Dreamscape

by Rose Anderson

  “I’ll be watching them all right, the murdering scoundrels.”

  He drained his tea and set the cup on the table again. “You must promise me something.”

  “Anything, dear, anything.”

  He saw her clean white skull in his mind’s eye. The poker’s deadly prongs fit perfectly into the holes it had made in the back when one of those monsters clubbed her to death. His eyes met hers. “Promise me you’ll never turn your back on them.”

  She nodded. “I promise.”

  * * * *

  He waited in the hall until the soft click of a lock signaled his wife had returned to her own bed. Revulsion filled him. All for money. They’d killed his father, buried poor Addy alive to suffer for who knew how long before she died, and they were about to kill him. All for greed. What manner of cold-blooded creatures were they?

  Jason quietly took the stairs leading to Lanie’s room. He had much to tell her, and it needed to be said while there was still time to say it. Opening the unlocked door, he found her backlit in moonlight at the window. She turned to him, wrapped in an ethereal aura of cotton cloth, her body clearly outlined in the nearly invisible nightgown.

  “I was hoping you’d come, but I wasn’t sure.”

  Holding out his hand, he told Lanie softly, “Come, sit with me.” He led her to sit on the bed, arranging pillows against the headboard that he might hold her while they talked.

  Lanie snuggled against him. “I’m sorry for your father.”

  He drew a slow breath and let it out. “I had no idea they’d murdered him.”

  Sensing something more Lanie said, “You’re not responsible. They’re the murderers.”

  Hugging her closer, he kissed the top of her head. “Thank you for that. I do hold some blame, however. Had I not been foolishly duped by a pretty face and smooth lies, he might be here today.”

  Her arm went tightly around his waist, her head settling in the crook of his arm just so. She had the feeling Jason was experiencing fresh guilt. And knowing this, she also knew there was to be no way to talk him out of it, he’d have to come to his understanding in his own time. “Addy mentioned your father went to Atlanta weeks before you did. How long was he there before you arrived? She thought it might have been at least three weeks.”

  She felt him nod. “That’s about right. I received a telegram from my father after the second week asking me to join him there. He wanted me to meet what he called a ‘sweet and unassuming girl.’ Knowing what I know now, she’d played him for a fool.”

  “I’m forced to believe they had planned this in great detail before you arrived. Just as I believe killing you was part of it.”

  The words came out angrily, “I know they did.”

  That tone of conviction gave her pause. Inexplicably, her mind filled with random thoughts as though she had a stack of papers and newspaper clippings in front of her. Seeing details of things she couldn’t quite fathom in her mind’s eye, she was compelled to ask, “How do you know?”

  He let out another long breath. “Lanie, do you believe me of sound mind?”

  “What an odd question, Jason…”

  “But do you?”

  “Yes, of course I do. Why ask me that?” She rose and looked at him. The room was dark now as the moon had risen over the house. She could barely make out his features.

  Jason pulled her back to stand between his knees. If she was going to declare him a madman and bolt, he’d at least have these scant seconds more to hold her. “I’m going to tell you a tale that is so fantastic, you’ll surely think me mad. For a while I considered my sanity had left me. Now I don’t know what to think.”

  “I promise I won’t think you mad. You may tell me anything and I’d believe you.” Her hand gently swept his hair back from his face and she kissed his forehead in an attempt to assure him what she said was the truth.

  Jason smiled and, drawing her closer, rested his cheek below her breasts where he could hear her heart beating strong and sure. Lanie in her time wouldn’t think him mad. Technology had made the seemingly impossible, possible. “I found myself standing in the cupola one afternoon with no knowledge on how I came to be there. The door was closed and I made to open it. In so doing I discovered my hand passed right through the knob. Again and again I tried without success. I remembered looking at my hands in confusion and finding it odd my skin held an edge of blue light all around. It was as though I lacked the substance of bone and muscle. I cannot say just how long I tried, but being unnerved by it all, somewhere along the way I found myself wishing I were downstairs. And lo and behold I was.”

  “The door opened?”

  “No. I just suddenly found myself in the kitchen.”

  “How…?”

