Trent had invited Charlie over for dinner with him and Brent on the way home. She’d tried to politely decline, absolutely exhausted, and knowing she had another half hour’s drive ahead of her. But when she’d stopped to properly introduce herself to Brent, he’d convinced her to stay “just for a bite” so she wouldn’t have to cook when she got home. Brent had promptly opened a bottle of white wine and served a delicious chicken with white sauce and salad. Charlie had worried the social interaction would drain her further, but instead it reinvigorated her for the drive home. Brent had a wicked sense of humour. She decided she liked Trent’s taste in men.
The conversation over dinner had been like watching a tennis match between the two of them, each sprinting to hit the other with a wittier riposte or jibe. They were infectious company for each other, and for Charlie. And their love for each other expanded big enough to envelop her as well, rather than push her out as the third wheel.
All Sunday night and through Monday, Charlie’s house had been quiet. She’d tried sewing but was too distracted to finish even one top. She’d tried calling Tess, and while it was wonderful to talk through everything, there were no miraculous revelations this time. She’d tried going into the Dream, with the same phone trick, but after lying in bed almost two hours, she’d given up.
When 10:00 a.m. on Tuesday rolled around, Charlie was incredibly impatient. So impatient that she spoke before Maryanne could give her obligatory greeting. “Hi, Maryanne,” she said before the call had even properly connected.
“Hello, Charlotte. How—”
“I can’t connect to the Dream,” Charlie said, desperate for Maryanne’s matter-of-fact reassurances. “It’s been getting harder for a while now, but the last couple of days, I can’t connect at all. I’m trying everything that worked before — except using Marie of course — and I know it’s there, but it’s always just out of reach.” She stared expectantly at Maryanne, willing her to have the answer.
The psychologist took a deep breath before answering. “This isn’t entirely unexpected. It happened with the last Keeper I assisted as well. It’s important that you fully disconnect to be able to access the Dream. Focus only on the intent.”
“I’m doing that,” Charlie replied, pulling at one of her thumb nails. “At least, I think I am. I try emptying my mind, relaxing every part of my body — the things that worked before — but nothing. The last time I succeeded, it was like every time I got close, it pulled away. When I finally connected, everything was dark and blurry and I couldn’t see clearly.”
“What you’ve described — clearing your mind and relaxing — are important first steps, but you must disconnect on a deeper level. Fully release yourself from anything that’s holding you back. Not just physically. Next time you’re trying to connect, don’t just relax your body — make a conscious effort to disconnect from it.”
“That sounds dangerous,” Charlie said. “Is it safe?”
“Charlotte, I think by now you’ve realised it’s not entirely safe to connect to the Dream in any scenario.”
Charlie nodded, remembering the thirst when she’d been in there too long and recalling the crushing sensation when Bill had his hands around her throat. “But…what happens in the Dream doesn’t affect my physical body, does it? The last time I was there, I experienced someone dying. I felt it, but when I was back, I was fine.”
“As I’ve said before, I don’t know exactly how it works. I don’t believe you can be physically harmed within the Dream, but…” A little colour drained from Maryanne’s face.
“But?”
“Just remember, Charlotte…” Maryanne avoided answering her. “You have control. Don’t ever forget that. Remember your intent and remember your voice. As a Keeper, you can exert some authority. Especially over the Greys and other lesser spirits.”
“Do I have control over time, though?” Charlie asked. “How do I make sure I come back around the same time as I enter the Dream? That I don’t enter one day and come back three days later, dead from thirst?”
“If your physical body died while you were in the Dream, you wouldn’t return to it.” Maryanne said matter-of-factly.
“So how do I stop that?”
“Don’t lose your focus. Don’t lose your control. Remember your intent. Keep it foremost in your mind. I can’t promise it’ll work every time but try not to let the Dream control you — you control it.”
“How do I do that?” Charlie asked again, frustration creeping in.
“Remember, Charlotte, I haven’t been to the Dream. At least not the way you have. You have to trust your instinct. My lessons to you are all theoretical.”
Charlie considered the way Maryanne had worded her response. “But…you have been to the Dream then?”
Maryanne sighed, rubbing her face — a habit she seemed to exhibit when frustrated or worried. “I believe so… A couple of sessions back, you asked me why all this isn’t common knowledge. Why more people don’t know about it.”
“Yes…” Charlie said, intrigued.
“Well, let me answer that for you. Spirits aside — which many people do share accounts of, by the way — humans have been delving into the Dream for thousands of years. Without necessarily knowing that’s what they were doing. And certain people have become obsessed with it — even not knowing exactly what it was they were obsessed with. They’ve tried to grasp and comprehend even a glimpse of it. It never ends well. Have you heard of the drug DMT?”
