All acts of pleasure argi-7

by M. R. Sellars

  No, these were things that truly didn’t need to remain shuttered away in my subconscious.

  In the end, a good friend of mine who was a Saint Louis city homicide detective, and also happened to be Helen’s brother, had argued that I needed to at least give her a chance. Of course, my wife had been directly involved in the “intervention” as well. Between the two of them, the pressure on me to seek outside help dealing with my “gift” had been relentless.

  Fortunately, they had won the skirmish because Helen’s counsel had seen me through some very pitch darkness, both then and countless times since. In fact, her understanding ear and uncanny ability to guide one through his or her own psyche had developed into an invaluable resource.

  On top of that, she had also become a very good friend.

  “Rowan?” she repeated, somewhat louder than before.

  The tone of her voice, rather than the volume, managed to prod me back from the edge of introspection, and I gave her an apologetic glance. “Sorry…it’s all just a little intense.”

  “I understand,” she replied. “Take your time.”

  “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

  “All right then…is this the point in the nightmare when you wake up?”

  “No,” I answered, staring at the ash on the end of the cigar hooked beneath my index finger. I consciously tucked the double Maduro roll of tobacco into the corner of my mouth and slowly drew, only to discover that it had gone out.

  “Please continue,” Helen urged. “If you are ready to do so, that is.”

  I let out a heavy sigh. Truth be told, I wasn’t really fine, and I was far from ready. Moreover, I definitely wasn’t excited about revisiting this terror, but I was already right in the middle of the tale, so it was a little late to turn back. Besides, this was the whole reason I had come to her to begin with, so holding it all inside was the last thing I needed to do.

  “So…anyway…I try to force the feeling away,” I continued, hesitantly at first. After a deep breath I made myself dive straight into the rest of the story. “So, I try, but I’m too weak, apparently, even to do that. I feel myself heave, but it’s not like I double over. I’m lying on my back, and I kind of just jerk in place because I can’t really move. I’m restrained somehow. Anyway, nothing comes up, except bile. I guess that’s what it is because I feel a burning in my throat, and then I start to gag.

  “At this point I start to notice that all of my muscles are pretty much screaming. It’s like I’m stretched beyond my limits, and now they’re all starting to cramp. I know that if I can just get up and move it will stop. But, like I said, I’m restrained and I can’t. It’s at that moment of realization that I always hear them. And then, the panic just starts all over again.”

  “Them?”

  “The footsteps. At first they sound like they’re in the distance…almost like they’re below me…but somehow I know they aren’t going to stay there. I know they’re going to come closer. I don’t know why I know, but I just do. And, here’s something odd-they aren’t new to me. It’s as if I’ve heard these very footsteps countless times before. So, you would almost think that I’d be used to them, but I’m not. Either way, as soon as they start, my heart jumps and begins pounding even faster.”

  Helen cocked her head to the side in a thoughtful pose then interjected, “Perhaps it is your familiarity with them that triggers your panic.”

  “Makes sense. You’re probably right.”

  “However, I suspect you have already thought of that.”

  “Yeah. I guess I did.”

  “All right. Go on.”

  “Anyway, the footsteps start, and I force myself to listen. Before long they do start coming closer, just like I knew they would. What’s weird is that they sound excited and cruel at the same time. I don’t know if that makes sense…I mean, I know they’re just footsteps and all, but there seems to be this whole mix of depravity and even arousal in the sound…”

  “It is not unusual to apply emotions to ambient noises, Rowan,” Helen offered. “It is a normal function of the subconscious. Sound will easily evoke an emotional response. If it did not we would have no need for music and sound effects in movies. Of course, the particular pairing you mention is most assuredly…shall we say, different.”

  “Yeah, exactly. It definitely seemed odd to me except that what I’ve been dealing with recently… Well, the circumstances make them fit together in a way.”

  “I see. So, is there more?”

  “A little,” I said with a nod. “This is when I realize…no…actually it’s more like I remember that there are others here with me…I guess I’m just suddenly reminded of it when I hear them because they hear the footsteps too. But, when they hear them, they start whimpering and crying.”

  I felt myself shudder physically as the words spilled out. Out of reflex I thumped the heel of my palm against the top of the railing as if the gesture could make it all go away. With a quick snap of my head I exclaimed, “Gods! They always sound so terrified that it…I don’t know…I really can’t describe it…I…I…Dammit!”

  “Calm down, Rowan,” Helen instructed. “Take a breath and relax.”

  I did as she told me and forced myself to settle. Finally I said, “All I can say is that their terror just fuels mine, and that just makes my panic grow.”

  “A natural response.”

  “Doesn’t make it any more pleasant…anyway, then, of all things, I start praying. As frightened-and I mean flat out petrified-as I am, I don’t cry like the others. I don’t moan. I don’t whimper…I just start to pray.”

  “To whom are you praying?”

