“You’re not going to believe me,” she began.
“Let me be the judge of that,” Rosie replied, raising her glass and chinking it against Becky’s. “Cheers, chick, here’s to you coming back to your senses!” She grinned and winked.
Becky gave a weak smile in response. “Well, I’m warning you, it’s going to take a fairly open mind!”
“Honey, if my mind was any more open, my brain would fall out! Now quit stalling and spill!” Rosie urged her on.
“Ok…” Becky took a deep breath. “I have a secret lover,” she rushed the words out.
“Well, hell yeah!” Rosie shouted out, swooping in for a high five, which Becky reluctantly returned. “I’ve been saying it for ages, but you’ve denied it every time I raised the subject. So, who is he? Tell all? Who’s the lucky guy?”
“His name is…” Becky cleared throat. “His name is Anaxandridas the second…and he’s the king of Sparta. Well, at least he was…”
Rosie’s expression morphed from incredulous to sheer disbelief. “He was? And then what? The magic mushrooms ran out?”
“He was…until he died. Now, he’s an incubus, living in Purgatory until he can find someone to save his immortal soul. That someone is me.” Becky stopped short. Waited for the onslaught.
Rosie didn’t disappoint. Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth, then shut it. Opened it again to drain half her cabernet, then turned to top up her wine glass.
She started to laugh. “You’re joking,” she said through peals of laughter. Becky shook her head, expression deadly serious. Rosie’s laughter faded, and she took another large swig of wine.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” she snapped. Rebecca remained silent, so Rosie changed tactics. “Are you in trouble? Is it the stress? Did you keep taking those meds they prescribed after Ryan…” she stopped. “Are you taking too many of those things? Fuck, Becky, are you addicted to prescription meds?”
“Woah, Rosie!” Becky reined her in. “Slow down, sheesh! No! Of course I’m not addicted to anything.” She put a hand on her friend’s arm, trying to set her at ease. “Look, I know it’s a lot to process—”
“A lot to process?” Rosie interrupted. “Are you kidding me? It’s freaking impossible! I’m not processing anything because what you’re saying is completely nuts!”
Becky took a deep breath and tried again, but Rosie wouldn’t let her get a word in.
“Look, I know we had that talk with Bunny about demons and ghosts and all that crap, but let’s get real here – she’s not ‘all there’ anymore. And hell, even before that, she always had some crazy ideas. You can’t believe half the stuff she says. Frankly, I blame the gin! And I’m beginning to wonder if you’ve been hitting the bottle too!” Rosie was pacing around the kitchen.
“Ok, will you at least calm down long enough for us to talk this through?” She topped up her friend’s almost empty wine glass and did the same for herself. The woman might be convinced that she had a drinking problem, but right now, if nothing else, the glass might keep her friend’s hands occupied long enough to stop her from trying to shake sense into her. Unless the hot-headed little woman decided to fling it across the room. The way Rosie was looking at her at the moment, either option was entirely possible.
“Come, sweetie, I’ve put the pasta on to boil. Let’s take a seat in the lounge while we wait for it to cook,” Becky soothed. “We can relax a bit while we chat and then get some food into ourselves before the wine takes hold!”
“I think I’ve lost my appetite,” Rosie muttered darkly but turned and headed for the living room regardless, kicking off her shoes and flopping onto a nearby chair. Becky trailed behind her and settled into the corner of the couch, brushing aside heated memories of what had happened there not so long ago. She cleared her throat and shook the images from her head.
“Ok, so let’s try to look at this logically,” she continued. “Let’s say that the world is a complex place and that there’s the possibility that creatures exist around us, just on another spiritual plane. Maybe we simply haven’t learned to see them, or maybe we can’t see them because we don’t believe they exist. But there are ways that they can interact with us when our guard is down, like say…when we’re dreaming.”
Rosie’s expression remained flatly skeptical. “Yeah, right. How about we look at this logically from an angle that is actually logical! Like maybe you’ve been visiting the local pub on your own and picking up stray men after too many glasses of the good stuff – which you might also be using to wash down your happy pills. And then the next morning you can’t remember who they are, so you invent wild stories about Spartan kings.”