  He shook his head. “I found myself there with no idea how I came to be. Mrs. Boatwright was standing at the table rolling biscuits and chatting with Patrick. I told them about the door upstairs. Neither answered me. I stood before them but they appeared to be unaware that I stood there. I even shouted to get their attention.”

  “You make it sound as if you were a ghost.”

  He tightened his hold for one last hug. “I was.”

  Breaking his hold, she stepped back and looked at him but barely made out his outline in the dark. The moon now lit the other side of the yard. “You were a ghost. That would mean you were… dead?”

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t know what to say.

  Breaking the long silence, he continued, “Not understanding what I was experiencing, I sought my wife. Cathy and I had only been wed a little better than three months. I naturally sought the woman I believed I loved. I entered rooms that had open doors and abandoned others where my hands passed through the knobs. Frustrated I did as before, I wished I could find Cathy…” He paused.

  “Did you find her?”

  “Oh, yes. My conscious mind followed the wish and I found myself in an upstairs bedroom. I should take a step back here now that you’ve overheard their plans and my wife’s loving allegiance toward Richard. Cathy, you see, was a child of the war. Orphaned at a young age, she went to live with her cousins.” Though Lanie no longer rested in his arms, he was pleased at least that she showed no outward sign of evicting him from her room. He found he still needed the comfort of her touch. He reached for her hand. That she didn’t hesitate to take it gave him hope.

  “I assume in that time, Cathy and Richard became lovers. By the time they had set their sights on my father and me, their plan needed for her to paint herself as the shy virgin. Cathy and I never consummated our marriage in our three months as man and wife. She would fret and wring her hands each time I tried to simply kiss her. Anything else would bring her to terrified tears. I vowed to give her time to grow accustomed to married life and hoped she’d come to my bed when her comfort allowed. How wrong I was.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My wish to find her that day projected me into Richard’s bedroom, and there I found them wholly absorbed in their carnal pursuits. I had no doubt in my mind by what I was witnessing before me that these pursuits were of long standing. The sharpest whore would be found lacking compared to Cathy.” Feeling the momentary bile of revulsion thick in his throat, he stopped.

  “So, she preyed upon your emotions to get you to marry her because they planned to kill you eventually?” Her eyes got huge. Even in the dark he saw her realization take hold. She gasped. “They killed you.”

  Searching her face as best he could in the dark, he said softly, “They succeeded. I’m dead.”

  Lanie pressed her hands to her temples as her head began to swim. “Nooo.”

  Rising on his elbow, Jason looked down at Lanie’s sleeping form. She was hugging her pillow tightly and moaning but she didn’t rouse. He leaned close, willing her mind to ease. “Shh…shh, there’s no need to wake. Sleep my darling. Shh, sleep.”

  Susceptible to Jason’s nightly plying of her synapses, Lanie calmed. The opiate assured she wouldn’t be waking
for some time.

  With no way of knowing Lanie had entered a period of lucid dreaming, Jason once more projected his essence into the electric firings of her brain. Curiously he found himself doing house calls and checking on the victims of the accident. Not quite understanding what was happening, he moved through each detail of his patients’ recuperation hoping to find Lanie along the way. It was all he could do.

  Chapter 22

  I’m dreaming. Lanie found herself alone in the foyer, feeling oddly out of place as though she had just entered the house. For one, she had on too many clothes. Appraising her appearance in the hall tree’s mirror, Lanie noted the lovely dress she wore was apricot-colored cotton. Day dress came to mind. She’d dreamed of the Victorian era often and in each she was a woman of those times. As a woman of the twenty-first century, she’d spent many years of her life dreaming in full cognizant awareness of being a twentieth-century woman. It made her feel more than a little off-balance in a reversed, anachronistic sort of way.

  Seeing Lanie standing at the door, Richard couldn’t believe his good fortune to find this intoxicating creature alone without the continual interference of his sister, Cathy, and the insufferable Dr. Bowen.

  “You’re up bright and early,” he commented with a happy smile lighting his eyes and voice. “It appears everyone else is still abed.”

  Startled, Lanie whirled around. She knew this man from her dreams. This was Richard Mason, Jason’s murderer, standing before her. “I–I often rise early.”

