Chapter Thirteen #2
“Here’s what happened. Draper accepted a semester residency at the Academy to teach a class on inheritance patterns.
I was teaching dreamlight therapy at the time.
He was smart, interesting, and his manners were excellent.
We had coffee together in the faculty lounge a few times and then we started dating.
Off-campus restaurants. An art exhibit. A concert.
We talked a lot about his theories of dreamlight.
I told him he was wrong, of course. He didn’t understand how it worked at all. ”
“What didn’t he understand?”
“Draper thinks tuning an individual’s dreams is like hypnosis.
The tuner simply introduces a psychic suggestion or command.
He doesn’t realize that it’s chilling to brush up against someone’s dreams. The blowback is horrible.
It affects the therapist’s own dreams. A lot of what I taught in my classes involved techniques to rebalance the therapist’s personal dreamscape after a session with a client. ”
“What made you realize that he was dating you because he wanted to study your talent?”
“One evening we went back to his cottage for a nightcap. He showed me his office. There was a strange-looking machine in the corner. I asked about it. He told me he used it to measure paranormal talent and that it was uniquely tuned to him. He was the only one who could make it function. He wanted to demonstrate on me. That made me uneasy. I declined.”
“I don’t blame you. Talent is a very personal thing.”
“He became annoyed and accused me of standing in the way of important scientific research. We argued. The truth came out. I realized he had been trying to manipulate me by pretending to have a personal interest in me, and I admit I became quite angry. I felt used.”
He grinned. “I knew that somewhere underneath all that positive thinking and harmonic balance crap you had a temper. What did you do? I want details.”
She started to answer, hesitated, and then sighed. “I gave him a small demonstration of my talent.”
“Using the machine?”
“No.”
“You tuned a dream for him, didn’t you? And not in a sweet dreams kind of way.”
“All talent can be used for either good or…not good,” she mumbled. “I got a bit carried away. I acted on impulse. But I paid a price.”
“What was the price?”
“The following day Draper did not show up for class. Turned out he had packed up and left in the middle of the night. I had to do several rounds of rebalancing exercises to sweep the fragments of his nightmares out of my head. Not only that, I had to accept the blame for driving away a very prestigious scholar and depriving students of his knowledge and guidance. Luckily, Cadence Ballantine took a charitable view of the situation. She understood.”
“Good for her.”
Alice dropped back against the padded seat. “I think what annoys me the most is that he called me ‘unsophisticated and naive.’ The product of a cloistered environment. In print, no less. In a college textbook.”
“You were never identified. The only reason I recognized you as Subject A was because I had enough information to put it all together. I was looking for a woman who matched your description, and I knew Draper had done some groundbreaking work on dreamlight talents.”
Alice’s eyes tightened ominously. “You probably think the same things about me. Admit it.”
“I strongly object to being lumped in with Draper. Circumstances are not the same.”
“Absolutely. We’re not dating, for one thing.”
“Exactly. We’re married and we’re sharing a hotel room.”
“That’s different,” she said firmly.
“Right. Different. For the record, I do not think you are unsophisticated or naive.”
“You’re sure?” she asked, making no attempt to conceal her suspicion.
“Positive.” He drank some of his whiskey, thinking about the accusation. “What you are is innocent.”
She sat forward abruptly. “I am not innocent, either. Don’t you dare say that.”
“You act as if I’m insulting you by labeling you ‘innocent.’ ”
“It makes me sound exactly like Draper described me in his book—unsophisticated and naive, not to mention gullible and dim-witted. I’m an adult woman. Trust me, calling me ‘innocent’ is an insult.”
“Let’s try this. You’re a walking advertisement for the Ballantine Method. By the way, I confirmed my psi profile on you by tracking down the orderly and the guard you rendered unconscious the night you escaped from Serenity Gardens.”
“You did?” Startled, she leaned forward again. “Are Sam and Ron okay? Sam was having some PTSD dreams because he was attacked by one of the patients, and I know Ron was worried about his wife’s health.”
“Sam and Ron are doing fine, as far as I know. They told me to give you their best if I found you.”
“They are both very decent people. They had a lot of compassion for the patients. Unlike the director.”
“You’ll be interested to know that Sam and Ron were happy to participate in the cover-up that Webber instituted after you escaped, because they figured that was the best way to protect you. If no one told Kelbrook that you were gone, no one would look for you.”