Murder by Candlelight (35 page)

"Right," Z said. Z remembered Ashlock.
Remembered that Ashlock was interested in hiring Z because Ashlock
thought Z would perform an illegal act for the dean. Ashlock was a
crook, and Z had treated him as such. Truth be told, Z had found a
way to frustrate Ashlock's ambition as thoroughly as Z had stopped
Scherer's political advance in the Betterton case.

"Dean Ashlock, if rumor is correct, is
blocking my promotion. All by himself. At this college -- for
reasons that go back to the dark ages when the school was founded
by old Bateman -- all the deans must vote in favor of faculty
promotion. Apparently, Ashlock is blackballing me. Why the man
would hold a grudge against me, I can't figure. Any ideas?"

Of course Z had ideas. Ashlock was mad at
Calder for recommending Z, Z having royally fouled Ashlock up.

"No," Z said.

Z could feel himself getting upset again.
(Without proper sleep, everything seemed to irritate him.) Z liked
Calder. Didn't want to see a fine man like that mistreated by a
prick like Ashlock.

"Well, that's it for me," Professor Carloss
said after a pause. "I know you two want to talk. And I've got some
housecleaning to do for the new semester."

Carloss's exit line delivered, Calder slid
out to give the political science professor access to the
aisle.

Scooting down the seat,
standing, Dr. Carloss picked up his check. As Calder sat down
again, Carloss turned. "Nice to meet you ... Z." The expected
cliche spoken, he looked thoughtful. "Now that I think about it,
I'm sure I
have
heard of you before. Probably from that time you were on
campus. Helping the police."

Z nodded.

With a half salute to Calder, pausing before
edging past a waitress with water glasses on a tray, Carloss
sauntered off toward the front screen.

Leaving Z and Calder alone.

As alone as you could be
in a crowded restaurant. Probably, Z thought,
more
alone -- everyone else engaged
in dinner conversation -- than he and Professor Calder would have
been in the depths of a Siberian forest.

Unfortunately, now that Z had Calder to
himself, Z didn't know how to start.

"I've missed talking to you," Calder said
into the painful silence, brushing back his lank hair like he did
periodically; a reflex that did no good, his fine hair immediately
clouding his broad forehead.

"Oh?"

"And wondering if you'd thought some more
about taking a college course."

"Some."

"You should. If only to prove to yourself
you can."

"Maybe," Z said.

Rather than consider what Professor Calder
was saying, Z was trying to think how to start.

"About why I wanted to talk to you ...."

"Go on."

"I wanted to ask .... In the first place,
when I talk to you, is what I say held ... in secret?"

"Sure."

"Like a ... priest?"

"You mean, if you were to become my client,
would I keep what you said confidential?"

"Yes."

"The answer is, I would. I'm not sure of the
legal implications. I suspect that a psychologist, particularly in
criminal matters, wouldn't have quite the same standing as a
priest. But in my case, my clients can tell me anything without
fear of my revealing it. I don't take notes, so there's nothing to
indicate what I know and what I don't. If push came to shove, I
would simply be unable to remember anything incriminating about a
client's confidences."

Calder grinned. Wide enough for Z to believe
him.

"To become a ... client ... I can pay ...
something."

"Ridiculous," Calder scoffed. "After what
you've done for me, and practically for nothing ...." Calder raised
his hands, palm up.

"OK," Z said. "What I want to ask about is
... dreams."

"Dreams? What about them?"

"Been having nightmares."

"Perhaps a bit of beef?" Calder smiled.

"What?"

"You remember Dickens' Christmas Carol?
Scrooge thought the ghost he was seeing might have been 'an
undigested bit of beef.'"

"Oh."

"But, you're ... serious," Calder said,
sobering. "You're having trouble sleeping. Because of dreams."

"Right."

"Most people don't remember their dreams.
Or, on waking, quickly forget them."

"I wish ... I did. Forget them."

"Give me an example."

"Of ...?"

"A dream."

"Oh." Should Z tell the
psychologist about last night's nightmare? ...... Might as well. It
couldn't get any worst for the telling. "I was ... strapped down,"
he began slowly. "To a bed. Wide bands across my chest. My wrists
at my sides. In iron clamps. No matter what I did, I couldn't move.
I wanted to scream, but nothing would come out. There was a bright
light in my eyes, so that I couldn't see past it. But there were
others in the room. Doctors, I think. About to operate on me."
Across the table, Calder nodded encouragement. "I was hot and
growing hotter, until I thought I would melt. Then, the doctors
were beside me. They were ...." It was too weird. No way he could
tell Dr. Calder
that
.

"Go on," the psychologist said, when Z
hesitated. "I've heard it all. Believe me. Nothing shocks a
psychologist. I assure you, I've got a strong stomach."

Seeing the speed at which Dr. Calder ate, Z
could believe it.

"They had ... worms ... and spiders." Z
shuddered at the recollection. Was glad to be surrounded by real
people, rather than dream people. "They pulled my mouth open.
Clamped it so I couldn't close it. Coming closer, closer, they
began to drop worms in my mouth. I could feel them squirm. In my
mouth. Crawl down my throat. I was gagging, croaking. Then, they
put spiders up my nose. Crawling spiders. Crawling up. I couldn't
breathe ...." Again, Z shuddered.

"And ...?" Calder seemed
calm enough. It hadn't been
his
dream, after all.

"And ... nothing. That's when I woke
up."

Z was sweating. Exhausted
from the telling. "What I want to ask is, what's causing dreams
like these?" Z's life going to pot anyway, if Calder couldn't help
him, Z took some comfort in knowing that, as a last resort, there
was
one
way to
keep from dreaming. Making Calder Z's next-to-the-last
option.

