M Sellars: All acts of pleasure

“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.”

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?”