Self-Defence

'Have you ever sleepwalked before?'

'Not that I'm aware of.'

'Did you wet the bed as a child?'

She blushed. 'What does that have to do with it?'

'Sometimes sleepwalking and bedwetting are related biologically. Some people have a genetic tendency for both.'

'Oh… Well, yes, I did do that. A little, when I was very young.'

She shifted in her chair.

'Do the dreams wake you up?' I said.

'I wake up thinking about them.'

'Any particular time of night?'

'Early in the morning, but it's still dark.'

'How do you feel physically when you wake up?'

'A little sick- sweating and clammy, my heart's pounding. Sometimes my stomach starts to hurt. Like an ulcer.' Poking her finger just below her sternum.

'Have you had an ulcer?'

'Just a small one, for a few weeks- the summer before I started college. The dreams make me feel the same sort of way, but not as bad. Usually the pain goes away if I just lie there and try to relax. If it doesn't, I take an antacid.'

'Do you tend to get stomachaches?'

'Once in a while, but nothing serious. I'm healthy as a horse.'

Another glance at the water.

'The grinding sound,' she said. 'Do you have any theories about that?'

'Does it mean anything to you?'

Long pause. 'Something… sexual. I guess. The rhythm?'

'You think the men may be having sex with her?'

'Maybe- but what's the difference? It's just a dream. Maybe we should forget the whole thing.'

'Recurrent unpleasant dreams usually mean something's on your mind, Lucy. I think you're wise to deal with it.'

'What could be on my mind?'

'That's what we're here to find out.'

'Yes.' She smiled. 'Guess so.'

'Is there anything else you want to tell me about the dream?'

She thought. 'Sometimes it changes focus- right in the middle.'

'The picture gets clearer? Or fuzzier?'

'Both. The focus goes back and forth. As if someone inside my brain is adjusting a lens- some kind of homunculus- an incubus. Do you know what that is?'

'An evil spirit that visits sleeping women.' And rapes them.

'An evil spirit,' she repeated. 'Now I'm lapsing into mythology. This is starting to feel a little silly.'

'Does the girl in the dream resemble anyone you know?'

'Her back's to me. I can't see her face.'

'Can you describe her at all?'

She closed her eyes and, once again, her head swayed. 'Let's see… she's wearing a short white dress- very short. It rides up her legs… long legs. Trim thighs, like from aerobics… and long dark hair. Hanging down in a sheet.'

'How old would you say she is?'

'Um… she has a young body.' Opening her eyes. 'What's weird is that she never moves, even when the man carrying her jostles her. Like someone… with no control. That's all I remember.'

'Nothing about the men?'

'Nothing.' Eyeing her purse.

'But one of them is definitely your father.'

Her hands flew together and laced tightly. 'Yes.'

'You see his face.'

'For a second he turns and I see him.'

She'd gone pale and her face was sweaty again.

I said, 'What's bothering you right now, Lucy?'

'Talking about it… when I talk, I start to feel- to feel it. As if I'm dropping back into it.'

'Loss of control.'

'Yes. The dream's scary. I don't want to be there.'

'What's the scary part?'

'That they're going to find me. I'm not supposed to be there.'

'Where are you supposed to be?'

'Back inside.'

'In the log cabin.'

Nod.

'Did someone tell you to stay inside?'

'I don't know. I just know I'm not supposed to be there.'

She rubbed her face, not unlike the way Milo does when he's nervous or distracted. It raised blemishlike patches on her skin.

'So what does it mean?' she said.

'I don't know yet. We need to find out more about you.'

She brought her legs out from under her. Her fingers remained laced, the knuckles ice-white. 'I'm probably making much too big a deal out of this. Why should I whine about a stupid dream? I've got my health, a good job- there are people out there, homeless, getting shot on the street, dying of AIDS.'

'Just because others have it worse doesn't mean you have to suffer in silence.'

'Others have it a lot worse. I've had it good, Dr. Delaware, believe me.'

'Why don't you tell me about it.'

'About what?'

'Your background, your family.'

'My background,' she said absently. 'You asked me about that the first time I came in, but I avoided it, didn't I? And you didn't push. I thought that was very gentlemanly. Then I thought, Maybe he's just backing off as a strategy; he probably has other ways of getting into my head. Pretty paranoid, huh? But being in therapy was unnerving. I'd never done it before.'

I nodded.

She smiled. 'Guess I'm waffling, right now. Okay. My background: I was born in New York City twenty-five years ago, on April 14. Lenox Hill Hospital, to be precise. I grew up in New York and Connecticut, went to fine upstanding girls' schools, and graduated from Belding College three years ago- it's a small women's college just outside of Boston. I got my degree in history but couldn't do much with that, so I took a job as a bookkeeper at Belding, keeping the accounts straight for the Faculty Club and the Student Union. Last thing I thought I'd be doing, never had a head for math. But it turned out I liked it. The orderliness. Then I spotted a job card from Bowlby and Sheldon on the campus employment bulletin board and went for an interview. They're a national firm, had no opening except in L.A. On a whim, I applied and got it. And came West, young woman. That's it. Not very illuminating, is it?'

'What about your family?' I said.

'My family is basically Peter, whom you met. He's one year older than me and we're close. His nickname's Puck- someone gave it to him when he was a little boy because he was such an imp.'

'Is he your only sib?'

'My only full sib. There's a half brother who lives up in San Francisco, but I have no contact with him. He had a