“Roseanne!” Rebecca gasped. “When have you ever known me to behave like that? Even during my darkest moments, I’ve never ever gone off the deep end! Admit it!”
Her friend had the good grace to look sheepish. “Ok, that was below the belt,” she admitted. “But honestly, Becks, you have to admit that your story is just a teeny bit far-fetched!”
Rebecca held her over-sized wine glass to her nose, inhaling deeply, enjoying the warm tannin notes of her wine. At the same time, she wracked her brains for an explanation that her friend could comprehend.
“You’re right, hon, I know. I find it hard to believe myself. And trust me, if we can get to the bottom of this and find an explanation that fits better, I’m happy to explore it.” She gazed over at Rosie, blue eyes shining with sincerity. “All I can tell you is that I have been having encounters that have affected me so profoundly that I can only believe that there is some outside force involved. The last time it happened, I was absolutely convinced that I was wide awake and communicating with a living, breathing person.”
“Who happened to be dead?” Rosie added sardonically.
“Well, not at the time. Maybe ‘undead’ would be a better word,” Becky continued. “We’ve watched the movies, read the books – society is filled with stories about other life forms among us. Don’t you think there may be some truth to it?”
“Sweetie, I think it’s more likely that there’s truth to the idea of some sicko climbing through your bedroom window while you’re sleeping.” Rosie continued to resist Becky’s version of events.
“Oh, jeez! Yeah, that makes me feel so much better, Rose!” Becky almost choked, the idea of a stalker in her house giving her cold shivers.
“Why not?” Rosie countered. “Better than a demon lover, for sure. And better than having everyone thinking you’re Fruit Loops!” If Becky had been standing, she’d have stomped her foot in frustration. As it was, the sound of hissing from the kitchen had her leaping to her feet.
“Oh shit! The pot’s boiling over,” she gasped, dashing out of the room.
“Why don’t you just get the Spartan to sort it out for you,” the other woman called after her.
“Knock it off, Rosie!” Rebecca muttered. “If you’re not going to try to take me seriously, at least don’t make it worse by making fun of me.”
“Hey, I’m trying to see the lighter side!” Rosie quipped. “My best friend’s either gone mad, or she’s actually banging a gladiator who’s come back from the dead to ask her to help him get to heaven. At least there’s a tablet for crazy.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes as she bustled around the kitchen, mopping up steaming water from the surface of the stove. “Either way, get your butt in here and help me fix dinner,” she said, reaching for a bottle of pasta sauce and turning to pull a saucepan out of a cupboard. She turned and faced Rosie, who’d arrived at her side, glass still in hand. “Get busy with chopping the onions and mushrooms, I’ll crush the garlic.”
“Ok,” said Rosie, picking up a paring knife and getting to work on the onion, “let’s make a deal. Whatever is going on here, I think you’re going to need help…professional assistance, right? I mean, let’s say you’re actually being visited by a spiritual entity – you’re not exactly equipped to handle it.” Rebecca nodded grudgingly. “I’m willing to a
ccept – theoretically – that you’re telling the truth…or, at least, your version of it, on condition that we find someone who can listen to you and offer some advice. Because I’m not yet ready to let go of the possibility that you’re going through some sort of PTSD over Ryan.” Rosie chattered animatedly, punctuating her sentences with the tip of the sharp little knife.
“Firstly, I think you should put the knife down,” Becky cautioned. “And secondly, I admit that you probably have a point – and not just on that knife! I’ve never been a big believer in the spiritual world, so it’s odd that I’d go down that road. Maybe it is all in my mind. After all, nobody has ever been around when Xander…when he has visited me. Although, considering the nature of the visits, I guess that it’s better that way! In any event, I’m the only one who’s ever seen him – maybe I have been imagining things.”
Rosie’s expression softened, and she reached out to rub her friend’s arm, a small comforting gesture, as Rebecca continued.
