Overheard in a Dream. Torey Hayden

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      The book opened with Billy’s poignant efforts at fourteen to give himself a native name. Having no real connection to the spiritual tradition of his heritage, the only native naming ceremony he had witnessed was on an episode of “Star Trek”. Thus it was First Officer Chakotay who guided him as he “received” his name from the only natural thing he encountered in his city apartment at that moment – the wind.

      What was clever in Laura’s writing – beyond the simple fact that she had a compelling narrative style that quickly drew the reader in and didn’t let go – was that she was capable of creating a very substantial reality from Billy’s thoughts. Initially James couldn’t tell if these “others” Billy experienced were literal and Billy was having a paranormal experience, or if they were metaphorical and Billy was simply personifying his conflicts of identity.

      This uncertainty bothered James at first. Gripping as the style of writing was, he was irritated at not being able to tell if he was reading a realistic exploration of the human mind or just a fantasy. Indeed, it bothered him so much that he got up and did a quick search on the internet for reviews to see how others had resolved the issue.

      The reviews made much of Billy’s Native American ancestry and the tendency in these shamanistic cultures to incorporate visions and visitations into their religious beliefs, often brought on by drug use, sleep deprivation or fasting. None of the reviews labelled the book as fantasy or “magical realism,” so James took this to mean the spirits were all in Billy’s head and reading the remainder of the book would make this clear.

      James knew what the reviewers didn’t, however, and that was about Torgon. Laura’s vivid description of her childhood encounter loomed over Billy’s experiences of “hearing” the sky or “seeing” his ancestors flying before the thunderclouds on the plains. Had the novel been an acceptable way for Laura to explore her own experiences with Torgon?

      Drawn back into the story, he read on.

      When James next looked up, it was 9:45. He stared at the clock in astonishment. How had it reached that time? The long-planned evening of beer and football with Lars’s buddies would be almost over by now, to say nothing of how worried Lars would be that he hadn’t shown up and that he wasn’t at home or, indeed, reachable on his mobile phone, since he always left it turned off at work.

      Had the phone in the front office rung at any point? He hadn’t heard it, if it had. Closing the book, James stared at its deceptively plain cover.

      This scared him, this unexpected enthrallment. He found it deeply unsettling that Laura Deighton’s imagination had so successfully managed to overpower his real world.

       Chapter Nine

      “Close the door,” Conor said abruptly. He was just inside the playroom. Dulcie had already shut the door and gone.

      “Today you want the door shut,” James said.

      “Today you want the door shut,” Conor echoed. There was a pause. His eyes flicked over James’s face and moved on. “Shut the door,” he said.

      James caught the slight grammatical change and it intrigued him. Conor wasn’t always echoing. He often manipulated sentences, changing their structure subtly. It was easy to mistakenly believe they were just echoes, because normally one paid conscious attention only to the meaning of conversation, not the grammar unless it jarred. Increasingly, however, James noticed that Conor was doing this.

      Changing the grammatical construction indicated Conor understood the meaning of the words. But then why echo so much? Was it for safety reasons? The echoed phrase was safe because someone else had said it first. Conor knew he wasn’t risking anything by echoing. Following the echo up with a subtle re-phrasing made the sentence his own.

      James decided to pursue this possibility. “That’s right,” he said. “Shut the door. You know how to use words, don’t you?”

      “You know how to use words, don’t you?” Conor echoed.

      “Sometimes it’s scary to say things that are different.”

      “Ehhh-ehhh-ehh-ehh-ehh,” Conor replied.

      “Don’t worry. In here you decide. If you want to use your own words, you can. But if you prefer to use my words, that’s all right too. It’s your choice.”

      “Ehhh-ehhh-ehh-ehh-ehh.”

      James opened his notebook to write.

      “Shut the door,” Conor said tentatively.

      There was a pause.

      “Close the door,” Conor said.

      “Shut the door. Close the door. Yes, that’s right,” James said. “Two different words can do the same job. You’re smart about words, aren’t you?”

      “Yes, that’s right,” Conor replied and James suspected it wasn’t an echo.

      “What’s so depressing to me,” Alan said at the start of his session, “is that I’ve already fucked up one marriage. I’ve been through all the shit of fighting with an ex, of losing kids, of not getting to see them grow up. Been there, done that. So I can’t see how, for the life of me, I’ve ended up here again. I so thought I had it right this time.”

      “What about your life before Laura?” James asked.

      “I come from a family of high flyers who’ve been out in Wyoming since early pioneer days. My great-granddad founded the first bank in Gillette. When he retired, his son – my granddad – became the bank president. Then when the time came, it passed to my dad, who was his son. So, of course, it was just assumed that I’d go into banking too.

      “I did try. I went to college and got the necessary business degree. I found my trophy wife in Fran. We got married in June the year I graduated and she was pregnant with our first daughter by July. I was in the bank by August. I did everything I should. But I hated my life. The world of banking just seemed so hideously dull and dusty to me. I was crap at it because I just didn’t care.

      “It was through the bank, though, that I got into dealing cattle. Started out by giving loans. That’s part of why I was so bad at it, because I kept lending money to these dirt poor ranchers who wanted to do something stupid like go buy some fancy continental bull like a Charolais that was completely inappropriate for Wyoming conditions. Pretty soon I was going out to see the cattle. Just checking out our investment in the beginning, but I liked going. I liked getting out of the bank. Before I knew it, I’d bought a few myself. And then I bought a small ranch to keep them on. That’s what did it. Up until that point I could keep up the pretence that I was really a banker. But I was good at cattle. I could do with cattle what my dad could do with numbers, and I loved it. That was a new feeling for me – doing something I loved – and I loved everything about it. The sounds, the smells, being outdoors. Being successful.

      “When my father found out about the ranch, he went cold as the North Pole towards me. To him it was all about the legacy, about who was going to take over the bank after him, who was going to keep the McLachlan name on the office door and I was letting him down. I wasn’t living up to my obligations. I hadn’t even managed to produce a son, just three daughters.

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