Betrayal (8 page)

“Must we?”  Dan whispered, now nibbling her ear.

“Yes we must.  Do you want the shower first?”  Lydia asked as, she disentangled herself from the sheets.  Abruptly Lydia said “I haven’t heard from Alan. Dr. Stokes? I don’t know how to address him. Dr. Stokes sounds so formal.”

“What do you mean you haven’t heard from him?  Hasn’t he called yet to set up another meeting?”

Lydia shook her head.  Slipping into her pink terrycloth robe, Lydia came up behind Dan, kneading his shoulders. Deeply she pressed her fingertips into his flesh feeling him relax with each stroke of her hand. “Your assisting in surgery on Fridays is great.  If there is no surgery we get to start the weekend early.”  Lydia stopped, turned, and walked down the hallway to the kitchen.  She stopped partway down the hall, turned to face Dan, smiling seductively.

“Yes, there are other things I would rather do, especially with you,” he said. Coming up behind her and caressing her shoulders, he moved his hands to the luxurious softness of her hips. Unable to resist the urge to swing her around for a kiss, he kissed her hungrily.

              Lydia uttered a soft purr of contentment.

“Wait, don’t distract me,” he said in mock annoyance.  “I was saying that although I can think of things I would rather do, I do have to assist at surgery today.” He left for the hospital just before seven.

  Lydia set about straightening up the townhouse. Placing a CD of Gregorian Chants in the stereo she went into the kitchen to wash up the breakfast dishes.  As she stood at the sink watching it fill with soapsuds, Lydia became aware of the sweet smell of roses filling the air.  The scene, like so many pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, came together before her eyes.  She felt the warmth of a late summer’s breeze upon her face as she gazed into the bubbles.  There she was tall and slender, standing in a garden filled with yellow roses.  Lydia knew her in an instant. The girl stood looking out over the garden, her back to Lydia. The girl was dressed in the gown of emerald green, which Lydia recognized from her dream, but now the dress was pretty and new.  Lydia willed the girl to turn around but she stood fast.  The scene widened and Lydia became aware of a magnificent brick building that felt somehow familiar, though she didn’t recognize it. Down the wide steps came a beautiful dark- haired woman laughing and chatting with a small child. As the two drew nearer Lydia gasped in shock.  She recognized the woman as the specter from her dream.  She watched horror-struck as the woman’s head tumbled from her shoulders.  Lydia screamed, dropping the plate she was holding into the sink, sharp shards of broken glass splintering the scene until the sink held only dissolving bubbles.

             
“Dan,” she cried.  I have to tell Dan. No, he is in surgery. What will I do?”  Her knees buckled under her, forcing her to sit on the floor.  “Stokes, “I’ll call Alan Stokes,” she continued, trying to stand to reach the wall telephone.  Tears blinded her eyes. In vain she tried to scrub them away.  Helpless, she gave in to her tears.  The telephone rang and it startled her.  She stumbled, answering the insistent ring breathlessly.

             
“Hello?”

             
“Lydia, it is Alan Stokes.  Have I called at a bad time?  You sound out of breath, are you all right?”

             
“Alan,” she gasped, relief flooding her senses. She held the wall to steady herself.  “Oh, Alan, I have seen her, in the soap bubbles just now.”  The tears cascading down her cheeks forced Lydia to swallow several times to get the words out.

             
“Calm down, Lydia.  I can’t make out a word you are saying.  Is Dan there?  Put him on the telephone. I would like to speak with him.”

             
“No.  Surgery,” Lydia’s words were barely audible above her tears.

             
“Look, I’m coming ‘round.  I should be there in about fifteen minutes. Will you be all right ‘til then?  Where are you?”

             
“In the kitchen,” was Lydia’s feeble reply.

             
“Good. Stay there.  Is the front door locked?’

             
“I don’t know.  Alan, I don’t know.”  Her words dissolved in hysterical sobs.

             
“Stay where you are.  If the door is locked I’ll ring the bell. See you soon.”

