Raising the Tent, Pt. I
For weeks now, the dreams have been the same. But Malcolm is also discovering that each one is lasting several days in the bar. He’s rapidly losing track of time, but every dream takes him back to Philadelphia, back to Anna.
And for good or ill, he can’t stop. He misses her too much.
But if Anna is always there, every dream is still different. He’s given up wondering whether the dreams are just self-delusion. She’s too herself, too real. And she’s also treating the dreams as if he’s there for her too, every night as she sleeps. Each time, a moment comes when he wants to ask if the days are passing normally for her, or if she’s losing days, whole weeks, like he is. But he’s too afraid to ask. Too worried that questioning it might break the spell forever.
He can’t do that. Not when he has her back.
But after a while, they start allowing themselves to settle back into their old rhythms, and Anna always knew Malcolm better than anyone. And so one night, she asks:
“What is it?”
“What?”
“What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s bothering me.” How could anything be bothering him now?
“Malcolm…”
“I’m serious.”
Anna makes the noise that from anyone else is a snort. Except she always insists she never snorts, and he better not imply otherwise unless he wants to spend the rest of the night trying to pretend their hardwood floor is a cozy mattress.
“Have it your way.”
“Anna…”
“No, it’s all right. Forget I--.”
“You think something is bothering me?”
“Yes.”
“…What?”
She throws up her hands. “Well, you’re the psychiatrist.”
He knows better than to respond that. So he frowns, as if in thought.
Anna rolls her eyes. “Like that's going to fool m--."
“Quiet. I’m concentrating.”
That earns him a punch in the side.
"--OW! Now I lost my train of thought.”
Anna sighs in disgust. “I know it’s not these dreams. You know that too.”
Startled, Malcolm looks down at her, but Anna stubbornly stares at the foot of the bed.
“OK..."
“It’s something about that bar.”
“Anna, you’re starting to freak me--.”
“Malcolm, you know I’m right!” And now she’s sitting up and staring him in the eyes. God, he’ll never forget--. “I mean, what is this? Am I completely dreaming this? I know that’s not true. This is something, something else.”
Malcolm pauses, then nods. “You’re not just dreaming it. And I’m not either.”
“Then I’m not just imagining that something is bothering you.”
Malcolm slowly shakes his head. “But I honestly don’t know.”
“Are you helping people?” She knows how much that means.
“Yes--,” he starts.
“--No,” he adds. “I mean, I am. But... not like I was. Lately, I’ve just... been there.”
Anna hesitates. “Do you...think you’re done?”
“No,” his answer comes quick and firm. The relief in her eyes makes his heart move. “I don’t think I’m even close. But something has to change.”
Anna nods. “Time to find a new way to help.”
“Yeah. I think so.”
”But that assumes, Dr. Crowe, you survive long enough to try.”
Malcolm looks quickly toward the foot of the bed, where the strange voice came.
But the Darkness comes crashing down.
[To be continued.]
And for good or ill, he can’t stop. He misses her too much.
But if Anna is always there, every dream is still different. He’s given up wondering whether the dreams are just self-delusion. She’s too herself, too real. And she’s also treating the dreams as if he’s there for her too, every night as she sleeps. Each time, a moment comes when he wants to ask if the days are passing normally for her, or if she’s losing days, whole weeks, like he is. But he’s too afraid to ask. Too worried that questioning it might break the spell forever.
He can’t do that. Not when he has her back.
But after a while, they start allowing themselves to settle back into their old rhythms, and Anna always knew Malcolm better than anyone. And so one night, she asks:
“What is it?”
“What?”
“What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing. Nothing’s bothering me.” How could anything be bothering him now?
“Malcolm…”
“I’m serious.”
Anna makes the noise that from anyone else is a snort. Except she always insists she never snorts, and he better not imply otherwise unless he wants to spend the rest of the night trying to pretend their hardwood floor is a cozy mattress.
“Have it your way.”
“Anna…”
“No, it’s all right. Forget I--.”
“You think something is bothering me?”
“Yes.”
“…What?”
She throws up her hands. “Well, you’re the psychiatrist.”
He knows better than to respond that. So he frowns, as if in thought.
Anna rolls her eyes. “Like that's going to fool m--."
“Quiet. I’m concentrating.”
That earns him a punch in the side.
"--OW! Now I lost my train of thought.”
Anna sighs in disgust. “I know it’s not these dreams. You know that too.”
Startled, Malcolm looks down at her, but Anna stubbornly stares at the foot of the bed.
“OK..."
“It’s something about that bar.”
“Anna, you’re starting to freak me--.”
“Malcolm, you know I’m right!” And now she’s sitting up and staring him in the eyes. God, he’ll never forget--. “I mean, what is this? Am I completely dreaming this? I know that’s not true. This is something, something else.”
Malcolm pauses, then nods. “You’re not just dreaming it. And I’m not either.”
“Then I’m not just imagining that something is bothering you.”
Malcolm slowly shakes his head. “But I honestly don’t know.”
“Are you helping people?” She knows how much that means.
“Yes--,” he starts.
“--No,” he adds. “I mean, I am. But... not like I was. Lately, I’ve just... been there.”
Anna hesitates. “Do you...think you’re done?”
“No,” his answer comes quick and firm. The relief in her eyes makes his heart move. “I don’t think I’m even close. But something has to change.”
Anna nods. “Time to find a new way to help.”
“Yeah. I think so.”
”But that assumes, Dr. Crowe, you survive long enough to try.”
Malcolm looks quickly toward the foot of the bed, where the strange voice came.
But the Darkness comes crashing down.
[To be continued.]