  I knew exactly why she asked the question. She was fully aware that my personal leanings didn’t fit with the generally accepted concept of prayer. The fact of the matter being very simply that I was a Witch, a card carrying Pagan. I was a practitioner of magick and follower of an alternative religious path commonly known as Wicca. The idea of me praying was about as far left of center as it could get.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. God I guess, believe it or not…Yeah…I know…doesn’t make much sense, does it? Me, a devout Pagan praying to God.”

  “It is not as if you do not believe in a duality of Godhead, Rowan. As I understand it, in your path you have both a God and a Goddess.”

  “Yeah, but I get the feeling it’s not that God I’m praying to.”

  “Perhaps in this nightmare you are not yourself, but rather someone else.”

  “I gave that some thought,” I replied.“But, usually in the dreams I’m myself. It’s when I have a waking vision that I actually channel the dead and take on their memories and such.”

  “However, I recall that you have spoken to the dead in your dreams. Correct?”

  Helen was truly one of the few individuals with whom I could discuss these things without being looked upon with a jaundiced eye, as evidenced by what she had just said to me. I suppose it was her Native American heritage that made her so open to the idea that I really did communicate with those who had departed this realm.

  The truth is, I sometimes had trouble believing it myself. Witches aren’t what you read about in fairy tales or Shakespearean plays. Practicing magick and following a Pagan religious path, while an alternative to the societal norm, didn’t automatically make you some kind of psychic medium. In fact just about any other Pagan could tell you that I, and those like me, were an anomaly. While the mental exercises that come with the territory may have enhanced some type of latent ability I had always possessed, Witches, in general, simply didn’t go around talking to dead people.

  Why did I get to be so lucky? Who knows? All I can say is that “why me” had become a personal mantra over the past few years.

  I gave Helen a shallow nod after considering her response to my explanation. “Yeah, but I’m obviously not doing a lot of speaking to anybody in this one.”

  “This is true.”

  I waited a moment then added. “Well, there is one thing
I know for sure, and that’s what I’m praying for.”

  “And, that would be?”

  “I’m ashamed to admit it, but what I’m praying for is that this time it won’t be me. As selfish as that sounds, I want her to hurt someone else and not me.”

  “Her?” Helen asked, cocking her head to the side once again and raising an eyebrow.

  “I don’t know,” I replied with a shrug then dug into my pocket for a lighter. “It’s like the arousal and callousness with the footsteps. I just have this overwhelming sense of a female presence in connection with the terror and pain. There’s definitely a woman at the root of it, but I couldn’t begin to tell you who she is.”

  She clucked her tongue then gave her head a shake, looking at me with an expression that said she had reached a conclusion she was not yet ready to share. Not in direct terms, anyway.

  “I do not believe that is entirely true,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean perhaps you do not know for certain who she is, but you have a definite suspicion. That suspicion is exactly why you are here talking to me now.”

  I huffed out a heavy breath as my response. I was feeling only a small amount of relief at unloading the painful information to begin with, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to take things the direction Helen was now heading. Of course, her high-powered perception was the very reason I sought her out; it just wasn’t always comfortable being under the polished surface of her lens.

  Pressing on, I tried to bypass the inference. “Yeah, well…anyway, to answer your earlier question, that’s when I wake up…and, my heart is pounding in my chest; thudding against my ribcage so hard I can literally hear it. Just exactly like in the nightmare.”

  “And, is that always how it ends?”

  “Pretty much. Most of the time, anyway.” I nodded. “There’ve been a few times when it went a bit further. I’ll hear a creak of an opening door, and then the footsteps will actually make it into the room with me. Then, the wailing and crying of the others gets louder, but that’s pretty much it. It’s never progressed beyond that point. Not yet, anyway.”

  “And, you never see her? The woman?”

  “See? No. Feel, yes.”

  “Does she feel familiar?”

  “Can’t say for sure. Maybe.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  I lifted my shoulders then allowed them to drop. “Yeah. Okay. She feels familiar.”

  “Mmmhmmm,” Helen pursed her lips and nodded as she made the noise. “And, how often did you say this is recurring?”

  “Never less than twice a night since it started, and that was right at a week ago today. Last night was the worst yet. I can remember waking up five times in a total panic, but there may have been more. I’m not sure. That’s pretty much why I called you this morning. It just keeps getting worse…Oh, and I’m not sure if I said thanks for fitting me in by the way.”

  “Of course, Rowan,” Helen replied. “That is never a problem.”

  “Well, I took a chance. I wasn’t sure if you would be taking some time off after your father’s funeral or not.”

  Her father’s recent passing had been another of the reasons I had endured the nightmare as long as I had.

  “We all grieve in different ways, Rowan,” she said, leaving the sentence to stand on its own as an explanation. “Speaking of gratitude, I appreciate that Felicity and you came to the service. I am certain that my brother did as well.”

  “It’s the least we could do…and, I’ll take your word for it about Ben. We haven’t really spoken lately.”

