I opened my mouth to reply but closed it quickly. I felt my face relax into a chagrined half smile as the realization dawned on me that I had just been the victim of a carefully guided psychological play. The truly embarrassing part was that I had cast myself in the lead role without realizing it, and all Helen had done was sit back and direct.
“Face my fear, huh?” I grunted.
“Sometimes we use swords, sometimes we use words,” she replied with a shrug. “So, I take this to mean you have managed to reason yourself out of the silly notion that the cruel specter you have been battling nightly is in reality your wife?”
“Yeah,” I replied with a nod.
“She may have a proclivity toward sexual dominance and mildly sadistic play, Rowan, but certainly within limits. She is no monster. You know that.”
“But, the nightmare does mean something…” I ventured.
“I am certain it does. For you, they always do. You simply need to listen to what it is saying and not what you were afraid it might be inferring.”
“There’s just a bit of a language barrier, Helen. Dead people don’t always use words quite the same way you or I do. They like to tell their tales with strange imagery and convoluted verbal references that come across as bizarre parodies of reality.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Yeah, well you wouldn’t happen to have a dead-to-living dictionary laying around would you?”
“No, but given your wealth of experience in that realm, perhaps you should consider writing one.”
“I doubt if it would sell.”
“You might be surprised.”
“Yeah, maybe. So, let me ask you something. Why didn’t you just tell me I was being paranoid like I asked you to do in the beginning?”
“Because, Rowan, you would not have believed me if I had. You did, however, need someone to listen so that you could figure out for yourself that which you knew all along.”
“Yeah. I guess you’re right,” I said. “Even so, I still have this nightmare to contend with.”
“Yes, but now you can meet it on your own terms.”
The relief began to fade as I felt murky shadows folding around me once again. That seemed to be the way of my life most of the time, gloomy and overcast with occasional brief periods of warmth and light. I just wished those periods of brightness would last a little longer.
“You know, Helen,” I said as the weight of the ethereal darkness pressed in on me. “I have a terrible feeling that things are going to get a lot worse before they even think about getting better.”
“Is that a feeling, or an intuition, Rowan?”
“A lot of both.”
“I hate to say this, but I fear you are correct.”
“That’s not exactly comforting, Helen.”
“It was not meant to be.”
Friday, November 18 1:27 P.M
. Saint Louis, Missouri
CHAPTER 3:
I suppose having only three repetitions of the horrifying night terror was better than the quintuplet I had experienced the night before I visited with Helen. I’ll admit I would have preferred none at all, but I wasn’t going to complain. I’d take what I could get, and a reduction in frequency was as good a place as any to start.
The lower rate of recurrence wasn’t the only positive note either. While the panic that always accompanied the nightmare didn’t dissipate one iota, at least I didn’t wake up imagining that it was my red-haired wife standing just out of my sight while harboring cruel intentions. And, even though I supposedly reasoned that out on my own, I definitely credited Helen with getting me there with my sanity intact. Or, what there was of it I suppose; because I wasn’t always sure I qualified as fully compos mentis.
However, even though I no longer envisioned Felicity as the physical embodiment of my fear, the fact remained that the presence I felt was still undeniably female, and she was disturbingly familiar.
I was actually starting to consider making an attempt at lucid dreaming. Programming myself to remain aware and in control of the subconscious vision. Not so much for the purpose of directing the events as was the usual reason for the exercise but more to keep myself at the center of them. Or, even on the periphery for that matter. I simply wanted to watch from one point of view or the other. It really didn’t matter which it was, just as long as I could stay immersed enough to once again take a cue from Helen, and “face my fear.” I needed to see who this mystery woman was, if that was even possible.
Unfortunately, I’d have to dwell on that exercise a bit later because right now there was very little room for it inside my skull. I had plenty of things to deal with at the moment, and the list didn’t seem to be getting any shorter. But, that was only one of the reasons for my lack of focus. The biggie was the fact that at this given moment in time my head felt like it was about to split open and spill its contents unceremoniously onto the desk before me.
I had already tossed down a handful of aspirin in an attempt to dull the throb. That had been almost an hour ago, and I was now considering adding some more to the mix. The problem was that while the first dose hadn’t touched the pain in my skull, it had done an excellent job of making my stomach churn. Of course, my stomach had already been twisted into a knot to begin with, most likely because I knew this type of headache all too well.
It wasn’t normal. It went far beyond off-kilter brain chemistry, sinuses, or even the immobilizing cranial thud of a bad hangover. In fact, I was pretty sure that even a deeply sickening, hangover-induced headache might have felt better right about now.
Like a fool in denial, however, I still kept trying to convince myself that it was nothing more than lack of sleep and eyestrain brought about by the numerous hours I’d been spending in front of my computer. The cold truth was, I knew better. The constant ache was just as ethereal in nature as the recurring nightmare, and it was another prime indicator that something unpleasant was going to happen. I just didn’t know what or when, and no one on the other side was talking.
I shook my head gently, regretted the action, and then wondered for a moment at my own thoughts. Whenever they were talking, I wanted nothing more than for them to go away. But, when they fell silent, I practically begged them to say something, anything-especially at times such as this. It was a typical love-hate relationship between not so typical partners.
Of course, I often thought that what would make the most sense was for me to have never heard their tortured voices at all. To have never pierced the veil between the worlds, effectively becoming a conduit for the dead. It’s not like it had ever brought me anything but grief.
But, there was nothing I could do about that now. I’d tried shutting the imaginary door several times, but its latch was broken and it wouldn’t stay closed. Apparently, the dead were going to be waltzing in and out of my head right up until I permanently joined them on their darkened side of the threshold. Maybe then I would get some peace. Who knows? Maybe once I died it would be my turn to annoy some poor bastard back here in the land of the living who also happened to share my particular vexation. Of course, if that happened it would pretty much mean I had met a violent end, just like all of the spirits who chose to speak to me. I really couldn’t say I was able to find any sort of positive spin hidden anywhere in that thought.
I pushed the unsavory musing aside and struggled to bring my attentions fully upon the task at hand, that being research. Running the computer cursor down a list of menu items, I settled upon the one I was looking for and clicked. After a moment I sat back and waited, as even though I had a fast Internet connection, the remote server doling out the requested page didn’t seem to be in a particular hurry to comply.
Ever since Felicity’s episode with the Lwa possession, I had been trying to find out everything I could about Voodoo-as well as anything related to it-and there were still a good number of questions for which I needed answers. I suppose for that reason the process had actually become more than mere research. In its own way it was a ruthless obsession. If I wasn’t working or taking care of some chore around the house, I could be found reading, searching the web, or making calls to purported authorities on the subject in hopes of gathering more information. With both Felicity and me cut out of the loop on the Wentworth and Hobbes homicide cases, as well as her being a subject of that ongoing investigation, it was all I had left that I could do.