The Recipient

  Kirkwood watched Casey closely. Her eyes revealed a deep pain. Gone was the defiance, the defensiveness that had so characterised Casey Schillinge. In its place, Kirkwood saw resignation. Casey would give her the answers she sought. There was no sense in holding onto them any longer.

  “I couldn’t predict them. I didn’t want to. I began skipping sleep as much as I could. Working helped. I had enough work to keep me going for days at a time. But, eventually I exhausted myself and I’d fall asleep on my feet. The nightmares would come. So I began looking for other ways of avoiding sleep.”

  “Drugs,” Kirkwood said flatly.

  Casey nodded.

  “What are you seeing in the nightmares that frightens you so much?”

  Casey shivered. “I’m on a road…somewhere. I don’t know where. It’s isolated and remote.”

  “And what’s happening there?” Kirkwood pressed cautiously.

  “I am running, trying to get away. Someone is coming after me. Chasing me.”

  “Do you know who it is?”

  “It’s always too dark. I never see their face.”

  “Why are you running? What has the person done to you?”

  Casey began rubbing her hands together. “I’m being…attacked,” she whispered raggedly. “Beaten and…mutilated. I don’t know why. I try to get away but I can never escape. I’m forced to the ground. There’s blood everywhere. It’s all around me. It’s coming from me.”

  Casey turned to face Kirkwood. Her eyes were filled with anguish. Tears trickled down her cheeks. Kirkwood reached out and placed her hand on Casey’s shoulder. She squeezed reassuringly.

  “What happens when you’re on the ground, Casey?” Kirkwood pressed, suppressing a rising lump in her throat. She feared she knew what was about to come next.

  Casey drew her hand up reflexively and she gasped. The pain of revealing herself was searing.

  “Like I said, I’m being attacked,” she hissed. “Violated and tortured. But…”

  Casey paused involuntarily as her voice caught in her throat. Her eyes flicked left and right as if she were trying to understand something within the memories of her dream. Kirkwood leaned in closer.

  “What is it, Casey?”

  “It’s not me.” Casey agonized.

  Kirkwood’s blinked. “Not you?”

  Casey began to shake. “It’s as though I’m there and experiencing it. But at the same time, I’m watching as though it’s not me.”

  Casey faltered and covered her mouth with her hand. Her gaze drifted, as though she were trying to comprehend what it was that was happening in the dream.

  “It’s okay, Casey. Take your time.”

  “There’s someone else. A third person. I’m watching someone else being attacked. I don’t know who it is. Every time I get close to seeing them, I wake up.”

  Casey squeezed her eyes shut, trying to calm herself, realising that she was beginning to panic.

  Kirkwood carefully processed what Casey had just told her. She did not know what to make of Casey’s description of the nightmare or why she was having them, but seeing her acute distress, after only ever witnessing her defensiveness in the past, quickly pushed those questions to the background.

  “You must have felt very isolated,” Kirkwood offered sombrely.

  “I could never tell this to Dad or Edie,” Casey replied bitterly. “They would never have understood. Jesus, I don’t understand it.” Casey rubbed her eyes. “I spent so long trying to regain my independence after the transplant that if I’d revealed any of this, it would have been fuel for my mother to argue I’m not well enough live my own life.”

  “And now that you have?” Kirkwood posited.

  Casey flashed a bitter smile that faded almost the instant it appeared. “Well, I’m here already, aren’t I? Seems I’m buggered either way.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Kirkwood countered. “You’re not nearly as crazy as you think you are. The question is…what to do about these nightmares.”

  “I want them to stop,” Casey retorted angrily. “How do I do that?”

  “Well,” Kirkwood began, considering that very question. “It would be useful to know why it is you’re having them in the first place. There’s nothing in your history to suggest you’ve ever been the victim of a sexual assault or systematic abuse.”

  Casey whipped her head around and glared at Kirkwood. “Definitely not! Jesus!”

  Kirkwood tilted her head. “It may be, that the answer to this lies within the dream itself.”

  Casey frowned, watching as the psychologist pondered her statement silently, then her eyes widened. She understood where Kirkwood was heading with this but she wanted to hear it from Kirkwood herself.

  “What are you suggesting?” she questioned worriedly.

  “I’m suggesting that there may be a way,” Kirkwood said.

  She looked at Casey with an expression of burgeoning confidence.

  “A way to find out what is going on inside your dreams and maybe, to stop it.”

  ___

  Casey sat across from Kirkwood in her hospital room. The cold and clinical chunk of foam that had been originally assigned to Casey had been replaced by a proper bed, with comfortable and attractive linen. A table and chairs had also been brought in, along with a small sofa and a television set. The lighting in the room was considerably softer now that Casey was no longer on intensive watch.

  Lionel sat nearby, having been invited by Kirkwood to sit in on this session, much to Casey’s relief. Having him present made Casey feel more at ease than she otherwise might. It also lent a legitimacy to what she was about to subject herself. She couldn’t believe what she was going to do—what Kirkwood was encouraging her to do—nor could she believe that her grandfather was supportive of it.

