by John Tigges
“You think?”
“I mean, I remember bits and pieces of it. I guess it must have been the same one. It certainly stuck with me this time.”
Nodding, an ironic smile crossed his face. “I don’t think I’d worry about it, if I were you. Maybe you could talk to Doctor Claypool at the clinic. He’d probably set you straight in a minute or two. Don’t dreams symbolize certain things?”
She nodded. “I don’t think I’ll say anything to him. At least, not right now. I don’t want them to think they hired a ‘case’ who wants free treatment. I’ve only been there a short while. I’ll wait. If it happens again and it bothers me, I’ll think about talking to him. He’s a nice man but I don’t want to run the risk of having him change his opinion of me.” A frown crossed her face when she recalled the last thing that had happened right after she awoke from the dream.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Huh?” Looking up, she found him closely watching her.
“You’re frowning. Why?”
“I just thought of something else.”
“What?”
She pondered the wisdom of telling Myles about the apparition she had seen—or thought she had seen—when she awakened from the dream. When she had told him of the dream itself, he had been supportive and she had found that most refreshing. If she and Myles were to have any type of lasting relationship, she would have to learn to place her trust in him. In turn, she’d have to learn to accept his trust.
“When I awoke right after having … having kissed his … his rear,” she began, “I felt like I was floating or being carried. Off in the distance, I could hear this high pitched laugh. All around me, there was nothing but darkness. Then, I felt as if I had been thrown down. I know it felt like I was falling and falling and falling. Then, I landed on something soft and I opened my eyes.”
“You already told me that part,” Myles said, a hint of irritation in his tired voice.
“But then,” she continued, choosing to ignore his complaint, “I opened my eyes and was in the bedroom. I was wringing wet with sweat and I felt sick to my stomach. I thought I was going to vomit and sat up. That’s when I saw it.”
Myles’ eyes widened, a curious expectation replacing the exhaustion on his face. “Saw it? Saw what?”
Nicole swallowed. “I thought I saw the man or demon or thing or whatever it was, standing at the foot of the bed, staring at me. His eyes were sort of amber-like and his V shaped mouth grinned at me. I … I felt like someone pulled my plug.”
“Pulled your plug?” he repeated.
“Whatever strength I had left drained out of me, and I just fell back. I guess I fainted. The next thing I knew you were waking me up.”
“Well, when you have a dream, you really conjure up a production number, don’t you?”
Screwing up her face in thought, she looked past Myles, to the far end of the living room. “I … I’m … I’m not …”
He waited and when she didn’t continue, he said, “You’re not what?”
How could she tell him she thought she actually saw the demon standing at the foot of her bed? It sounded preposterous. Things like that didn’t happen.
“Come on,” he insisted. “Tell me. You’ve told me everything so far. At least I think you did. Don’t hold back on me now.”
“I really think I saw the demon or something standing at the foot of the bed. I actually saw it. It was standing there.”
“Well, where did he go? He’s not around now, is he?”
“Don’t do that. You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that. If you think you saw it, I’m sure it was real for you.”
“Now that I’ve said it aloud, I know I don’t merely think I saw it. I actually, really, truly did see it. I know that.”
“Wait a minute. Tell me something. Why would something like a demon come around here? This is 1986. Demons don’t go around scaring people any more. At least not that I know of.”
Tears filled Nicole’s eyes. Tears of frustration. Tears of concern for something she did not dare admit to anyone—most especially to herself.
“I’m sorry,” he said lamely, realizing that she was weeping. “You have to admit the whole dream thing is pretty far out. What would have prompted a dream like that? Any idea?”
She shook her head.
“Have you watched any scary movies or read any scary books lately?”
Fighting her sobs, she managed, “No movies. But I did read Kiss Not The Child a while back.”
“What was that about?”
“Demon worshippers and … and the son of Lucifer or Satan or someone. I … I don’t remember much about it.”
“Well, there you are. There’s your reason for the dream. Didn’t you say that you’ve been having the dream for some time?”
She nodded.
“Probably the book started the idea fermenting, and the dream grew until it manifested last night.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“Hey, look, these authors dream up all this junk about demons and things that go bump in the night and do it in just the right way to blow the mind of the reader. That’s all that happened. You didn’t meet any new people, who might have affected you?”
Shaking her head, she hoped he was right.
“You don’t think it had anything to do with the ritual I performed?” She bit her tongue. Why had she asked him that? She had never intended to tell anyone—much less Myles. She had thought of that night just seconds before when she first started crying. At first, she had concluded the dream and the rite were related somehow. But she couldn’t admit that to anyone—not even herself. Now she had tipped her hand and asked him about it.
His newsman instincts aroused by the strange question, he homed in. “Ritual? What ritual?”
“Oh, Myles,” she began, knowing full well she would have to tell him. “You’ll think I’m crazy or something.”
“No, I won’t. Tell me. How can I help if you don’t tell me everything?”
“Help? Help me how? What are you talking about?”
