Page 69 of When She Dreams

Chapter 29

Maggie braced herself for the disturbing shadow inside the theater and allowed the handsome dream guide named Larry to escort her into the room. For one very unnerving moment she thought he was going to show her to the seat at the far end of the last row, the one where Beverly Nevins’s body had been found. She definitely could not sit there. But to her relief he settled her closer to the stage.

“Mr. Guilfoyle was very specific about the location of your seat,” Larry confided. “He wanted to make sure you had a good view.”

So Guilfoyle had ordered Larry to seat her on the side of the theater that was farthest away from the door? Interesting. There were no bad seats in the small space. Each one had a clear view of the stage. The only thing that had been accomplished by positioning her at the far end of an aisle was making sure she would be one of the last people out the door when the demonstration was over.

“Thank you,” she said.

Larry smiled. “Enjoy the dream reading.”

She caught a whiff of marijuana smoke clinging to his clothes and remembered what Valerie had said about the dream guides.They all smoked some of Larry’s reefers.

The dream generator had been removed from the elevated stage. In its place was a gilded crimson velvet couch and a single chair. There were only twelve people in the audience, as Dolores Guilfoyle had promised.

Maggie felt underdressed. She had chosen a crisp business suit for the demonstration, but everyone else looked as if they had been invited to a formal reception. The men were in evening jackets and the women wore cocktail gowns. Maybe they were planning to go out on the town after the event.

The other eleven observers—four couples, a single man, and two women—varied in age, but they all had one thing in common: They were clearly affluent. These were the people who were expected to buy their way up to the highest, most expensive levels of the Guilfoyle program. Aside from a few polite murmurs, the attendees ignored each other. They were here for one reason only—to witness an exhibition of psychic lucid dreaming.

There was no sign of either the Guilfoyles or Emerson Oxlade. Maggie assumed they were all backstage.

When the lights were lowered, Maggie took one last look at her watch before the room darkened. It was a little after eight. Sam would be making his way through the gardens to the guest villa Oxlade was using. The thought sent another unsettling frisson down her spine.

There was no more time to think about the risks that Sam was planning to take because Dolores Guilfoyle, dressed in a long, heavily beaded beige gown, walked out onto the stage. Her dramatic makeup and the deep waves of her hair enhanced her aura of glamour. Elbow-length gloves and sparkling earrings finished the look.

“Welcome to this exclusive demonstration of the power of the Guilfoyle Method,” she said. “Each of you was selected for thisopportunity because Mr. Guilfoyle sensed you possess the special spark of latent psychic talent that enables certain individuals to advance to the highest level of the Method. Very few individuals have the ability, let alone the determination, to make it to the top.”

In other words, not everyone has the cash required to climb the Guilfoyle Method ladder,Maggie thought.

“Dr. Oxlade will be assisting in tonight’s demonstration,” Dolores continued. “He will act as Mr. Guilfoyle’s guide and interpreter. Please understand that a dream reading requires an enormous amount of focus and mental power. When tonight’s exhibition is over, Mr. Guilfoyle will be exhausted. He will not be able to take questions. Each of you will have an opportunity to meet privately with him tomorrow to discuss how you can personally benefit from the Guilfoyle Method.”

Dolores walked gracefully off the stage and vanished behind the heavy curtain. There was a hushed silence. Emerson Oxlade appeared from the wings. He fiddled with his spectacles, cleared his throat, and addressed the audience.

“Please understand that what you are about to witness is an example of a form of lucid dreaming that very few individuals possess. Everyone dreams, but the vast majority of people do not have the ability to use their dreams to access their latent psychic senses. When Mr. Guilfoyle is in a trance he will attempt to communicate, but his remarks may sound cryptic at times. Keep in mind he will be speaking to you from a dream.”

Oxlade paused, trying to see the faces of the people in the audience. Maggie knew he was looking for her. She wished she could sink deeper into the shadows. Being fancied by an obsessive scientist was not thrilling.

Sure enough, when he spotted her, a dark glitter of unwholesome excitement lit his eyes. For a horrible moment she thought he might have the nerve to summon her to the stage.

But he turned away, walked to the chair, sat down, and opened hisnotebook. He adjusted his glasses one more time and cleared his throat again.

“We are ready for you, Mr. Guilfoyle,” he said.

Arthur Guilfoyle, dressed in his dramatic high-collared black coat, strode out from behind the curtain. His oiled hair gleamed in the light. He wore eye makeup, just as he had for the opening lecture.

Showtime,Maggie thought.

Arthur inclined his head in a dramatic gesture, acknowledging his audience with aloof dignity. He did not speak. He sat down on the gilded couch and braced a hand on each knee. He gazed at the audience for a long moment, as though fortifying himself for what lay ahead.

Abruptly he closed his eyes. The theater lights went lower still. Maggie wondered who was handling the switches in the wings. Dolores or one of the dream guides, perhaps.

Oxlade, seated at the outer edge of the glare of the spotlight, spoke to the audience.

“Silence, please,” he said. “Mr. Guilfoyle will now prepare to enter the lucid dreamstate. This requires intense concentration and mental discipline.”

Guilfoyle continued to stare at the audience, unblinking, for a long moment. The crowd waited expectantly.

Without warning he shut his eyes.

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