What Dreams May Come (4 page)

Then something strange began to happen. I was in a cottage somewhere, looking at an old man lying on a bed. Two people sat nearby, a white-haired woman and a middle-aged man. Their dress was foreign to me and the woman’s accent sounded strange as she spoke to say, “I think he’s gone.” “Chris!”

Ann’s tortured crying of my name ripped me from sleep. I looked around to find myself in swirling fog, lying on the ground. Standing slowly, every muscle aching, I tried to walk but couldn’t. I was on the bottom of a murky lake whose currents swelled against me.

Inanely, I felt hungry. No, that’s not the proper word. In need of sustenance. No, more than that. In need of something to add to myself, to help me re-assemble. That was it. I was incomplete; part of me was gone. I tried to think but found it beyond my capacity. Thoughts trickled in my brain like glue. Let go, was all I could think. Let go.

I saw a pale white column of light take form in front of me, a figure inside it. “You wish my help?” it asked. My mind was not perceptive enough to tell if it was male or female.

I tried to speak, then, from a distance, heard Ann call my name again and looked around.

“You could be here for a long time,” said the figure. “Take my hand.”

I looked back at it. “Do I know you?” I asked. I could hardly speak, my voice sounding lifeless.

“That’s not important now,” the figure said. “Just take my hand.”

I stared at it with vacant eyes. Ann called my name again, and I shook my head. The figure was trying to take me from her. I wouldn’t let it do that. “Get away,” I said. “I’m going to my wife.”

I was alone in fog once more. “Ann?” I called. I felt cold and fearful. “Ann, where are you?” My voice was dead. “I can’t see you.”

Something began to draw me through the mist. Something else attempted to restrain me but I willed it off; it wasn’t Ann, I knew that, and I had to be with Ann. She was all that mattered to me.

The fog began to thin and I found myself able to advance. There was something familiar about the landscape in front of me: broad, green lawns with rows of metal plaques flush with the surface, bouquets of flowers here and there, some dead, some dying, some fresh. I had been here before.

I walked toward a distant figure sitting on the grass. Where had I seen this place? I wondered, trying hard to recollect. At last, like a bubble forced up through a sea of ooze, memory rose. Vaughn. Somebody’s son. We’d known him. He was buried here. How long ago? the question came. I couldn’t answer it. Time seemed an enigma beyond solution.

I saw, now, that the figure was Ann and moved toward her as quickly as I could, my feelings a blend of joy and sorrow; I didn’t know why.

Reaching her, I spoke her name. She made no sign that she had seen or heard me and, for some inexplicable reason, I now found myself unsurprised by that. I sat beside her on the grass and put my arm around her. I felt nothing and she did not respond in any way, staring at the ground. I tried to understand what was happening but there was no way I could. “Ann, I love you,” I murmured. It was all my mind could summon. “I’ll always love you, Ann.” Despair began to blanket me. I gazed at the ground where she was looking. There were flowers and a metal plaque.

Christopher Nielsen/1927-1974. I stared at the plaque, too shocked to react. Vaguely, I recalled some man addressing me, trying to convince me that I’d died. Had it been a dream? Was this a dream? I shook my head. For some reason I could not fathom, the concept that this was a dream was unacceptable. Which meant that I was dead. Dead.

How could such a shattering revelation leave me so incredibly apathetic? I should have been screaming with terror. Instead, I could only stare at the plaque, at my name, at the year of my birth and the year of my death.

Slowly, an obsession started gathering in my mind. / was down there? Me? My body? Then I possessed the power to prove it all beyond a doubt. I could travel down there, see my corpse. Memory flickered. You can see inside it if you try. Where had I heard those words? I could see inside what ?

Knowledge came. I could descend and look inside the casket. I could see myself and prove that I was dead. I felt my body easing forward, downward.

“Mom?”

I looked around in startlement. Richard was approaching with a thin, young man with dark hair. “Mom, this is Perry,” he said. “He’s the one I told you about.”

I stared incredulously at the young man.

He was looking at me.

“Your father is here, Richard,” he said, calmly. “Sitting near the plaque with his name on it.”

I struggled to my feet. “You can see me?” I asked. I was stunned by his words, his gaze directly on me.

