The Vampire (THE VAMPIRE Book 1) (28 page)

He was taken aback. He hadn’t thought he really was disturbed by it. It was just an interesting dream.

Jason began to reflect on this.

“There was a steadily growing sense of fear…it was just a house…but…the house…was not what it seemed to be. Deceiving. It seemed there was so much more on the inside than what you saw from the outside. I felt like I was being pulled deeper and deeper into some mystery…I felt like I wanted to get out of there. Compelled and pulled…toward some secret that I—did not want to see or know…” he stopped, with a puzzled look on his face. His throat began to tighten. He suddenly felt too warm; flushed. He was a little dizzy and somewhat uncomfortable, as if he needed fresh air.
The lingering illness I suppose
.

“If you had to take a guess—right now—what do you think that secret is?”

His mouth went a little dry. He drank some of the tea. Normally tea was refreshing to him. Just now it did nothing to ease the dryness in his throat. His hands were shaky too. He set his cup down. “Could I please have some water?”

She called out to the young girl tending the shop who poked her head into the back room. She went to get a pitcher of ice water and then poured Jason a tall glass.

“I was sick in bed for several days,” he explained, “and I’m still not fully recovered.”

She nodded slowly.

“You mentioned there was someone with you…in the actual house…and in the dream as well?”

His brow furrowed. He drank down the glass of water.

“I felt a presence…standing…near. There, but…not actually there.”

“You felt a presence, but did not see anyone?”

“Right.”

“What happens…when you start to think of what the dream might mean…when you try to focus on the secret?”

“It—becomes hard to concentrate. I start to feel restless. Kind of overwhelmed. I feel like I want to run; my heart beats faster. I want to get away, but I feel immobilized.” Jason surprised himself. He took a few deep breaths.
It’s just a dream,
he reminded himself.

“What you are describing sounds a lot like a panic attack. Have you ever had one of those?”

“No. Never.”

“Why don’t we take a break for a few moments.” She stood smoothly, her skirt swirling around her feet.

“Good idea.” He got up and started to walk around the shop, carrying his cup of tea. She watched him from the beaded doorway.

“So, you do tarot cards, palm readings, past life regressions—all of that?” he asked.

“Yes. Is that something that would interest you?”

“Can you really tell a lot about a person, know a person that way?”

“Sometimes.” She watched as he paced nervously, looking at things in the shop, but not really focusing on them.

Interesting,
he thought,
the way I phrased that. Not—can you tell the future, but can you know a person. I don’t even know what my own thoughts mean right now
.

“I need to get a gift for someone who is difficult to buy for. I already decided to stop at the mall on the way home to get something. But—maybe something else to go with it.” Jason was thinking of an Invader Zim shirt—if there some new ones out—or maybe an IT Crowd shirt from the mall. Now he was glancing at items in the center display case.

“Well, what kinds of things does this person like? Maybe I can suggest something.”

Jason laughed. “He’s very unusual. I think you would need more than Tarot cards to figure him out.”

“You’d be surprised.” she said. “Sometimes all I need is a personal item that belongs to someone; I can hold on to it and tell a lot about them.”

Jason looked at her for a few moments, thinking.

He walked back to the table and picked up Augere’s fountain pen. He showed it to her. “Would this work? It belongs to him.”

She examined it as he held it in his hand. He offered it for her to hold.

She took the pen in her hands and turned it over several times. Then she let it rest in the open palm of her hand and gazed at it.

“I am getting the impression this pen is old. Very, very old.” She held the pen alongside the left side of her head for a minute or so. Then placed it in one palm for a few moments and then in the other. Suddenly it was all looking like a sideshow trick to Jason. Was she toying with him?

“Absolutely extraordinary.” She seemed in genuine awe, and closed her eyes for several moments.

“It’s just a fountain pen,” Jason felt the need to say. But she held his full attention now.

