I shook my head. “I don’t know. God I guess, believe it or not…Yeah…I know…doesn’t make much sense, does it? Me, a devout Pagan praying to God.”
“It is not as if you do not believe in a duality of Godhead, Rowan. As I understand it, in your path you have both a God and a Goddess.”
“Yeah, but I get the feeling it’s not that God I’m praying to.”
“Perhaps in this nightmare you are not yourself, but rather someone else.”
“I gave that some thought,” I replied.“But, usually in the dreams I’m myself. It’s when I have a waking vision that I actually channel the dead and take on their memories and such.”
“However, I recall that you have spoken to the dead in your dreams. Correct?”
Helen was truly one of the few individuals with whom I could discuss these things without being looked upon with a jaundiced eye, as evidenced by what she had just said to me. I suppose it was her Native American heritage that made her so open to the idea that I really did communicate with those who had departed this realm.
The truth is, I sometimes had trouble believing it myself. Witches aren’t what you read about in fairy tales or Shakespearean plays. Practicing magick and following a Pagan religious path, while an alternative to the societal norm, didn’t automatically make you some kind of psychic medium. In fact just about any other Pagan could tell you that I, and those like me, were an anomaly. While the mental exercises that come with the territory may have enhanced some type of latent ability I had always possessed, Witches, in general, simply didn’t go around talking to dead people.
Why did I get to be so lucky? Who knows? All I can say is that “why me” had become a personal mantra over the past few years.
I gave Helen a shallow nod after considering her response to my explanation. “Yeah, but I’m obviously not doing a lot of speaking to anybody in this one.”
“This is true.”
I waited a moment then added. “Well, there is one thing I know for sure, and that’s what I’m praying for.”
“And, that would be?”
“I’m ashamed to admit it, but what I’m praying for is that this time it won’t be me. As selfish as that sounds, I want her to hurt someone else and not me.”
“Her?” Helen asked, cocking her head to the side once again and raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t know,” I replied with a shrug then dug into my pocket for a lighter. “It’s like the arousal and callousness with the footsteps. I just have this overwhelming sense of a female presence in connection with the terror and pain. There’s definitely a woman at the root of it, but I couldn’t begin to tell you who she is.”
She clucked her tongue then gave her head a shake, looking at me with an expression that said she had reached a conclusion she was not yet ready to share. Not in direct terms, anyway.
“I do not believe that is entirely true,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean perhaps you do not know for certain who she is, but you have a definite suspicion. That suspicion is exactly why you are here talking to me now.”
I huffed out a heavy breath as my response. I was feeling only a small amount of relief at unloading the painful information to begin with, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to take things the direction Helen was now heading. Of course, her high-powered perception was the very reason I sought her out; it just wasn’t always comfortable being under the polished surface of her lens.
Pressing on, I tried to bypass the inference. “Yeah, well…anyway, to answer your earlier question, that’s when I wake up…and, my heart is pounding in my chest; thudding against my ribcage so hard I can literally hear it. Just exactly like in the nightmare.”
“And, is that always how it ends?”
“Pretty much. Most of the time, anyway.” I nodded. “There’ve been a few times when it went a bit further. I’ll hear a creak of an opening door, and then the footsteps will actually make it into the room with me. Then, the wailing and crying of the others gets louder, but that’s pretty much it. It’s never progressed beyond that point. Not yet, anyway.”
“And, you never see her? The woman?”
“See? No. Feel, yes.”
“Does she feel familiar?”
“Can’t say for sure. Maybe.”
“Are you certain of that?”
I lifted my shoulders then allowed them to drop. “Yeah. Okay. She feels familiar.”
“Mmmhmmm,” Helen pursed her lips and nodded as she made the noise. “And, how often did you say this is recurring?”
“Never less than twice a night since it started, and that was right at a week ago today. Last night was the worst yet. I can remember waking up five times in a total panic, but there may have been more. I’m not sure. That’s pretty much why I called you this morning. It just keeps getting worse…Oh, and I’m not sure if I said thanks for fitting me in by the way.”
“Of course, Rowan,” Helen replied. “That is never a problem.”
“Well, I took a chance. I wasn’t sure if you would be taking some time off after your father’s funeral or not.”
Her father’s recent passing had been another of the reasons I had endured the nightmare as long as I had.
“We all grieve in different ways, Rowan,” she said, leaving the sentence to stand on its own as an explanation. “Speaking of gratitude, I appreciate that Felicity and you came to the service. I am certain that my brother did as well.”
“It’s the least we could do…and, I’ll take your word for it about Ben. We haven’t really spoken lately.”
“Because of the investigation? I know he has been very busy.”
“That’s my guess. He hasn’t returned any of my calls.”
“I would not be too concerned. As I said, we all grieve in different ways. Delving into his work is simply Benjamin’s way.”
“I hope you’re right,” I returned. “Either way, thanks again for fitting me in.”