“He’s saying something I can’t make out,” Perry said.

I looked at Arm, anxiety returning. / could communicate with her; let her know I still existed.

She was staring at the young man, her expression stricken. “Ann, believe him,” I said. “Believe him.”

“He’s speaking again,” Perry told her. “To you now, Mrs. Nielsen.”

Ann shuddered and looked at Richard, speaking his name imploringly.

“Mom—” Richard looked uncomfortable and adamant at once. “—if Perry says that Dad is here, I believe him. I’ve told you how he—“

“Ann, I am here!” I cried.

“I know how you feel, Mrs. Nielsen,” Perry interrupted Richard, “but take my word for it. I see him right beside you. He’s wearing a dark blue shirt with short sleeves, blue checkered slacks and Wallaby shoes. He’s tall and blond with a husky build. He has green eyes and he’s looking at you anxiously. I’m sure he wants you to believe he’s really here.”

“Ann, please,” I said. I looked at Perry again. “Hear me,” I entreated him. “You’ve got to hear me.”

“He’s speaking again,” Perry said. “I think he’s saying— near me or something.”

I groaned and looked at Ann again. She was trying not to cry but couldn’t help herself. Her teeth were set on edge, her breathing forced and broken. “Please don’t do this,” she murmured.

“Mom, he’s trying to help,” Richard told her.

“Don’t do this.” Ann struggled to her feet and walked away. ”Ann, don’t go,” I pleaded.

Richard started after her but Perry held him back. “Let her get used to the idea,” he said.

Richard looked around uneasily. “He’s here?” he asked. “My father?”

I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to be with Ann. Yet how could I leave the only person who could see me? Perry had placed his hands on Richard’s shoulders and turned him until he faced me. “He’s in front of you,” he said. “About four feet away.”

“Oh, God.” Richard’s voice was thin and shaking.

“Richard,” I said. I stepped forward and tried to grasp his arms.

“He’s right in front of you now, trying to hold your arms,” Perry told him.

Richard’s face was pale. “Why can’t I see him then?” he demanded.

“You may be able to if you can talk your mother into a sitting.”

Despite the excitement Perry’s words created in me, I could stay with him no longer; I had to be with Ann. His voice faded quickly behind me as I started after her. “He’s moving after your mother,” he said. “He must want to—“

I could hear no more. Anxiously, I followed Ann, trying to overtake her. Whatever a sitting was—a seance?—Ann had to consent to it. I’d never believed in things like that, never even thought of them. I thought about them now. Perry had seen me, actually seen me. The thought that, with his help, Ann and the children might also see me, perhaps even hear me filled me with elation. There’d be no grief then!

I groaned with sudden dismay. A mist was gathering again, obscuring my view of Ann. I tried to run but my movements grew increasingly labored. I have to reach her! I thought. “Ann, wait!” I called. “Don’t leave me!”

You have to move on, it seemed as though I heard a voice say in my mind. I wouldn’t listen to it, kept on moving, slower, slower, once more on the bottom of that murky lake. Awareness started failing. Please! I thought. There must be some way Ann can see me and be comforted to know I still exist!

My presence is invalid

I WAS WALKING up the hill to our house. On each side of the driveway, pepper trees were stirring in the wind. I tried to smell them but I couldn’t. Overhead, the sky was overcast. It’s going to rain, I thought. I wondered why I was there.

The front door was no more solid to me than air as I went inside. I knew, then, why I’d come.

Ann, Richard and Perry were sitting in the living room. Ian must be in school, I thought, Marie in Pasadena at the Academy.

Ginger was lying at Ann’s feet. As I stepped into the living room, she lifted her head abruptly and stared at me, ears drawn back. No sound this time. Perry, who was sitting on the sofa next to Richard, turned and looked at me. “He’s back,” he said.

Ann and Richard looked automatically in my direction but I knew they couldn’t see me. “Does he took the same?” Richard asked anxiously.

“Just as he did in the cemetery,” Perry answered. “He’s wearing the outfit he had on the night of the accident, isn’t he?”

Richard nodded. “Yes.” He looked at Ann; my gaze was fixed on her. “Mom?” he said. “Will you—?”