She shook her head. “Not exactly.” A few moments passed. “Impossible.” She whispered. “He writes with this pen, very often. He writes in French…English…it looks like Italian also, maybe. And Latin. He is French. He has a connection—a very strong connection it seems—to New Orleans.”

Jason stared at her in amazement.

“He has lost something…I don’t get a sense of it…of what it is but it means a lot to him—a kind of a good luck—no, more than that…I may be confusing the object now with the person. The images come so quickly.”

She set the pen down on the table and stared at it. It held her gaze for some time. She got up from the table and walked to one of the display cases. She brought a set of keys out of her skirt pocket and Jason watched as she opened the case and then selected the item she had been searching for. She removed it for Jason to see.

“It is not exactly the item I ‘saw’ but it is very close. And this is actually from France. I purchased it there myself. I think he would like this.”

Jason took it in his hand to examine it. It was an exquisite silver fleur de lis charm; a little larger than quarter sized; thick, weighted, smooth with beveled edges that reflected light. It could be worn as a either a pendant or attached to a bracelet. It had a masculine look to it and Jason thought it was quite beautiful. Perfect for Augere. But how could she know? He had said nothing about the missing fleur de lis. Could it be just coincidence?

“Of course, you could always return it if he didn’t like it.”

“This will be fine actually.” It was more appropriate than anything else Jason had come up with so far. And he could still pick out a shirt for Augere. Why not.

She turned her attention to the pen again as they went to sit back at the little table. The pen sat on the table between them.

“This pen must have been handed down for many generations. I get images from it that seem to predate the Civil War; a lot of strong emotion is attached to this object; or maybe not this very object itself, but—I think maybe I was sensing several different life times.”

“You can really tell all that—from a pen?”

“Well.” She laughed. “Not a BIC pen, necessarily. But a fountain pen is quite different. It is a very personal object. My father used to use one and I learned a lot about them from him. People tend to keep them for a long time and take good care of them. The nib, the actual writing part, tends to adapt to the writer over the years and the longer the pen is used the smoother it writes for that writer. So there is much more of a personal element involved; the writer’s life, emotions, history and experiences etc. can become attached to and a part of that writing instrument, in a sense.” She noticed his rapt attention, and laughed gaily. “And that is probably a lot more than you ever wanted to know about fountain pens.”

“Actually that is quite interesting. I never would have realized any of that. What else can you tell me about the pen, or actually, the owner of it?”

“Why don’t we continue with the dream analysis first, if that is okay? And come back to the pen a little later. I want to absorb the energy from the pen for a bit. Get a clearer sense of it first.”

Jason nodded, fascinated. He was a little reluctant to continue with the dream again. He was trying to stall. Then he took a deep breath and told her as much of the dream as he could remember in its entirety and then used his notes to add more details.

After he was done, Redlyn studied the notes she had been taking. Several minutes passed before she spoke.

“Okay—this is just one interpretation and not intended to be definitive. Again, it might resonate with you immediately, or not at all; or again, it might at some future time.”

Jason nodded.

“I see the house as possibly representing yourself, or ‘selves.’ The various rooms being the selves that one keeps hidden, even from ourselves; secret desires or longings, events, memories—that one is afraid might ‘come to light ‘and so are hidden in darkness. Your hand is on the lid of a box—are you really opening it, or are you closing it? Is there an attempt to keep things hidden or buried? These things could be in the recesses—‘the different rooms’—or in layers of your subconscious, because you are not ready to deal with them. The house is ‘nice’ on the outside; there is a normal outer appearance, while your true self could be hidden under a pleasant exterior. There could be a fear of being found out; others may see the unpleasant aspects—the ‘decay’ or unpleasantness barely disguised by ephemeral layers of dust. Your true feelings, motives, fears, longings, secrets may be what is at stake to be kept safe. There could be a fear of them being ‘just barely hidden below the surface’ and in danger of being suddenly exposed. The box contains all of those things, perhaps more, and you may feel you have to ‘keep a lid’ on all of it. You may fear risking your emotions, showing your true feelings. In that case the table becomes a focal point—a platform or display—where things come to light, such as ‘putting your cards on the table’ so to speak. And having a fear of doing so.”

