Jonathan Kellerman - Self-Defence

She leaned in and did.

I laughed.

"What, it's funny?" she said.

"No, it's great."

The next morning, she was late leaving and Lucy met her coming through the gate.

"Your wife's really gorgeous, " she told me, when we were alone. "And your dog is adorable- what is he, a pug?"

"French Bulldog."

"Like a miniature bulldog?"

"Exactly."

"I've never seen one before."

"They're pretty rare."

"Adorable." She turned toward the water and smiled.

I waited for a few moments to pass, then said, "Do you want to talk about the dream?"

"Guess I'd better."

"It's not an assignment, Lucy."

She chuckled and shook her head.

"What is it?" I said.

"This is a pretty good deal, Dr. Delaware. You cut your fee in half for me, and I still get to call the shots. Did you know there are quack hotlines on TV- dial-a-psychic-pal- that cost more than this?"

"Sure, but I don't claim to tell the future."

"Only the past, right?"

"If I'm lucky."

She turned serious. "Well, maybe the dream is coming from my past, because it has nothing to do with what's going on with me now. And in it I'm a little kid."

"How little?"

"Three or four, I guess."

Her fingers moved nervously.

I waited.

"Okay," she said. "Better start from the beginning: I'm somewhere out in the woods- in a cabin. Your basic log cabin."

More fidgeting.

"Is the cabin somewhere you've been before?"

"Not that I know of."

She shrugged and put her hands in her lap.

"A log cabin," I said.

"Yes… It must be at night, because it's dark inside. Then all of a sudden I'm outside… walking. And it's even darker. I can hear people. Shouting- or maybe they're laughing. It's hard to tell."

Closing her eyes, she tucked her legs under her. Her head began to sway; then she was still.

"People shouting or laughing," I said.

She kept her eyes closed. "Yes… and lights. Like fireflies- like stars on the ground- but in colors. And then…"

She bit her lip. Her eyelids were clenched.

"Men," she said.

Quickening her breath.

She dropped her head, as if discouraged.

"Men you know, Lucy?"

Nod.

"Who?"

No answer.

Several quick, shallow breaths.

Her shoulders bunched.

"Who are they, Lucy?" I said softly.

She winced.

More silence.

Then: "My father… and others, and…"

"And who?"

Almost inaudibly: "A girl."

"A little girl like you?"

Headshake. "No, a woman. He's carrying her- over his shoulder."

Eyes moving beneath the lids. Experiencing the dream?

"Your father's carrying the woman?"

"No… one of the others."

"Do you recognize him?"

"No," she said, tensing, as if challenged. "All I can see is their backs." She began talking rapidly. "She's over one of their shoulders and he's carrying her- like a sack of potatoes- with her hair hanging down."

She opened her eyes suddenly, looking disoriented.

"This is weird. It's almost as if I'm… back in it."

"That's okay," I said. "Just relax and experience what you need to."

Her eyes closed again. Her chest heaved.

"What do you see now?"

"Dark," she said. "Hard to see. But… the moon… There's a big moon… and…"

"What, Lucy?"

"They're still carrying her."

"Where?"

"Don't know…" She grimaced. Her forehead was moist.

"I'm following them."

"Do they know that?"

"No. I'm behind them… The trees are so big… they keep going and going… lots of trees, everywhere- a forest. Huge trees… branches hanging down… more trees… lacy… pretty…" Deep inhalation. "They're stopping… putting her on the ground."

Her lips were white.

"Then what, Lucy?"

"They start talking, looking around. I'm scared they've seen me. But then they turn their backs on me and start moving- I can't see them anymore, too dark… lost… then the sound- rubbing or grinding. More like grinding. Over and over."

She opened her eyes. Sweat had trickled to her nose. I gave her a tissue.

She managed a weak smile. "That's basically it, the same scene over and over."

"How many times have you had the dream?"

"Quite a few- maybe thirty or forty times. I never counted."

"Every night?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes it's just two or three times a week."

"Over how long a period?"

"Since the middle of the trial- so what's that, four, five months? But like I said, after I started seeing you, it stopped till last night, so I figured it was just tension."

"Does the girl in the dream look like any of Shwandt's victims?"

"No," she said. "I don't- maybe this is wrong, but I get the feeling it has nothing to do directly with him. I can't tell you why, it's just something I feel."

"Any idea what it does have to do with?"

"No. I'm probably not making much sense."

"You never had the dream before the trial?"

"Never."

"Did anything happen in the middle of the trial to make you especially tense?"

"Well," she said, "actually, it started right after Milo Sturgis testified. About Carrie. What she went through."

She stared at me.

"So maybe I'm wrong. Maybe hearing about Carrie evoked something in me- I identified with her and became a little girl myself. Do you think that's possible?"

I nodded.

Her eyes drifted out toward the ocean. "The thing is, the dream feels familiar. Like déjà vu. But also new and strange. And now, the sleepwalking- I guess I'm worried about losing control."

"Have you ever sleepwalked before?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Did you wet the bed as a child?"

She blushed. "What does that have to do with it?"

"Sometimes sleepwalking and bedwetting are related biologically. Some people have a genetic tendency for both."

"Oh… Well, yes, I did do that. A little, when I was very young."

She shifted in her chair.

"Do the dreams wake you up?" I said.

"I wake up thinking about them."

"Any particular time of night?"

"Early in the morning, but it's still dark."

"How do you feel physically when you wake up?"

"A little sick- sweating and clammy, my heart's pounding. Sometimes my stomach starts to hurt. Like an ulcer." Poking her finger just below her sternum.

"Have you had an ulcer?"

"Just a small one, for a few weeks- the summer before I started college. The dreams make me feel the same sort of way, but not as bad. Usually the pain goes away if I just lie there and try to relax. If it doesn't, I take an antacid."

"Do you tend to get stomachaches?"

"Once in a while, but nothing serious. I'm healthy as a horse."

Another glance at the water.

"The grinding sound," she said. "Do you have any theories about that?"

"Does it mean anything to you?"

Long pause. "Something… sexual. I guess. The rhythm?"

"You think the men may be having sex with her?"

"Maybe- but what's the difference? It's just a dream. Maybe we should forget the whole thing."

"Recurrent unpleasant dreams usually mean something's on your mind, Lucy. I think you're wise to deal with it."

"What could be on my mind?"

"That's what we're here to find out."

"Yes." She smiled. "Guess so."

"Is there anything else you want to tell me about the dream?"

She thought. "Sometimes it changes focus- right in the middle."

"The picture gets clearer? Or fuzzier?"

"Both. The focus goes back and forth. As if someone inside my brain is adjusting a lens- some kind of homunculus- an incubus. Do you know what that is?"

"An evil spirit that visits sleeping women." And rapes them.

"An evil spirit," she repeated. "Now I'm lapsing into mythology. This is starting to feel a little silly."