Past Imperfect

flapping away from a nearby tree broke them out of their moment's reverie.

It was almost a week ago they'd made the drive. 'What frightened you in the dream?'

'There was a ledge and a drop I didn't see until too late. I started falling.'

'Is there a ledge like that in the field?'

'No, just in the dream.' Eyran blinked slowly. 'Even the pond in the woods is very shallow, at most up to my chest.'

'Are you all right now?'

Brief pause for thought. 'Yes.'

Stuart playfully ruffled Eyran's hair and forced a smile. A vague smile returned. Nothing too harmful, thought Stuart. Just some old memories jumbling, trying to sort themselves out. Probably driving by the old house and the farm fields had sparked it off.

But over the following two weeks, there were three more dreams, increasingly violent and disturbing, and Stuart began to worry. Most took place in the fields by the old house or at the hospital, though one had been at the house in San Diego, at night with the pool lights on, mist rising from the warm water. Eyran thought he heard voices coming out of the ghostly mist and moved towards it; but it spread quickly and drifted in billows until it engulfed the entire garden and the house, and he couldn't find his way through. Hopelessly lost and frightened, the warm mist clinging all around him, suffocating, he awoke. Stuart asked him if any of the other dreams had involved him looking for his parents, and after a moment's hesitation he'd answered yes, in the hospital dream.

When Stuart discussed it with Amanda, she'd immediately opted for them taking Eyran to the psychiatrist Torrens had recommended. Stuart wanted to wait, see what the next week or so brought. It had been five days after his return before he'd even mentioned the psychiatrist to Amanda.

Stuart remembered twirling Lambourne's card in his hand without really reading it as Torrens explained: 'Some electrical activity within the brain concerned me. It occurred on two different occasions, but only on the last did it finally reach any motor senses and lead to Eyran awakening. Which meant for the remainder it was largely confined to the sub-conscious. It could be nothing, but it warrants keeping in check. Given the tremendous grief Eyran has suffered and coming to terms with the loss of his parents, counselling is advisable in any case.'

'I don't think we should delay,' urged Amanda. 'These dreams are beginning to worry me. Why wait another week or so?'

'I want to give Eyran some natural period of grieving, some time for him to come to terms with the loss in his own way before sending a psychiatrist into the fray to force the issue.'

'I just don't see any dramatic change coming quickly. He's not the same bushy tailed, bright-eyed Eyran we remember, and the sooner we accept that and try and do something about it, the better. I don't think delaying will help. With the dreams he's having, it could even do more harm.'

Stuart was insistent. 'We don't know yet if his unresponsiveness is as a result of his grief and loss, or a by- product of his injuries and the coma. And I'm not sure a psychiatrist would be able to tell that. Only time will tell. Some time for his grieving to subside.'

Amanda held his gaze for a moment with her best 'you can't be serious' expression. Then slowly shook her head and went into the kitchen. For the next five minutes, he could hear plates and cups moved and stacked and kitchen cupboard doors closed with more gusto than normal.

Perhaps she was right, delaying was unreasonable. Behind her annoyance, he could almost hear the words she was biting back: you don't want to face it because you're unwilling to accept anything less than the Eyran you remember. Only a miracle recovery will do for the golden boy. But she'd spared him the barb, or perhaps wished to avoid what was now a stale and unnecessary argument between them: absorption with Eyran over and above his own family. But that thin line was probably close to being crossed, and she was painfully close to the truth. Part of him couldn't accept Eyran's current condition, perhaps never would be able to. The psychiatrist was the last line of defence, the final throwing in of the towel: admittance that Eyran was psychologically disturbed and needed help.

'… There was nobody there, just rows of old weedkillers and pesticides… and I recognized it as the shed from our garden. My father warned me when we first moved in not to go in the shed until he'd fixed it… the floor was rotten and the old jars of weedkillers were dangerous. I was confused… I remembered him clearing them away that summer… and now they were back.'

‘Did Jojo say anything? Explain.’

‘No. I felt the floor shaky beneath my feet… and he held one hand out to me. But as I stepped forward, I felt the floor give way… and I… I…'

'It's okay, Eyran. Step back… back!..'

Stuart was yanked back to the tape. Sharp reminder of the dream when he’d finally relented to Eyran seeing Lambourne. Eyran screaming and Amanda’s rapid footsteps on the landing above.

'….I was falling… falling… everything spinning…'

'Back…. Break away. Away!'

Stuart sat forward. His pulse was pounding hard as it had been that night racing up the stairs. Lambourne had mentioned the danger area of the dream endings; that as much as possible he would generalize or pick out random details. But still he'd been caught out: Eyran in that moment re-living falling, spinning down helplessly.

Silence finally. Only Eyran's rapid, fractured breathing came across.

Lambourne waited a few seconds more. 'You must have been disappointed when you didn't see your parents — Jojo let you down. And has he let you down in other dreams?'

Eyran's breathing easing more. A faint swallow. Stuart picked up on Lambourne's tactic: generalities to shift Eyran's focus. But the sudden leap seemed to have caught Eyran by surprise. Stuart could feel the tension coming across with each beat of silence on the tape: could imagine Eyran struggling to extricate himself from one set of horrors, sifting frantically through time and misty images, probably only to find himself facing still more. A simple consent, and now he'd put Eyran through this! A pang of guilt gripped him, one hand clutching tight at Lambourne's report.

'I don't remember exactly... I….'

Eyran either still struggling for images or pushing away acceptance.

'Do most of the dreams too end abruptly in the same way,' Lambourne prompted. 'Yet with the hope you'll find your parents right up until the last moment.'

At length a slow exhalation. Final admittance. '…Yes.'

'Note five:’ No explanation is offered by Jojo for his failures from one dream to the next. Each one starts anew, Eyran filled with fresh trust and hope. Like an incurable gambler, Eyran conveniently blots past form from his mind, and Jojo is there to convince him that this time they'll hit gold.

Lambourne went back to the early sequence of dreams, before and after the coma, then: 'And during those dreams — the first of running through the wheat field directly after the car accident and the last you remember before awaking in the hospital from the coma — do any other voices reach you? Did you hear anything from outside?'

'I don't know… I'm not sure.' Eyran sounded flustered, uncertain.

'Try to concentrate. Take yourself back, and try to remember if you heard anything.'

Stuart saw immediately where Lambourne was aiming. After the last session Lambourne commented that what went against the theory of Eyran creating Jojo through non-acceptance of his parents' death, was him appearing before Eyran awoke and knew they were dead. Lambourne was digging for subliminal reference. Stuart felt for Eyran in that moment, wished that he'd been alongside to hold Eyran's hand as he delved back through the darkness of his nineteen day coma.

At length a low, almost indiscernible muttering: 'There was something… a man's voice.' Stuart felt his skin tingle.

'What did it say?' Eagerness in Lambourne's voice; fear that at any second the images would slip from Eyran's mind.

'…That… that the woman was gone, nothing could be done…. but there was still some hope for the other