Afterlife - Douglas Clegg [63]
“But, it’s not as if I enjoy them.”
“Don’t you?”
Julie stared at her. “They’re horrible. Some of them.”
“But you’ve told me all along they’re erotic.”
“Yes, but…there are things in them…”
“What things?”
Julie hesitated. She crossed one leg over the other, leaning back in her chair. She looked up at the ceiling. “There’s a kind of cruelty to them. There’s a meanness. In them, Hut is dead. I mean, dead. A corpse. His eyes are…well, they’re not human. And there’s a woman— with red hair—who…who…”
“Ah,” Eleanor said. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
“I couldn’t say it before. I just couldn’t.”
“You experience pleasure in these dreams, but you feel guilt because Hut is dead, even in the dream. Thus, they’re cruel and mean. And jealousy, too, with this other woman.”
“Even when he’s making love to me,” Julie said. “Like necrophilia or something.” Suddenly, Julie asked, “I’m not some nut who thinks my husband’s trying to speak to me from the great beyond, or anything. I mean, you don’t believe that kind of thing, do you?”
Eleanor wore a half-smile. It was a God smile, and her eyes were God eyes. “Why would you ask that?”
“I…well, my mother took me to this psychic…”
“Oh.” Eleanor wrinkled her nose as if she smelled a fart.
“He told me that someone who was lost was looking for me. And that…doors in my mind were locked, and needed opening…and other stuff.”
Eleanor smirked. She lifted her cup and took a sip of coffee. Glanced up, mid-sip, like an amused parent. “Sometimes mysticism helps people get through grief. Did it help?”
“I don’t know. I just…these dreams feel like… sometimes, I think it’s like he’s not really gone. Until I wake up.”
“Julie, dreams are just dreams. It’s the mind, sifting through things. We can do some more work here, if you want. But you’re working through guilt and anger and shame and fury and fear. All the things that accompany the death of a loved one.”
“Did I really love him? I’m not even sure.”
“See? Even now, you’re expressing a perfectly normal anxiety. Don’t fight the dreams. Don’t fight what you’re going through. Follow it. Go on a journey. Celebrate life when you can, but let your subconscious work through what it needs to. Now, tell me about this visit to the fortune teller.”
Then, Julie told her about the TV studio, and Eleanor said, “Oh. Of course! One of those TV people. It’s great show biz to do what they do. Do you know the technique? There’s a way to anticipate what people will say next, just from eye movement and very minor facial movement. But you can’t believe that nonsense. It’s not rational. Do you believe it?”
Julie frowned. “I don’t think so. It just seemed… true.”
“Maybe there’s something to it. I just can’t say. My favorite is John Edward. He’s adorable,” Eleanor grinned, ear to ear. God and the Earth Mother converged for a moment. “Do you ever watch him? I don’t often, because I just hate seeing mysticism being promoted like that. It’s not my thing. But you can believe what you like. I don’t mean you’re wrong. Or even that they’re wrong. I just don’t think it’s true, myself. Did you learn anything good from this guy?”
Julie shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It felt too private, even for Eleanor.
5
Julie went online that night and ordered a few of Michael Diamond’s books on tape from Shocklines, a bookseller that sold occult, horror, and other strange books. She also found his book called Unlocking Dreams, and ordered that one, too.
Within three days, the tapes and book had arrived. She went out jogging with her Walkman hooked up, listening to his book called The Mind’s Journey. When she drove Livy to Dr. Fishbain’s in Ramapo Cliffs, she kept the book on the tape player in the car, and sat in the parking lot, listening, while Livy had her appointment.
6
From The Mind