by Unknown
When the therapist came out to greet her, Catherine was struck by her casual appearance. She was a middle-aged woman dressed in a paisley caftan and sandals that’d seen better days. Her long salt-and-pepper hair was frizzy and pulled back in a low-hanging pony-tail. She looked like a leftover hippie from the sixties.
“Catherine Fitzgerald?” said the therapist in a husky voice as she came forward to shake hands.
“Yes.”
“I’m Barbara Lawrence.”
Catherine followed Barbara into a sitting room, where the lighting was soft and the window shades overlooking the tiny back-yard were half closed to block the sun. Barbara plopped herself on one of the side chairs and Catherine sat across from her on a low cushioned couch. Catherine glanced around the room, settling on a wall with a number of framed degrees. She was relieved to see one of them was a Ph.D. in clinical psychology from Stanford.
“Thank you for seeing me so quickly.”
Barbara smiled. “No problem.”
After Barbara reviewed the form Catherine had filled out, she mentioned that she’d have to notify the authorities if Catherine revealed any risk to herself or others. It was the law, she said.
Relieved to find that Barbara followed standard practice, Catherine relaxed. Maybe Lindsey’s therapist knew what she was doing after all.
With the preliminaries out of the way, Barbara said, “So, what brings you here?” Her eyes were gentle but inquiring.
“I’ve been bothered by a recurring nightmare.”
“Tell me about it.”
As Catherine shared her story, Barbara took notes. When Catherine finished, Barbara asked, “When did this all start?”
“Shortly after I came to New York. It may have even been that first night.”
“Was there anything unusual that day, anything that could’ve triggered that dream?”
“Nothing that I can think of. Like my ex said, it may be just my mind dealing with that accident I had eight years ago.”
“So, you think by going on this dive, you’ll be stronger and less afraid in your life.”
“I hope so. Not that I thought I was afraid before. But maybe my going to Provence with my daughter was running away. Maybe I’m still running. Maybe it’s more about that than seeing if I can manage diving again.”
Barbara wrote something down and then looked up. “There could be many reasons you’re dreaming what you’re dreaming. I agree our dreams are our mind’s attempts to solve some problems we’re grappling with, but sometimes it’s more than that.”
Catherine tensed at the words it’s more than that, even though that was exactly what she’d been thinking. She looked down and noticed that her Claddagh ring was crooked. She straightened it.
“But before we explore that, I need to ask you a few more questions.”
Catherine nodded, wondering where Barbara was going with all of this.
“Did you ever or are you still doing any drugs?”
Catherine laughed. “With a seven-year-old watching me every step of the way? No.”
“But did you ever before?”
“I tried some marijuana when I was a student. Also, some hash, but nothing since then.”
“How about LSD? Any of that?”
“If you’re thinking this is a flashback…no.”
“I have to ask.” Barbara smiled. “Do any of the images in your dreams remind you of any movie you might’ve seen in the past? When you were a child or later?”
“Nothing close. I mean, I’ve seen lots of films over the years, and maybe it’s related. I don’t know.”
Barbara looked at her notes. “You did say you had a serious diving accident.”
“Yes. My hose was severed, and the buddy I was with, I couldn’t trust him to share his air supply with me.”
“Why was that?”
“In scuba diving, when divers share, it sometimes means that they’ll both end up running out of air and die.”
“I see.”
“I guess I could’ve taken a chance, but my buddy hadn’t done the proper equipment checks before we dove.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t trust him to have everything working properly. I panicked and decided to go up on my own. Unfortunately, I surfaced too quickly and got the bends.”
“That’s bad. I’ve read that some divers died because of them.”
“I was lucky. But it scared the hell out of me. I’d lost a friend a year earlier—he’d done the same thing. I should’ve known better. I was depressed for quite awhile after that.”
“I’m not surprised.” She stopped writing and leaned back. “Post-traumatic stress is hard to manage. Sufferers can struggle with the aftermath of a trauma the rest of their lives.”