  “Because of the investigation? I know he has been very busy.”

  “That’s my guess. He hasn’t returned any of my calls.”

  “I would not be too concerned. As I said, we all grieve in different ways. Delving into his work is simply Benjamin’s way.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I returned. “Either way, thanks again for fitting me in.”

  “Well, keep this between the two of us, but even had I taken time off, I would have managed something for you. I have learned that when you feel the need to call me, it is not to be taken lightly.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, I think.”

  “It was, in a manner of speaking.”

  She didn’t embellish her reply and that wasn’t unusual, so I didn’t press the point. Since I seemed to have been moderately successful in diverting the topic from her earlier succinct insinuation, I finally relaxed a bit. Seizing the opportunity, I relit my cigar and puffed on it thoughtfully then gave the business end a quick inspection to make sure the glow was relatively even. Satisfied, I stuffed the lighter into my pocket and leaned back against the rail.

  “So,” I spoke after an extended pause. “What do you think about the nightmare, Doc? Anxiety? Chemical imbalance? Or, have I finally just lost it?”

  She let out a thin “hmph” but kept her attention focused on the cigarette in her hand. I wasn’t bothered at all by the wordless reply because I knew it simply meant she was still digesting everything I had been saying over the past quarter hour. Of course, knowing her as I did, I should have realized that it also meant I hadn’t really changed her course at all.

  After a moment, she spoke. “It is most certainly anxiety, but you already knew that. However, the truly important question here is ‘what do you think’, Rowan?”

  “Well, that sounds like a typical response right out of the therapist handbook,” I commented with a chuckle.

  She let out a small laugh as well. “Yes, I suppose it does, but since you attempted to circumvent my earlier observation, I am now electing to pose it to you as a direct question.”

  “Caught that, did you?” I grunted the question.

  “Was there any doubt that I would?” she countered.

  “Well, I was hoping…”

  “Rowan, we both know that in your case there is more to this nightmare than a bad horror movie or too much anchovy pizza for a midnight snack.”

  “Now, see, I was hoping you would tell me that’s exactly what this is.”

  “But, you know better than that, do you not?”

  I let out a resigned sigh before I gave her the answer. “Yes, unfortunately, I do. For one thing, I don’t watch horror movies. I see enough of it without them.”

  “Exactly my point.”

  “Yeah, well, even so I was still hoping we couldn’t rule out the anchovy pizza.”

  “You are evading again, Rowan.”

  “Uh-huh, I know. Can you blame me?”

  “No, I do not suppose that I can. However, you also know that with me you cannot get away with it.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “Good of you to notice,” she replied, a hint of faux-conceit in her voice that was almost instantly replaced by measured seriousness. “Now, tell me…who do you believe the woman in your nightmare to be?”

  “Honestly, I think she’s probably the woman who killed Hammond Wentworth and Officer Hobbes.”

  “Really?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “No, not surprised,” she returned with a shake of her head. “Disappointed.”

  “About what?”

  “About the fact that you are still trying to evade my question.”

  “I’m not sure I follow, because I’m fairly certain I just answered it.”

  “You gave me an answer, but you did not tell me the truth.”

  “Come again?”

  “Rowan, be honest. We both know that you did not seek me out to tell me you believe you are having nightmares about an unidentified killer in an ongoing murder investigation. As insane as it may sound to the general populous, for you, that is the norm. No, there is a vastly deeper issue here that you cannot begin to overcome until you admit to it.”

  “Okay,” I returned with a shrug. “Since we seem to be on completely different pages here, would you like to share your insight?”

  “Borrowing your analogy, we are b
oth on the same page and you know it. You, however, are choosing not to read what is upon it.” Helen shook her head and peered back at me with obvious sadness in her expression. “You know, Rowan, for someone with the depth of intuition you possess, it amazes me how difficult you can elect to be at times, especially when it comes to your own sanity.”

  I raised my eyebrows and harrumphed softly. “Yeah. You aren’t the first person to make that observation.”

  “I am certain of that.”

  “So…you’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

  “We cannot discuss this fully until you do.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “All right, start there. Why not?”

  “Because if I do…well, if I do then that might make it real. I can’t let it be real. Hell, I came here so you could tell me that it’s not.”

  “I understand that.”

  “Okay then. So you obviously know what it is. Just tell me I’m being paranoid, and we’ll be done with all this.”

  “Me telling you what you want to hear will not fix the issue. You know that, Rowan.”

  “Okay, so what will?”

  “You facing your fear.”

  “Facing my fear? Are you kidding? Haven’t I faced enough of those for one lifetime?”

  “Actually, my friend, you have come nose to nose with more fears than anyone I know, and I commend you for that. But, by the same token, you have turned and run from just as many, if not more.”

  “Some of them just don’t need facing, Helen.”

  “Perhaps you are correct. It is true that some fears are transient. However, this one is not, and it will haunt you if you run from it. You know this. That is why you are here now.”