Guy Lucan. He was bald with two intelligent, judgmental eyes behind round wire frames. Denton: The two of you didn’t get along? Lucan-Smith: We did when I was young. I think he joked around a lot more back then. Or maybe I just didn’t know what normal human behavior was like and I felt comfortable around him because he was my dad. When I got older, though, nothing was good enough for him. My math grades weren’t high enough, I didn’t run fast enough in track. He wanted me to go into anthropology because the “real mysteries of humanity lay there.” To almost everyone else, physics is the hard science and anthro the soft. To Guy Lucan, it was the opposite. And his taste in friends ran contrary to typical common sense, too. Anyone you saw on the street or tucked away in, like, a strange voodoo shop that you might think looked creepy, or molester-ish, or unibomber-esque, they were my dad’s best buds. And not just weirdos, but criminals. Dangerous people. He’s dead now, and I’m sure that’s why. Is this falling out with her father the real story here? Did that sour her to flying and magnify every negative aspect about it? If so, could that even help in rehabilitating her? Denton: Think about the last time you had fun on a trip with him. Where were you going? Lucan-Smith: We… I think we were coming back from Mexico. I remember him teaching me how to say “Jalisco”. So I guess we were in Guadalajara. That makes sense because I remember seeing a picture of Felix Gallardo, the leader of the fucking Guadalajara Cartel, on America’s Most Wanted or something and feeling like I knew him. “Mom,” I said, “that’s Don Felix, dad’s friend!” She turned the TV off. I think she already knew, though. They were separated about 6 months after that. Lucan-Smith: Anyway, we had just met with Don Felix. He and my dad drank tequila from the bottle with the worm and joked through the night. Then Don Felix waved over two jacked dudes who set a big army duffel bag on the table. My dad unzipped it to find dozens of carved figurines. You know those Olmec heads? Small versions of those, some freaky-faced suns, Mayan 2012 death calendars, these striated ovals that looked like they were made out of obsidian. They made me feel bad when I looked at them, like I had walked in on someone changing. My dad’s pilot brought a case of money to the table and then there was more drinking and laughing. Denton: Then you went to the plane? Lucan-Smith: Yeah, then we got back in the plane and took off from a dirt strip in a cotton field. It was bumpy. Then… Autumn is quiet for a long time. I don’t want to interrupt her thought process but I begin to wonder if she’s fallen asleep again. Lucan-Smith: Lightning! There’s lightning but I can see stars. The plane starts to shake. I get out of my seat and lay on the floor on top of one of dad’s bags. I have my cheek pushed against the blue notebook he tapped against his thigh when he was on the phone. It smells like – ugh – mildew and wet dirt. Or creosote mixed with rotting fruit? Lucan-Smith: The pilot, he sees me. He turns around and says, “Honey, I need you to get back in your seat and buckle the belt, ok? We’ll be fine but you could fall and get a scrape on your knee. How about you come up here with me and read one of your story books?” His name was George, I think. Lucan-Smith: I go up to the front with George and then I can see the clouds. Weird, sulfurous clouds swirling around us. They looked like cartoon pollution clouds from Captain Planet. The plane shook harder in the storm and- Autumn goes silent again. I try to ask a question but she holds up a hand like she’s on the phone. Then she opens her eyes. Lucan-Smith: I think I’m fully awake now. I remember what happened to George, though. He hit his head against the glass when the plane jerked. I could see a smear of blood when he slumped in his seat. My dad pulled George out of the seat and took the wheel. I know you’re supposed to call it a stick in a plane, but this one actually looked like a wheel. The storm cleared up and we landed. George was dead. Denton: One of the vivid thoughts you pictured on the Southwest flight was people banging their heads against the door frame. I wonder if it came from this? Lucan-Smith: The way the lightning flashed through the blood, like red cello paper… Some of the blood I imagined did flow far enough to cover the windows. Yeah; it looked just like that. I remember dreaming about this, about George, but I thought… I thought I made it up. Just a nightmare. Proschutz: Would you like to go back under? Lucan-Smith: No, I think I want to go back to my hotel room. I don’t feel very well. I drove Autumn back to the Circus Circus. It was a quiet ride, Autumn’s eyes stared out the windshield, unfocused and unseeing. Presumably, she was reliving her childhood memories. The next morning, I had missed a call from Autumn. Her husband and son were flying back from Florida to their new home in Oregon. It was the first time any of them would actually see the house – they had moved to accommodate Autumn’s new job at OSU – and she wanted to be there with them. She did say there was a silver lining to being stranded in Las