“Obviously you have something bothering you and want to tell me to get it off your chest. If it involves me or you or us—our lives together—you’ve got to tell me.”
He was right. She knew that. She had no other choice but to tell him. Would he think her mad? Would he even entertain the idea of staying around any longer than it took to put his things together and run out of her life? Did she have to risk that now of fill times? When she looked up, she found him staring at her, waiting for her to answer. “Do you love me?”
“Of course I do. You know that.”
“Will you promise to hear everything I have to say? Promise you won’t jump to conclusions about anything I’m going to tell you?”
“If it will make you happy, yes. I’m not the type to jump to wrong conclusions about anything. Even right conclusions. I usually reserve judgment until all the facts are in. You know that.”
For the second time since awakening, Nicole was going to confess a deep dark secret to the man she loved. This one might drive him away from her forever. She had no way of knowing until she laid the awful truth out for him to examine. But it was something she had to do. She knew that.
“Right after you walked out on me, I went into a depression and mental funk like you wouldn’t believe,” she began.
When she finished, Myles whistled softly. “I had no idea that my leaving would affect you so badly. My God. I am sorry, Nicole. Jesus! To think my leaving made you go out and … Look, let’s not talk about this anymore. It’s over. It’s in the past. Ancient history. Never happened. All right?”
“But Myles,” she protested lamely. “Everything seems to fall into place. This is the first time I even admitted to myself that I had performed that silly thing. I was desperate and I guess a little drunk that night. I don’t really remember all of it that clearly. But look at the str
ange things that have happened.”
“Such as?”
She ran down the list of peculiar events that had taken place since she had performed the bizarre, bargaining supplication. The water in her apartment. The apparent act of vandalism. The awful smells. Her stereo and TV turning on by themselves. His wardrobe’s destruction. Her dream. Seeing the demon. Even Myles’ return, so sudden and unexpected.
“But that was my idea,” he said, breaking into her discourse.
“Why did you decide to come back when you did?” she asked pointedly.
“I thought everything through and returning here was the answer. It’s as simple as that.”
“What about the pains you were suffering?”
“Psychosomatic!”
“How about the noise I heard and you didn’t?”
Myles looked at her. “What noise?”
“Don’t you remember? The night you came back. I asked you the next morning if you hadn’t heard a racket in here while you were knocking. You said no.”
“So?”
“So, earlier, the neighbors had complained to the manager, who called and chewed me out. Some of them went over his head and called the cops. They came and warned me. While they were here, the sets turned on by themselves.”
“Oh, come on, Nicole.”
“I’m not lying. I’m sure they have the incident on record at the police station if you’d like to check my story,” she said coldly, almost dispassionately.
The icy bitterness in her voice brought an immediate reaction from him. “I’m sorry for doubting you. But you have to admit it sounds pretty far-fetched.”
“Try this one for size, then,” she said, softening the edge of her voice. “The morning after you came back, I recalled that one of the policemen had pulled the plugs and tied them together around the leg of the TV stand. When I thought of that, I got up and went to the living room. They were still tied together around the leg.”
“What does that prove?” Myles asked incredulously.
“I asked you if you had heard any noise the night before when you were knocking. Well, the TV set and the stereo were playing at full blast. Why you didn’t hear it, is beyond me.”
“Me and everybody else,” Myles said quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“If the neighbors had complained before, how come they didn’t then?”
Nicole paled. “I’m … I’m scared, Myles.”
“Of what?”
“I … I think I might be going crazy.” She dropped her head, weeping quietly.
He moved toward her, embracing her when he sat next to her. “Hey, look, anyone can become upset about something if they worry about it long enough and hard enough. It’s getting late. You have to go to work, and I have to get some sleep. Let’s not think about it anymore today. Not until we see each other tonight. Is that a deal?”
She looked up. He seemed to be minimizing her fears. Is that all that was bothering her? A few silly fears and worries? “I … I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. Listen, nobody but nobody conjures up demons today. Hell, this is the twentieth century. The late twentieth century, I might add. Things like witches and spells and demons belong in the dark ages.” He laughed tiredly.
Standing, Nicole said, “I guess you are right. When I started thinking of everything that’s happened and tied it in to that silly thing I did, it became all messed up and twisted out of proportion.”
“Look,” he said, standing up next to her. “Let me make a suggestion. Suppose I visit a priest or minister today before I go to the station? I can tell him about everything that happened and see what he has to say.”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. Besides, if I want to get some expert advice on any of this, I’ll just ask Doctor Claypool.”
“Well, to be honest, Nicole, I thought maybe we might have need for a priest or minister down the road before not too long. You do know what I mean?”
She managed a weak smile before nodding. “If you want to, there’s nothing I can do to prevent it. Just don’t make it sound like I’m ready to blow my top any second. Make it us … as …”
“Offhanded as possible?” he asked, finishing the sentence for her.
“Right. Offhanded. Casual. You know,” she said, moving toward the hallway and the bathroom.
A shower would make her feel like a new person. At least, she hoped it would. When she finished dressing, twenty minutes later, Myles was already sleeping, his gentle snore bubbling through the quiet of the apartment.
