Yet it always eluded the child and Jessica, leaving her with an overwhelming sense of futility, not fear, just a quicksand of hopelessness.
The dream, always lavish with color and extravagant with emotion, filled Jessica with both a sense of awe and a sharing of the child's enormous belief in the uselessness of their attempt to find freedom and happiness.
The worst part of the dream was the elaborate nature of the construct in which the boy/girl always found him/herself a prisoner, and the notion that the adult could unlock its secrets. Even as she promised her charge escape, the escape routes she knew so well always changed from moment to moment, inevitably leading back into the prison. Mazes within living mazes, undulating like the living poems on the backs of the victims in Philadelphia. The mazes came to life, reconstructing themselves like snakes in a pit, even as she led the freedom-starved child toward an exit.
The little boy/girl always grew impatient and horribly afraid that the maze master would find out about the escape attempt, and worse, that s/he had been betrayed by Jessica, that s/he could not trust her after all. The dream followed this cycle, turning back on itself, tripling in intensity, never reaching resolution.
Jessica had thought the dreams at an end; Dr. Lemonte had skillfully led her to realize that the fearful child in the dreams was none other than her own inner child, her inner self and soul. Donna-shrink to the FBI women, the shrink others had encouraged her to see-had explained, “In our dreams we often change sexes, especially when dealing with small children. You are, in effect, in the dream, subconsciously attempting to free yourself, and you are failing to do so. You are no hero to your inner child if you can't free him/her from what you've become.”
Jessica's only chance at healing, according to the psychologist, was to deal with her inner child, talk to her true self, nurture a healthy and trusting relationship between Dr. Jessica Coran and the child she had buried within her so many years before, at a mazelike military base, be it in the Philippine islands, in Germany, or in Washington, D.C. Giving time to be the child she had imprisoned in stone within herself must take precedence in her life now, she had been told.
All the various prisons came to represent that dark little place called a military base, the squares and rectangles of an artificial village, all neatly set off, each with its own four-by-four garden, all the blurred places where she, as a military brat, had grown up. And it all made sense, and all the child faces she saw, all pleading with her for escape, all came to represent her. It had all made perfect sense, like the pieces of a puzzle finally located and fitted together.
So why had the dream returned here and now, after so long? And why had it thrust upon her a sense of desolation, fear even, that she had in all this time accomplished nothing for her inner child and the relationship between her adult self and her child? Was it the same dream or a new one? Did it represent something real or imagined? Had it to do with the Philadelphia case, the one she had so cavalierly tossed aside? What of the dead or the soon-to-be dead-the next victim engulfed by the enticing words of the Poet Killer? Why did she feel so absolutely, emotionally cold?
She snatched at invisible covers and gave in to the fears of the child residing deep within. She allowed his/her fears full vent, as she had on so many other occasions, having promised her former child self that she would never desert it again. Giving herself over to her child, experiencing the childhood dread, was supposed to work. But she felt powerless against the overpowering sense of dread and futility. How could she help the child she was supposed to have been, the one she had hidden from the world, if she could not free herself from fear today, in the here and now?
The fear proved too great. Nothing Dr. Lemonte had told her was working. An FBI forensic specialist in need of a shrink. Even Jessica found it laughable. What would others think of it?
Suddenly the phone came alive with its purring noise. She lifted the receiver, wondering if Richard had somehow read her thoughts from an ocean away.
“Jessica?” came the female voice at the other end. “It's me, Kim.”
Kim Faith Desinor was the FBI's psychic specialist and a psychiatrist with the Behavioral Science Unit, the same unit Jessica worked for. A scientist of the paranormal, Kim was usually used by the Bureau as a last resort in a high-profile case. Kim had most recently helped local police on a case that involved child torture and murder. Using her psychic detection ability, Kim Desinor solved the Child Snatcher case in Houston, working with the infamous Texas Cherokee Detective Lucas Stonecoat and a police psychiatrist named Meredyth Sanger. Kim had confided to Jessica that working with Stonecoat had been like riding with John Wayne or Clint Eastwood in a nitroglycerin-carrying covered wagon with bad shocks.
Jessica had worked with Kim to solve the case of the Heartthrob Killer in New Orleans four years before.
“Kim, how're you doing?”
“More to the point, how're you doing, kiddo?”
“So you've heard?”
“Regardless of the popular image, the FBI is actually a fairly close-knit community, sweetheart. Some of us care about your welfare.”
“So, everybody now knows about Jim and me possibly working a case together again?”
“Including Jim, yes.”
“Like old times, and I'm the last to know…”
“Not quite like old times. There is the matter of your new love, Richard Sharpe.”
“You think I shouldn't do it?” Jessica sipped at her wine between words.
'Talk to Donna Lemonte.”
Lemonte had gone from being Jessica's shrink to one of her most trusted friends. “God, lately that's everybody's answer to everything I say.”
“Why not see what Donna has to say about it?” pressed Kim.
“I want your opinion. Woman to woman, friend to friend.”
“Okay, do it.”
No hesitation in this woman. “Why? Why should I take on this kind of… crap?”
“Closure, that's why.”
“Closure?”
“Every relationship that ends really ought to have closure, especially one that ends badly, say, like… over the phone!” Kim's last words hit home.
“Exactly what I would say to a friend in my situation. Still… shit, I don't need this, Kim.”
“I know you better than that,” Kim persisted. “A relationship without closure is as lousy as… as a mystery novel missing the last page. Nothing gets settled, emotions are in turmoil, and it lingers on endlessly without your knowing the final why.”
As usual her friend made sense. Still Jessica said nothing, thinking of the dream she'd been yanked from.
“Go with me to Philadelphia, Jess. I'll help you any way I can.”
Jessica knew Kim meant that she would help her with any personal turmoil involving Parry as well as the case. “Thanks,” she muttered.
“Meantime, we have a unique case in Quaker City.”
Jessica felt a bit foolish. She hadn't given the case half the thought she'd given to James Parry. No doubt psychiatrist Donna Lemonte would have made great gobs of critical gravy over her failure to scrutinize the case with her usual fervor, all due to James Parry. Jessica hadn't been seeing Donna professionally for years. Although she was now more of a friend than a doctor, perhaps a talk with Donna was in order.