  “Okay, Casey,” Kirkwood began. “In a moment, we’ll begin. Remember, myself and Lionel are here with you. If you feel overwhelmed or frightened, we’ll stop. Okay?”

  Casey rubbed her hands over the tops of her legs and exhaled. She nodded, glancing at Lionel who smiled at her. His expression betrayed him. She could see the hesitation in his eyes—a sense that he wasn’t convinced of the benefit of what was about to happen.

  Kirkwood nodded, then stood and walked over to the window. She lowered the curtains, further softening the light in the room.

  “Are you ready?”

  Casey smiled. “No.”

  Kirkwood smiled and sat down, resting her hands on her knees. “Remember. You’ll be able to control the imagery in your mind, almost as if you were controlling the playback of a movie. You’ll be able to fast forward or rewind or pause or even stop it. I’ll keep talking to you and ask you to interpret what you see.”

  Kirkwood lowered her voice, adding a softness and evenness to it that was calming. Casey leaned back into the chair and nodded.

  “Close your eyes. Slow your breathing. Listen to my voice and let your body go. Starting with your head, allow all the muscles in your body to release.”

  Slowly, Casey lowered her head and closed her eyes. She followed Kirkwood’s instruction, relaxing back into the seat.

  “Feel the muscles in your arms, your hands and fingers. Let them go loose. The muscles in your chest and torso, moving down to your legs, your calves and ankles. The soles of your feet. Your toes. Release the tension in them.”

  A warmth washed through Casey. She could feel the individual muscles slacken. Casey could hear the sound of her own breathing and with it, the beat of the heart.

  As her concentration focused inward, Kirkwood’s voice guided her toward a calm centre.

  “Clear your mind. Empty your thoughts until there is nothing.”

  Casey appeared serene. Kirkwood looked across at Lionel and nodded subtly, indicating that she was ready.

  “Now remember, I am here to listen, Casey. All you have to do is describe what you see. Nothing or no one can hurt you. You are safe. You are in control.”

  Casey nodded slow
ly, silently.

  “We’re going to enter your dream now.”

  Through the familiar black shroud that covered her vision, a pinpoint of light flickered and danced. Casey tilted her head, curious as it began to draw closer, growing in size and shape, becoming a gelatinous mass that swallowed the darkness, revealing the familiar cloudscape to Casey. Soon, it surrounded her on all sides. She felt herself floating. The heart beat softly.

  “What can you see?” Kirkwood asked, taking up her notepad and pencil.

  “Clouds,” Casey responded. “Everywhere. I’m floating in them.”

  “Can you see anything else? Look down.”

  Casey tilted her head.

  Far below her, through breaks in the cloud formations, Casey could see a thin ribbon of bitumen, marked with white lines.

  “A road,” she whispered. “The road. I-I’m far above it.”

  “Can you reach it?” Kirkwood asked.

  “I think so.”

  Casey turned her body over and angled herself, using her arms to propel herself downwards. The ground rushed towards her and she spread her arms, slowing her descent. Casey extended her legs, stretched out her toes and touched down gently onto the bitumen. Almost immediately, rain began to fall and she shivered instinctively—both in the dream and in the room.

  Lionel straightened his back and looked to Kirkwood, who nodded reassuringly.

  “What is it, Casey?” she probed.

  “It’s raining,” Casey responded. “I’m wet and cold.”

  “Okay. Let’s try something here,” Kirkwood ventured. “I want you to imagine that you’re completely dry. The clothes you’re wearing are comfortable and warm. The rain can’t reach you. You’re surrounded by a bubble of air. It’s protecting you.”

  Casey looked down and watched in amazement as her sopping clothing twitched against her skin. All the water in them was suddenly pulled out and she was completely dry. She turned her head up to see the falling rain bend as it splashed against an invisible shield that surrounded her.

  Casey stepped forward hesitantly, watching the bubble move with her and she couldn’t help but smile. Lightning crackled across the sky, lighting up the landscape around her, revealing the familiar landmarks. The collapsing stone fence to her left. The line of shattered pines up ahead to her right. She made a note of them as she moved forward.

  “What can you see, Casey?” Kirkwood pressed gently.

  “I see a stone fence. It borders a paddock—a large paddock. It’s desolate…no pasture. There is a line of pine trees that have been stripped of their foliage. It’s like they’re dead.”

  Kirkwood scribbled on her pad.

  “You sense death here?”

  Casey nodded, quickly this time.

  Deep thunder rolled across the landscape, carrying the guttural moan that always reverberated through her. She cocked her head and stiffened as dread seeped through her pores.

  “It’s happening,” she breathed.

  “Remember, you are in control of this, Casey. All you have to do is stop the flow whenever you want to. I’m right here with you.”

  Casey turned in the dream looking for Kirkwood but she could not see her. She could however, feel her presence, as if she were standing right beside her.

  “Look around you and tell me what you can see.”

  Casey nodded, stifling a lump in her throat. She looked into the darkness and continued. The bitumen was slippery under her feet.

  A second fork of lightning erupted and Casey spotted the road sign, its reflective surface shimmering. Casey instinctively quickened her pace towards it, looking up as she got closer.

