Archived from old site, circa 2002.

When people ask me questions about Nick, the one question I get asked the most is: “Why did Nick go to Rose Red, especially when he knew the dangers?”

In order to answer that question to any satisfaction, I must tell you more about Nick’s personality. First and foremost in Nick is a strong sense of compassion. A desire–no, more like a basic need–to help people. He has a wicked wit; a very mischievous sense of humour. He loves to pull legs, but in a friendly, boyish sort of way. When he feels an injustice is being done to someone he comes out fighting. He can be frightening at times, when he fights for a cause. There most definitely is a dark and brooding side to my love, one that I never saw directed at me, but frequently saw when he contemplated something that upset him in principle and emotion.

He first heard about Joyce Reardon’s expedition through another psychic, who had been contacted by Joyce to apply. Nick was somewhat familiar with the lore of Rose Red (it’s hard to find anyone around Seattle & nearby areas that hasn’t heard of Rose Red) and so he was naturally intrigued. He read Ellen Rimbauer’s diary, which was at that time in the process of being published by Beaumont University Press. All psychics chosen for the weekend were given an advanced reading copy. I didn’t read the diary in full until much later. What little I’d read frightened me, but I was unable to stop Nick from going.

Nick kept an open mind to the story of Rose Red. He wasn’t sure if the diary presented the truth or simply the point of view of a woman suffering from dementia. When I asked him to tell me about Ellen’s diary, and in turn, about Rose Red, he presented key events and concepts with the utmost objectivity. I remember thinking the scientists must have been wearing off on him!

Nick learned of his acceptance into the Rose Red expedition team in early May. In the weeks between his acceptance and the group’s orientation at the university, Nick was plagued by nightmares. He didn’t tell me much about them despite my constant prodding. But I could tell by the restlessness of his sleep that he was having visits in his dreams…from what little he told me, figures from Rose Red’s history (the few he’d seen pictures of and was able to recognise) appeared in his dreams and beckoned to him. Being somewhat skeptical despite the amazing things I have witnessed through Nick’s talents, I chalked it up to the power of suggestion. Everywhere we went, if Nick mentioned Rose Red, he’d be confronted with a barrage of stories about Rose Red’s evil past. They made me nervous. Nick told me to shrug them off–to console me he said they were just fairy tales.

I trusted Nick entirely, but little did I know he didn’t think them fairy tales in the slightest. Coupled with his disturbing dreams, Nick found these stories to not only be truth, but to be distress calls of souls in trouble. Souls in the torturous grasp of Rose Red.

Early in the week of the Rose Red trip, Nick met with the rest of the team for the first time. I stayed home that evening, as Joyce had requested that the psychics leave their friends and family behind. She wanted only participants involved in the briefing, and I respected her wishes. But while Nick was away, I picked up the copy of Ellen’s diary for the first time. In the four hours Nick was at the university that night, I read half the book. By the time Nick came home I was frantic with worry.

I swore, I screamed, I forbade him to go. A terror like I’d never experienced had come over me, and in witnessing it, it seems I unnerved Nick as well. But he was steadfast in his desire to go. After a good hour of my protests, half in rage, half in tears, we had our first thorough conversation about Rose Red.

Nick told me everything he’d heard in the orientation. For the first time he shared with me his concerns. The fact that Rose Red had a habit of killing men, and consuming women, worried him greatly. He didn’t much like thinking that he was facing death within her walls. On the other hand, he confided in me that despite his worries, he knew he had to go to help the people trapped in Rose Red. Not only was this a mission to “awake” Rose Red; this had now become, to Nick, a mission to save those trapped inside her. He admitted he wasn’t quite sure how to go about doing it, but he felt the opportunity would present itself when it was time. In a way, Nick was right. He saw the chance to help someone within the house. He did save Cathy’s life, but joined the legion of Rose Red’s tortured captives in the process.

Nick did his best to describe his fellow psychics to me, to tell me more about the team to which he belonged. He made me laugh with his first impressions of Emery, and of Cathy. He told me about their contest of psychic powers at the bar. He told me the intrigue of Steve & Joyce’s rather quiet affair, and the silliness of Pam’s little crush on Steve. He warned me there’d be trouble with the young photographer who captured a picture of them in a closing circle. I felt somewhat relieved to know he was with such a powerful group. Safety in numbers, right?

That night, with all our fears off our chests, we made love like never before. Every touch felt like the first and the last, to me. A curious mixture of hope and sadness. I didn’t sleep that night, though Nick did. The first night of true sleep, without nightmares, he’d had in a month’s time. He has always been very prone to insomnia as it is.

The rest of the week is a blur to me. I put down Ellen’s diary and didn’t read the second half until after Nick had left for the trip. As far as I can remember, Nick and I spent the days prior to the Friday of Memorial Day Weekend as if the venture didn’t loom over us. As if he’d never met Joyce Reardon or heard of Rose Red.

The morning of the expedition he packed a bag and I drove him to the university, in time for the early afternoon rendevous with the rest of the group. I met Joyce, Steve, Vic, Cathy & Pam, before leaving. When I said goodbye to Nick I clung to him like my life depended on it. He told me he would see me again, whatever happens. “Whatever happens” were his exact words. They echoed through me and sent chills up my spine.

Nick embarked on his heroic journey to rouse the sleeping Rose Red, and to find a way to save those inside. He went with courage despite the dangers. Despite what he very well knew, with his pre-cognitive sense, could be the last days of his life.

I went home and spent Friday with my nose buried deeply in the other half of Ellen’s diary. I combed the Beaumont University web site for more information. I lit candles and prayed with all my heart. Nick wasn’t an overtly religious man (more spiritual than religious, in his own unique way), and I was hardly what you’d call a devout Catholic woman. But for some reason just then prayer seemed like the right thing to do. I wore callouses on my fingers from praying the rosary so feverishly.

We all know how the Memorial Day expedition ended, but we don’t know what’s yet to come. Nick’s time with Rose Red isn’t finished, and I continue to pray his time with me isn’t finished, either.

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