Jason was fascinated and impressed with the interpretation; he nodded as he continued making a few notes, and made sure the digital recorder was still operating.
She’s good
.

“Alternatively, the house may not be an actual house, but a metaphor for a person. Possibly—you are projecting yourself onto something inanimate.

“The house as a person: a tall, stately, young, vibrant outward appearance, but disguising someone who is not what they seem. The inside—the inner person—is older, wiser and more mature than the outward appearance suggests; the inner history may be more extensive and complex, and not consistent with the outer appearance. Passing from one room to another: secrets surrounded by darkness, literally and figuratively. Perhaps a deception, a complex mystery, going back over a long time. Someone who keeps their true self, their emotions, and their agenda, hidden. There is a sense of fear of the unknown, and unknowable. Again the table represents a focal point, a desire ‘to get everything out on the table.’ Your hand is on the lid; you are in a position to take action, or you want to be, or are pushed to be: you want to know but you are afraid to know. You are about to open the lid to finally see and acknowledge all that has been kept hidden; or you are closing the lid—to avert your eyes to the truth about a person or about a situation, preferring to keep it hidden or not to know.”

“I think I’m going to need more water,” Jason stated. He felt his cheeks flush. For several moments the room was too warm. He got up and refilled his glass with ice water.

She watched him quietly for several moments. He did not meet her gaze when he sat down again.

“Remember, it is just a subjective analysis, among other possible interpretations. This may be all there is to it; or after reflection other meanings might occur to you. The conscious mind may be slow to acknowledge what the unconscious mind knows or reveals.” She paused.

“Can I make you more tea?”

Jason nodded. “The Earl Grey would be great.”

He wanted to linger here longer with her. He felt uncomfortable and yet she helped make him feel comfortable at the same time. The scent of the tea and some incense that was burning now, the overall atmosphere, was soothing to him. Even the temperature was comfortable to him again. Any discomfort seemed to come from within himself.

“Would you like me to do a tarot or a palm reading for you?”

His palms felt kind of sweaty. “A tarot reading would be interesting, I think. What would you suggest?”

“Perhaps a little of both. Don’t worry.” She looked up at him with a smile and a twinkle in her eye. “I won’t charge you outrageously. Not a Minnesota boy.”

He laughed. “Whatever you think then.” He was glad for the excuse to linger. She was giving him a lot to think about and he was enjoying her company.

She showed him several tarot decks and asked him to select the one he favored. He looked them all over: she had nine different decks, all of them interesting looking. He chose the Egyptian deck. She had him divide the cards into several different stacks and then had him mix all of the stacks as he wished. Then she began to lay the cards out into a pattern. Jason had had a tarot card reading done only once before. It had seemed very generalized to him, and not very applicable to anything going on in his life at that time, but quite interesting nonetheless.

She took a moment to look the cards over. She jotted down some notes. Then she began:

“At the beginning of this year, you had a reversal of fortune. There have been many changes for you. These have been good changes and you have been pleased with the outcomes.” She paused, looking the cards over for a moment. “You will be traveling soon…”

“Any idea where?” Jason interrupted to ask. He hoped if it was Savannah again, they would fly this time.

“I see you traveling…over water at some point…and… there will be an ending of sorts. I just had a flash, a quick image of a gondola, so I am going to say Italy because I see a lot of water also. And then you will be trying with great difficulty to reach a distant shore…some remote, hard to reach place…it will seem impossible…a struggle and great hardship. This is not so much physical, however…” She paused, frowning as she gazed at the cards.

“There is an element of danger too…” She frowned again and was silent for several moments, gazing at the cards. “…from unexpected sources.” She met his worried gaze. “It will be a very difficult experience, I’m afraid.”

“Someone is not going to die are they?” Jason asked with alarm, thinking of his family.

“No—nothing like that. Not an actual death. I see something coming apart. Difficult decisions will need to be made.”