The Dead Man

Chapter Twenty-three

I headed to the elevator when Lucy called, saying she was waiting in the circle drive. Maggie Brennan got on when it stopped on the third floor. She was a head shorter than me but solid, thick without being heavy, bundled in a gray overcoat, her head wrapped in a gray scarf, just as Janet Casey had described. A black purse was slung over her shoulder, the monochromatic outfit making her invisible on a cloudy day or dark night. Even were the sun shining, she evoked anonymity, someone passersby would neither notice nor remember. She glanced up at me and then lowered her head, reminding me of her reaction in Corliss's office.

"Have we met before today?" I asked her.

"I don't believe so."

"It's just that when I walked in on you and Dr. Corliss, it was like you knew me and not in a good way."

"You'll have to forgive me. I startle easily. I meant no offense."

"None taken. It's a small world. I used to be with the FBI. I have lunch with a group of guys, all retired law enforcement. We kick around cold cases, the ones we didn't solve. One of the guys, a retired sheriff, had a case where a couple was killed. They had a daughter named Maggie Brennan, same as you."

"I googled my name once. There were too many Maggie Brennans to count."

It was a politician's response, neither admitting nor denying. I knew many victims of crime who, like war veterans, wouldn't talk about their experiences, especially to strangers.

"So, how do you do it?" I asked her.

"Do what?"

"Teach people to control their dreams."

She raised her head a fraction. "The short explanation is that we use external cues during REM sleep such as recordings and tactile stimuli like special lights that alert the subject to the dream state without interrupting it."

"I've never heard of that before. It sounds impossible."

"Don't confuse the unfamiliar with the improbable," she said.

"Does it really work?"

"I'm an agnostic. We don't have enough data yet. But if we can't answer that question soon, Milo Harper will cut off our funding and we may never find out."

"What do the volunteers tell you?"

"Some subjects tell us that they are able to recognize when they're dreaming and then direct their dreams. Three-fourths of dream content is negative, frightening, and scary. These people say they can make their dreams more pleasing."

The elevator doors opened and I followed her into the lobby.

"What's that do for them when they're awake?"

She stopped, raising her head to mine. Her eyes were dark pools, anxious and sad.

"Dreams allow us to overcome inhibitions so we can do the things we fantasize about when we're awake. People who can control their dreams may be better able to break free of their inhibitions."

I wondered whether she would change her mind when she found out that Jason Bolt's expert witness agreed with her. "Does that make them better or worse?"

"It depends on the inhibition. Overcoming an inhibition to assert yourself can make you a better employee. Overcoming an inhibition about sex can make you a better lover."

"What about the inhibitions that protect us from our worst impulses?"

"It should be obvious that overcoming those inhibitions can have unfortunate consequences."

"Like suicide?"

"I'm a neuroscientist. I study the effects of psychological trauma on the brain. Dr. Corliss is a psychologist. He deals with behavior."

"How?"

"By helping people overcome their inhibitions."

"Even if it kills them?"

"You'll have to ask Dr. Corliss."

"I'm asking you. Did Tom Delaney and Regina Blair die because Corliss taught them to overcome their inhibitions?

"You are asking a question I cannot answer."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't. Who can say why such things happen?"

"But if that is what happened to Delaney and Blair, their deaths would be powerful proof of your theories. Harper might even keep funding you if no one found out that your study had a fatal flaw."

"Those are Dr. Corliss's theories, not mine."

"I thought you were partners in this project."

"He is the lead investigator. We have different responsibilities. I'm concerned with memories, the input, if you will, of dreams. He's concerned with dreams and their effect on behavior, the output from those memories. That said, if what you suggest is true, it would be powerful proof, though I admit it raises ethical questions I leave to philosophers. As for the funding, well, I don't share Anthony's ambitions. I'm tired and I'll be relieved when my work ends."

"That's a pretty casual attitude about an experiment that may kill people."

"Perhaps, but I suppose I'm too used to death. I've studied many people who were perpetrators or victims of violence and I can tell you one thing I've learned. Killing is easy. Dying is hard."

"How about you? Have you learned to control your dreams?"

Her eyes searched mine and I saw in them a shared pain. We both knew the aftermath of violent death.

"Nightmares, Mr. Davis. I have nightmares that never leave me and no one can control. If you'll excuse me, I have a long drive. I live in the country where roads don't get plowed and the snow stays until it melts."

She pushed the Call button for the elevator to the parking garage.

"It's possible that Delaney didn't commit suicide but that his dreams still caused his death," I said.

The garage elevator opened. She stood, her back to me, as three people stepped onto the elevator, turning around when the doors closed.

"You're suggesting he and Walter Enoch were both murdered?"

"And maybe Regina Blair, though I've got nothing to go on there except that she was a dream project volunteer like Delaney and Enoch."

"And was it their dreams or their participation in our project that proved fatal?"

"It could be both," I said.

"You look as though you are concerned about more than that. Are you worried about me? Do you think there is a madman at work who might threaten me because I have nightmares?"

"There may be."

"You needn't worry. I've known for a long time how my life will end."

"You sound like a fatalist. I thought scientists were rationalists."

"I know what I know," she said.

"Knowing how you'll die is one thing. Knowing when is another."

"The when will take care of itself," she said. In the meantime, will you protect me?"

"Yes."

She patted me on the arm. "Then I won't worry. I'll leave that to you."