“You think that’s what this is?”
“I’m not sure. We know from studying war veterans, the ones who’d been exposed to some catastrophe, like a friend’s death or their own injury, it’s hard to get over. Their trauma is further complicated, if along with that exposure, there’s intense fear. Afterwards, they’re not only plagued by nightmares, but also horrific daydreams.”
She liked the direction Barbara was heading in. It was like putting a puzzle together, one piece at a time.
“Daydreams for soldiers are often triggered by an intense noise, like a loud bang, or a car backfiring, or if they see excessive blood…” Barbara’s voice trailed off. “I think you get the point.”
“So, you think this might be a reaction to what I went through?”
Barbara shrugged. “Could be. Could be your fears are resurfacing now that you’re planning to go under again. Or maybe…” She stopped for a few moments and stared into space. “You know the things we experience are occasionally hard to explain. They defy logic.”
Catherine looked down at the Persian carpet. Its design was intricate, like the problem she was facing. How could she be expected to deal with anything illogical? She found a hanging cuticle and played with it.
Barbara put her notebook on the coffee table. “I think we should try some hypnosis. Are you okay with that?”
Catherine had expected to go under. Lindsey had said that hypnosis had helped her get in touch with her childhood abuse issues. While Catherine was willing to give herself to this process, she worried that she wouldn’t be an easy subject. She’d have to trust a therapist she’d only met. Catherine closed her eyes. Flashes of her mother’s disapproving face surfaced. That’s all I need, thought Catherine. She forced herself to breathe in and out slowly.
“Are you comfortable?”
“Yes.” Catherine relaxed her hands and feet even more.
“Now, I want you to take yourself to a place that comforts you, a quiet place, a place with no worries. Take your time.”
“It used to be the sea.”
“It doesn’t have to be that. Some people find themselves taking a path in a forest, or a meadow, or maybe going down some steps to a cool, bubbling stream. Anyplace where you feel safe, alone, unhurried, with lots of time to replenish your spirit.”
Barbara’s voice was low and gentle. It took a few minutes but Catherine found herself letting go. She thought about her lavender farm in the evening when the light was fading. A bird twittered in the olive tree by her bedroom window. She could feel herself drifting, almost floating. The lavender flowers became a wash of purple flooding her mind. Then the wash turned blue. Varying shades of blue—turquoise, cobalt, aquamarine, even navy with added specks of gold as she went deeper into the trance. Dark, then light, then dark again in the caves she swam by. A figure lurked somewhere in the background, breaking the surface of the water. Why wasn’t he coming forward so she could see him? He wore a dark suit and when he went back under water, he walked towards her as if he was walking on air. Then he faded as if something had come between them. She regarded it like some sort of dance with him appearing again and then stepping in her direction, but oddly, not getting any closer. Straining to see him, she noticed a young woman in a white dress beside him, the
one that looked like the bride in her dreams. The young woman ran away from the man, but while she was running in her boots, she slid on the deck of a ship. Catherine moaned. Her body rocked, as if she were on that ship, too. Her head twisted from side to side, and her moans grew as the ship heaved from the towering waves pushing it on all sides.
“What do you see?” Barbara’s voice was faint but clear.
“I see her. She’s struggling, wanting to go somewhere.”
“Take your time. I want you to go deeper.”
Time moved like a slug on a forest walk. Catherine whimpered, “She’s running all over the ship. She’s calling a name, but I can’t make it out. He’s calling, too. The man in the suit. The noise of the gale is drowning out his voice. Oh, no! She’s gone. He’s gone.” Her body trembled.
“What happened? Catherine …Catherine, can you hear me?”
“A wave. A wave as big as the ship washed over everything. I can’t see them anymore. I can’t see them.” She was cold and shivering.
“Catherine, you can wake up now.”
