I feel foolish for confessing to Evelyn that I've fallen in love with her missing friend. For all I know Julia is gone and my obsession with her unrealistic and even mystical in some respects.
I should never have agreed to search for her because all the signs indicate the woman is probably dead.
But, despite my misgivings, the next day I spend hours at Julia’s condo examining her rooms looking for any hint as to what was going on in her mind at the time.
For some reason my eye is drawn to an antique grandfather clock. It hasn’t been wound and has stopped working.
I wind it, and as I do, search the interior hoping it might contain some hidden compartment. But all my efforts to find a clue inside are in vain.
For some reason, I keep obsessing about the clock, but it yields no more clues than the apartment.
Perhaps my subconscious is simply telling me time has run out for Julia and the very thought leaves me desolate.
I wearily sit down on the couch and stare at the city lights milky in the curtains. I like being here and like the feel of her apartment and the view of the Toronto skyline. I sit in the dark, inhaling faint traces of Julia’s perfume and communing with her spirit.
For me, It’s a mystical experience being here, listening to the soft chime of the clock and the steady patter of rain against the windows. Each moment spent within these walls, I absorb Julia’s soul—I’m behind the curtain, alone in her holy of holies, and never want to leave.
Gradually, the vision dims and my mind returns to the grim reality of her disappearance.
I force myself to go home and get a few hour’s sleep, determined that the first person I’ll interview the following day will be Walter Lydecker, Julia’s intrusive and oppressive mentor.
Lydecker turns out to be a suave, debonair type, the sort of man I consider prissy.
He adopts an instant dislike for me as well. “I don’t see why I have to speak to a reporter after I’ve given my information to the police.”
“Well, as I said, Mr. Lydecker, I was retained by Ms. Evelyn Anderson, Julia’s best friend—she’s desperate to know the circumstances of Julia’s mysterious disappearance.”
“Nonsense,” Lydecker rebuffs me, “there’s nothing mysterious about the affair at all. Julia died in a plane wreck and Ms. Anderson and you seem to be unable to come to grips with the plain truth.”
“But how can you be sure the woman on the plane actually is Julia Hunt?”
“It’s common sense—it’d be ludicrous to believe a woman who was Julia’s double had stolen her credentials and credit cards.”
“And you can see no other possibility?”
A fire sparks in his eyes. “Aha! I can see you’re taking the offence of that Anderson woman—supposing Julia would stage some elaborate ruse to get away from me.”
“It is possible,” I remind him.
“You don’t see, do you? You’re as blind as her friend. Julia wasn’t afraid of me—she was obsessed with me and needed me to run her affairs. We planned to marry.”
I laugh. “That’s a delusion you’ve told yourself.”
“Really? If anyone’s delusional here it’s you. You’re some half-crazed romantic that’s fallen in love with a corpse.”
And with those parting words, he retreated into his study, slamming the door on the interview.
That night I felt the need to go back to Julia’s condo to be with her. Perhaps, Lydecker was right, and I am deluded, but if this is some grand illusion, I never want it to end.
It’s raining, and I luxuriate in the ambience of Julia’s condo. I lie back on the couch watching rain trails trill down the windows and try to imagine her face.
I fall asleep and dream of her. We meet in a train station and somehow end up back here in her apartment sipping wine and watching the storm.
It’s a sweet dream but in the midst of it, a noise causes me to suddenly awaken.
My heart’s pounding and I sense a presence in the room, near the windows.
I wait, my heart in my throat, peering into the gloom, until lightning flares and I see Julia staring back at me. My heart stops.
“Who are you?” she demands as she flicks on the lamp.
I blink in the sudden flood of light, but have enough wits about me to realize Julia’s not a ghost, but flesh and blood and very much alive.
“I’m Mark McPherson. Evelyn hired me to search for you.”
The mention of her friend’s name seems to deeply affect her. She turns away, putting a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.
“Oh God, what have I done?” she wails.
I immediately get up and try to console her.
“It’s all right, Julia—Evelyn has always believed you were alive. She believes you were trying to get away from Walter Lydecker and somehow the plan went awry.”
“I should have known Evelyn would figure it out,” she sighs. “I was trying to protect her too. I figured if she knew any details Walter would never stop badgering her until he found out.”
“But who was the woman on the plane?”
“That was Diane Redfern, a model friend of mine. She and her fiancé wanted to elope, but had no money. I gave her a dress, my I.D. and credit card, and told her to pass herself off as me—figuring it would buy me time to get away—and I’d go to Europe and disappear from sight. But then I heard on the news that their plane crashed and I waited to see if they’d find the wreckage.”
“If they didn’t, were you intending to stay away?”
She nods, tears trilling down her cheeks. “I was so afraid of Walter—he has powers—you have no idea. He can enter my thoughts and take over my mind. He’s an evil man, Mark.”
“What made you come back?”
“I was concerned about Evelyn—I knew she’d be distraught—and also, I kept having dreams.”
“What kind of dreams?”
She blushes and lowers her head. I can barely hear her voice.
“I wasn’t having nightmares, or anything like that. They were actually, sweet dreams of a life I could only imagine. I’d wake up feeling this incredible longing to come back here to my condo and be with this person that made everything go right. He was my protector—a kind of a guardian angel, and for the first time in my life I knew what it felt like to be safe and loved.”
I needed to ask. “Do you have any idea what this person looks like?”
“Not really. I never see people clearly in dreams—just know what it feels like, and strangely, I realized I’ve had glimmers of someone like this all my life, and yet I’ve been barely aware of him. It’s as if this man has been a star on my horizon and when I try to look at him clearly, he disappears, and sinks below the borne. Does that seem foolish to you?”
“Not really—I’ve had that same dream all my life.”
She looks at me, and somehow our lips meet. I’m drawn by her gravity, as naturally as a raindrop is attracted to a dry window.
“How touching!” Suddenly, there’s another presence in the room—a dark figure lurking in the shadows, just outside the circle of lamplight.
I recognize Lydecker’s voice at the same time as Julia gasps, “Walter!”
The tone of his voice chills me. “Yes, Darling—your beloved Walter, who made you what you are—and now sees you for what you are. Ungrateful!”
“Please, Walter—try to understand.”
The room echoes with menacing laughter and again, the bitter edged voice cuts through the gloom, “Oh, but I do understand, my Love, only too well. I understand if I can’t have you, nobody will.”
In the faint glow from the lamp, I can see the glint of a gun muzzle aimed in our direction and feel my body go numb as I await the explosion.
But from the doorway, comes a bright flash and a roar, and the threatening form before us topples to the floor.
The lights flick on, revealing Evelyn standing in the hallway, gun in hand.
“I followed him here—I’ve been following him ever since you disappeared, Julia—I knew he was up to no good.”
The incident is spread across all the tabloids, and although I’m offered huge sums for the story, it’s a series of articles I choose not to write.
There’s an inquest into the shooting of Walter, but in the end, Evelyn is exonerated—after all, Walter was intent on murder, and Evelyn’s quick action saved our lives.
It turns out our first kiss convinced Julia I was the man in her dreams—and now, I play that role every day in her life.
The enchantress I thought was only a dream turned out to be the hidden half of me.
She was the wraith in my sleep whose voice comforted me through my dark hours.
Her voice whispered to me on a summer breeze, truths I could never quite recall.
