Richard Matheson: What Dreams May Come

“I thank you, love, for everything.”

She was looking at me now, with such a suffering expression that, for an instant, I regretted having spoken as I had.

Immediately, that vanished.

There was something in her eyes .

Vague and formless, struggling for existence. Like a candle flame in wind.

But definitely there.

How she tried. God in heaven, Robert, how she tried . I saw each moment of it on her face. Something in my words had ignited a tiny flame in her mind and now she strained to keep it burning. Not even knowing what had sparked it into life. Not even knowing it was lit but only sensing that it was. Aware of something . Something different . Something other than the wretchedness she’d been existing with.

I didn’t know what to do.

Should I speak, attempting to nourish the flame? Or remain silent giving her the time to nurture it herself? I didn’t know. In that most urgent moment in our entire relationship, I was mentally adrift.

So I did nothing. Staring at her face. Her face so like a child’s, striving to understand some vast, remote mystery.

Try, I thought.

It was the only word my mind could summon. Try. I think I nodded in encouragement. Try. I think I smiled. Try. I held her hand so tightly. Try. I felt us both begin to tremble. Try, Ann. Try. Every second of our long affinity-from the moment we’d met to this incredible instant-was in climax now. Try, Ann try. Try . Please try .

The flame went out.

I saw it die. One second it was there, barely alive. Then it was gone, the faint illumination of it vanished from her mind. And the falling off of her expression-anxious hope to dull oblivion-was, to me, the most hideous sight I’d seen since my death.

“Ann!” I cried.

No response. In word or facial recognition.

The cause was lost.

I stared at her in silence, moments passing.

Until the one remaining answer came to me.

I couldn’t leave her there alone.

Strange how the most horrific decision I had ever made in my existence should impart a sense of peace to me.

Instantly, I let the waiting magnetism start to envelop me.

There was no stopping it now. I felt an icy curdling in my flesh, a horrible, clotting, chilling condensation of my entire body.

I almost tried to fight it off as mindless terror swept across my mind.

I stopped that.

This was the one thing I could do for her.

I’d lose the knowledge of it soon; not even have the solace of recognizing my own gesture. But, now, for these limited moments. I knew exactly what I was doing. The only thing left to do.

Forswear heaven to be with her.

Show my love by choosing to remain beside her for the twenty-four years she had to remain there.

I prayed that my companionship-whatever it might prove to be when I had lost awareness-might ease, in some small way, her pain at living in this awful place.

But stay I would, no matter what.

I started, looking around.

Ginger was licking my other hand .

As I stared at her, incredulous, I heard what was, to me, the most beautiful sound in the universe.

Ann’s voice speaking my name.

I turned to her in wonder. There were tears in her eyes.

“Is it really you? ” she murmured.

“Yes, Ann. Really.” I saw her through a shimmering haze of tears.

“You did this . . . for me?”

I nodded. “Yes, Ann, yes. Yes .” Already; I could feel awareness fading. How soon would it be gone? How soon would desolation triumph?

It didn’t matter.

For those few seconds, we were reunited.

I drew her up and put my arms around her, felt her arms around me. We wept in each other’s embrace.

Suddenly, she pulled back, her expression one of dread. “Now you can’t leave,” she said.

“It doesn’t matter.” I laughed and cried at once. “It doesn’t matter , Ann. Heaven would never be heaven without you.”

And, just before the darkness crept across my consciousness, I spoke, for the last time to my wife, my life, my precious Ann. My last words, whispered to her.

“Let this hell be our heaven.”

THE SENSATION OF AWAKENING WAS PECULIAR; AS THOUGH I were emerging from a thick, heavy chrysalis. I opened my eyes and stared up at a ceiling. It was pale blue, softly tinted. I heard nothing but the most profound of silence.

Attempting to turn my head, I found, to my surprise, that I was too weak to move it. For several moments, I felt with a sense of dread that I was paralyzed.

Then I realized it was exhaustion and closed my eyes again.

How long I slept, I cannot say. The next thing I recall was opening my eyes again. The same blue ceiling, pale, irradiant. I looked down at my body. I was lying on a couch, wearing a white robe.

Was I back in Summerland?

Using my right elbow, I raised myself slowly and looked around.

I was in an immense hall which was ceilinged but not walled, tall Ionic columns serving as side supports. There were hundreds of couches in the room, almost all with people on them. Men and women, dressed in robes the color of the ceiling, moved among the couches, leaning over now and then to speak to reclining figures stroking their heads. I was back in Summerland.

But where was Ann?

“Are you all right?”

I looked around at the sound of the woman’s voice. She was standing behind me.

“Am I in Summerland?” I asked.

“Yes.” She leaned over and stroked my hair. “You’re safe. Rest.”

“My wife . . . ”

Something flowed from her fingertips into my mind; something soothing. I lay down again.

“Don’t worry about anything now,” she said. “Just rest.”

I felt sleep drifting over me again; warm, soft, silken sleep. I closed my eyes and heard the woman say, “That’s right. Close your eyes and sleep. You’re perfectly safe.”

I thought about Ann.

Then was asleep once more.

Again, I cannot tell how long I slept. I only know I woke again to see the blue, effulgent ceiling overhead.

This time I thought of Albert, speaking his name in my mind.

When he failed to appear, I felt alarmed and pushed up on my elbow.

The hall was still the same-peacefully still. The floor was thickly carpeted, I saw, and, here and there, handsome tapestries hung down from above. All the floor space, as I’ve said, was spaced with couches. I looked to my right and saw one six or seven feet away, a woman sleeping on it. To my left, another couch, an old man on it, also asleep.

I forced myself to sit up. I had to find out where Ann was. Again, I thought of Albert but to no avail. What was wrong? He’d always come to me before. Hadn’t he returned to Summerland? Was he still in that terrible place?

I struggled to my feet. I felt incredibly heavy, Robert. As though, despite the shedding of that chrysalis, my flesh was still encased in stone. I could hardly move across the hall, past endless ranks of sleeping people, male and female, old and young.

I stopped in the entrance to an adjoining hall.

Here, there was no scene of rest. People thrashed in frantic sleep or, partially conscious, tried to sit up, had no strength to do so and fell back heavily or struggled to rise, restrained by men and women in blue.

Nor was it silent like the hall I’d left. This one was discordant with sobs and cries, embittered and dissentient voices.