Evil Dreams (15 page)

When her cry did not awaken him, she tried rolling away but found normal escape impossible with his legs straddling her body. Wiggling, she worked her way into an upright position. Face to face with the man she adored, she slapped him hard on the left cheek. His head popped to the right from the force of her blow. The slap brought no response, his facial expression remaining set when he turned to stare at her again with unseeing eyes. When he lowered himself to enter Trina, who had moved without his awareness, she jumped up on the bed, then lightly bounded to the floor.

She listened intently for a moment to see if their cries had been heard by anyone. There had been only two other couples staying at the Manor and, if she recalled correctly, both were on the third floor. Hearing nothing in the hall, she turned her attention back to her husband. Writhing on the bed, his buttocks pumped up and down in a sexual frenzy.

Gasping, she rushed to the bedside. How could she awaken him? She had struck him harder than she had intended but it had had no effect. Jon stopped his movement, lying motionless for a moment. Then, slowly at first, he began throwing one arm after the other toward the headboard, scissoring his feet up and down in swimming motions. Gradually, his efforts intensified, the movement increasing rapidly until the whole bed shook.

Transfixed, Trina could not tear her eyes away. She watched him draw his legs up until his knees touched his chin, a pleasant smile crossing his mouth when he tightly wrapped his arms about his legs. Low groans rumbling deeply within his chest, he lay motionless on the disheveled bed. Her immobility snapped when she heard the moans.

Hurling herself across him, she pounded on him, calling his name over and over. Jon suddenly grew rigid, freezing in position. Then his body slumped, the dream sequence ended.

Trina completed her narration. “It was simply awful, Doctor. And when I specifically questioned him about it, he didn’t remember a thing. He plainly said ‘Remember? Remember what?’

“Then, I made the mistake of telling him what had happened from the time I had been awakened,” Trina said softly into the mouthpiece. Her eyes moist, she fought a sob persistently rising in her throat.

“I find it very interesting to say the least.” Sam spoke slowly, deliberately. “Did he seem to recall any of the dream he was apparently experiencing as you described his actions?”

“I think he did. The more I told him, the more troubled his face became, the more quiet he grew. By the time we left for Chicago yesterday morning, he ignored my questions and statements as though I weren’t even there.”

“Do you know if he dreamt
his
dream, the one he’s told us about, prior to this incident?”

“I think he must have,” she said after several seconds. “I noticed him rubbing his head shortly after he awoke. He must have had the nightmare and was suffering from a headache.”

“You did exactly right by calling me, Mrs. Ward,” Sam said.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she dabbed at her eyes. She had been unsure about interfering with Jon’s therapy since she had received no such assurance after talking with Sam about the wine incident. But now she felt relieved because she had told the doctor. Mental anguish would have gone hand in hand with her decision if she had chosen to keep the information to herself. “You won’t tell Jon, will you, Doctor?” she said, suddenly concerned her husband would in some way find out.

“Rest easy about that, Mrs. Ward. Jon’ll have to tell me about this episode himself. Were I to tell him about this conversation, he’d lose all confidence in me as his analyst. It’s absolutely confidential.”

“Do you want me to report anything out of the ordinary?”

He paused for a moment. “I’d like to ask you if you felt your argument with Jon about vacation plans was out of the ordinary?”

She thought back to the week before they went to Galena. “I didn’t think too much about it. Why? Did Jon tell you?”

“Yes, he did. At any rate, thank you for the information, Mrs. Ward. Do feel free to call me anytime regarding Jon.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Will he be all right?”

“We’ll be finding the right track to run on soon,” he said. “Goodbye, Mrs. Ward.”

She placed the phone in its cradle just as several teachers, entering the lounge for their coffee break, interrupted her train of thought.

Sam broke the connection placing his finger on the cradle bar and immediately releasing it.

Dialing Marie’s private office number, he waited only seconds before he heard her say, “Doctor Von Keltzer speaking.”

