Candice's Diary: Chapter Three

[5Cats]

Is anybody reading this? I know it's really long and I'm only cranking out one per month. If anybody is, I can continue to post them, or e-mail them to you direct
I'll be spitting them out a little more frequently!

Chapter Three
Dec 2, 2001

That morning it took him a long time to convince himself that he was awake. Longer than usual, even for a really bad dream. But why? There wasn?t anything all that bad in it, was there? Just a girl in a refrigerator, a blurry newspaper, some door handles missing. The light behind the blind, he couldn?t stop thinking about that. It seemed so innocuous, not all that frightening. He paced back and forth between the bedroom, front door and the kitchen, looking closely at everything to make sure things were as they should be. He had his coffee black that morning, he couldn?t bear to open the refrigerator door to get some cream.
He picked up the phone to check his messages. He never answered the telephone, in fact the ringer was turned off. It was one of the wonders of modern technology that he made good use of, the invisible answering machine provided by the telephone company. Everyone who knew him understood that coming over or leaving a message was the only way to get a hold of him. Hearing that there were no messages was reassuring to him, it meant his doctor?s appointment was still on for that afternoon. It was getting close to 11, and the appointment was for 1, so he dressed and headed out into the late morning heat.
As was his custom he first went for lunch, then sat for a while in a nearby park, reflecting. Even though he?d been seeing Dr. Borghan monthly for nearly 5 years, he still felt nervous before every session. Some food, some quiet time watching trees and birds helped him calm down. It let him focus on the session, to remember things he wanted to discuss. For this session that was easy, he wanted to discuss his dreams and that building.

He walked up the three flights of stairs to Dr Borghan?s modest apartment. Joseph Borghan, then just past 60, and his wife Merriam had retired to Mexico from eastern France. They were Dutch originally, but had moved to France soon after they were married. Their only child still lived in France. As far as Sean knew, he had never married.
The apartment was quite small, but had a lovely view and was in a quiet, well kept block. The furnishings were beautiful, old-world antiques they?d brought with them from Europe. Still, he knew that most of the furniture had been sold before they?d moved to their first apartment, the one which Sean was now living in. He?d needed to move in a hurry, and Joseph had been thinking of getting a smaller place himself. It was a positive happenstance in an otherwise bad time in both men?s lives.

Their retirement was almost like a storybook. They?d visited Mexico on several vacations and had decided it was where they wanted to spend their old age. They bought a small house on a large lot in an affluent neighbourhood, put a fountain and a flower garden in the back yard and settled in. They had plenty of money set aside, no mortgage or other undue expenses, their son was doing fine, they were all set. Until, that is, the day that Merriam discovered the casinos. She?d never seem such places before, never gambled more than a few trips to bingo with her sister. She got hooked right away on one particular game and hooked hard. Joseph found out when he noticed one day that their savings account was nearly drained. It was the last thing he?d ever expected: that his wife would have a gambling problem. He wasn?t angry with her, he?d been a psychiatrist for over 30 years, he knew how these things sometimes happened to good people. He listened patiently how his wife explained how things had gotten so bad. He heard her explain how the games worked, how she thought she could beat the house if only given enough time. He held her in his arms as she cried.
It was at this point where Joseph forgot everything he?d ever learned about gambling. He believed her ?system? would indeed work! That they could get their money back simply by playing the games for a little while longer.
Together they returned to the casinos, determined to win back their money. They actually came close, which is the worst thing that could have happened. Driven on by their near- success, they plunged headlong into debt. In less than a year a lifetime of savings was wiped out, and more.
It was then that Sean had become involved. They?d cashed in their savings, borrowed money, bounced cheques and all the other things people do when they fall. When they failed to meet their payments, and stopped coming around to the casinos, Sean was sent to look for them. Although the address they?d given proved false, and the bank accounts had been falsified too, Sean had little trouble finding them. He walked into their backyard one mild afternoon as they sat sipping lemonade. They knew why he was there, they seemed resigned to their fate. He complimented their flowers, introduced himself and sat down to discuss how they were going to get out of this mess. It was not easy, but it was worked out to everyone?s satisfaction. They?d sell the house and move to a modest apartment, Dr Borghan would return to work to pay their debt over a period of time, and they would never set foot in a casino again. This way the debtors got most of their money back, and their son need never find out.
?But where will I find patients here in Mexico?? Dr Borghan had asked.
?You?re looking at your first one.? Sean replied.
That was five years ago. Two years later Merriam passed away.

