“Yes. And resort security is handling things. The boyfriend of one of my clients thought he could…persuade me…to take him through security to where she is living on campus,” Frannie explained briefly. “I refused and he struck me. But I am fine. The police were there and I signed a complaint. I’m sure they will handle things.”
“And you weren’t going to tell me.”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
“You knew about this?” He asked Donovan bluntly.
“I found her on the ground, unconscious,” Donovan answered honestly.
“Mr. Banner, you are not helping matters here,” Frannie glared at him.
“And keeping secrets helps no one, Miss Kendall. The man grabbed you, bruised both your wrists and then used his fist on the side of your head,” Donovan ground out between his teeth.
“My daughter has a stubborn streak,” Alister watched the sullen woman. “And a protective nature that she extends to those unworthy of it.”
“I was not trying to protect him, I wanted to keep his further anger from my client,” Frannie told them both. “Why are you making this feel like it was my fault?” She set her fork down. “Excuse me. I’m not very hungry.”
With her typical speed, Frannie was out of the room before either man could speak.
“It wasn’t my intention…” Donovan looked after her with a heavy sigh.
“No, it wasn’t, Donovan and she knows that. I’ll never understand why she feels it necessary to keep things from me. I’m not fragile,” Alister shook his head. “Thirty plus years with Francine and I still don’t understand females.”
“Welcome to the club, Alister,” Donovan continued eating but tasted less of the savory meal. “I didn’t mean to make her feel it was her fault, but damn it, she refused to tell the police who it was or what happened! She tried making us believe she fell in the parking lot.”
“She is extremely protective of her clients,” his voice trailed off when Frannie came around the corner and quietly took her seat again. “Hungry?”
“Yes,” was her clipped answer. “Nancy’s wild rice is my favorite,” she murmured, keeping her eyes on her plate.
“How did you convince Patricia Morris to leave the abuser, Frannie?” Donovan asked after a few long quiet minutes.
“I talked to her,” Frannie answered, studying the empty fork for a long few seconds. “I told her that the resort had taken a big chance sending her for training for her job. That Mia must have truly seen something spectacular in her to take that risk. I asked her why didn’t she believe in herself as much as Mia was willing to believe in her? I told her she was a beautiful, intelligent young woman and she deserved more than bruises from someone who claimed to care. And that the control was hers…the next day, she filed the paperwork for the restraining order and moved into the dorms. That was five days ago. From what he said, he was expecting her to crumple and come running back to him and when she didn’t…” Frannie shrugged and sighed. “We managed to relieve her headaches…and she has been sleeping better…the circles are gone from beneath her eyes.”
“Why not just send her to a councilor, Frannie?” Donovan asked, finding himself fascinated by her occupation.
“Because she came to me. Because holistic medicine says I look at the entire person and work towards her goals,” Frannie shook her head. “A person isn’t just a symptom you shovel off to one specialist after another. I’ll get the tea,” she said softly, loading empty plates on the cart and taking them from the room.
“It took me a long time to completely understand, too, Donovan,” Alister told him with a sigh. “I’d become too used to the conventional way our medicine system was built. Considering the premise of the resort, a holistic practitioner isn’t very different from the old time family doctor, long before they had specialists.”
“Thank you. I don’t know anything about it, Frannie, so thank you for explaining things to me.” Donovan accepted the cup she held out to him a few minutes later. He found an odd comfort in the old style behaviors and habits of the house, leaning back and letting the tea warm him after the good meal.
“What will happen next, Donovan?” Alister asked when Frannie had left them alone.
“I’ll check with security first thing in the morning. Cassidy Parker is the head and quite good at her job. She’ll have the video pulled and will talk to the police,” Donovan explained carefully.
Alister nodded, staring off into the night as he drank his tea. “I should have forced Francine to take self defense classes. I tried talking her into them. God knows I’ve seen enough girls hurt working on campuses all my life. She wouldn’t have it. None of it. Wouldn’t learn to shoot. If it’s meant to be, so be it, she says,” he drained his cup and stood up. “Good night, Donovan. Thank you for letting me know what’s going on and for looking out for my daughter.”
Donovan sat for a long time in the quiet dining room, staring out the same window. He wandered to his room, listening to the sounds of an early winter sweeping over them.
****
Frannie woke from the solid sleep with a breathless gasp but it hadn’t been her dreams that caused the alarm. Her feet were on the floor in seconds, hands up and raking the long hair into a semi neat bundle at the back of her head. She prepared the cloth as she had the night before, carrying it in the plastic bag down the hall to Donovan’s room.
Frannie stopped and stared into the darkness, slowly feeling her way around the room toward the window. Donovan slept facing away from the window. She slid her left arm beneath his neck, her palm up and cupping his shoulder firmly. She held him back against her, the scented cloth removed from the bag and laid over his forehead gently. She put the blanket over her and let her hand go along his arm until she wound her fingers with his.
Words whispered from her lips against the back of his head. She knew she was making better progress because his breathing steadied first this time, the movements in his body and limbs easing to nothing within seconds. She felt his body relax, felt his weight lean into her and closed her eyes with a deep breath.