“Marie? Sam,” he said, wondering why he always identified himself to her. She knew his voice as well as he knew hers. Could it be he considered her above him in some way because of her educational background? Did he subconsciously feel it necessary to name himself when he was about to speak to her?

“Yes, Sam,” she said, her voice changing ever so slightly from its professional timbre to one of something more than friendship.

“I just had the most peculiar call from Jon Ward’s wife,” he began, quickly relating everything Trina had told him.

“The attempted rape, if that’s what it was,” she said when he finished, “is interesting to say the least. So far the dream has been pure symbolism. This desire or need to act the dream out is, I believe, more than symbolic. I could be wrong, but you might want to view it in that manner when working with him.”

“I was thinking along the same lines,” he agreed.

“However, I find the fetal position he assumed after the rape utterly fascinating. Do you have any ideas about it at this point, Sam?”

“It could be a desire to return to the womb or, and this is part of that desire, a unique Oedipus complex.”

“I never thought of the Oedipus,” she said slowly.

Sam paused. Did she think he might be going off in the wrong direction? At this point, couldn’t anything be possible?

“You’re not certain if this experience your patient had is part of the dream you know about. Or are you?”

“I know this much. He was about to experience something after the dream’s normal end during our first hypnotic session. I intend to begin his session today at that point.”

“Be careful, Sam,” Marie admonished.

“Of?”

“Of hypnotizing him. This is more than just an ordinary attempt to gather information or insight into his problem. If he’s acting out the dream as he experiences it, you must provide absolute safeguards while he is being allowed to recall it. Have him relax to the ultimate as he speaks. Don’t let him become overwrought by anything he may recall during the session.”

“I understand, Marie,” he said humbly. He knew what had to be done, appreciating the cautious advice she offered. However, if he did understand the significance, why did he feel so damned self-conscious about accepting her counsel?

“Call me tonight and tell me what happened?”

“Why not come over for dinner?”

“What time?”

“Seven?”

“Sounds fine.
Ciao.”

Sam replaced the phone. Crossing the room to the shelves, he found the tape he had requested his secretary to place in the tape file after transcribing it. Quickly threading it to the console, he turned the machine on. Listening to the dream sequence unfold, he picked up the phone to check his schedule of patients with Tory. Jon was the last one at three o’clock. If he needed more time, he would be able to take it.

Tory’s fingers flew over the electric typewriter keys as she typed one of the earlier patients’ sessions. Every once in a while she would stop, peering about the room. Although no one was waiting to see Doctor Dayton, she reveled in the knowledge that his patients would prove to be her ticket to happiness with Howie. Carole Nelumbo had been in for her weekly visit and soon their plan would be in full operation.

Looking up when the door opened, she saw Jon enter the waiting room. She looked again to make certain it was the same man who had been there in the past. His ashen complexion accentuated the puffed circles below his eyes.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Ward,” she said cheerily, and blanched. She had moved too quickly, sending a familiar though diminished pain through her abdomen. The aftereffects of Howie’s rashness only bothered her if she remained in one position too long or moved too quickly.

Picking up the phone to announce Jon, she again noted his tired expression, his worn out attitude. “You can go in, Mr. Ward,” she said returning to her work. She’d be interested in hearing his recording later.

Jon opened the door, entering the inner office where he found the psychiatrist closing the louvered doors to the recorder.

“Sit down, Jon. I’ll be with you in a moment,” he said. Crossing the room, the doctor took his position opposite his patient. “How have you been since we visited last?”

“Question, Doctor,” Jon began. “Is confession good for the soul, as they say?”

“In certain cases, where a third party won’t be injured, I’m certain it is. Why?” He ignored Jon’s haggard appearance, thankful that Trina had called him that morning.

“Well, I’m about ready to confess something to you,” he said. Jon slowly told of his experience in the hospital while on the table during the angiogram, and then about the repetition of it at Mumman Manor.

Sam could fully understand Trina’s fright as Jon related the different aspects of the dream’s continuation. Now he felt almost certain the two parts were related, not separate as he had thought they might be. He could confirm his suspicions once Jon entered hypnosis.