Dr Joseph Borghan put down his pen and rubbed his eyes. Sean glanced at his watch, it was past 2 o?clock, he?d been talking non-stop for over an hour. His disturbing dreams, his obsession with the building, even his dinner with Juan.
?No matter how many times I hear you tell of your dreams Mr Wiebe,? Dr Borghan said ?I never cease to be amazed by them. The details, the emotions, you really should write a book or something.?
?Can we stay on topic here? This isn?t easy for me you know.?
?I?m sorry, I meant no offence. Let?s see,? he leafed though his pages of hand-written notes. ?It all seems to start with that first dream, the one with the sign. You say there was this woman in the second part of that dream, Candice, asking you to remember her. Do you think that she and the girl in your refrigerator are somehow connected??
This was exactly why Sean kept coming back to see Dr Borghan. First because he could discuss a young girl in his refrigerator without fear of being considered weird or crazy or something. And second because sometimes he looked so closely at the details, he lost sight of the big picture. A fresh perspective, a different viewpoint, it could make all the difference.
?Cripes, that never occurred to me! Do you think they might be the same person? Or at least symbolic of the same person??
?Perhaps, although there are, as usual, so many potential symbols in your dreams that it?s difficult to sort them all out. Let alone decide which are important clues to your sub-conscious and which are flights of fancy. Still the connection seems to be there, the girl seems to be referring to your search for a way in to the building. The tunnel symbol is clearly there, yes??
Sean had to admit that it had never occurred to him. They spent the next two hours talking about the myriad of other symbology. His former girlfriend, trains, water, ships, elevators. They discussed drowning, pictures in newspapers and mysterious lights. They hardly talked about the building at all, directly. Still, both men knew what was at the root of the situation.
?Mr Wiebe, do you continue to hold the opinion that events in your dreams can have an adverse physical effect on your reality??
?You mean, am I still afraid I?m going to die in a dream? Or get lost and never wake up? Yes, that?s still a real danger in my mind. Oh, no pun intended.?
Dr Borghan jotted down a note on how Sean still masked fear with humour. ?The removal in the dream of handles and doors, do you think that could be a reflection of your narrowly focused attention? That it represents the limiting of your choices based on your single-minded determination to gain access to that building??
?I thought it meant that I was in danger, that I could get trapped in that dream and never return.? But what he said made sense too. Still, his dreams had more often been a help to him rather than a hindrance. He hoped that it continued to be the case.

After the session was over, as was their custom, they made the next appointment. As always it was a tentative date, since Sean?s work sometimes came up unexpectedly and Dr Borghan?s health wasn?t what it used to be. Then they went for dinner, played a few hands of cards in a caf? (not for money of course) and generally talked about anything except gambling or psychology. Joseph knew he didn?t have to warn Sean against further investigation, it would be futile. Furthermore he knew that Sean had been involved in far messier situations and so far had survived them all. Still, as they parted he felt he had to express his concern.
?Sean, perhaps you should consider leaving this alone for a while, finding something else to occupy your time. No? Well, at least consider finding some help. To try to do this alone, even for a man of your, talents, could prove to be too much. These people are no doubt very serious, and so should you be.?
?Thanks Joseph, I think I?ll take that bit of good advice. This is becoming a real strain on me.?

After walking Joseph back to his apartment, Sean headed home himself. He was struck with an urge to check for phone messages. He usually only checked them two or three times a week, not twice a day. Still, he paid careful attention to such hunches; he put some coins in a payphone and dialled for his messages. There was one.
?Oh, I?m sorry,? It was the low voice of a gruff, heavy-set man, ?I must have the wrong number.?
It was, of course, a call from Dalton. Wilber Dalton and Sean were from the same city back north. Well, technically at least. In fact Dalton?s family, he hated being called Wilber, had moved away when he was eleven years old and they had never met before Monterrey. Still, a connection is a connection and it had proved to be a mutually beneficial one.
Dalton worked in the central morgue, where the unexplained or unknown bodies were sent. He wasn?t a particularly good forensic pathologist; he worked the night shift for a reason. Yet he managed to keep his job by occasionally figuring out a mysterious death that baffled his co-workers and the police. That Sean was usually involved, one way or another, was kept totally secret.
Hence the coded message. It meant that Dalton wanted to see him, preferably right away. That meant visiting the morgue after midnight, going in a conveniently unlocked service door, or the back door that Sean had a key to.
Since he had time to kill, he phoned up a friend and together they caught a late movie. One in English, direct from Hollywood. After that a couple of games of pool, which he lost since he was a terrible pool player. Then a long walk over to the building which housed the morgue kept him busy until after 1 AM. It was good to do something else for an evening. As usual, Dr Borghan was right.