Vegas; she didn’t have to go on her son’s first airplane ride with him where he could pick up all her anxieties and phobias. I had to agree. Autumn wanted to try implosion therapy and recreate the conditions of that last flight she took with her father. I had mentioned in our second session that I knew a Cessna pilot who helped me treat fear of flying. When I told her I would have to ask about the pilot’s schedule, Autumn told me money was no object; if the pilot could be free today with a five thousand dollar bonus, that was best. I didn’t peg Autumn as someone with a lot of extra money, so I knew her desire to see her family was strong. She wanted to conquer her fears so she could go home. It was brave and noble. I told her I’d see what I could do. As luck would have it, Elisa Maldonado was free. She had been fine tuning her plane’s engine – a task she seemed to be in the middle of every time I called her – and stopped for a quick breakfast at the airport café. We had a delay of about an hour while Elisa filed our flight manifest, but we were in the air before lunch. Lucan-Smith: You know, I remembered some weird things but I think playing with my Teddy Ruxpin while my dad partied with a drug kingpin is probably the weirdest one. Maybe not the most mentally scarring. But definitely weird. Denton: Maybe your dad was more Meyer Wolfsheim than T. J. Eckleburg? Autumn laughs and leans back in her seat. We’re ascending through minor turbulence and she doesn’t seem phased. I’m proud of her but also astounded. From psychosis to complete serenity after one hypnotherapy treatment? If anything, Autumn seemed impatient. Maldonado: Phineas, get up here. Denton: Something wrong? Maldonado: Look at that shit. Fucking thunderstorm erupted out of nothing as soon as we hit 7,000 feet. Looks like it’s blowing right toward us. Denton: Can we go around it or land? Maldonado: I’m going to try to go around it. Landing might be hard because it’s a congested time. Especially with that bitch of a storm rolling in. Denton: Autumn, I have some bad news. There’s a storm heading our way. Lucan-Smith: I know. Very yellow, right? Cartoon pollution? I looked out the cockpit window again. She was right. Denton: Yes. Lucan-Smith: Look, Dr. Denton, I think I should come clean about yesterday. When I said my dad partying with Don Felix was the weirdest thing I remembered, you didn’t know that there was a lot of competition for that top spot. Lucan-Smith: George died, yeah, but… The artifacts my dad got from the drug dealers. The ones that made me feel weird, the black eggs? They started shaking before the plane. Before the lightning. Obviously I was too young to make a connection at the time, but I think they were calling to something. It’s simple physics; the more altitude you give a transmitter, the farther it can reach. There are fewer obstacles in the way to impede the signal. Lucan-Smith: That’s what happened with those eggs. And the feeling changed. At the villa, I felt like I was watching it. As the plane shook, I felt like they were watching me. And what they were thinking… it wasn’t good. Maldonado: What the fuck did you get me into, Phineas? I’ve never seen a storm move like this. It’s like it’s got goddamn fingers reaching out at us! Lucan-Smith: When my dad realized what was happening, he had me lay down on the bag of trinkets to keep them still. He pulled out a little walkie-talkie and started screaming into it. “Camelot! Camelot! Come in, damn you! I have Items 26 and 27 but we’re under attack. I think it might be some kind of sonic weapon. Was there any chatter stateside about my mission? Camelot?” It was like he was playing soldier. Denton: Autumn, why didn’t you tell me this? Was he part of a DEA operation or something? The turbulence in our own plane was considerable. The midday light that had been streaming through the windows had faded to a sickly mustard color and I could hear Elisa cursing as she fought with the controls in the cockpit. Lucan-Smith: I didn’t go to the cockpit with George to read then; he was too busy fighting to keep the plane stable. I stayed in the back with Dad, who told me to put the black eggs in my dress pockets. When the yellow clouds swirling around our plane started to seep in under the doors and seams in the bolted hull, I was right there laying on top of the army duffel bag. The fog streamed past my face – fast enough to sound like a Coke can opening in slow motion – and coalesced into a misty, malformed body, like a hologram projected onto dry ice smoke. Lucan-Smith: It touched my father’s hand, almost like a handshake, and he writhed in pain. When he finally extricated himself from it, his hand dripped with blood. The nails were gone. And then it spoke. Lucan-Smith: “Guy Lucan. You owe me life. You took my body from me and now,” the cloud raised one tendril that was polka-dotted with gory fingernails, “I take yours.” Lucan-Smith: My dad looked in my direction. “Go, Autumn. Give those to George.” I left but, behind me, I could hear him say, “I have the vessels. You need them to walk the earth again. Isn’t that right, Safir? Kill me and you get nothing.” Lucan-Smith: “Where?” it