Self-Defense Read Online Free PDF

can’t
tell you why, it’s just something I feel.”
    “Any idea what it does have to do with?”
    “No. I’m probably not making much sense.”
    “You never had the dream before the
trial?”
    “Never.”
    “Did anything happen in the middle of the
trial to make you especially tense?”
    “Well,” she said, “actually, it started
right after Milo Sturgis testified. About Carrie. What she went through.”
    She stared at me.
    “So maybe I’m wrong. Maybe hearing about
Carrie evoked something in me—I identified with her and became a little girl
myself. Do you think that’s possible?”
    I nodded.
    Her eyes drifted out toward the ocean.
“The thing is, the dream feels familiar. Like déjà vu. But also new and
strange. And now, the sleepwalking—I guess I’m worried about losing control.”
    “Have you ever sleepwalked before?”
    “Not that I’m aware of.”
    “Did you wet the bed as a child?”
    She blushed. “What does that have to do
with it?”
    “Sometimes sleepwalking and bedwetting are
related biologically. Some people have a genetic tendency for both.”
    “Oh.... Well, yes, I did do that. A
little, when I was very young.”
    She shifted in her chair.
    “Do the dreams wake you up?” I said.
    “I wake up thinking about them.”
    “Any particular time of night?”
    “Early in the morning, but it’s still
dark.”
    “How do you feel physically when you wake
up?”
    “A little sick—sweating and clammy, my
heart’s pounding. Sometimes my stomach starts to hurt. Like an ulcer.” Poking
her finger just below her sternum.
    “Have you had an ulcer?”
    “Just a small one, for a few weeks—the
summer before I started college. The dreams make me feel the same sort of way,
but not as bad. Usually the pain goes away if I just lie there and try to
relax. If it doesn’t, I take an antacid.”
    “Do you tend to get stomachaches?”
    “Once in a while, but nothing serious. I’m
healthy as a horse.”
    Another glance at the water.
    “The grinding sound,” she said. “Do you
have any theories about that?”
    “Does it mean anything to you?”
    Long pause. “Something... sexual. I guess.
The rhythm?”
    “You think the men may be having sex with
her?”
    “Maybe—but what’s the difference? It’s
just a dream. Maybe we should forget the whole thing.”
    “Recurrent unpleasant dreams usually mean
something’s on your mind, Lucy. I think you’re wise to deal with it.”
    “What could be on my mind?”
    “That’s what we’re here to find out.”
    “Yes.” She smiled. “Guess so.”
    “Is there anything else you want to tell
me about the dream?”
    She thought. “Sometimes it changes
focus—right in the middle.”
    “The picture gets clearer? Or fuzzier?”
    “Both. The focus goes back and forth. As
if someone inside my brain is adjusting a lens—some kind of homunculus—an incubus. Do you know what that is?”
    “An evil spirit that visits sleeping
women.” And rapes them.
    “An evil spirit,” she repeated. “Now I’m
lapsing into mythology. This is starting to feel a little silly.”
    “Does the girl in the dream resemble
anyone you know?”
    “Her back’s to me. I can’t see her face.”
    “Can you describe her at all?”
    She closed her eyes and, once again, her
head swayed. “Let’s see... she’s wearing a short white dress —very short.
It rides up her legs... long legs. Trim thighs, like from aerobics... and long
dark hair. Hanging down in a sheet.”
    “How old would you say she is?”
    “Um... she has a young body.” Opening her
eyes. “What’s weird is that she never moves, even when the man carrying her
jostles her. Like someone... with no control. That’s all I remember.”
    “Nothing about the men?”
    “Nothing.” Eyeing her purse.
    “But one of them is definitely your
father.”
    Her hands flew together and laced tightly.
“Yes.”
    “You see his face.”
    “For a second he turns and I see him.”
    She’d gone pale and her face