“But Rosie, I really don’t think I’m imagining things. This all feels so real. Last night, I swear, I spoke to this man. He was as real to me as you are now. He touched me! Look…” Rebecca raised a swathe of hair to show a smattering of purple marks on her neck.
Rosie’s eyes widened. “He hurt you?”
“Oh, it wasn’t painful, and I wasn’t complaining,” Rebecca grinned.
“You got a hickey? From a demon?” Rosie’s voice had risen several octaves. Her face was a picture of horror and disbelief.
“And I couldn’t very well have given it to myself, now could I?” Becky poked her tongue out.
Rosie heaved a deep sigh, put her glass down, and rubbed her eyes. Then picked up her glass again to have yet another large gulp of wine. “Ok, I’m going to stop giving you a hard time, and for now, let’s say I believe you. But we’re going to make it a priority to find you a therapist. Or a spiritual healer. And if worst comes to worst, we call in an exorcist.”
Rebecca chuckled and shook her head. “Whatever you say, Rosie, just go easy on me.”
In the shadows behind the kitchen window, a brisk wind swirled winter leaves around the feet of the man who stood looking in at the two women. His dark eyes glittered before he closed them tightly for a moment, and then he faded into the darkness of the night.
He’d promised to give her time, but that didn’t mean he’d abandon her.
Chapter Thirteen
The next two weeks were a blur of deadlines and meetings – interspersed with debates with Rosie about the credentials of ‘specialists’ she’d uncovered while scouring several online chat groups. There’d been no more interactions with Xander in that time – he’d respected her request for time to think. Although there’d always been a sense of his presence lingering in the back of her subconscious. Rebecca found herself torn between wanting her life back to normal and needing to be able to touch him again.
“You have no idea how hard it is to find a good spirit medium!” Rosie huffed over lunch, rolling her eyes at Becky.
Rebecca bit back the urge to object, knowing that her friend would never let up. Not to mention that she had promised to seek out professional help. Obviously, Rosie hadn’t trusted her to get around to sorting it out herself because the little dynamo had started her search the very day after their heated conversation.
“Right, I’d say your best option is Dr. Von Ludwig, who is a well-respected therapist just a few minutes away from our offices,” she began. She pushed a sheet of paper over the table. Becky glanced down at a printout from a webpage. The profile included a head and shoulders shot of a grim-faced man whose firmly set jawline and icy stare did little to inspire warm fuzzy feelings. Rosie shot her a glance. “Yes, I know he looks like a tough bugger, but his specialty is dream states. He comes highly recommended for his skills at identifying maladaptive fantasy disorders.”
Rebecca frowned at the phrase but gave a reluctant nod and skimmed through the bio below the picture. “He certainly seems to know his stuff,” she acknowledged. “So, then I’ll make an appointment and—”
“Already done!” Rosie interrupted. “You’ll see Dr. Von Ludwig during lunch tomorrow – which is a bit of a miracle because the man’s impossible to pin down. You won’t believe the strings I had to pull! Plus, I’ve cleared it with Jeff to let you have an extra hour off if I put in some overtime to help you catch up.”
Becky opened her mouth to object, then closed it again. There was no denying that her friend was doing everything in her power to help. How could she possibly let her down?
“Rosie, I don’t deserve you.” She smiled warmly at the other woman, who nodded vigorously.
“You’re absolutely right!” Rosie poked her tongue out. “No, that’s not true, and you know it. You deserve to be happy and healthy. And that’s what I want you to work at right now. Deal?”
“Deal,” Becky promised.
***
The offices of Dr. Markus von Ludwig were more welcoming than she’d expected, considering the sternness of the face she’d seen on his website. The small waiting room was furnished with comfortable couches. The walls were a warm caramel hue that offset framed prints of quaint Victorian scenes. Images of ladies in formal equestrian attire perched upon athletic-looking horses, pastoral images of couples walking hounds through green fields… For someone she’d assumed would be staunchly German, he seemed to have a fondness for the English countryside.
