Wicked Forest (DeBeers 2)

"I hope so," she said in a small voice, so thin

and fragile it brought tears to my eyes. "I don't know

if we should leave him alone here while we're at the

beauty salon."

"We'll see in the morning. He had been talking about my going with him to the gallery to retrieve his

works. Maybe he'll forget about that."

"I suppose we can have Jennings keep an eve

on him. He's the nicest of the Eatons' servants and he

has done favors for me before."

"Good. Let's get some sleep." I suggested, and

she nodded, rose, and put her cup in the sink. Afterward, when I laid my head on my pillow. I

listened to the sounds in the grand beach house, the

creaks and groans in the building, the sea wind on the

windows with a sound like fingers running back and

forth over the panes. What a kaleidoscope of emotions

ran through the myriad of dreams being dreamed in

this building tonight. I thought. Everyone had his or

her secrets unraveling and raveling like multicolored

balls of yarn being tossed through the darkness above

and around me.

Was there a place in the night where dreams

criss-crossed, where people glanced into each other's

minds and saw the fear or the sadness or the happiness

for an instant, like passengers on trains passing in the

dark?

And did that make us sympathetic or envious?

Did we long for someone else's dreams, or were we

grateful we didn't have those nightmares?

Somewhere surely there was a common place, a

well from which we all, rich or poor, drew some