Like the night before, several hours later the nightmare was revisited. His body tensing and breathing ragged. Frannie woke almost immediately, her palms tightening and holding him solidly and firmly in place, whispering to him that it was all a dream.
****
Somewhere in his nightmare, Donovan was positive he heard Frannie talking to him. In the mass of bodies strewn about and the stench of death, he felt her looking for him.
Part of him was shouting for her to run, get away. But the other part had reached out and taken the palm she calmly held out to him, ignoring the carnage around them. She took his hand and slowly backed up, leading him to a quieter place. His eyes focused on the long flowing hair and fullness of her mouth, the words whispered and barely heard as they walked. He could smell a collection of herbs and knew without a doubt it was her taking the long fought dreams away.
Donovan entered the dining room the next morning with hands up and finishing off his tie. Frannie sat with a small book in front of her, glasses perched on her nose and fingers hastily writing in a notepad as she nibbled on the toast covered with one of the jams. She peered over the glasses and waved a couple fingers but kept writing and reading.
Alister sat in his seat casually glancing through the morning news paper.
“Good morning, Donovan. I hope you slept well,” Alister folded the paper and set it aside. “Winter seems to bring a kind of forced peace through the extended darkness.”
“It’s a very comfortable bed,” Donovan commented, pouring his coffee and filling his plate from the offered choices.
“If you prefer a cereal, Donovan, let Nancy know. I know I have some frosted squares in there for when the urge hits. And there is a really nice oatmeal. We have raisins and a collection of fruit, too that we canned from the fall harvest,” Frannie said without looking up from her book, a frown creasing her lips. “I think when you invite someone to j
oin your commune, as it were, it takes a bit of time to make sure all things necessary are in place.”
Alister worked to keep his smile less than a burst of laughter, his coffee swallowed before he reached for a slice of ham.
“In other words, if you’re to enjoy the decision you’ve made, feel free to make yourself at home,” Alister told him with a chuckle.
“What time are you leaving for the resort?” Frannie asked, closing her book and setting the glasses on top, her eyes closed and squeezed tight for a moment.
“Ten minutes,” Donovan told her with a glance at his watch. “I have several interviews this morning to prep for to fill some slots.”
“Right. Ten minutes,” she said with a nod. “Be right back.”
True to her word, Frannie came hopping around the corner nine minutes later, her tote on her shoulder, cloak in place and one shoe on. She hurriedly sat down and tied the other in place, blinking up when his palm appeared in front of her. She stared at his hand with a small frown before hesitantly placing her palm in his.
“Good bye, father…have a wonderful day!” Frannie called into the study where her father was gathering his books and papers.
Donovan opened the passenger door and lifted her to the seat, aware of the frown on her face and tension in the palms she placed over his at her waist.
“I never realized how high up this thing was until I watched you working to scramble into it,” Donovan said when her mouth opened to protest. “So tell me what you know about dreams, Frannie.”
She watched him easily slide onto the seat and met his gaze as he started the car. She held the opening of her cloak closed, a slight shiver while the heater searched for the right warmth.
“Dreams?” She repeated quizzically. “As in goals and aspirations or are you talking about running through a forest being chased by tiny ponies?”
“Can’t ever admit to the ponies,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve pretty much worked toward my aspirations. I’m talking about dreams that occur while you’re asleep.”
“Depends upon whose theory of thought you want to adhere to,” she answered thoughtfully. “Do you remember your dreams?”
“Vividly. At least most of them,” he said quietly, flipping change into the toll booth basket.
“Ever kept a journal of them? A lot of times they’re merely your subconscious trying to work out things that have happened during your day,” Frannie inhaled deeply as the fog over the bridge enveloped them. “It smells so deliciously nice and fresh over the waters.”
“Journal them? Like write them down?” He asked skeptically.
“You find patterns that way…I’m not sure you ever really find an explanation for some of them. Are they dreams or nightmares, Donovan?” Frannie glanced over at him and saw his jaw tense. “They’re about your time in the military, aren’t they?”
“Occasionally,” he answered finally.
“Freud suggested that bad dreams let the brain learn to gain control over emotions resulting from distressing experiences. Jung suggested that dreams may compensate for one-sided attitudes held in waking consciousness. Ferenczi proposed that the dream, when told, may communicate something that is not being said outright,” Frannie shrugged. “Like I said…depends on whom you want to believe. Me…I think it’s something trying to be told. If you don’t talk about them, write them. Hartmann says dreams may function like psychotherapy, by ‘making connections in a safe place’ and allowing the dreamer to integrate thoughts that may be dissociated during waking life.”
“I used to think I was a pretty bright guy…” Donovan looked over at her when he pulled up to a red light, his brain trying to digest the things she seemed to rattle off like a menu in a fast food restaurant.
“I think you’re pretty bright, if that matters,” Frannie said honestly. “I’m not impressed with the habit you have of attempting to bully me, but…one adjusts,” she said with a shrug. “Have you ever talked to anyone about the nightmares? A councilor…a friend?”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he answered tersely.
