January 25, 2015: Dreams

Song: “Dreams” by Cranberries, The from Everybody Else is Doing It, so Why Can’t We?

Listen to it here

(photo from blackbeltmag.com)

(photo from blackbeltmag.com)

“I just want to be clear here,” I said again, just trying to be clear.

Deidre sighed and rolled her eyes, again, knowing there was no way for her to be clearer.

“I thought you were supposed to be some kind of paranormal therapist,” she said instead of rehashing her story.

It was my turn to roll my eyes.

“No, no I’m not,” I replied emphatically, “That was one time, one client and it had nothing to do with the paranormal.”

She looked at me, cocking her head, her face giving off a “you don’t really believe that, do you?” vibe.

And she was right to be skeptical of what I just said.

See, about a year or so ago, a client wandered into my office as a walk-in and expressed considerable concerns regarding his own erratic unexplained behavior, feeling as though he was doing things, bad things, but being unable to remember what those things were, and general unease.

The events that followed were not what I expected or had been trained for. And that they culminated with me shackling something that the press insists on calling a demon to the front of a train to save my client was more of a bug that a feature of my career. I was not a paranormal therapist, I was a therapist who happened to do something once that everyone is convinced was me fighting the paranormal.

“Look,” I reset, “What you’ve read and seen about me…they’re not really accurate. I’m just a therapist. But I am happy to try and help you. So please, tell me again about this…man?”

She shifted in her seat, contemplating whether or not it was worth a shot, and then decided it was.

“Ok, again, it’s like this. Almost every night, I dream. Vividly. And in these dreams, a man comes to me. An unbelievable man who makes me feel…incredible. Alive.”

“And these dreams? Are they erotic?”

“No!” she hastily shouted. “I mean, yes, sometimes, but that’s besides the point.”

I nod despite not quite trusting her definition of “besides the point.”

“As I was saying,” she snapped, annoyed with my intrusion. “He comes to me in the dreams and he talks to me. He teaches me. He shows me things and explains the future to me.”

“The future?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Barking loon, right? Except lately the predictions have been getting really specific. Really, really specific. Like you know the warehouse fire that killed the night watchman?”

I nod sagely.

“He told me about that! Three weeks before. And the kid on the train tracks? Five days before.”

“So he shows up every night to seduce you and tell you the future.”

She pursed her lips in annoyance at my phrasing.

“I’m not trying to be flip, Ms. Greene.”

“Oh, I think you are, but that’s fine. I know how it sounds but I also know it is true.”

I pause to take it in before speaking, “I have to be honest, it does not sound wholly unpleasant. What is it you’d like me to do about this?”

She smiled then, concerned and providing comfort. “Oh, Doctor, I’m not here for me.”

“Who then?” I ask her, wondering who else she could be her for.

“First, you know the train derail last weekend? He predicted it several days before and this one I wrote and then sent to myself in the mail, so the post mark would verify it was written and shipped before the train accident.”

I paused, still unsure where this was going.

“Here it is,” she whispered, handing me a letter.

I inspected it and found the postmark was in advance of the tragedy. She gestured for me to open it as I tried to hand it back to her and inside I found a small piece of paper. On it in concise terms it described the derailing, the cause, the day, the time, and the casualties. Exactly correctly. I drop the paper like it burns.

“So…” I spit out haltingly, “What do you need from me?”

“The man told me another prediction last night, one he thinks I can stop this time.”


“A hostage situation. Downtown. A bank. It goes down badly but it could’ve been worse. A hero saved most of the people, but couldn’t save himself. And then police kill the hostage taker/murderer.”

“Uh….huh. So where do I fit in?”

“The man told me last night who the hero who was killed was.”

“We are out of time, Ms. Greene, if you have something to say, now would be the time.”

“Don’t you see, I’ve trying to tell you. The hero, the one that saves everyone and then is killed? That someone is you Doctor. Tomorrow you’re going to die. Unless you let me help you stop i1.