The Edge of Dreams (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #14)

“I’ve had them sometimes, you know, the way one does. But not like this. These are so vivid and horrible, and when I wake up I don’t know whether I’m awake or asleep, or what is real and what is not.”


“Can you tell me about any of them?” Gus asked.

“It’s hard.” Mabel looked flustered now. “They are so real at the time, but when I try to remember, it’s all so unclear.”

“Tell me about the first one,” Gus said gently. “What is the one thing you remember—the one thing that made you afraid?”

“The snake,” Mabel said firmly. “There is always the snake.”

“You dream of a snake?”

“A giant snake,” Mabel said. “So big that it fills the room and looms over me.”

“What does this snake look like?” Gus asked.

Mabel shuddered. “It’s shiny and it has eyes like slits and it rises up over me, and…”

“Is it red?” Gus asked.

Mabel shook her head. “It’s all black, and I see these eyes looking down at me, and it bends nearer and nearer and…” She stopped, shuddering. “I don’t want to go on,” she said. “It’s too horrible.”

“Does the snake try to bite you?” Gus asked.

“I said I don’t want to go on,” Mabel said, more firmly now.

“I know this is upsetting for you, Mabel, but I am trying to help. So tell me, is the snake always in the nightmares?” Gus asked.

Mabel frowned. Then she said, “I think so. Yes, but I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I can see his eyes. They are just slits, but they glint when he looks at me, as if he is pleased.”

“I would like to help you,” Gus said, “but I can’t unless you describe the dreams in detail to me.”

“No.” She was shaking her head violently. “No. I don’t want to remember.”

“I’m afraid the nightmares will continue until we can decipher what they mean,” Gus said gently. “Usually once we unlock the symbols in such dreams, they go away. You want that, don’t you? You want to be free of them.”

“Yes, but I can’t…”

“I have an idea,” Gus said. “Why don’t you write down what you remember of the dreams, at your leisure, when we’re not here? When you have another dream, write it down as soon as you wake up, when it’s still real and vivid to you. Because, you see, we now think that our dreams are symbols. So any small detail that you can remember may be the key.”

“The key to what?” Mabel asked.

“To what happened on the night of the fire.”

“We know what happened,” Mabel said. “There was a fire. My parents got burned up. I escaped and they didn’t.”

Gus stood up. “We should go now,” she said. “But I’d like to come back again, if I may, to see what you’ve remembered and written down. It might be very helpful, Mabel. I suspect you’ll go on having the dreams until we can figure out what they mean.”

We were about to leave when we heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Mrs. Hamilton came in, looking rather flustered. “Mabel, dear, you have another visitor,” she said. “I tried to tell him that you weren’t well enough to receive visitors today, but…”

And a big, blond-haired man wearing the New York police uniform pushed past her into the room. He looked absurdly young to be a policeman, like a chubby, overgrown schoolboy.

“Hello, Mabel,” he said. “I’m back again for another little chat. Wanting to see if you’ve anything more to tell me. If your memory has returned.”

He looked around, suddenly taking in the three of us. “Hello, what have we got here?” he said. “Having a little party, are you? And your aunt saying you were too weak to receive visitors.” He smirked. I took an instant dislike to him.

“I think she meant outsiders,” Sid said, glancing across at Mrs. Hamilton. “That doesn’t apply to family and friends.” She went across to him, extending her hand. “I am Elena Goldfarb. Mrs. Hamilton was at Vassar with us. We are old, old friends.”

“Lieutenant Yeats,” the blond man said. “New York police. And I’m glad to see that Mabel is now well enough to receive old, old friends of the family. Being among old friends may well have jogged her memory, eh, Mabel?” He looked from one of us to the next. “So has she decided to confide in any of you what happened on the night of the fire?”

“Lieutenant Yeats,” Mrs. Hamilton said severely. “How many more times do I have to tell you that the child remembers nothing?”

“Conveniently for her, so it would seem,” he said. “So your memory hasn’t returned yet, Mabel? You still don’t know how you came to be lying on the ground, apparently asleep, while your house was burning?”

“I told you, I don’t know.” Mabel’s voice trembled. “Why don’t you believe me? Why do you keep coming back like this? Make him go away, Aunt Minnie.”