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

“Fourteen,” Gus replied.

He nodded. “This is a common dream at the time of female development, no? The snake? The male symbol? She fears being consumed by her own sexuality, and being dominated by a male.”

“I would agree with you, Dr. Werner, except she has been through a traumatic event,” Gus said. “Her house burned down with her parents in it. She was found unharmed in the garden and remembers nothing of that night. But her dreams are full of terror. I am sure something terrible happened that night that she can’t remember.”

“Naturally something terrible happened—a fire that consumes the house and kills her parents. What could be more terrible? And you say that she escapes, unharmed? Well, then I suggest that the snake could represent her guilt. She feels she could have saved them. Have done more. And her guilt consumes her.”

“Oh,” Gus said, considering this. “You may be right. She clearly adored her parents. Perhaps she wanted to help, but was driven back by the fire.”

“Exactly. You see. Not so complicated after all.” He permitted himself a tight-lipped smile.

“But I would still be very grateful if you could spare a minute to visit her,” Gus said. “She lives in the city.”

“I really do not think…” he began. “My ship. It sails in a few days. There is much to do.”

“It seems that everyone is heading home to Germany at the moment,” I said. “Another colleague of yours, Dr. Birnbaum, was also sailing home this week.”

“Birnbaum? I am not acquainted with this name,” he said.

“He also trained in Vienna with Freud,” I said, “but he has been in this country for several years now.”

“Then it is sad that our paths did not cross either here or in Vienna. I should have welcomed the chance to converse in my own language. It tires one to always have to think of the correct English word.”

“Your English is very good,” Gus said.

“One improves with time, but I still do not speak it naturally.”

I had to agree with that. His accent was still strong, and the words were delivered with such staccato force that it was almost painful to listen to him. I found myself thinking that I would not have wanted to listen to one of the lectures he had apparently been giving all over the country.

“Perhaps you will be on the same ship as Dr. Birnbaum,” I said. “Then you two can chat about your research all the way across the Atlantic.”

“That would be a pleasure.” He looked at me critically. “You are also a student of psychology, meine Frau?”

“No. I’m a wife and mother,” I said. “Just a friend and neighbor of these ladies. I live across the street.”

“A charming street it is indeed,” he said. “It is good to live a tranquil life.”

Sid chuckled. “Molly hardly lives a tranquil life. Her husband is a policeman, and she was recently in that horrible train crash.”

“The train crash? Mein Gott, what a calamity this was. This train driver—he should be punished for driving so fast.” He turned the full force of his stare on me again. “You were lucky that you escaped unhurt, meine Frau.”

“Hardly unhurt. She cracked her ribs and had a concussion,” Gus said. “She’s still getting headaches. And bad dreams.”

“No, really. I am fine. Mending quickly,” I said, laughing off her concern.

“You have seen a doctor for this?”

“Yes, at the hospital. Ribs have to heal themselves, so I understand.”

“But the headaches.” He made a tut-tutting noise. “One does not trifle with a blow to the head. I could perhaps prescribe something to relieve the pain and help you sleep, if you wish?”

“Thank you, it’s very kind of you when you’re so busy,” I said. “But I’m sure the local dispensary could also…”

“It is no problem.” He waved an elegant hand at me. “It will take but a minute. I will have a messenger deliver it to you. You say your house is opposite this one?”

“Yes, number nine. Thank you very much. You’re very kind,” I said.

“This young girl, Dr. Werner,” Gus said. “Would you not at least see her? A recommendation from you would mean a lot to the family.”

“Her name?”

“Her name is Mabel Hamilton. She is living with her aunt on East Twentieth Street, near Gramercy Park.”

“Mabel Hamilton.” He spoke the words carefully, as if Mabel was a name he had never heard before. “Very well. I will grant your request and see Fraulein Mabel.” He pronounced it May Bell. “We could go now, if you wish, since I have no appointment before this afternoon.”

“I’ll go and summon a cab,” Sid said.