             
Lydia made her way to a chair and laid her head on her arms on the table. Closing her eyes, she was lulled gently into a light sleep by the comforting rhythmical chant coming from the living room.

***

             
Stokes called his secretary into his office.  “Mary, cancel my classes for today. No, wait.  See if Bill Steeves can take them.  If not, well, just cancel them,” he said, shifting papers uselessly around his desk.

             
Mary Mosher had seen him upset before.  “What are you looking for?  Perhaps I could help.”

             
“No.  No, I know it’s here.  I saw it last Monday.”

             
“If you told me what you were looking for, I could help you find it.”

             
“A paper, I am looking for a particular piece of paper,” he growled, as he threw piles of paper around.  “Ha! Here it is!” he said, lifting a soiled paper napkin.

             
“Will you please tell me what’s going on?”

             
“I’ll explain on Monday.  Don’t forget to post the note,” he said, slapping his pockets for his keys, wallet, and sunglasses.

             
“But Monday is July 1
st
.”

             
“July 1
st,
” Stokes said absently.

             
“Canada Day,” Mary said, exasperated at his lack of attention.

             
“Oh, so it is.  Don’t bother Steeves about my classes. Just post a class-cancelled note and then you can leave for the week-end.  I’m off. See you Tuesday.”  Stokes took the stairs two at a time.  Once out in the late June sunshine he ran to his car.

***

Fifteen minutes later Stokes was climbing the steps to 4235 Germain Street. Trying the doorknob he was relieved to find it unlocked. Pushing the door open, he stepped on to the polished marble floor. He made his way down the hallway toward the sound of Lydia’s sobs. Standing in the doorway of the cool blue kitchen, he turned to see Lydia slumped over the kitchen table, her long blonde hair hanging messily, but seductively, over her closed eyes. Her beauty was breathtaking.  Approaching the table he resisted the urge to stroke her cheek. He wrestled with the desire to remain watching her, but gently placed his hand on her shoulder. Lydia swung her head up in fright.

              “Oh, Alan, I am so glad you came,” she said, leaping from the chair to grasp his hand, tears welling in her eyes.  “I saw her. I saw the girl in my dream, and I saw the woman whose severed head haunts me.”  The words tumbled breathlessly from her lips.

“I saw them there,” she cried, pointing to the sink and the dissolving soap bubbles.  “There in the bubbles.  I saw it all; the garden, the women and the child. Then I dropped a
plate and it shattered in the sink, then nothing, just soapsuds.  She was there. I saw her.”  Lydia’s voice was edged with hysteria, her face paled.

             
Stokes grabbed her upper arm to keep her from falling.  “Here, sit down,” he said, settling her back into her chair.  Lydia melted into tears.  He felt at a loss to comfort her.

‘Helpless before the storm,’ he thought.  ‘Why was it a woman’s tears made him feel so inadequate?’  He caressed her hand, longing to raise it to his lips. At last her sobs subsided.

              “Lydia, can you tell me what you were doing when you saw the vision?” he asked, reluctantly letting go of her hand.

             
“I,” she hiccupped, “I was standing at the sink, filling it with water to wash the breakfast dishes.  I was watching the soap bubbles form.  The music was playing in the other room as it is now.”  She hesitated, took a deep breath, and continued.  “In the bubbles I saw a scene form. I saw the same girl from my dream.  She was dressed in the same emerald green gown, only now it was beautiful and new.”

             
“Did you see her face?”

             
“No, she stood with her back to me.  I wanted so to see her face, but she never turned around.”

             
“Tell me about the scene. Did it take place in the dark room?  Where was she?”

             
“No, I told you, she was in a garden, a beautiful garden, of yellow roses, I think. I could smell the roses.  She had a small bouquet of flowers in one hand and she was holding a book. She was handing the book to another woman.” Lydia stopped, turning to Stokes, her eyes wild with fright. He felt a chill as she said, “It is this other woman’s head that haunts my dreams.”

