“I see,” Helen said with a nod then turned her head and proceeded to look out at the broken cloud cover.

“Anyway, that’s the story. And, that’s when the nightmare started. And, like I said, it’s just been getting worse since.”

“So,” she said after an uncomfortable pause. “Now, you believe Felicity is leading a double life and actually killed those two men.”

I looked back at her with complete incredulity twisting my features. “Hell no! Where in the world did you get that?”

“So, then why is it you told me you think Felicity is the woman in your nightmare?”

I opened my mouth to reply but closed it quickly. I felt my face relax into a chagrined half smile as the realization dawned on me that I had just been the victim of a carefully guided psychological play. The truly embarrassing part was that I had cast myself in the lead role without realizing it, and all Helen had done was sit back and direct.

“Face my fear, huh?” I grunted.

“Sometimes we use swords, sometimes we use words,” she replied with a shrug. “So, I take this to mean you have managed to reason yourself out of the silly notion that the cruel specter you have been battling nightly is in reality your wife?”

“Yeah,” I replied with a nod.

“She may have a proclivity toward sexual dominance and mildly sadistic play, Rowan, but certainly within limits. She is no monster. You know that.”

“But, the nightmare does mean something…” I ventured.

“I am certain it does. For you, they always do. You simply need to listen to what it is saying and not what you were afraid it might be inferring.”

“There’s just a bit of a language barrier, Helen. Dead people don’t always use words quite the same way you or I do. They like to tell their tales with strange imagery and convoluted verbal references that come across as bizarre parodies of reality.”