notes/disclaimers
I awake slowly, my heart beating fast. The sun is still down. It takes me a second to remember. I've had that dream again. The one where I find serenity. Even now, years later, I still think it will happen as before, where I am the only one who can save myself or I am alone;and will die in the snow.
I don't know specifically when it started. I never paid much attention to the surreal images that came to me once I retired for the evening. I would estimate it began twenty-five years ago, when I was still a child. However, for the longest time, the dreams did not make much of an indelible impression, create a deep awareness or even make me pay close attention. There was a drastic change along the way, when they took a decidedly vicious turn. And they stayed that way for quite some time, as nighttime visions that ended in a desperate fight for survival...that I would lose. It would take eleven years for the vile outcome to change.
It always starts the same. I am young, about eight or nine. I am walking, alone, in the frigid cold, in endless snow, a raging storm hindering my progress. Suddenly, I realize I do not know where I am. I do not know where I have come from or which direction I should take. Frantically, I look around to get my bearings, but the blizzard is making it hard to see more than just a few feet. I am totally lost, which is shocking and terrifying.
Being abandoned in the frozen, barren wasteland is something that never truly has frightened me while awake, especially in my years with the RCMP. It did not stop me when I jumped into Prince Rupert Sound and Diefenbaker had to rescue me. But my subconscious seemingly views such a fate differently. In the dream, the air is bitterly frigid, so very cold, with freezing winds that sting my face and eyes. Huge flakes whip up and around me, nearly carrying me away with them, in a warped frenzy. Sometimes, I let them. Oddly enough, maybe in a frantic hope to appease my icy captor, the cruel breeze takes me. I leave Earth and flip and fly and soar amongst the frosted clouds...but, oddly, I feel little exhilaration. I am scared, but believe I have no choice in risking my life.
Somehow, I know there is shelter nearby. And without ceremony;it is there. Suddenly appearing out of nowhere, there is large, a majestic house, in the middle of the storm. It is a beautiful, old dwelling that resides in many places; always finding me right at the point when my fear is at it's highest. It shows itself to me in many forms, in various locations. All I do know is, for some, unexplained reason, I recognize this place;and it warms me greatly just to see it. It is huge and has many rooms and is beautifully decorated, depending on the way it is presented. Even the style changes occasionally, from a hearty log cabin in the Territories, a stone castle in Scotland or a two-story manor somewhere in Britain Yet always in the middle of a snowstorm. However, it is always my oasis.
Somehow, I find a way inside. Usually, I'm in some kind of master bedroom. It is musty and damp and I can see my breath. Often, it is just as cold as it is outside and I must make a fire in the brick hearth nearby. Other times, my feet and hands are numb from the cold, so I crawl in the canopy bed, under the blankets, shivering, my teeth chattering. Occasionally, in other rooms, I find food that must be cooked or tea that must be prepared. Nonetheless, being here, within these walls, is a blessing. It is a secret place where I can survive, a respite from the threat of death outside. That is, until Victoria.
After my experience with her at Fortitude Pass, the dreams took on an insidious direction. No longer were they innocuous, unconscious images of finding solace from a perceived threat. I would still find myself alone, on a high clift made of icicles, or on an ice flow in semi-frozen lake. And I would still encounter the house in alternate states of design and regions. But once I nearly died with the woman I thought I loved in a similar domain, the building was no longer a safe haven.
I emerge from the storm, and yes, it is there, but abandoned. The doors have been ripped off, the windows busted and it is obvious a fire destroyed the back half of the dilapidated abode. Other times, the place would be intact, but I could not find a way inside. The glass windows are unbreakable, the doors sealed shut. My salvation had either been destroyed or was impenetrable. Staring helplessly at my former sanctuary, I know I am going to freeze to death. For years, it was a nightmare that repeatedly woke me, sweating and afraid.
It wasn't until I came to Chicago did the caustic scenes start to retreat. The lurid perceptions that occurred during slumber ended without the usual, dreaded incident. At first, I thought the cause was the death of my father, but that sad experience would not explain a lessening in subconscious danger. The nightmares became infrequent and sometimes, even when I would see myself alone, as a child in the storm for some reason, I knew I wasn't alone.
It took nearly a year for me to fully understand why I was finding peace during sleep. It wasn't until Victoria came to destroy me, did that horrible, if imagined, fate return when I closed my eyes in repose. It was then, recovering in the hospital from the bullet that both saved and nearly ended my life, did I discover why the city had quelled my once angry musings during dozing.
That was two years ago. Since that time, I have had no fear when I lay my head to rest. Finally, my breathing and heart rate has returned to normal. I slide back down to hold the man next to me. You see, I have found the owner of the house, the cabin, the castle, the mysteriously comforting lair of my childhood, whatever you want to call it and he wants to share his home with me. For life.
End.