Free Thin Air by George Simpson, Neal Burger

even babbling. Sometimes, just for the first few seconds, I could swear he's trying to get it out, to tell me, but he just can't! Then he lapses into this terrible state. He's...so helpless..." She covered her eyes for a moment.
    She regained control as they drew abreast of the Hyannis Port docks. She directed Hammond to her husband's pier, then waited while he shut off the engine.
    "There is something else," she said. "Several times I woke up and found him out of bed, across the room at the window, or on the floor, or holding onto a chair....Once I woke up before he started screaming....I saw him at the wall..." She stopped, shivering at the memory. "I saw him at the wall. He...he was stepping through it." She looked up at Hammond, frightened. "From the next room."
    Hammond was very still. "Through it?" he repeated. "You saw him do this?"
    She nodded. "I screamed and I don't know what happened next because I shut ray eyes tight. When I opened them, Cas was shaking me and he'd put the light on. He was frightened and demanded to know what I'd seen. When I told him, he flung himself away from me. He insisted I was the one who was dreaming...." She stopped and rubbed her eyes. "I've always hoped so."
    "Did he make an appointment with McCarthy?"
    "Oh, yes. He was gone for three days. He came home and it was like it never happened. Even now, I don't dare mention it."       
    She looked at him anxiously and her voice quavered. "It's getting so I'm almost afraid to sleep with him."
    Hammond shuddered.
    Cas Yablonski and Harold Fletcher were as inexorably linked as Siamese twins.       
     
    A thirty-five-foot Bertram Sportfisherman chugged toward the dock, the harbor lights showing off her glassy white hull, varnished woodwork, and the handsome flying bridge.
    Mrs. Yablonski pointed out the tall sea dog at the helm. "That's Cas," she said. He was wearing a white shirt open at the collar, a blue pea-coat, and a yachting cap. His face was darkly tanned, tough and lined, his hair iron-gray.
    As soon as the boat was tied, Mrs. Yablonski waved to her husband and came down the pier followed by Hammond.
    "Had a great day, Momma!" Cas called, in a voice that boomed across the dockside. His client, a cigar-smoking yachtsman of diminishing years, hoisted himself out of his deck chair and stumbled uncertainly to the side.
    "Look what Mr. Carey bagged!" Yablonski yelled, and as Mr. Carey proudly displayed a huge fish, Yablonski held up a plastic bag containing empty beer cans, pointed at Carey, and made a drunk-out-of-his-mind face.
    "Come ashore," called Mrs. Yablonski. "There's someone here to meet you."
    Yablonski smiled and waved again but took a good look at Hammond's uniform. He left the boat to be secured by the McKay brothers, then paused to shake Mr. Carey's hand.
    "Send me a bill!" slurred Mr. Carey. Yablonski helped him ashore, handed him his fish wrapped in plastic, and wished him goodbye. "An' I wanna go again next week!" Mr. Carey insisted as he stumbled off into the night.
    Yablonski came up to Hammond and stuck out a hand, regarding him warily. "Casimir Yablonski," he said.
    "Nick Hammond, sir. Pleasure to meet you."
    "Likewise. Care for a beer?"
    "Sure."
    "Hey, Paul!" he yelled. "Get that other six-pack up here."
    "Righto, C.L."
    Hammond studied Yablonski. Weatherbeaten skin, wide shoulders, powerful muscles, enormous hands—Yablonski didn't seem the sort to suffer from nightmares. He had none of Harold Fletcher's jackrabbit furtiveness.
    Yablonski put his arm around his wife and hugged her. He smoothed her hair and pulled her sweater tight. "Cold tonight, Momma."
    "Why don't you invite the boys home for the weekend, Cas?" she asked,
    "They're planning on it?" Yablonski took the six-pack from Paul McKay and motioned for Hammond to pull himself a can. They cracked beers and stood on the pier, drinking.
    "So what does Naval Intelligence want with me, Hammond?"
    "Well, I..." Hammond was reluctant to discuss this in