"Freud would have said you were trying to
work out a solution to hidden difficulties in your dreams." Calder
was sitting back now. Relaxed. On familiar ground. "He's famous for
saying that dreams are the 'royal road' to the unconscious mind."
Calder grinned, then glanced at the high, dimly lighted, hunter
green ceiling for inspiration. "Freud believed that dreams were
coded messages of ourselves to ourselves. Specifically, Freud
thought that the conflicts of childhood were of particular
importance." Calder waved one hand, airily. "Few psychologists
think that way anymore."

"How do you ... get rid of bad dreams?"

"That depends. Going back to Freud again, he
believed that dreams were quite specific. That certain symbolism,
for instance, always stood for the same thing. For instance, if you
dreamed of snakes, you were thinking of sex. Specifically, of your
penis. If you dreamed of entering a house -- any building -- the
enclosure symbolizes the vagina. But then, again, Freud thought
that much of what we think has a sexual basis." Calder shook his
head, then shrugged. "You can imagine how that kind of talk went
over at the turn of the century." He cleared his throat.

"I don't agree that sex plays such a big
part in our unconscious life -- and neither does anyone else
anymore. At the same time, I don't want to say that you can't learn
something from your dreams. While dreams are illusory or
hallucinatory experiences, they do seem to be the product of our
concerns, wishes, interests, fears."

"How do you ... get rid of them?" Nothing
Calder had said had helped, so far.

"Not an easy thing to do,
though I've had some luck with clients who've had a similar problem
by asking them to 'become' each character in their dream.
Each
element
in
the dream, as well. The way this works is, if they dream a dog is
pursuing them down a street, I ask them to tell me how they felt
about being the person who was being chased. What emotions they
were feeling. Then, I ask them to imagine themselves to be the dog.
What would they feel if they were the dog? I then ask them to tell
me how they would feel as the street itself. How would it be to
have dogs and humans run along your street?" Calder looked at Z.
Saw something that made him grin again. "I know it sounds crazy,
but I've had good results with this method."

Calder took a thoughtful
sip of tea before putting down the glass. "Something's going on
when you're having bad dreams. Imagining yourself to be each part
of the dream can unlock what's causing the dream in the first
place. Once you know what's bothering you -- it can be something of
no
real
importance -- bad dreams seem to go away."

"Thank you," Z said. There
was, after all, nothing
else
to say. Even though what Calder was recommending
probably wouldn't work, he owed Calder for trying to help. "That
it, then?"

"Not ... entirely."

Calder hunched forward some more, this time
putting his forearms on the table. Behind the man's enlarged blue
eyes, Z could almost "hear" the Doctor's fine mind whir.

The dinner noise in the rest of the cafe was
lessening, diners finished, standing, drifting down the aisles to
pay their checks, Z now afraid Dr. Calder would say something
embarrassing in the increasing quiet.

The chubby professor,
continued -- loudly. "If imagining yourself to be the various
elements of your dreams doesn't give you relief," Dr. Calder
enthused,
so
pleased to be able to offer yet
another
suggestion, "we can try
hypnotism. I can induce you to dream and have you tell me about
what you're dreaming as you're actually doing it. Sometimes, that
can be helpful. You get more detail that way. After all, much of
what we dream is lost upon awakening."

Z nodded, seeming to agree
but wanting no part of hypnosis.
Certainly
didn't want to remember
more of his dream's
details
.

"Another thing I tell
clients," the irrepressible professor added, "is that everything
gets better if they take charge of their lives. I tell them
to
act
. Fear, is
an incapacitating emotion. When we're afraid, we tend to pull
within ourselves. In turn, doing nothing, we never face down our
fears. What I would say is, do
something
. Take charge of your life.
Don't just sit around feeling sorry for yourself. Make decisions.
And follow them up. Tell yourself you
will
do something. Then do it.
Taking action, even about small things, will eventually convince
your subconscious mind that you're solving your problems. And the
nightmares should diminish."

Z nodded.

Do
something
.

Z liked that better than the other
hocus-pocus Calder had spouted.

Calder smiled again in his
friendly way. "Now that the session is over, do
I
get to ask some questions?" His
grin widened as Z nodded. "Like, are you solving any interesting
cases at the moment?"

"Nothing, but ...

"But?"

Suddenly, Z knew Calder
was right. Z
had
been drifting. Letting events rule
him
. Letting
people
get the better of him:
Jewell, Jamie, Susan, Scherer, Harry Grimes. Z
would
take charge again. And there
was no time like the present to begin!

"I've been offered an ... opportunity ... to
work for an established detective firm. Be the north branch."

"And would you like that?"

"I'd have to hire people.
Part-time. Broaden what I can offer." Calder just looked at him,
the psychologist able to
listen
as well as to
talk
. Z liked that about him. "And I
was wondering if ...?" Z paused. Stuck again.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."
Calder wrinkled his forehead. Brushed again at his unruly shock of
straw-colored hair.

"You said, to Dr. Furlwangler, that you were
interested in the detective business. That it was ...
exciting."

"True enough."

"I was wondering if you would work for me.
Part-time."

"Me! A detective?" Calder
was shocked. "But what could
I
do?"

"Certain
types
of jobs. Talking
to educated people. Going to upper-class parties. You could do
those kind of things better than I could."

"I ... suppose," Calder
said after a moment. "But ... don't you have to have some kind
of
muscle
to be a
detective? Be able to break into houses. That kind of
thing?"

"You'd do nothing
illegal." Z almost added that "stretching the law" was
his
job.

"I have to confess. I like
the sound of it. If I could do the work, that is. Rather like
Halloween. Sneaking around in the dark. Playing pranks on people."
Calder laughed. "Of course, I've
got
a job at the
college."