Alan’s flesh crawled. He had read of waking dreams, but he had always doubted the veracity of the phenomena. But clearly something had happened here and he meant to find out what.

***

              Dan Taylor argued with himself as he walked down King Street.  In his heart he knew he had been right to force Lydia to see Stokes, but yet there was a niggling doubt that gnawed at him.  He reassured himself that he was in control of the situation.  It wasn’t as if this was something of importance; it was a dream after all.  A minor inconvenience, a few hours sleep lost, at most.  As he turned on to Germain Street, he pondered over the scene when he threatened to leave Lydia.  Had he been too forceful? No, he had to stop this foolishness.  It was embarrassing to have Lydia speak of these dreams of hers.  He had heard his receptionist discussing them with a patient the other day. Marjorie had stopped speaking when he came into the room, but he was positive they had been talking about Lydia’s nightmares.  He had told Lydia to be careful around Marjorie, but it was obvious she hadn’t listened.  She wore her emotions on her sleeve, for the entire world to see.  Hadn’t she been taught that dirty linen shouldn’t be washed in public? Dan was convinced that there were secrets behind these nightmares. “Yes, indeed,” he said to himself as he approached the townhouse, “there is plenty of dirt hiding in these dreams.  As he climbed the stairs to number 4235 he noticed the door ajar. Pushing the door open he heard voices inside.  

             
“Lydia, have you ever seen anything like this before?”

             
Dan recognized Stokes’ Scottish burr.  Dan moved as quietly as he could along the hallway to the kitchen, wondering why Alan was here.

             
Dan paused outside the door.  Listening to Lydia’s sobs, he wondered what had come before.

             
“No, never,” came Lydia’s muffled reply.

             
Dan entered the room. Stokes and Lydia were sitting at the table. Dan was disturbed to see Alan holding Lydia’s hand.  Stokes stood up immediately, dropping Lydia’s hand into her lap.

             
“What is going on here?” Dan demanded.

             
Lydia jumped up and ran to Dan’s arms, with tears streaming down her cheeks. “I,” she said, but her voice failed.  Struggling to get the words out, she turned to Stokes in desperation.

             
“Lydia has had a waking dream.”  Stokes tried to muster an authoritarian tone, but his voice cracked.  “It was a daytime manifestation of her nightmare. Waking dreams have been documented.”

             
“In mental hospitals! Look Alan, it’s obvious you don’t believe in waking dreams anymore than I do.  This whole thing is ridiculous and I think the best thing I can do is take Lydia away for a while.”

             
“I agree, Dan.  A rest may be in order, but not before we can study this experience.”

             
“No, Lydia needs rest now!” Dan shouted.

             
“Please stop talking about me as if I wasn’t here,” Lydia said between hiccups.

“No one is ignoring you, Lydia.  We are just trying to decide what is best for you,” Alan countered, watching as Dan’s face clouded in response to Lydia’s complaint.

“Yes, I think Dan’s right.  I think I need some time away,” Lydia said quietly.

“There, it’s settled,” Dan said triumphantly.

“Yes, Lydia, I agree but I should like some time to discuss this morning’s happenings before you go.  I’m not prepared to document your experience. Please don’t rush off without investigating what happened here this morning.  Please, at least agree to come to my office this afternoon, so that we can get this on tape.”

Dan picked up a pad of paper and tossed it to Stokes.  “Here use this. Ask your questions, write down the answers and get out of here.”

Stokes became indignant.  “May I remind you, that it was you who begged me to become involved? That it was you who recorded Lydia in her most vulnerable moments without her knowledge or permission and that it was you who brought the tape to me.”

Dan moved his mouth to speak, but Stokes continued, allowing Dan no time to respond. “I’m here because you asked me to be; because you wanted my help to unravel the mystery of Lydia’s nightmares.”

Dan stared at Stokes, his jaw tight, but he remained silent.

