“That was about me letting my emotions get the best of my common sense.”
“Thought so. Generally speaking, professionals in the detective business do not recommend a loss of temper when you’re trying to stay undercover. It attracts attention.”
“I’m aware it was a mistake,” Maggie said, her voice tight. “Unfortunately, I lack experience in this sort of thing.”
“What’s done is done, so forget it, but you had better fill me in. What happened between the two of you?”
“About five months ago I made a couple of consultation appointments with Oxlade to discuss my dreams.”
“Why?”
“It requires a lot of skill to achieve control over a dream script. Gaining and keeping the techniques is an ongoing process, at least for me. I’m good, but far from perfect.”
“You do realize how odd that sounds to someone like me,” he said.
“You are not the only one who finds the subject of lucid dreams odd. That’s why I generally refrain from discussing the subject with people who are not interested in metaphysics.”
“Tell me more about Oxlade.”
“The first session went well. He understood what I was talking about. To give the devil his due, he really has studied lucid dreaming. I didn’t like the man or his office, but I thought I could work with him.”
Sam decided to ignore the comment about Oxlade’s office. Probably another furniture problem.
“What happened?” he asked.
“At the second meeting Oxlade slipped a drug into the tea he served me. He called it hisenhancer. I got the impression he concocts it himself. It was odorless and tasteless. The session started out as usual. I was in the middle of describing my most recent dream experience when I suddenly found myself falling into a waking nightmare.”
“What does that look like?”
“I began hallucinating. The walls and ceiling of the office appeared to dissolve. The furniture floated. It was all very bizarre. Thankfully I realized what was happening. I managed to suppress the hallucinations and get out of the office.” Maggie paused to take a sip of her champagne. “There was a struggle.”
“With Oxlade?”
“He came after me with a syringe full of a sedative. Claimed I was hysterical. Having a nervous breakdown.”
“I take it Oxlade lost the struggle?”
“I threw a few things at him. I remember a glass ashtray and a large vase of flowers.”
Sam nodded, impressed. “Nice work.”
Maggie glanced at him as if she didn’t quite know what to make of the compliment. “You believe me?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Maybe because my story sounds like the imaginings of a hysterical woman? Among other things, Oxlade said I was prone to hysteria. Weak nerves, you see.”
“Oxlade wants you.”
Maggie sputtered on a sip of champagne and coughed once or twice. “Just to be clear, Oxlade’s interest in me isn’t personal. Well, it’s personal, but not—”
“Sexual? I could tell. What does he want?”
“I’ve thought about that a lot in the past few months. Pretty sure he wants to run experiments on me using his stupid enhancer drug.”
“Because of the way you dream?”
“Yes.”