  “I did manage to convince Mrs. Boatwright to start the sweet tea early. She’s set up a service. Care to join me in the parlor where the morning sun might best showcase your beauty?”

  He was laying the charm on thick. Repugnant man. She feigned a shy response indicative of this era. “You flatter me, sir. However, I must decline. I was looking for Jason. Have you seen him?”

  “Ah yes, the good doctor. I’m afraid he was called away this morning. One of the lesser injuries from yesterday apparently took a turn.” He stood in the doorway to the parlor, one hand sweeping inside in an after you gesture.

  She considered a moment. Not wanting to be around this creep, she also didn’t want to take herself back upstairs. She had to talk to Jason the moment he returned. Until she could think of an alternative, sitting in the parlor was as good as it was going to get at the moment. “I’ll have coffee instead of tea.”

  He poured. “I do believe, my dear, that you prefer cream in your coffee and take no sugar lumps.” Richard knew Cathy always appreciated that he remembered these little tidbits. His knowing her preference for this and that told her she was ever on his mind. Handing her the cup and saucer, he deliberately brushed Lanie’s fingertips with his own.

  “That’s right, I do. Thank you,” she told him, shaking away the fact he made her skin crawl.

  Richard sat back, crossed his legs, and took his glass from the tray. “You and I have not had a chance to become better acquainted in the two weeks we’ve been sharing the same roof. I’ve long wished to know you better, Lanie.” He smiled at her over his glass. The morning light streaming in brightened her already astonishing blue and eyes compelled him to say, “Lady, I must declare. Your eyes are bluer than a newly laid bluebird egg.”

  Not knowing what else to say, Lanie said, “Yes, I heard my father had blue eyes like mine.”

  He looked at her in question. “You say you heard?”

  She hastily amended, “I mean I’ve often heard the color of his eyes compared to bluebird eggs.” Jesus, knucklehead, be careful.

  Satisfied by her answer, he chuckled. “I’m glad you cleared that up for me, my dear.” The mention of her father brought a thought to Richard’s mind. This was a wealthy woman in her own right. Leaving his seat to refill his tea glass, he brought the coffee carafe to her, his eyebrows raised in question.

  Lanie covered her cup with her hand. “No more, thanks, I mean thank you. Too much caffeine makes me jittery.” He gave her an odd look.

  Seeing the brief confusion in Richard’s eyes, Lanie mentally retraced her last sentence. Caffeine. Did the average Victorian know about caffeine?

  The pretty thing was nervous, and Richard found it as delightful as he had when he was a boy and the nigra girls eyed him nervously. Richard chuckled. Returning the carafe to the table, he sat beside her on the small loveseat. “I hope we can be friends, Lanie. My visit will end in a few days and it would do me great honor if you’d accept my letters. I’d like to know if you’re well.”

  Lanie’s mind whirled. His visit will end in a few days? Did that mean they set a date for Jason’s murder?

  “Lanie? Are you adverse to correspondence?” Richard pressed. What was wrong with the girl?

  “I–uh no, no that would be lovely, Richard.” She smiled at him.

  His smile widened. “Ah, you give me hope.” He reached to run a finger up and down her wrist.

  Lanie looked at his hand. Hope? What did exchanging mail in this time mean exactly? She set her cup on the table before her, the movement dislodging his hand.

  In a flash he took up her hand in both of his. “I know this is terribly forward, but I cannot get you from my mind.”

  She stood, but he didn’t let go. She’d frequented this era as a Victorian woman so many times, yet in this moment struggled to recall the proper verbal decorum of the time period. It was starting to get frustrating. She tried, “You mentioned Jason was making his rounds. If the accident victims are doing poorly today I should to go to them as well. There are several I really should check on.”

  Cathy and Bertha walked in the room at that moment. Both women blinked in surprise as Richard hastily dropped Lanie’s hand and rose.

  Seeing the intimate contact between Richard and Lanie, Cathy fairly trembled with suppressed rage. She looked from one to the other and back again. “What goes on here, Richard?”