“Well, keep this between the two of us, but even had I taken time off, I would have managed something for you. I have learned that when you feel the need to call me, it is not to be taken lightly.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, I think.”
“It was, in a manner of speaking.”
She didn’t embellish her reply and that wasn’t unusual, so I didn’t press the point. Since I seemed to have been moderately successful in diverting the topic from her earlier succinct insinuation, I finally relaxed a bit. Seizing the opportunity, I relit my cigar and puffed on it thoughtfully then gave the business end a quick inspection to make sure the glow was relatively even. Satisfied, I stuffed the lighter into my pocket and leaned back against the rail.
“So,” I spoke after an extended pause. “What do you think about the nightmare, Doc? Anxiety? Chemical imbalance? Or, have I finally just lost it?”
She let out a thin “hmph” but kept her attention focused on the cigarette in her hand. I wasn’t bothered at all by the wordless reply because I knew it simply meant she was still digesting everything I had been saying over the past quarter hour. Of course, knowing her as I did, I should have realized that it also meant I hadn’t really changed her course at all.
After a moment, she spoke. “It is most certainly anxiety, but you already knew that. However, the truly important question here is ‘what do you think’, Rowan?”
“Well, that sounds like a typical response right out of the therapist handbook,” I commented with a chuckle.
She let out a small laugh as well. “Yes, I suppose it does, but since you attempted to circumvent my earlier observation, I am now electing to pose it to you as a direct question.”
“Caught that, did you?” I grunted the question.
“Was there any doubt that I would?” she countered.
“Well, I was hoping…”
“Rowan, we both know that in your case there is more to this nightmare than a bad horror movie or too much anchovy pizza for a midnight snack.”
/> “Now, see, I was hoping you would tell me that’s exactly what this is.”
“But, you know better than that, do you not?”
I let out a resigned sigh before I gave her the answer. “Yes, unfortunately, I do. For one thing, I don’t watch horror movies. I see enough of it without them.”
“Exactly my point.”
“Yeah, well, even so I was still hoping we couldn’t rule out the anchovy pizza.”
“You are evading again, Rowan.”
“Uh-huh, I know. Can you blame me?”
“No, I do not suppose that I can. However, you also know that with me you cannot get away with it.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“Good of you to notice,” she replied, a hint of faux-conceit in her voice that was almost instantly replaced by measured seriousness. “Now, tell me…who do you believe the woman in your nightmare to be?”
“Honestly, I think she’s probably the woman who killed Hammond Wentworth and Officer Hobbes.”
“Really?”
“You sound surprised.”
“No, not surprised,” she returned with a shake of her head. “Disappointed.”
“About what?”
“About the fact that you are still trying to evade my question.”
“I’m not sure I follow, because I’m fairly certain I just answered it.”
“You gave me an answer, but you did not tell me the truth.”
“Come again?”
“Rowan, be honest. We both know that you did not seek me out to tell me you believe you are having nightmares about an unidentified killer in an ongoing murder investigation. As insane as it may sound to the general populous, for you, that is the norm. No, there is a vastly deeper issue here that you cannot begin to overcome until you admit to it.”
“Okay,” I returned with a shrug. “Since we seem to be on completely different pages here, would you like to share your insight?”
“Borrowing your analogy, we are both on the same page and you know it. You, however, are choosing not to read what is upon it.” Helen shook her head and peered back at me with obvious sadness in her expression. “You know, Rowan, for someone with the depth of intuition you possess, it amazes me how difficult you can elect to be at times, especially when it comes to your own sanity.”
I raised my eyebrows and harrumphed softly. “Yeah. You aren’t the first person to make that observation.”
“I am certain of that.”
“So…you’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
“We cannot discuss this fully until you do.”
“I don’t want to.”
“All right, start there. Why not?”
“Because if I do…well, if I do then that might make it real. I can’t let it be real. Hell, I came here so you could tell me that it’s not.”
“I understand that.”
“Okay then. So you obviously know what it is. Just tell me I’m being paranoid, and we’ll be done with all this.”
“Me telling you what you want to hear will not fix the issue. You know that, Rowan.”
“Okay, so what will?”
“You facing your fear.”
“Facing my fear? Are you kidding? Haven’t I faced enough of those for one lifetime?”
“Actually, my friend, you have come nose to nose with more fears than anyone I know, and I commend you for that. But, by the same token, you have turned and run from just as many, if not more.”
“Some of them just don’t need facing, Helen.”
“Perhaps you are correct. It is true that some fears are transient. However, this one is not, and it will haunt you if you run from it. You know this. That is why you are here now.”
I slowly twisted around and looked out at the scattered clouds in the sky. It was now a given that we were going to veer down this road whether I wanted to or not.
“All right,” I finally agreed as I hung my head. “I’m afraid the woman in the nightmare might be Felicity.”
CHAPTER 2:
Felicity.
Felicity Caitlin O’Brien, to be exact—my wife, and unequivocally the greatest love of my life.
It sickened me that this vile thought could even cross my mind. And, that exact thought was also the very reason why I had gone to great lengths to hide this recurring nightmare from her.