Stokes shoved his hands into the pockets of his cardigan. He spread his legs and prepared to stand his ground before the swell of Dan’s anger.

Lydia watched the two men, slack jawed, too tired to object. She rested her head on her hand as the two men drew back from their confrontation.

             
Dan spoke first, breaking the uneasy silence.  “I just want what’s best for Lydia.”

             
“We all do,” Stokes replied.  “And what is best for Lydia is to examine all aspects of this recurring nightmare so that we may put it to rest, and to do that we must document it completely.  Will you two agree to come to my office so that I may do that properly?”

             
Defeated, Dan nodded.

             
Lydia simply said, “Yes.”

             
“And afterward,” Dan said to Lydia, taking her hand, “We will be off to Maine for the holiday weekend.  Agreed?” he asked, lifting her hand to his lips.

             
“Agreed.”

*
**

             
Lydia closed the door behind Stokes, watching him descend the stairs before turning to Dan.  “Just what was going on in there?” she asked, pointing towards the kitchen.

             
“That’s what I would like to know.  I’m still waiting for an answer.”

             
“I don’t understand you, Dan.  I don’t know what you want, and I’m beginning to think you don’t either.”

             
Dan took a deep breath, kicked at an invisible dust-ball, and gave Lydia one of his very best ‘Charlie Brown’ smiles.  “I guess I blew it.”  He came around behind Lydia, placing his hands on her shoulders.  His fingers gently kneaded the tense muscles of her neck and upper back.  “The words come out all wrong.  I get confused, flustered and …

             
“Jealous?”

             
“Yes, jealous.  I want to be everything you need.”

             
“You already are,” she replied, turning to face him. She laced her arms around his waist. Laying her head against his shoulder, she continued, “You are my protector, and like any fairytale princess I rejoice in your love.”

             
“Protector, I like that.  Though I doubt your father saw me that way.”  Dan frowned and once more an invisible wall dropped between them.  It happened every time Charles Hamilton was brought into any conversation.

Lydia winced.  She remembered her father’s bitter words when she had told him that she was moving in with Dan.  She turned from Dan and walked into the living room. He followed her quietly.  Lydia walked to the fireplace, picking up the small pewter frame.  She held the photo in trembling hands.  Tears filled her pale blue eyes as she remembered their trip to Halifax.

Charles Hamilton had been at work when Dan and Lydia surprised him with the news of their plans.  “You are no better than HER!  You are a spoiled brat who defies direction! Move in together! You will be living in sin! You’re not ready to take a husband!  You’re no more than an unruly child, who wants to play house!”  Hamilton had rubbed his forehead as he paced the small confines of his office.  He raked his bony fingers through his thinning hair.

“We love each other,” Lydia said, taking Dan’s hand.

“Love! What do you know of love?”  Hamilton answered, as he gestured with a shrug. “Indeed, what did I know of love?” he asked no one in particular; in fact he spoke as if he was alone in the room.  “I thought I knew what love was, but it was lust I felt for her and her fine home. It was lust for the type of life I could never hope to have. I reached for a star and fell into a black hole.”

Dan began to speak, but the old man waved him away. “Love,” he sneered.  “What is love, but misery, a wounding to the core?  Love is pain and emptiness; that is my experience of love.  You are of age, Lydia.  I cannot stop what you intend to do.” The old man swept his brow. He worked his mouth, but no further words came out. Frowning deeply, he settled in the worn leather chair behind his desk.

              Relations between Hamilton and Dan remained strained. Hamilton had aged greatly during that turbulent last year. His light frame became emaciated and his brow furrowed with deep lines. He would only agree to see Lydia without Dan.  The two men never saw each other again, and then came the accident which claimed Charles’ life.

             
Lydia cried as she stared blankly at the photograph.  Dan, seeing her distress, took the frame from her hands, placing it back on the mantle.  “I’m sorry for the way I behaved,” he said, taking her in his arms.  The ringing of the telephone interrupted him.

