Wake to Dream(54)

Stepping further, she froze in place, the land open and begging, a shallow grave not yet covered or filled. It was the final piece of the insidious puzzle, the reminder that blew apart the veil so thoroughly that she could look inside and see the truth.

Bending down to run her hand over the freshly turned soil, she felt a tear slip down her cheek, and she jumped in response to the cruel hand that landed on her shoulder.

“I told you not to come here, Alice. I warned you.” His voice was soft, regretful, a warning in the way his tone crept along her skin as the heat of his palm seeped into her cold shoulder. “Why? Why did you have to break this one rule?”

Her heart ached at the soft agony in his fractured voice. Closing her eyes, she clenched her fist over the damp earth that lay in clumps at the edges of the open grave. Memories like spider webs across her thoughts, the pain and torment becoming more pronounced with each one that made itself known.

“The garden,” she whispered, her voice not sturdy enough to be anything else. “I remembered the garden, about what is buried there beneath the ground.”

As a hush fell between them, and as the wind sang its haunting song, Alice understood the price of what had been hidden here in this place for so long.

The price wasn’t to love the man that stood above her.

It wasn’t to pretend to be the family he’d never had.

The price was to bear witness to the monster that was concealed within him, to remain silent while loving him, to endure the carnage and remain strong.





12:35 p.m.



Gray walls.

Black table.

Plastic, fake red roses.

Everything in place, the dust on the tables untouched by human fingers.

…drip...

"Alice? ... Ms. Beaumont? ... Alice Beaumont ..."

"Is it my time, doctor?"

He nodded.



White door.

Dark wood desk.

White and beige striped couch.

Still the same.

...drip...



She couldn’t lift her eyes to look at the doctor, couldn’t bear to see the disappointment and disgust that was surely written across his face.

Distracting herself from the tension building between them, her fingers pulled at the fabric of her shirt, knotting the cloth over her hand until the blood had been squeezed out from beneath the skin. Over and over she wrapped and unwrapped the fabric around her palm, pulling it tighter each time until it shot pinpricks of pain along her fingers.

“You’re remembering, aren’t you?”

Still refusing to look at him despite the question he’d posed, she nodded her head slowly, tears threatening her eyes. How could she still be crying when it felt like there was no emotion left inside her? The numb feeling had replaced the torment. The apathy and shame had stripped away the terror to replace it with the harrowing truth of her crimes.

“They aren’t just dreams. Are they, Doc?”

Silence beat between them, the seconds counted down by the ticking clock.

“I’m sorry, Alice. I wish I could tell you they were.”

She wanted to be angry with him for playing along the entire time, for not holding her in place and screaming the truth at her until she remembered.

“Why didn’t you tell me before? Have you known this entire time?” Her voice shook on the question, her mind racing with the prayer that he wouldn’t give her an answer that made him more enemy than friend.

The familiar sound of his leather chair creaking filled the room. Alice knew he was settling back, his eyes studying her in the dimly lit interior of his office.

His voice was regretful when he explained the reasoning behind his betrayal.

“You know better than most people that the mind is a fragile thing. And whereas in your field of study, you were more interested in the physical properties, the flesh, the nerves, the synapses and veins, my field is more focused on the function of those parts on a more subjective level.”

She smiled. At least the bastard finally admitted it.

“In both of our fields, we agree on one theory. Dreams are the mind’s way of transferring short term memories to the long term. Where we differ in our fields is interpreting what happens when a broken mind is processing that information. Neurologists are more concerned about why the mind dreams, whereas psychologists are more concerned with what the dreams can mean.”

He gave her a pointed look, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. When she didn’t respond, he continued, “Dream interpretation is a guessing game. So, yes, these dreams are more than just dreams, but rather than something predicting a future event, as you’ve believed them to be, perhaps the explanation all along has been that these dreams are memories of a past event, but the information isn’t completely accurate due to the emotional health of the dreamer – you.”

Alice sniffled, but nodded her head in agreement with his theory.

“Your mind is torn apart, Alice, barely held together while you come to terms with the truth of what happened to your life. You came to me to help you remember and put the pieces back together, to repair something that I’m not sure can ever be truly repaired. I don’t think you could have done it on your own, not without losing every part of you that was important and pure. Why else would you seek out a doctor who you haven’t seen since you were a child?”