Normally, I could tell Felicity anything. Close simply wasn’t strong enough a word to describe our relationship. We were without a doubt, soul mates, and not in the new-agey, soft-focus sense of the overused catchphrase. There was a depth of connection between the two of us that transcended normal bonds of love and friendship.
“Good,” Helen announced calmly after a brief pause. “Now we are progressing.”
“I’m glad someone thinks so,” I mumbled.
“Tell me, why do you think the woman in your nightmare is Felicity?”
“I said might be.”
“Yes, you did. However, that does not answer my question.”
“I don’t know.”
“I think that you do.”
“Well maybe you’re wrong for a change.”
“Perhaps. No one is ever correct one-hundred percent of the time,” she admitted. “However, I would hazard to say that this is not one of the times when I have fallen from my pedestal.” She made an overt show of rocking back and forth as if checking her footing. “No, it feels quite solid. I am still up here.”
I couldn’t help but crack a thin smile at her theatrics. I knew that while she was serious, this brush with humor was her attempt at bolstering my mood, which was sinking rapidly. What made it even more effective was that it was so out of character for her.
“Well,” I began, allowing the brief levity to push me into a fragile sense of security. “It’s complicated. How much do you know about what has been happening with the Hammond Wentworth homicide?”
“Very little,” she replied. “Benjamin has not spoken of it except to say that you and Felicity had been helping.”
“Nothing else?”
“He did let slip that the two of you were somehow involved in an incident last week that became somewhat of a problem. However, he did not provide any details.”
“Incident,” I echoed. “That’s one word for it.”
“Well, I will admit that when you called I suspected that it had something to do with what Benjamin had mentioned. The nightmare, I had not foreseen, however it is obvious to me that there is a connection.”
“Well, there’s no denying that,” I answered with a heavy sigh then took a pull on my cigar and rolled the smoke around on my tongue. After letting it out in a slow stream, I regarded the dark cylinder as I twisted it between my thumb and forefinger. Finally, I looked up at Helen who was waiting patiently. “So, do you have enough time for me to start at the beginning?”
Without speaking she reached into the pocket of her coat and extracted her cigarette case. Snapping it open, she peered into the top then closed it and returned it to the pocket.
Looking back at me she said, “I have a little more than a half pack with me. I think we are good.”
I shook my head and almost allowed myself to chuckle at the seriousness with which she had delivered the reply. Had the situation been different, I suspect I wouldn’t have been able to keep from laughing outright.
“Okay, I’ll try to keep it as short a possible,” I began. “About two weeks ago, right at the height of the flu epidemic, Felicity got a call from Ben. Apparently there was a high profile crime scene that needed photos.”
“Judge Wentworth,” Helen interjected.
“Exactly.”
“I know Felicity is a photographer, but why did Benjamin call her? Is that not something that should have been handled by the police?”
“Under normal circumstances, yes. But, the flu had pretty much taken the majority of the Crime Scene guys out of commission. Felicity has evidence photography training, and she’s on the short list of freelance contractors the departme
nt calls for specialized techniques, like infrared, painting with light, that sort of thing. Anyway, since the scene was high profile, and the Crime Scene Unit was on a skeleton staff, they decided to bring in a freelancer, so they would know all of the bases were covered.”
“Ahhhh,” Helen nodded. “And, Felicity got the call.”
“Pretty much. From what I understand, they went down the list and she…actually I…was the first one to answer the phone.”
“I see. Sorry to interrupt. Please, go on.”
“Not a problem. Anyway, I’m sure you’ve probably seen some of the news reports, so you’re aware that Wentworth’s body was found in a motel in a bit of a compromising situation?”
“Yes, of course. As I recall it had something to do with bondage, did it not?”
“Yeah. Apparently Wentworth was into the whole kidnap and torture game. No biggie in my book. I mean, whatever does it for you as long as it’s between consenting adults. Problem is, it looks like something went way south with the scenario because he was found with the back of his head sprayed all over the bathroom wall.”
Helen held up her hand, “Please…consider yourself free to spare me those sorts of details unless you really feel them to be important.”
“Sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t realize you were squeamish.”
“Only about certain things, but that is all right. Continue.”
“Okay, well our first thought was that he had been purposely executed, but something didn’t feel right about the scene to either Felicity or me.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Helping Felicity.”
“Helping her, Rowan, or trying to protect her?”
I looked over the top of my glasses at Helen. “Does anything get past you?”
“Usually, no.”
“Okay, guilty. Either way, I was there and the whole scene just felt weird. You could actually sense the sexual arousal and such in the room, but that wasn’t what struck us. The bizarre thing was that there was no lingering sense of fear, like you would expect if the whole scenario had been a real kidnapping. Still, Ben didn’t rule it out because the whole thing could have been a setup. Plus, while he listens to me when I say I have a feeling, as we know, not everyone else does.
All Acts Of Pleasure: A Rowan Gant Investigation Page 3