She tiptoed out, ready to face another day, feeling a bit more comfortable with herself for having told Myles everything about the ceremony.
Closing the door with an inaudible click, her footsteps receded down the hall. When the apartment was quiet, the stereo turned on, playing an old Mantovani recording.
10:21 A.M.
“You really look bushed,” Stacey Ford said, shaking a spoonful of sugar into her second cup of coffee. They had talked of college days and touched briefly on Stacey’s life in the religious commune.
“Bad night,” Nicole said, sipping her coffee. She felt Stacey had not wanted to see her merely to reminisce.
“What happened?”
“I had a dream that woke me up, and I didn’t sleep very well because of it, I guess.”
Stacey nodded in an assured, all-knowing way. “Do you know what I think your trouble is?”
Nicole jerked her attention from the counter where a girl had just spilled a decanter of coffee back to Stacey. “What?”
“I think you’re looking for Jesus and aren’t really sure of the fact.”
“Look, Stacey, I didn’t agree to coffee just to get a sermon on Jesus and my sinful way of life.”
“I didn’t say anything at all about your way of life, Nicole.”
“I thought I’d save you the time.”
“Don’t get huffy, dear. Besides, you’re the one who said it was sinful. Why, even people who lead relatively good lives can be upset because something is missing from their day to day existence. Jesus! That is the one and only answer to most—no—every problem today. If one puts their lives and futures in the hands of Jesus, everything will turn around for them. Believe me, I know of what I speak.”
“And I suppose,” Nicole said sarcastically, “that your Reverend Whatever-his-name-is is the man to put me in touch with Jesus?”
“Don’t be cynical, Nicole.”
“I … I’m sorry, Stacey. I’ve been working hard lately, getting this publicity campaign underway. When I don’t get a good night’s sleep, everything goes haywire.”
“I understand, Nicole. I really do.”
“Then, if you understand, lay off the religious hype and your Reverend …”
“Reverend Eddie John Stangood.”
“Whatever,” Nicole said, throwing the word away under her breath.
“He’s really quite nice.”
“Who? Jesus?”
“No. Yes! Jesus is wonderful, but I was referring to Reverend Eddie John. He’s phenomenal. He really is. He does so many good things. And when he’s in control …”
“Control? Control of what?”
“Jesus has told him in a vision that only those evangelists who preach the word of Christ on TV, and those who carry out His ministry on earth, will be among the chosen on earth when the Apocalypse takes place.”
Nicole restrained herself. What a laugh! And Stacey was gullible enough to believe that her Reverend Eddie John Stangood was in direct contact with Jesus Christ? Nicole looked at her watch. “Good Lord, I’ve got to get going. I didn’t realize it was so late.”
They stood, dropping some change on the table for the waitress. Nicole turned, hurrying toward the door, with Stacey right behind her.
“Give Jesus a chance,” she said, half running to keep up with Nicole.
“I’ll think about it, Stacey. I really have to run. I’m late.”
Stacey watched he
r dash up the steps of the clinic, which stood next door to the coffee shop they had just left. At the top of the steps she saw Nicole hesitate before forcing herself past the heavyset woman blocking the front entrance.
2:00 P.M.
Myles squirmed in the straight-back chair to which the lady, who answered the door, had escorted him. When she indicated he should sit down and had pointed directly at the chair on which he now sat, he felt obligated to obey. Her hawk-like nose and sharp piercing stare had squelched any desire on his part to pass the time of day with her. She left immediately to summon Father DuWayne Gorkland, the pastor of Saint Timothy’s Church.
Myles had called him shortly after getting out of the shower and had made a two o’clock appointment with the priest for that afternoon. Before going to work and getting involved in the troubles of the city, state, country and world, he wanted to be free of the thoughts worrying him since he had awakened.
Standing when Gorkland entered, Myles smiled inwardly. The man stood about five feet six inches tall and probably weighed no more than one hundred forty pounds. His coal black hair, combed straight back, did nothing but call attention to his boyish face. Myles wondered how old he might be. Involuntarily pulling back from the man’s wet palm, when they shook hands, Myles sat down in the chair, wiping his own palm dry.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Lawrence?” Gorkland asked, studying Myles’ face closely. “Are you on television, by any chance?”
Myles smiled blandly. “Yes. Yes, I am, Father. Have you seen me before?”
“On the few occasions that I watch the thing. It’s rather boring, don’t you think?”
Myles shrugged. “I don’t feel I’m at liberty to air my views concerning television’s worth, considering my position with KSLL-TV.”
Gorkland remained aloof and said, “I am rather busy, Mr. Lawrence. What do you need?”
“A friend of mine has been suffering from a dream—a recurring dream—and it seems to be about a demon or possibly the devil. She’s had some rather weird things happen to her recently and …”
“This friend of yours … this lady friend … how close is she to you?”
“We’re intimate friends. I believe that someday we’ll probably marry. Why do you ask? Is that important?”