Catherine awoke slowly. Her hand went to her throat. She felt something choking her. Gasping for air, she wondered why she wasn’t wet. She tried to hold back her tears, but it was no use. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”
“Could be a lot of things,” said Barbara, as she handed her a box of tissue. “Take your time.” After Catherine had wiped away her tears, Barbara said, “You mentioned some people while you were under. Do you know any of them?”
“No.”
Barbara tented her fingers and said nothing. She looked as if she was weighing what to say next. After what seemed like a long minute, she said, “Our minds work in mysterious ways. Maybe you don’t know them yet.”
~~~
On the subway ride back to the apartment, Catherine mulled over what Barbara had said. Maybe you don’t know them yet. She’d thrown that out as if the people in the nightmare were real. Real! How could that be? They looked like they belonged in some history book. And if they were real, why had they chosen to bother her?
She was still stewing when she entered the apartment. She tidied up the breakfast dishes and wiped the kitchen counter, but while doing so, she accidentally knocked a glass onto the tile floor. Then, when she got down on her knees, she nicked her index finger on a glass fragment. “Fuck!” she yelled. The cut on her finger wasn’t deep, but it hurt and it was bloody.
She crumpled on the floor crying. She was glad Richard and Alex weren’t there. She’d made a mess and she was one, too. Why had she come to New York? All the trip had done was stir up old feelings, leaving her more confused than ever.
Wiping away her tears, she got up and went to the bathroom where she removed her Claddagh ring before bandaging her wound. She put her ring into a pouch she kept in the bureau drawer and then called Lindsey to complain. “I thought you were supposed to feel good when you left a therapist’s office. I’d have to be fucking insane to go down that road! I may as well have gone to some witch doctor, for all the good it did me.”
“What are you so mad about? It’s not like she said you were psychotic or anything. She’s only trying to help you.”
It wasn’t the kind of help Catherine had been expecting. If Barbara had linked the bad dreams to her fear of diving, then maybe it would’ve made sense. “I should’ve gone to a real shrink.”
“Yeah?” said Lindsey. “Listen, I’ve known you a long time. You’ve always been level headed, but you have to admit it’s weird. These nightmares came out of the blue. If they’re connected to your fears, then why in the hell didn’t they start when you were still in Provence?”
“Maybe because I was only exploring the idea back then?” Trust Lindsey to get on the same wavelength as Barbara. She believed in all that hocus-pocus.
“Okay, but what if Barbara is on to something. You owe it to yourself to keep going. The main thing is, did you like her?”
Catherine hesitated. She stared out the window at Central Park, where a few teens were jogging on a trail. Life was simpler for the young. “Okay, say you’re right, but I think those characters in the night are trying to tell me to go back to the farm before I drown with the fishes.”
Lindsey laughed. “You’re funny. Look, Barbara’s no wacko. Like I said, she’s intuitive, but you have to work with her.”
After they hung up, Catherine fixated on the sky. Masses of white clouds edged in grey moved in on the city. What was beyond them? Planets, comets, meteorites, all the stuff she’d seen on the Discovery Channel. But what else? What if there were spirits? What if some spirit was trying to get through to her and she was being too cavalier about it? She’d read about these things before, but had always considered people who talked about ghosts or claimed to have seen them as delusional, on drugs, or just plain bizarre. But then again, hadn’t she herself joked about the apparitions from her dreams possibly following her to Ireland? It’s not as if she hadn’t entertained the thought of another world, as odd as that sounded. Maybe Barbara was on to something. Maybe these were people she didn’t know yet.
TEN
As usual, Catherine was late. She’d given up taking a taxi since the streets were jammed. Some demonstration had stalled traffic on Fifth Avenue, so she hit the sidewalk running, which wasn’t easy given the throng of pedestrians. She couldn’t even call Frank on her cell phone because she’d forgotten to charge it the night before. She remembered a sixth grade teacher telling her lateness was the height of rudeness. When a person was late, they were in effect saying their time was more valuable than anyone else’s. She’d never seen herself as selfish, but maybe that was part of the problem. It was also unprofessional, but there was nothing she could do about it now.