?Hey Dalton? He said after knocking on the frame of the open office door, ?What?s new??
?Hey yourself! That has to be a record, you getting here the same day I called, ha!? Dalton was sitting at his desk, typing up a report. He seemed to be too large for his small desk, and one thought his big fingers would jam the typewriter keys. But they didn?t. Although he looked large he was rather agile for such a big, heavy man. Perhaps it was the way his middle was so much wider than his shoulders, or the way the baldness was spreading on the top of his head. At any rate, he was a shy and reclusive man who had an unpopular job and few friends.
?Well technically it?s the next day you know.?
?Details! Always with the details.? He snorted loudly, one of his many odd habits. ?For me it?s the same day, ok??
?Sure Dalton? Sean laughed ?But the question remains, ?what?s up?? Um, you want me to be quiet while you type that up??
?Naw, I can talk and type, I don?t need no brains to fill out these forms, nothing but technical details. You should do this job, you?d like it, it?s just one freaking detail after another. Hey, speaking of jobs, you been working lately??
?Not for a couple of weeks, and that took me out of town. Why you asking??
?Know of anybody who has been? ?Cause I got a cold one that reminds me of you. Dr Coronado threw it into my lap, the bastard, called me in early to deal with it too. When the cops brought him in, and boy was he a real mess, they seemed a lot more interested than usual. They were really investigating, you know? ?snort- like they cared or something.?
?No, I don?t know of anything lately, it?s been quiet, the off season, you know. What made you think I had something to do with it? It?s not like I send people here, well, except that one time.?
?Two, I?ve been counting. And that?s not counting the??
Sean gave him a look that suggested he not continue that thought.
?..er, um, yeah. Well, they talked a lot about this one. They were asking around his neighbourhood, all sorts of questions. But not about the stiff, oh no! About who he was with and where he went to. They wondered if I could tell them anything like that. Ha! A lot of good asking me all those questions, I ain?t seen squat from inside this tomb. You can learn a lot from a dead body, but who his friends are? Nah! But what made me think of you,? He pulled the form he?d been typing out and put it in a folder. ?Was when they said this guy had been seen with a guy wearing a crumpled old suit and an old man?s hat. They were thinking I could figure something like that out from the body. Ha!?
?Can?t you get a computer to do that? Nobody files forms like that anymore, do they??
?I did it on the stupid computer already, but then I got to do it again on the Underwood. Whatever, it passes the time. So it wasn?t you? Not too many guys with crumpled suits, fitting your description.?
?No, it wasn?t me. Hey, it?s not ?crumpled?!? He tried to smooth the front of his lapels ?I just haven?t ironed much lately.?
?Ha! Try never! Anyhow, come see the stiff, I gotta walk my round anyhow.?
?If you think it?ll help.?
The two men took an elevator to the basement. From there they passed through two locked doors into the room where the bodies were kept. Unlike high-class American hospitals, this morgue simply lay them on a table, under a cloth, in a very cold room. Still, they were respectful of the dead, the lights were low and even Dalton moved and spoke quietly. They went to a room adjacent to the main one, a room with frosted glass on it?s door.
?They put it in here, ?cause it was a jumper. ?snort- A real mess, must have got hit by a bus after it smacked into the pavement or something.? Dalton chuckled as he unlocked the door. He went over to the table and removed the sheet covering the corpse. ?I put him back together as best I could, the guys at the funeral home really appreciate it, they don?t like to work too hard on these ?John Doe? stiffs.?
Sean took one look and felt the bile rise in his throat.
?Yeah, I know him. A little, met him once.?
?No kidding! You can put a name on this meat-bag??
?Just his first name, Juan.?
?Oh, like that?ll help! Can?t be too many ?Juans? in Monterrey and the surrounding area can there? I?ll just be keeping that juicy detail to myself, unless you know something more you?d care to share with me??
Sean shook his head, no.
?Well, there is one more thing. It?s a picture I swiped from the cops when they weren?t looking! It was sticking out of their report, and what a fat report it was! I thought, ?Why do they have a picture in the report of a John Doe? I?m the one who sends pictures of the stiff to them.? So I pinched it! Ha!?
Dalton handed over an 8 by 10, black and white picture. It was of a man falling from a building. Or rather, a white blur falling against a dark grey background. Exactly the same picture Sean had seen on the cover of the newspaper in his dream.
?Jesus man! You look like you seen a ghost!?
Sean handed him back the picture silently. He recognized the apartment block in the background. It was about 5 blocks away from the building. The picture was a still that had been taken from a security camera videotape.
He left without saying another word.

[Branflakes]

I'm still checking it out, Cats. I think it'd be a good idea to post all of it in one thread, that way we can easily reread (since it's been awhile) and new people can jump aboard.

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The ninja lesbian milk getter. aka dorkflakes.
Take the time to feel the wind.
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