At 12 noon, precisely, the door to his office opened, and the doctor stepped out briskly. Shorter than she’d imagined he’d be, the man was lean and wiry, his gray hair cropped close. In person, his eyes were even more intense than in his photograph. She had an overwhelming sense that there wouldn’t be much she’d be able to hide from him.
“Ms. North,” he smiled, his voice as gravelly as his exterior, “I’m so delighted to meet you.” His handshake was firm but as warm as his greeting. She was surprised to find that she instantly felt at ease. She returned his smile then stepped into his office as he gestured for her to precede him.
His consulting room was as comfortable as the waiting area, although this room was dominated by a large wooden desk with two overstuffed wingbacks facing it. Beside a window overlooking a park were a couch and another two chairs. Here too, prints adorned the walls, along with several display cabinets holding unusual collections of what looked to be ancient artifacts. Curved blades, spearheads, intricately carved bows, and leather gauntlets. She peered at them with curiosity, and he gave a rueful chuckle.
“My unusual hobby,” he admitted ruefully. “I spent years in the military and built a fascination with collecting ancient weapons. Probably not the most comforting items to have in a therapy suite. However, I like to tell myself that people will overlook their intended purpose and recognize the depth of history they represent. Some are literally thousands of years old – and my wife would go through the roof if she knew what I spent on them!”
“Actually, I think I see what you mean,” she acknowledged, stepping closer to a glass frame. She let her eyes rove over the carefully positioned items before turning to look around the rest of the room.
“You’re welcome to choose a seat,” he smiled. “I find that some of my patients prefer to sit at the desk, while others like to get comfortable on the couch. Please, make yourself at home.” He made a sweeping motion with his hand, and she found herself instantly drawn to the sofa, easing onto the soft cushions and inhaling the warm scent of leather. Her sense of appropriateness told her to sit primly upright, but somehow she found herself lounging into a soft corner of it.
He chose a seat across from her and sat, relaxed, one knee crossed over the other as he rested a clipboard upon his thigh, pen in hand.
“So, Ms. North…Rebecca – may I call you Rebecca?” She nodded her assent.
“Or Becky…my friends call me Becky,” she added.
“Becky,” he smiled, “what has brought you to me today?” He seemed sincerely interested in her answer to
his question. She’d expected to be at a loss for words, but they tumbled out in a rush.
“I’ve been having incredibly disturbing dreams, Dr. Von Ludwig,” she replied, preferring to call him by his professional title. She was about to dish out some seriously personal details, and she couldn’t help feeling a little dirty about it all. “They are extremely…erotic in nature.” She blushed, then continued. “At first, they were quite clearly dreams, but they’ve been becoming increasingly real. To the extent that I’m having a hard time focusing on day to day life. My friends and colleagues are concerned, and to be honest, so am I.” She frowned then murmured. “I’m a little afraid that I might be going…a bit mad.”
His eyes narrowed slightly but he gave no indication of alarm. “My dear, madness is a word I don’t like to use to describe mental states,” he said firmly. “The human mind is incredibly complex – whatever you are experiencing, we can examine and work through…at your pace, and in a way that makes you gain clarity – and I assure you, you’ll feel perfectly sane.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Doctor. I’m just worried because I’ve begun believing that my dreams truly are real. That the things that I’ve been dreaming have actually been happening to me. That the person I’m interacting with is real.”
“What is happening in your life right now is real to you. We simply have to get to the bottom of it,” he continued to reassure her. “Now, are you comfortable describing these dreams to me?”
She felt her blush return in full force. “Well…” She licked her lips.
“In as much detail as you feel safe with, Becky,” he smiled. “Feel free to give me a general picture if you prefer. Sometimes our minds can offer imagery that seems completely at odds with how we imagine ourselves to be as individuals. That’s not an indication that there is anything wrong with you. You may find that your subconscious is merely trying to work through a complex situation while you’re at rest. It’s often a way we resolve issues that might feel beyond the grasp of our waking thoughts.”
Saved By Her (Soul Searchers Book 1) Page 12