They’d decided to meet in the Rose Reading Room of the New York Public Library, the most spectacular room in the city. With its lofty ceiling covered by a mural of blue sky and cumulus clouds, the room reminded her of a grand ballroom. Its old world décor—of original chandeliers and bronze lamps—made it the perfect place to examine maps that could lead them to a sixteenth century ship.
It took her awhile to find the three men, as the room was two city blocks long and populated by several hundred patrons. Even so, the library was surprisingly quiet. She saw them sitting at a long oak table at the back of the room, away from the other visitors.
“You’re late,” said Hennesey in a low voice, setting the tone for the rest of the meeting. “If you do this when we’re over there, I’m not waiting for you.”
She gave him a plastic smile and then said to Daniel and Frank, “Sorry about that. I tried to hail a cab, and—”
“No need to apologize,” said Frank. “This is New York. We all know what a headache it is to get anywhere.”
Catherine mouthed thanks and sat down beside Frank and directly across from Hennesey.
Daniel, who sat next to Hennesey, winked at her. “Hennesey was about to show us the dive site.”
She wished Daniel wasn’t so good looking. It was distracting. She pulled herself away from his gaze and focused on the large book in front of Hennesey. It was the Dive Atlas of the World—an Illustrated Reference to the Best Sites.
Hennesey opened the atlas to the map of Ireland. He placed a finger on a spot north of Galway on the west coast. “Here’s where I hope to go. Near as I’ve been able to determine, one of the ships from the Spanish Armada went down here in 1588 and was never recovered.”
Catherine studied the map. “When the Spaniards failed to conquer the English, didn’t they try to sail home on the Atlantic?”
Hennesey nodded. “Unfortunately for them, they encountered severe storms and more than twenty-four vessels got wrecked off the western coast of Ireland. There’s still a few that haven’t been found.”
Catherine said, “You’d think that coastline would’ve been fully explored by now.”
Hennesey pulled out a journal. “This is one of the places I checked for that.”
“The Journal o
f Maritime Research,” said Daniel. “I’m impressed.”
Hennesey rolled his eyes and flipped the pages to one marked with a yellow tag. “It says here, on the fifteenth of September, two ships were with the Girona when it crossed Donegal Bay and anchored near Killybegs. They were both lost, probably in the gale that occurred on the twenty-first of September.”
Frank leaned forward for a closer look. “But the Girona was found further up the coast, near the northern end.”
Hennesey lowered his voice even more, as if there were other divers nearby who could overhear. “There are conflicting stories about the two missing galleons. Some say they got as far north as County Sligo, but if they had they would’ve been found. It seems there was at least one eyewitness who saw the other two leave Killybegs later than the Girona, and once the storm hit, they were tossed somewhere south of the Aran Islands.”
Daniel met Hennesey’s gaze. “And you got this last bit of information from…?”
“I have my sources.” Hennesey folded his arms and sat back. “Journals, reports, fishermen’s tales. Where the Girona went down has been combed with no results. Given that, I figure it’s worth searching the area south of that site.”
Catherine stared at the map. “Like Clive Cussler says, shipwrecks are never where they’re supposed to be.”
“He’s got that right,” said Daniel smiling. The way he looked at her was unnerving. As if they’d known one another before. She wished she could shake that feeling. Dismissing her thoughts, she studied the map again.
Hennesey scratched his bald spot. “I found a seventeenth-century mariner map of Ireland and matched its coastlines to today’s charts. I’ve also checked out any troublesome rocks and other danger spots around the headlands there.”
Catherine had to give him credit. The man was meticulous in his planning. “You’ve done your homework.”
Hennesey’s eyes sparkled with the compliment. “And to whet your appetite further, it’s also near the site of the Laurentic.”
“How about that?” said Frank. “I’d forgotten that ship went down around there.”