“No…”
“It’s actually something that’s found naturally in the human body and in animals. It’s similar — chemically speaking — to magic mushrooms and has been used by different cultures for thousands of years for ritualistic purposes. It’s described as a psychedelic that causes hallucinations. The interesting thing is that different people describe similar experiences. Particularly, they describe seeing similar entities…coloured entities. And a world that revolves like a kaleidoscope.”
“That…that sounds like the Dream…” Charlie said.
“Yes, but with none of the control. It is dangerous. Incredibly dangerous. And superficial access at best.”
“So why don’t more people know about this?” Charlie asked.
“I believe it’s because someone, or something, is keeping it that way. Maintaining that balance we discussed. And I believe it’s because most people struggle to comprehend what they experience. How many times, before now, did you see something from the corner of your eye? And when you turned to look, it was gone, so you just dismissed it as nothing? When most of us have experiences — even a glimpse of the Dream — it overwhelms us. It’s easier to ignore it or dismiss it as something else. Even when we recognise it as something special, something different, it overwhelms us. For example, look at that occultist, Alistair Crowley. He had a brief encounter with the Grey, with Lam, and he and his followers created an entire religion about it! One of the most common entities!” Maryanne’s disdain for the “common” Greys was clear. Charlie felt less apathetic, having seen it in her house several times…
“So…you tried DMT…” Charlie said, a slight smile creeping into the corners of her mouth. She had seen the crack in Maryanne’s mask this time, and found herself longing for another peek at the woman behind it.
“Yes, and it didn’t go well!” Maryanne said, flustered. After looking at Charlie with big, bewildered eyes for a moment, she burst into laughter. “Please, I don’t recommend it… You don’t need it in any case. And I’d be worried you’d lose control, which is so important to have.”
“Okay, I’ll try what you suggested instead. The disconnecting. And I’ll stay away from illicit drugs!”
“Yes, please!” Maryanne smiled. The mask hadn’t been fully replaced yet. She took a deep breath before continuing. “Charlotte…”
“Yes,” Charlie said after the pause between them lengthened.
“I found something. Some information I wanted to share with you… It’s about the Keeper you described to me, the one with the top hat.”
Charlie’s eyes widened. “You did? What? How?”
“I’m a Seeker, Charlotte. It’s my job. I found out who he is and where he is.”
“Is?” Charlie parroted back at her. “He’s alive? Please, tell me everything.”
“His name is Alexander Cooper. And he lives in Sydney… I suppose ‘lives’ is open to interpretation… I’m going to send you the information I have on him via email, and I’ll leave it to you to decide what you do with it.”
“Yes, please,” Charlie said, desperate to pin him down, to ask him all the questions Maryanne didn’t seem to have the answers to. “How did you find him?!”
Maryanne raised a single eyebrow, her dark eyes deepening. “I’m a seeker.” Charlie’s head was whirling. “I’d like to leave our session there for today. I’ll see—”
“You’ll see me at 10:00 a.m. on Friday, right?” Charlie smiled. “You got it.”
“Goodbye, Charlotte.”
The following day, Charlie was on her way to Sydney. In the last few weeks, she’d racked up more kilometres on her little RAV4 than she’d expected. The information Maryanne had sent her wasn’t as detailed as she’d hoped, but it was a good starting point. Alexander Cooper had been a prominent philanthropist in the 1950s — a socialite, harking from a family with significant generational wealth. From what Charlie could find online, Alexander had become estranged from his family in the early 1950s before pursuing his philanthropic endeavours. He’d never married, never had children, and in the late 1950s he had just dropped off the map. He’d stopped hosting functions. Stopped appearing in the newspaper. It was almost as if he’d vanished.
Alexander Cooper hadn’t physically disappeared, though. Maryanne had provided his current address. No phone number, no email — but at least a residential address in Vaucluse, Dover Heights, East of Sydney, near Bondi Beach. Charlie pulled to the side of the road in front of Tess’s house and beeped twice. She was so grateful Tess had agreed to come with her, out of the blue, to a stranger’s house in one of Sydney’s ritziest suburbs. Not for the first time that day, she thought how lucky she was to have Tess in her life.
Tess opened the front door, then ran down the steps while yelling over her shoulder (probably at Leon). Charlie smiled as she noticed Tess was wearing one of the oversized dresses she’d made her, in pale pastel patterns, above an old pair of leggings and dark moss green boots. “Je vais y aller maintenant! Le dîner est dans le frigo — des lasagnes. Essayex de ne pas salir la cuisine. Au revoir!” Charlie thought how lucky Leon was to have Tess in his life as well. “Ah, bonjour,” Tess said as she jumped into the front seat, leaning over to give Charlie a kiss on both cheeks. “It’s so good to see you, ma chère. How are you?”
“I’m good, really,” Charlie smiled. “Despite my random phone call and crazy request! I promise, I’m doing well.” Tess raised an eyebrow at Charlie before tossing her bag into the backseat and buckling in.
“Allons-y then. Let’s go get on with your crazy request.”