I’m at the point in Charlotte Book II where she describes a recurring dream. What do you think it means for her?
I’m having the dream again.
Mountain pines are all around, and the snow is knee-deep. The sun is behind me, and has just cleared the horizon. There’s a slight breeze in my face as I take slow, measured steps through the trees. Visibility is unlimited and my Browning rifle is slung over my right shoulder. The thick layer of snow deadens all sound as I stalk through this frozen terrain. The eerie silence forces me to concentrate on my breathing and heartbeat. It’s easy to imagine I’m the only human being on Earth. Conditions are perfect for hunting.
All of a sudden, I notice movement about a hundred and twenty yards ahead and to the left. I turn slightly to see a huge gray wolf caught in a snare. It looks like he’s given up trying to escape and is lying in the snow with one paw hung up in the wire. I un-sling my rifle and place the butt tightly against my right shoulder. As I look through the scope and setup the shot, he looks directly at me. I look into his defiant yellow eyes, and position the cross-hairs right between them. We both know I’ll be putting him out of his misery. I hold my breath and slowly start to squeeze the trigger. I’m expecting to feel the recoil of the rifle when I hear a familiar voice in my head.
“Charlotte, darlin’… Wake up. Charlotte wake up!”
Do you know that middle area where you’re still dreaming but reality is mounting its invasion? That’s where I am right now. The voice dragging me back to real life belongs to my husband Beau. The interruption seems harsh and I resist the inevitable. One last jolt brings me all the way back.
Beau’s head crashes back onto his pillow. A sleepy, irked voice reaches me from the other side of the bed. “You were doing it again.”
For the past month my sleep has been fitful and restless. The tossing and turning has woken Beau more than once. I take a look at my electric alarm clock to see that it’s just past three in the morning. Beau and I both have to get up in a few hours. My dear husband sets aside his irritation long enough to check on me.
“Wanna talk about it?”
We’ve talked through this dream a half dozen times by now. Once more probably won’t make a difference. “No darlin’. You just go back to sleep”
Beau rolls over. His voice is muffled by his pillow when he speaks again. “Same to you. It’s a big day tomorrow.”
He’s right. Tomorrow I’ll be an official licensed private detective for several states including North Carolina. All the excuses will be gone.