             
“Hello. Oh hello George. Hold on,” Dan held his hand over the mouthpiece. “I will have to go, I am afraid, will you be all right?”

             
Lydia waved to Dan. “It’s okay.  I want to lie down for a while anyway. If George is calling you he must need you.”

             
“I’ll come, George.  Give me a few minutes to get ready.” Dan hung up the phone.

             
Turning to Lydia, Dan continued “I can call Beverley and see if she can come to stay with you, if you like.  I don’t like the idea of you being alone.”

             
“No, Dan, I will be okay. I just want to lie down for a while.” Lydia said as she walked toward the bedroom.

             
“I’m not surprised. You’ve had a terrible fright. Here, let me help settle you.”  Dan helped Lydia into bed before changing his clothes for his return to the hospital. 

Lydia’s black cat, Tremayne, was curled up on Dan’s pillow.  Dan looked at the cat, marveling for the hundredth time at her choice of name for the part-Siamese kitten. Dan reached over to stroke the cat’s ear when it rolled over offering up its soft underbelly.  As his hand neared the soft fur the cat swiped it, drawing blood.  He muttered a curse as he licked the back of his hand.  Dan walked back to the living room, switching on the portable radio.

The CBC news was on. “The stabbing on Waterloo Street at one o’clock this morning sent one man to the Emergency Department at St. Joseph’s Hospital.  The hospital reports the man died there about three this morning. The victim has not been identified, pending notification of next of kin. Saint John police are investigating; there are no suspects at the moment.  Turning to other news, there were two separate automobile accidents on Highway Number One overnight.  The first occurring just after midnight in heavy fog at the Prince of Wales interchange leaving one dead and two in hospital; the other in Quispamsis sending three people to hospital with undetermined injuries. Turning now to international news, missile attacks in Gaza…” “Christ!” Dan said as he turned off the radio.  Lifting his jacket from the back of a chair, Dan quietly left the townhouse, locking the door behind him.

Lydia lay quietly in the dark room praying for sleep to come, and with it came the dream.

.              The girl was kneeling with her head resting on the massive oak door; the foul smelling straw burned her eyes and throat. Suddenly she heard men’s voices outside.

              “Then it’s true?”

             
“Yes, she dies tomorrow.”

             
“Where?”

             
“Here on the green.”

             
“And what of this one here?” the second man asked, kicking the door.

             
“Perhaps she dies the day after. What does it matter?”

             
“Doesn’t, I suppose. A shame, though.”

             
“You are as soft as an old shoe and of as little use.  Come, we have our rounds to make.”

             
The girl rose to her feet and began to pace the confined space, fiercely kicking at the scattered rushes at her feet.  Her mind raced. She was to die, but why?  What had she done to deserve such a fate?  Stiffly her fingers worked the fabric of her skirt to find the pocket and the small book within.  Fingers grasping the small volume tight, she pulled it free of the confines of her skirt.  A ray of strong sunlight fell across her skirt. Leaning forward into the light she placed the book square within the beam. Carefully, she opened

the cover, deftly turning the pages until she found the one she wanted. Aloud, she began to read. “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name”.  The girl twisted to her knees holding the book up in offering to the weakening sunlight. In supplication she prayed for deliverance from sin.

              For long moments after the end of the prayer the girl remained kneeling. Lifting her head, she gasped in horror as the severed head of a woman danced before her eyes.  Screaming in terror, she raised her hands to fend off the horrid apparition.

             
Lydia shot bolt upright, arms flung out before her, sweat soaking her skin, until she shivered with cold.  Her eyes were wide with terror, and she screamed. The scream brought her to her senses. She swept the tangled sheets aside and ran from the bedroom. She was alone! Dan was not there! Slowly she tamed her ragged breathing. Lying down on the sofa, she curled into the fetal position holding herself tight. What was happening to her? Why was she dreaming this other woman’s life? Who was she? It was all too frightening. Maybe Dan was right and Stokes could help her figure out why this was happening.