It was happening again. The satin sheets dripped with sweat as Claire gasped for breath. Trembling, she concentrated on inhaling and exhaling, convincing herself that she could breathe. This was only a dream or a nightmare. Once over, she never remembered the scenes, just the terrible feeling of helplessness. It always ended when she heard the beep and woke. It was the same damn beep she’d heard when she first arrived. It meant her suite was locked. When the dreams first started, she could roll over, find her sleeping husband, curl up next to him, and fall back to sleep. Now regulating her breathing, she knew that wasn’t possible. Like so many times before, she needed to get out of bed and complete her new routine.
The steady breathing from a few feet away told Claire that Tony was sleeping peacefully. Quietly, she lifted the covers and eased out of bed. Her hands shook as she tied her robe and tiptoed to the hallway door. “This is dumb,” she whispered as her feet crossed the lush carpet. However, it was now her reality. She knew sleep wouldn’t be possible without completing this new drill. Gripping the metal lever, she pulled, and the door easily opened. She closed it and went to the balcony. Moving the draperies aside, the French door opened without hesitation. The rush of fresh air filled the room and her lungs. She walked through the opening, gently closing the door behind her.
Her perspiration-drenched body relished the cool night breeze. Standing at the rail, she inhaled the spring air and lifted her hair to dry the perspiration from her neck. It wasn’t that she wanted to remember the feelings of a year ago. Truly she didn’t. When she stepped onto a patio, terrace, or into the backyard and memories would start to surface, she could stop them. It was at night while she slept that the compartmentalization of her interment would come rushing back. Then in the minutes or hours that followed, she would attempt to calm her lingering fear. It was the one she tried to keep away, the terror that at any moment, without warning, history could repeat itself. The sickening realization that she would be completely helpless to stop it was what robbed her of sleep.
The cool cement under her feet brought her back to present. She shivered, pulled her cashmere robe tighter, and wished that she’d grabbed slippers. But the trembling wasn’t caused by the cold. She knew it was her dream. Looking up she noticed the clear black velvet sky peppered with stars. Absentmindedly, she thought, That’s why the temperature dropped.
Sighing, she fell into a chair. This knowledge would never matter again. Her job was her name, Mrs. Anthony Rawlings, meteorology was gone—forever. She’d left the suite in such a panic she hadn’t looked at the clock. It really didn’t matter, sleep was out of reach. Pulling her legs into her chest and covering them with her soft robe she began her mental therapy session. Her still rapid heart rate told her that tonight it would last hours instead of minutes.
Self-therapy consisted of a mental list of reasons that her nightmares were ridiculous and she had no basis for her fears. Claire believed that if she could convince her conscious self, her subconscious self would be forced to agree. When she allowed her mind to go back to the spring of a year ago she could rationalize that now her life was significantly dissimilar. She now had more liberties than she’d experienced since her arrival.
Tony stayed true to his word about her e-mails. He even decided that she needed her own address, [email protected]. This made printing easier. He was also correct about the numerous requests for interviews, money, and endorsements she received daily from people she’d never met. Having Patricia respond to those requests was easy. She also received personal e-mails. And now she had a voice in the responses. Overall, when asked Tony agreed to requests regarding Courtney, Sue, Bev, or MaryAnn. If he had other plans for the day in question, this occurred from time to time, his plans trumped. But the act of requesting was the crucial portion of her negotiations. If she wanted to reply to someone or to go somewhere, as he had said many months ago, she simply needed to ask. She’d become accustomed to this component. It was a daily reminder of Tony’s authority.