asked. Lucan-Smith: My dad called for George to set the autopilot and join him in the back. I was crouched on the floor, peeking around the corner. George put on a brave face and puffed out his chest as he strode toward whatever cotton candy demon he was going to face down with my father. My father put a hand on George’s shoulder. One single pat. Then he threw open the airplane door and kicked George out. His head cracked against the bulkhead and blood splattered across the window. I rushed to the cockpit window to see him. I had just handed George the two black eggs and I could see one spiral out of his coat pocket as he fell, shrinking into the yellow void. The mist itself chased down after George, save for the ghoul wearing my father’s hastily removed fingernails. “This will be the last time you trick me, Lucan,” it said. “I will have Lucan blood. I will wear Lucan flesh. If not yours, then someone you love. Your bloodline will end, Guy Lucan.” Lucan-Smith: “You’d better not let the vessels fall so low you can’t catch them,” was all my father said in return. He flew the rest of the way back, talking on his radio and reading out of the blue book that stank like a grave. Denton: Autumn, I think this might be your psychosis manifesting itself again. We’re in a plane, it’s a stressful event, you’re distracting yourself from real life. Lucan-Smith: No, Dr. Denton, I’m not. Something happened on that Southwest flight. I heard a voice, something whispering ‘Safir’ to me. It was important. It felt like something was coming and… and all I could see were plane crashes clouding the inside of my brain. I think it was a message. Safir is back and he’s going to follow through on his threat. Lucan blood will be spilled. I shook my head and stood up. Maybe I was wrong about Autumn. Maybe she wasn’t a mentally healthy woman with a severe phobia capable of producing psychoses. Maybe the psychoses and the phobia were driven by some deeper, insidious disorder I had missed. Lucan-Smith: And my son goes on his first flight today. In two and a half hours. He and I are the only Lucans left. If I didn’t convince you to get me up here, Safir would be coming for him. But, instead, he’s here. As she says this, Autumn points at the seam of the Cessna door where thick yellow smoke pours into the cabin. Lucan-Smith: You helped me realize what was actually going on. Thank you. Golden strands of cloudy haze wrapped themselves around Autumn’s torso, enveloping her. Lucan-Smith: Hey, now you’re Nick. You’re the outsider who gets to peek in. See you ‘round, Old Sport. Autumn was entirely obscured from my sight, then the mist filled the cabin entirely. It was so dense I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. Then, as if a switch flipped, it was gone. The sky outside the plane was clear and there was no turbulence. Maldonado: What in the actual shit was that? Phineas, how long do you think we've been up here? Denton: I don’t… Autumn? Maldonado: Feels like about a half hour to me. Maybe forty-five minutes. Right, Phineas? Denton: Yeah. I'd say so. Autumn, where are you? Did you fall out of your seat? Maldonado: All my clocks show we've been up here two hours. Two hours! But we've still got a full tank of gas. How does that happen? Denton: Interesting. Autumn? Elisa, where the hell is Autumn? Maldonado: Your patient is gone? Did- Holy shit, did she fall out? What the fuck? When Elisa and I finally landed, Elisa’s Cessna was seized for a ‘quarantine watch’. Whatever that is. I don’t know how they knew where to find us, or how they even knew they should. ‘They’ didn’t even tell us who they were. I didn’t report Autumn missing until we were on the ground and the police didn’t know anything about it. So whoever showed up in black SUVs certainly was not LVPD. The police questioned Elisa and me intensively, but ultimately decided we didn’t have anything to do with the disappearance. No one had fallen onto the Strip from eight thousand feet. Autumn just vanished. Additional note: Several patient files are missing from my filing cabinet at the Las Vegas office. I’ve moved this file to my home office for safety. I’m probably being paranoid, but I can’t shake the feeling there’s a connection between the missing files and the seizure of Elisa’s plane.
Hello everyone! Figured we would keep a running list of the upcoming shows with times and the opening act since that seems to be a common question! The times should all be the local time. Please let me know any corrections. I will keep this updated with new dates and announcements! Also figured I'd add a basic "schedule for the show" day since that seems to be a common question as well. Day of show rundown
Doors are at whatever time
8 PM - opening band should start
8:30/45 - opening act ends, set change begins
9 PM - The Killers come on
11 PM - The killers finish
Please check your venue for actual times. Times are subject to change based on the band and venue, so these are approximations based on experiences of users from recent shows. I just edited it based on my experience as well as some more feedback from other shows.
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