She cut him off. “No, Richard,” she said quietly but firmly.

“But Dad was dressed like that the night of the accident,” Richard insisted. “How could Perry know that if he—?”

“We know it, Richard,” Ann interrupted again.

“I’m not getting it from you, Mrs. Nielsen, take my word for it,” Perry told her. “Your husband is standing right over there. Look at your dog. She sees him.”

Ann looked at Ginger and shivered. “I don’t know that,” she murmured.

I had to make her see. “Ginger?” I said. Always, when I’d spoken her name, her tail would thump at the floor. Now she only cringed, eyes fixed on me.

I started across the room toward her. “Ginger, come on,” I said. “You know me.”

“He’s walking toward you, Mrs. Nielsen,” Perry said.

“Would you please—?” she started, then broke off, startled, as Ginger lurched to her feet and ran from the room.

“She’s afraid of him,” Perry explained. “She doesn’t understand what’s happening, you see.”

“Mom?” Richard said when she remained silent. How well I knew that stubborn silence. I felt compelled to smile despite her lack of inclination to believe in my presence.

“He’s smiling at you,” Perry said. “He seems to understand your inability to believe he’s here.”

Ann’s expression grew strained again. “I’m sure it’s obvious to you that I’d like to believe it,” she said. “I just can’t—” Breaking off, she drew in breath with effort. “You … really see him?” she asked.

“Yes, Ann, yes, he does,” I said.

“He just said Yes, Ann, Yes,” Perry told her. “I can see him; just as I described him in the cemetery. Naturally, he doesn’t look as solid as we do. But he’s very real. I’m not getting information from your mind. I can’t even do that.”

Ann pressed the palm of her left hand to her eyes. “I wish I could believe,” she said, miserably.

“Try, Mom,” Richard said.

“Ann, please?” I said.

“I know it’s hard to accept,” Perry said. “I’ve lived with it all my life so I take it for granted. I could see disincarnates when I was a baby.”

I looked at him with sudden distaste. Disincarnates? The word made me sound like a freak.

“I’m sorry,” Perry said to me, smiling.

“What happened?” Richard asked and Ann lowered her hand to look at Perry curiously.

“He looked at me with a frown,” Perry said, still smiling. “I must have said something he didn’t like.”

Richard looked at Ann again. “Mom, what do you say?” he asked.

She sighed. “I just don’t know.”

“What harm can it do?”

“What harm?” She gazed at him, incredulous. “To let myself hope that your father still exists? You know what he meant to me.”

“Mrs. Nielsen,” Perry started.

“I don’t believe in survival after death,” Ann interrupted him. “I believe that, when we die, we die and that’s the end of it. Now you want me to—“

“Mrs. Nielsen, you’re wrong,” Perry said. He was supporting my presence yet I felt offended by his self-assertive tone. “Your husband is standing right in front of you. How could that be if he hasn’t survived?”

“I don’t see him,” Ann responded. “And I can’t believe it just because you say he’s here.”

“Mom, Perry’s been tested at UCLA,” Richard said. “He’s been authenticated any number of times.”

“Richard, we’re not talking about college tests. We’re talking about Dad! The man we loved!”

“All the more reason—!” Richard said.

“No.” She shook her head. “I just can’t let myself believe it. If I did, then found it wasn’t true, I’d die myself. It would kill me.”

Oh, no, I thought in sudden distress. Once more, that draining exhaustion had come upon me. Whether it was caused by the effort of wanting so badly for Ann to believe or by her continuing sorrow, I had no idea. I only knew I had to rest again. Things were starting to blur before my eyes.

“Mom, just try?” Richard asked her. “Aren’t you even willing to try? Perry says we might see Dad if we—”

“Ann, I have to He down for awhile,” I said. I knew she couldn’t hear me but I said it anyway.

“He’s speaking to you, Mrs. Nielsen,” Perry told her. “Now he’s leaning over you.”

I tried to kiss her hair.

“Did you feel that?” Perry asked.

“No,” she said, tensely.

“He just kissed your hair,” he told her.

Her breath caught and she started crying softly. Richard jumped up, moving to her quickly. Sitting on the arm of her chair, he pulled her against himself. “It’s all right, Mom,” he murmured. He looked at Perry critically. “Did you have to say that?” he asked.