  “The road sign.”

  “Can you see what’s on the sign, Casey?”

  As the lightning strike dissipated, Casey squinted into the darkness, trying to see.

  “Remember, you can back it up if you need to, just like controlling a piece of video footage.”

  Casey nodded and cast her eyes skyward, watching as the lightning above her flashed back into being, crackling in reverse from the point at which it had previously disappeared. When the light was at its brightest, she looked back at the road sign again.

  “It’s too bright,” she cursed between clenched teeth. “I can’t make it out!”

  Her frustration caused her to lose her grip on the progression of the dream and she was propelled forward, past the sign and into the shadows of the devastated pine trees.

  The moaning grew louder and with it, dread and fear beckoned.

  Ignoring it and focusing ahead, Casey saw the outline of the car, stationed at an angle. Its headlights punctured the darkness. Casey raised her arm against the glare.

  And then she saw him.

  Standing in the middle of the road over a crumpled form beneath him.

  “It’s him!” Casey hissed. Her chest heaved and she felt herself stumbling back.

  “Remember, Casey, he can’t hurt you,” Kirkwood’s voice sounded, distant this time.

  Casey didn’t acknowledge her.

  The shrouded figure dropped to his haunches over the stricken human form.

  The moan grew louder until it transformed into a horrified scream. Casey slapped her hands against her ears.

  The shrouded figure snapped his head up and forward, looking directly at Casey. She could not see his face underneath the wide brim of his hat.

  Without warning, he plunged his hand down between the legs of its victim and Casey jerked in pain and terror on the couch.

  “Nooo!” she screamed.

  “Control it, Casey. You can control it.”

  Lionel launched out of his chair and prepared to go to his granddaughter but Kirkwood held out her hand desperately to stop him.

  “Just wait,” she whispered urgently. “It’ll be all right.”

  Lionel relented, filled with anguish.

  Kirkwood rose from her chair and moved over to sit beside Casey, who was panting harshly, hyperventilating.

  “Can you hear me, Casey?”

  Casey nodded rapidly, through clenched teeth. “Make it stop!”

  Her head snapped forward just as the assailant prepared to pounce. He launched himself at her. She thrust out her palm in front of her, pushing a pressure wave toward him that distorted the air around them. The pressure wave crashed into the assailant, stopping him in mid stride—frozen. The maelstrom around her ceased. Everything fell silent. Droplets of rain hung stationary in the air.

  Slowing her breathing, Casey visibly relaxed and Lionel backed away from her chair.

  “It’s okay,” Casey said softly. “Everything has stopped.”

  She blinked into the lights of the car ahead and tilted her head, trying to see around the immobile assailant in front of it.

  “I see a car…a sedan of some kind. I can see him. He is or was over me? Not me. He’s over someone.”

  Casey squinted harder. “It’s a w-woman. I can’t see her. But I can feel her. I can feel what she’s feeling.”

  “Can you get closer?” Kirkwood queried, glancing at Lionel. “Can you see who she is?”

  Casey screwed up her face, as though trying to focus on the scene before her.

  “I can’t. I…” she paused, trying harder. “I can’t see her yet. I can’t see her until it…until…”

  Kirkwood nodded, understanding. “What about him; can you make out anything that identifies him?”

  “No. He is just a shadow. He’s always been a shadow.”

  “What is he doing?”

  “He’s frozen. I’ve stopped him.”

  Kirkwood made more notes on the page in front of her, then placed the pad and pencil down. She contemplated what she had written for several moments.

  “Okay. Let’s stop there, Casey. I don’t want to push you any further. I want you to back away from the scene now. Let yourself relax. Let your mind go blank.”

  On the road, Casey blinked as though disoriented. She turned away from the scene before her, feeling the sense of war
mth and comfort return. She crossed her arms over her chest and clasped her shoulders. She began to walk away from the frozen assailant, his stricken victim, the desolate pine trees. The sense of death.

  “Leave this place,” Kirkwood’s voice guided her. “Return here with me and your grandfather, where it is safe.”

  Casey’s mind began to drift. Her eyes began to lose focus. She turned her head slightly, spying the road sign passing on her right. Distant light pulsed from somewhere behind her and she stopped.

  “Wait,” she said aloud, looking around for Kirkwood but remembering that she was alone.

  The road sign loomed and she fought to retain her focus.

  Casey turned and tried to run toward the sign. Her legs felt heavy.

  No!

  In desperation, she thrust her head up and reached out towards the sign.

  Nothing.

  Casey…

  “Casey?”

  Her eyes fluttered open and Casey found herself back in the office with Kirkwood sitting beside her and Lionel sitting opposite. She felt completely calm, relaxed—more relaxed than she had felt in a long time.

  She blinked and looked at Kirkwood.

  “How do you feel?” Kirkwood asked.

  Casey thought for a moment, realising that her mind was empty. She suddenly didn’t know where she was.

  She looked down at her hands and then across at Lionel who continued to watch her expectantly.

  “Casey?”

  Suddenly, Casey gasped. Her features contorted into an expression of shock. Then realisation.

  “What is it?” Kirkwood said, worried.