“If it disturbs your sleep, there’s something to talk about,” she corrected simply. “Donovan, pretending it’s not there won’t make it go away. Logically, if the nightmares began during or after your military time, then there is your connection. And since you are a very bright guy, you realize that. Now,” she took a slow breath. “Easing them…think of it as taking away their power over you, if you will. I’m going to guess you’ve seen either a military physician or a private doctor and were given sleep medications to combat the nightmares.”
“They don’t have any power.” Came the immediate, tense response.
“You want to believe that…and perhaps it even worries you that they won’t go away once you deny them. You macho types think you can work things out on your own when it’s so simple to just ask for help,” Frannie shook her head. “Have you ever tried taking control of the dream? Lucid dreaming is the conscious perception of one's state while dreaming. In this state a person usually has control over characters and the environment of the dream as well as the dreamer's own actions within the dream. Of course, depending on the scenario, it’s actually quite a fun thing to do.”
“Do you believe it’s possible to take control of a dream?” Donovan heard himself ask the question even though every rational, conventional fiber of him said it was part of that abstract world he never understood.
“Of course it is…rather like being Alice in Wonderland,” Frannie said with a bright smile, she shifted slightly on the wide bench seat, staring at him as they entered the parking area. “You’re very conventional…very…practical…it’s still the wrong word…it’s a question of believing you have the power, Donovan. A dream is nothing more than a really mixed up story playing itself out in your subconscious. There are other methods available to you. Perhaps acupuncture or…”
“Do I believe in all the mumbo jumbo about psychics and crystal balls? No, I do not,” Donovan provided for her, parking behind the resort and turning the car off.
“Mumbo jumbo,” she said with a tired sigh and slightly crooked grin. “Have a nice day, Donovan. See you later,” she announced and jumped out of the SUV, running with her tote through the rain, cloak flying behind her.
“That wasn’t one of your brighter comments,” he said to himself as he locked up the car and headed to the admin section through the back door, switching his mind to the interviews he had lined up.
Chapter Five
Interviews finished shortly before eleven with the head of housekeeping and Donovan was striding the administration halls headed to security. Like the other major departments, the head had their office at the front, not sequestered and hidden in the back edges. Cassidy waved him inside as she busily tapped over her keyboard.
“Just finished three interviews. I swear…finding people who can pass checks is getting tougher and tougher,” Cassidy said with a shake of her head.
“That’s why we loosened things a little and left it up to the department heads and me,” Donovan sunk into a chair in front of her desk.
“I spoke to Frannie about thirty minutes ago, Donovan. And the police,” Cassidy leaned back. “I gave them the video on a CD and the prosecutors’ office has issued a warrant for his arrest. Given what we know, that he’s unemployed and had been living off Patricia Morris, he’s still no where to be found. Now there’s a surprise. But…everything is in the works. I’ve got his photo out to all my guards and as happens in an extended family…everyone now knows about the event and will be watching out for Frannie.”
“That’s what I came to find out,” he sighed. “I didn’t think it would be a quick fix, but I had hope. Keeping an eye on Frannie…”
“Not an easy task for one person,” Cassidy agreed with a crooked smile.
“You were military,” Donovan said quietly, that stubborn part of him still searching for answers while keeping everything bottled up inside him.
“I was,
” she studied him closely, knowing inside this had nothing to do with the case. “I was also lucky and didn’t get sent overseas. I know you were in the middle European conflict.”
“Watching humans destroy one another…” Donovan shook his head.
“You don’t need a conflict for that,” she said softly. “Some creative, some plain ugly, humans manage to continually hurt each other, regardless of the location.”
“Does it bother you? Things you see…cases you’ve had in the past,” Donovan leaned his elbows on his knees, hands clasp in the middle.
“Sometimes. I don’t think I’d be any good at my job if it didn’t bother me. Usually I work it out in the gym,” Cassidy said with a half smile. “I also play online games and work my frustrations out there. I have Mac, too. We talk incessantly about what goes on in each of our days. That helps most, I think. I don’t know how to get the things out of my head. I suppose I have them in a quiet room in my brain.”
“Maybe that’s what I need to build…” Donovan shook his head and started to rise. “Don’t mind me…thanks for the update, Cassidy.”
“Have you talked to anyone, Donovan?”
“Dumping my nightmares on another person…”
“Mac’s never been in the military and he has nightmares occasionally,” she met his eyes honestly. “And his are from an event that happened to him almost fifteen years ago, Donovan. Death…seeing it…especially close…and even when you don’t know the people involved…it’s not something the human mind can handle alone.”
“I keep thinking after five damn years…fifteen, huh?” Donovan stood in the doorway for a moment.
“He was fifteen and watched two of his best friends gunned down in gang cross fire,” Cassidy explained quietly. “He was lucky in that he had three adopted sisters who wouldn’t let him not talk. Girls are like that. Just a thought…if I hear anything new, I’ll let you know.” Knowing she couldn’t push anymore without treading on a boundary.
WindSwept Narrows: #7 Francine Kendall Page 4