Perry shrugged. “I told you what he did, that’s all, I’m sorry.”

The exhaustion was increasing rapidly now. I wanted to remain, to stand in front of Perry, let him read my lips. I didn’t have the strength though. Once again, that stonelike feeling overwhelmed my body and I turned away from them. I had to rest.

“Do you want to know what he’s doing now?” Perry asked. His tone was peeved.

“What?” Richard was stroking Ann’s hair, looking upset.

“He’s walking into your bar room. Starting to fade. He must be losing strength.”

“Can you call him back?” Richard asked.

I could hear no more. I don’t know how I made it to our bedroom; the transition was unclear. I only remember that, as I lay down, I thought: Why do I keep getting exhausted when I have no physical body?

I opened my eyes. It was dark and still. Something pulled at me, compelling me to stand.

The difference in the way I felt was instantly apparent. Before, I’d felt weighted. Now I felt as light as down. I almost seemed to float across the room and through the door.

Perry’s voice was speaking in the living room. I wondered what he was saying as I drifted down the back hall. Had Ann consented to the sitting yet? I hoped she had. All I wanted was to know that she was comforted.

I moved across the family room and into the bar room.

Suddenly, my steps had frozen and I stared in horror toward the living room.

At myself.

My mind could not react. I was struck dumb by the sight. I knew that I was standing where I was.

Yet I was standing in the living room as well. Dressed in identical clothes. My face, my body. Me, without a doubt.

But how could that be?

I wasn’t in that body, I realized then. I only observed it. Staring, I moved closer. The figure of myself looked corpse-like. There was no expression on its face. It might have been a figure of me in a wax museum. Except that it was moving slowly like a winding down automaton.

I tore my gaze from it and looked around the living room. Ann was there, Richard, Ian and Marie; Perry, talking to the figure. Was it visible to all of them? I wondered, sickened. It was such a hideous sight.

“Where are you?” Perry was asking.

I looked at the cadaverous form. Its lips stirred feebly. When it spoke, its voice was not my own but a hollow, lifeless muttering as it said, “Beyond.”

Perry told my family. He addressed the figure once again. “Can you describe where you are?”

The figure didn’t speak. It shifted on its feet, eyes blinking sluggishly. At last it spoke. “Cold,” it said. “He says it’s cold,” Perry told them. “You said we’d be able to see him,” Marie said in a tight voice.

I looked at Ann. She was on the sofa, sitting between Ian and Marie, her body looking collapsed. Her face was white and masklike, she was staring at her hands.

“Please make yourself visible to everyone,” Perry said to the figure. Even now, his tone was arbitrary. The figure shook its head. It answered, “No.” I don’t know how I knew it but I did. The figure wasn’t speaking of its own accord. It merely parroted what Perry’s mind was feeding it. It wasn’t me in any way. It was a puppet he’d constructed with the power of his will.

I moved to Perry angrily and stood in front of him, blocking off his view of the figure. “Stop this,” I told him. “Why can’t you manifest yourself?” he asked.

I stared at him. He couldn’t see me anymore. He was looking through me, at my waxlike effigy. Just as Ann had looked through me.

I reached out and tried to grab his shoulder. “What have you done?” I demanded.

He had no awareness of my presence. He kept speaking to the figure as I turned to Ann. She was bending forward now, shaking, both palms pressed across her lower face, eyes haunted, staring sightlessly. Oh, God, I thought in anguish. Now she’II never know.

The figure had responded with its witless voice. I looked at it, revolted by the sight.

“Are you happy where you are?” Perry asked. The figure answered, “Happy.” “Have you a message for your wife?” Perry asked. “Be happy,” mumbled the figure. “He says be happy,” Perry said to Ann. With a gagging sound, she struggled to her feet and ran from the room. “Mom!” Ian hurried after her. “Don’t break the circle!” Perry cried.

Marie stood up, incensed. “Break the circle? You… ass!” She ran after Ian.

I looked at the figure standing in our living room like a faded mannequin. Its eyes were those of a catatonic. “Damn you,” I muttered. I walked to it suddenly.