  Lanie said, “If you’ll excuse me. I should find my doctor’s bag and see if I can be of help to Jason.”

  Cathy didn’t utter a word as she passed. Bertha stood uncharacteristically silent.

  Outside the door, Lanie heard, “What godly reason would you have to hold that woman’s hand, Richard?” Cathy’s voice cracked, “Why would you touch any woman when I’ve freely given myself to you and have since I was twelve years old?”

  Twelve? Lanie shuddered. These people were beyond horrible. She turned to the sound of the front door opening. Jason was home. Giving him a wide smile, she hurried down the few stairs she’d climbed to throw her arms around him. “Jason, you’re here!”

  Lanie’s forward manner took him by surprise. He set her arms from him but didn’t remove his hands from hers. Chuckling, he said, “I am.” Where had her dream taken them now?

  Having left her brother to talk with Cathy, Bertha stood unnoticed outside the parlor door and watched the overly familiar display between Lanie and Jason, and she didn’t like it. Why was he still holding the woman’s hands after peeling himself from her extremely inappropriate embrace? The thought made her frown. He should have been mine. Bertha’s eyes narrowed as they followed the pair up the stairs. Damn that woman. Let go of her hand, Jason! Curious, she left the steadily rising voices of her cousin and brother and followed quietly.

  Bertha peered through the railing. The harlot had him by the hand and was leading him into her bedroom. Once the door closed she hurried to press her ear against it. She’d witnessed enough of her brother’s rut to know what it sounded like behind closed doors.

  Watching Richard was a long-standing game she played with her brother. Peering from her hiding place in the cupboard, she watched when he brought the nigra girls to his bed. Richard always liked that they didn’t want to lie with him but they had to because they were Papa’s slaves. That was the fun of it, they had to. The game continued after Cathy came to live with them and Cathy didn’t mind once he’d had her too and told her of the game. Sometimes she and Cathy would watch together when there were still nigras to play with.
By the end of the war, the nigras left and it was just her watching the two of them. Her eyes filled with tears. Jason was kissing Lanie up against the door, she could hear it. He should have been mine. He’d never kiss her if he had a wife to love him. But he wasn’t hers and he had no idea she loved him.

  Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle her sob as she ran down the stairs to her own room. After a good cry she came to the determination that Richard and Cathy wouldn’t kill him. She had to stop them. The thought gave her pause. There really was only one way to do that. They would never listen to reason. They never did. She pictured the way Jason’s eyes lit when they fell on Lanie. Yes, her minded added Lanie to the rest. There is only one way to do that.

  Wrapped in Jason’s arms, Lanie’s mind thrilled to finally be able to interact with him as herself, not a Victorian version of herself, but the woman she was. Her arms wrapped around him and pulled him closer. Kissing him soundly, she slid her tongue along his.

  This new boldness surprised Jason, but he fell into her sweetness and after several moments up against the door, the wild kiss ended. He leaned away, though he still held her in his arms. Searching her face, he saw her looking at him as though she hadn’t seen him in a while. A thought came to him. She knows. The modern Lanie had come into her dream.

  Lanie was so happy to see him but also a tad embarrassed for her binge drinking that had followed her waking in tears. And thinking on that now, she realized how grossly unfair that had been. Jason had tried talking with her when he appeared and found her crying. And to pay him for his concern, she’d behaved like an idiot. She looked into his eyes, and without thinking said, “I’m so sorry.”

  “For what exactly?” Jason asked. Fearing anything he might say would affect how the dream unfolded, he didn’t acknowledge the change in her yet wondered if she’d tell him somehow.

  Having just apologized to the wrong man Lanie groaned inwardly. Lanie, you idiot! Jason the ghost had gotten the full brunt of her irrational behavior and here she was with the dream Jason, apologizing to him for acting poorly to the ghost Jason. Good grief, this is so confusing. She knew the dream Jason was a flight of fancy, a figment of her imagination as any other dream. The ghost Jason…well, people would say he was, too. She loved a man in dream, this man, and transposed that emotion onto Jason the ghost who haunted her house. Seeing her mistake, she didn’t know how to answer. “Uh, I should have gone with you this morning.”