“How did. your wife react to this new aspect?”

“Scared the crap out of her, I guess. We didn’t talk on the way home from Galena and we were just as out of touch last evening. I just didn’t want to talk about it. My God! Trying to rape my own wife in my sleep! Trina must have been scared beyond belief. I’m glad she didn’t push for talk ‘cause I sure didn’t want any.”

“What was your reason for keeping the second part of the dream to yourself?”

Jon stared at the alabaster ballerina, ignoring Sam’s look of compassion.

“Do you know, Jon?” he asked.

“At the time it seemed like a good reason. Selfish for the most part, I guess.”

“What was the reason?” the psychiatrist persisted.

“Remember, at the time, I was still pretty much against doctors in general and having to be in the hospital again. I don’t know if I’ve changed that much where the two of them are concerned. But I felt then that I was being inconvenienced too damned much. If I told anyone about it, I might have to go through the same thing for a third time. So I made up my mind I’d explore it myself and try to get to know it as well as the other part.”

“How do you feel about your reason now?”

“It was stupid.”

“How do you feel about your experience in Galena?”

Jon didn’t answer immediately, looking away from him to stare at the ceiling. “I’m afraid.”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“Of hurting Trina. My God! Suppose instead of rape, my dream concerned murder and I had tried to kill her. Worse yet, what if I succeeded?”

“Do you know the woman you saw lying on the floor of the cave?”

“I—I’m not sure. I think she looks familiar in a weird sort of way as though I should know her. But I can’t place her.”

“I see. Please sit back and relax now, Jon. Close your eyes and think of yourself resting on a very comfortable bed. You’re surrounded by
blue trees
!”

Closing his eyes, Jon slipped into the somnific reverie immediately, sinking back in the chair. Sam stood, quietly crossing the room to close the drapes.

“Jon, I want you to begin by telling me about floating upward after you have raised the gun to your head,” the psychiatrist said, taking his seat after turning on the dim desk lamp. Picking up his note pad, he waited for Jon to adjust to the induced state, to find the place where the dream continued.

Jon’s face twisted momentarily before relaxing to form a slack mask.

“What is happening, Jon?”

“I’m floating—up—up. I feel so light, weightless.”

“What do you see?”

“Nothing. It’s completely black, pitch black. I’m all alone again.”

“Are you frightened? As frightened as you were when you found yourself running?”

“No. I’m happy. Ecstatic. Free. I’m actually free. But I still live.” His voice held the same monotonous tone he had employed in the first session, reflecting none of the emotion his words indicated.

“Do you see anything now?”

“No, nothing. Still blackness all around.”

“When you had your dream in the hospital, what did you see?”

“Floating up, toward the ceiling in the room above the table, I looked down and could see my body. A voice said, There’s the body I live in.’ “

“A voice? What voice?” Sam sat forward, fascinated by the new twist.

His face heaving, Jon attempted to answer.

“Tell me, Jon, what voice you’re speaking of. Was it your voice?”

“No.”

“Then whose voice was it? Someone in the room? Was it the doctor or one of the assistants?”

“No. It came from within me.”

Sam jotted down a note concerning the voice before he continued. “Why were you able to see at that time?”

“I had full control of my faculties then.”

“You don’t now?”

“No.”

“Who does?”

“You do.”

Sam paused for a moment, a smile briefly crossing his lips. Having placed himself so securely in the psychiatrist’s care, Jon felt an obligation to wait for the order to open his eyes and actually witness the second part of the dream. Perhaps it was nothing more than the power of suggestion but the doctor felt more than satisfied with the degree of control he found himself exercising over his patient. “You may open your eyes now, Jon,” he ordered softly.

His lids slowly lifted, his glazed eyes riveting on the alabaster figurine.

“Now what do you see?”

“I’m moving upward—toward the ceiling— going through the ceiling.”

“This ceiling? Are you in this room?”

“No.”

“Where are you?”

“I don’t know—it’s all black again.”

“Are you still moving?”