M Sellars - All acts of pleasure

“She’s fine. Felicity mainly just managed to stun her enough that she could get her own handcuffs on her,” I explained then quickly added, “Don’t spread that around.”

“Of course not. Are there going to be any repercussions?”

“I don’t think so. Constance actually pulled some strings and so did Ben, so there weren’t any charges filed. However…”

I felt, as much as heard my own voice trail off into silence.

“However, what, Rowan?”

“Your brother told me something when we were out looking for Felicity that night. Apparently, they found long red hairs at both crime scenes. The Wentworth scene could have been a fluke since she was physically there taking the photos, but she was never actually inside the room at the Hobbes scene, and they were there too.”

“Did he tell you they were definitely from Felicity?”

“No, but they took a few samples from her for comparison when they had her in custody, and we haven’t heard anything yet. In fact, ever since that day we’ve been persona non grata as far as the investigation goes. They’ve made no secret of the fact that they consider Felicity a “person of interest”, but they haven’t gone so far as to call her a suspect. At least not yet.”

“I see,” Helen said with a nod then turned her head and proceeded to look out at the broken cloud cover.

“Anyway, that’s the story. And, that’s when the nightmare started. And, like I said, it’s just been getting worse since.”

“So,” she said after an uncomfortable pause. “Now, you believe Felicity is leading a double life and actually killed those two men.”

I looked back at her with complete incredulity twisting my features. “Hell no! Where in the world did you get that?”

“So, then why is it you told me you think Felicity is the woman in your nightmare?”

I opened my mouth to reply but closed it quickly. I felt my face relax into a chagrined half smile as the realization dawned on me that I had just been the victim of a carefully guided psychological play. The truly embarrassing part was that I had cast myself in the lead role without realizing it, and all Helen had done was sit back and direct.

“Face my fear, huh?” I grunted.

“Sometimes we use swords, sometimes we use words,” she replied with a shrug. “So, I take this to mean you have managed to reason yourself out of the silly notion that the cruel specter you have been battling nightly is in reality your wife?”

“Yeah,” I replied with a nod.

“She may have a proclivity toward sexual dominance and mildly sadistic play, Rowan, but certainly within limits. She is no monster. You know that.”

“But, the nightmare does mean something…” I ventured.

“I am certain it does. For you, they always do. You simply need to listen to what it is saying and not what you were afraid it might be inferring.”

“There’s just a bit of a language barrier, Helen. Dead people don’t always use words quite the same way you or I do. They like to tell their tales with strange imagery and convoluted verbal references that come across as bizarre parodies of reality.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Yeah, well you wouldn’t happen to have a dead-to-living dictionary laying around would you?”

“No, but given your wealth of experience in that realm, perhaps you should consider writing one.”

“I doubt if it would sell.”

“You might be surprised.”

“Yeah, maybe. So, let me ask you something. Why didn’t you just tell me I was being paranoid like I asked you to do in the beginning?”

“Because, Rowan, you would not have believed me if I had. You did, however, need someone to listen so that you could figure out for yourself that which you knew all along.”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right,” I said. “Even so, I still have this nightmare to contend with.”

“Yes, but now you can meet it on your own terms.”

The relief began to fade as I felt murky shadows folding around me once again. That seemed to be the way of my life most of the time, gloomy and overcast with occasional brief periods of warmth and light. I just wished those periods of brightness would last a little longer.

“You know, Helen,” I said as the weight of the ethereal darkness pressed in on me. “I have a terrible feeling that things are going to get a lot worse before they even think about getting better.”

“Is that a feeling, or an intuition, Rowan?”

“A lot of both.”

“I hate to say this, but I fear you are correct.”

“That’s not exactly comforting, Helen.”

“It was not meant to be.”

Friday, November 18 1:27 P.M

. Saint Louis, Missouri

I suppose having only three repetitions of the horrifying night terror was better than the quintuplet I had experienced the night before I visited with Helen. I’ll admit I would have preferred none at all, but I wasn’t going to complain. I’d take what I could get, and a reduction in frequency was as good a place as any to start.

The lower rate of recurrence wasn’t the only positive note either. While the panic that always accompanied the nightmare didn’t dissipate one iota, at least I didn’t wake up imagining that it was my red-haired wife standing just out of my sight while harboring cruel intentions. And, even though I supposedly reasoned that out on my own, I definitely credited Helen with getting me there with my sanity intact. Or, what there was of it I suppose; because I wasn’t always sure I qualified as fully compos mentis.

However, even though I no longer envisioned Felicity as the physical embodiment of my fear, the fact remained that the presence I felt was still undeniably female, and she was disturbingly familiar.

I was actually starting to consider making an attempt at lucid dreaming. Programming myself to remain aware and in control of the subconscious vision. Not so much for the purpose of directing the events as was the usual reason for the exercise but more to keep myself at the center of them. Or, even on the periphery for that matter. I simply wanted to watch from one point of view or the other. It really didn’t matter which it was, just as long as I could stay immersed enough to once again take a cue from Helen, and “face my fear.” I needed to see who this mystery woman was, if that was even possible.

Unfortunately, I’d have to dwell on that exercise a bit later because right now there was very little room for it inside my skull. I had plenty of things to deal with at the moment, and the list didn’t seem to be getting any shorter. But, that was only one of the reasons for my lack of focus. The biggie was the fact that at this given moment in time my head felt like it was about to split open and spill its contents unceremoniously onto the desk before me.

I had already tossed down a handful of aspirin in an attempt to dull the throb. That had been almost an hour ago, and I was now considering adding some more to the mix. The problem was that while the first dose hadn’t touched the pain in my skull, it had done an excellent job of making my stomach churn. Of course, my stomach had already been twisted into a knot to begin with, most likely because I knew this type of headache all too well.

It wasn’t normal. It went far beyond off-kilter brain chemistry, sinuses, or even the immobilizing cranial thud of a bad hangover. In fact, I was pretty sure that even a deeply sickening, hangover-induced headache might have felt better right about now.

Like a fool in denial, however, I still kept trying to convince myself that it was nothing more than lack of sleep and eyestrain brought about by the numerous hours I’d been spending in front of my computer. The cold truth was, I knew better. The constant ache was just as ethereal in nature as the recurring nightmare, and it was another prime indicator that something unpleasant was going to happen. I just didn’t know what or when, and no one on the other side was talking.