To my astonished loathing, I could feel its flesh as I grabbed for it. It was dead and cold.

Revulsion seized me as it grabbed my arms, its icy fingers clutching at me. I cried out, harrowed, and began to struggle with it. I was wrestling with my own corpse, Robert, my dead face inches from me, my dead eyes staring at me. “Get away!” I shouted. “Away,” it repeated dully. “Damn you!” I screamed. It muttered, “Damn you.” Horrified, my stomach wrenched by nausea, I jerked free of its numbing touch.

“Look out, he’s falling!” Perry cried. Suddenly, he fell back on the cushion of the chair he sat on. “He’s gone,” he murmured.

It was. As I’d pulled free, the figure had started toppling toward me, then, before my eyes, dissolved in midair.

“Something pushed him,” Perry said.

“For Christ’s sake, Perry.” Richard’s voice was trembling.

“Could I have a drink of water?” Perry asked.

“You said we’d see him,” Richard said.

“A drink of water, Richard?” Perry asked.

I looked at him closely as Richard stood and moved toward the kitchen. What was wrong with him? How could he have been so right, then so completely wrong?

I turned toward the kitchen, hearing the gurgle of the Sparklett’s bottle being tapped. Why had Richard become involved with Perry in the first place? I wondered. I knew he’d only meant to help but now things were worse than ever.

Turning back, I sat beside Perry. “Listen,” I said. He didn’t move, hunched over, looking ill. I reached out and touched his arm but he didn’t react.

“Perry, what’s the matter with you?” I demanded. He stirred uncomfortably. An idea struck me and I repeated the question in my mind.

He frowned. “Get away from me,” he muttered. “It’s over.”

“Over?” If I could have throttled him, I would have. “What about my wife? Is it over for her?” Remembering, I repeated my words in thought.

“It’s over,” he said through clenching teeth. “That’s it.”

I started to think a further message but, the instant I began, I stopped. He had shut himself off, enclosing his awareness in a carapace of will.

I looked around as Richard returned and handed Perry a glass of water. Perry drank it in a long, continuous swallow, then sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what happened.”

Richard gazed at him bleakly. “What about my mother?” he asked.

“We can try again,” Perry told him. “I’m sure—“

Richard stopped him with an angry sound. “She’ll never try again,” he said. “No matter what you tell her now, she won’t believe you.”

I rose and walked away from them. I had to leave; abruptly, that was clear to me. There was nothing more I could do. The thought came overwhelmingly:

From this moment on, my presence is invalid.

There is more

I TRIED TO move away from the house, to go on; somewhere, anywhere. Yet, even though the heaviness was gone, even though I felt immeasurably stronger, I was still unable to break free. There was no way I could leave: Ann’s despair held me in a vise. I had to stay.

In the instant of my thinking that, I found myself inside the house again. The living room was empty. Time had passed. I couldn’t tell how long though; chronology was beyond my grasp.

I walked into the family room. Ginger was lying on the sofa in front of the fireplace. I sat beside her. She didn’t even stir. I tried to stroke her head in vain. She slept on heavily. The contact had been broken and I didn’t know how.

Standing with a defeated sigh, I walked to our bedroom. The door was open and I went inside.

Ann was lying on the bed, Richard sitting next to her.

“Mom, why won’t you, at least, allow for the possibility that it might have been Dad?” he was asking her. “Perry swears he was there.”

“Let’s not talk about it anymore,” she said. I saw that she’d been crying again, her eyes red, the flesh around them swollen.

“Is it so impossible?” Richard asked. “I don’t believe it, Richard,” she told him. “That’s all there is to it.”

Seeing the look on his face, she added, “Perry may have certain powers; I’m not denying that. But he hasn’t convinced me that there’s anything after death. I know there isn’t, Richard. I know your father’s gone and we have to—“

She couldn’t finish, her voice breaking off with a sob. “Please let’s not talk about it anymore,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry, Mom.” Richard lowered his head. “I was only trying to help.”

She took his right hand and held it; kissed it gently, pressed it to her cheek. “I know that,” she murmured. “It was very dear of you but…” Her voice trailed off and she closed her eyes. “He’s dead, Richard,” she said after a few moments. “Gone. There’s nothing we can do about it.”