Evil Dreams (16 page)

“Yes. Upward.”

“I want you to relax even more than you are, Jon. Do you feel comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Are you still moving upward?”

“Yes. It feels wonderful. So free. So absolutely free.”

“Is it still black?”

“Yes.”

Sam paused. He had a question he wanted to ask but feared the consequences in the event it triggered a negative reaction. If the statements preceding his query were worded to relax the patient, he felt there would be no dire results. “I’m going to ask you a question, Jon, which may sound strange. It will not upset you. You will answer it directly and then forget both the question and the answer. Do you understand?”

Jon nodded.

“Are you dead?” He held his breath, waiting for the answer.

“My body is—but,” he began laughing softly, “I still live!” His voice choked with malevolent humor. “I STILL LIVE!” he shouted. When the sound of Jon’s voice died down, breathless silence filled the room.

Feeling a chill sweep through his body, Sam tried to swallow. Before the psychiatrist could pose another question, Jon’s eyes widened. “What do you see now, Jon?” he asked quickly.

“It’s no longer black—I’m floating in space. I’m above a city.”

“Tell me what you see. Do you recognize the city? Is it Chicago?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Ruins all around. No people—just ruins. I—” He stopped, falling to the right side of the chair. Then, as though being pummeled by someone or something, his body hit the opposite side, forcefully striking the armrest.

“Relax, Jon. It’s not necessary for you to move about. Relax even more. That’s better,” Sam said gently. Jon settled back into position in the center of the chair. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Something struck me. Something invisible. Like a shock wave.”

Sam scribbled hurriedly on his notepad. “Going back to before you were hit, if your body is dead, how could you see the city? Can you still see it?”

“My body is not dead.
His
body is dead. I see with my eyes.”

“Who’s dead?” Sam asked, furiously writing another reminder.

“He is—
the other one.
Rather, his body is dead.”

“Does he have a name?”

“I don’t know. I don’t—know—
him.”

“Leave it for now, Jon. Don’t be disturbed by anyone else’s presence. Relax. Let your muscles loosen. Let your entire body go limp. Now, can you describe the shock wave you felt?” The words
other one
were scribbled hurriedly with his notes.

“I sense them more than I feel them.”

“Can you describe the sensation?”

“They’re like—concussions. Explosions. I see buildings destroyed by explosives … or bombs … or shells.”

“I understand. Can you tell me what’s happening now?”

His face began puffing to assume an inflated expression, slowly changing the handsome features until they no longer resembled Jon Ward.

Sam made a note of the time and question he had just asked, enabling him to pinpoint the change in facial expression when replaying the session. “What is it, Jon?”

“I—I don’t know. Strange—weird feelings. Very frightened feelings.”

“Are
you
frightened?”

“No. Someone else. But I can sense anxiety— fear.”

“Like telepathy?”

“I don’t know,” he said chokingly and jerked forward in the chair.

“Relax, Jon. Don’t be upset. You’re merely relating something to me and not experiencing it first hand. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” He eased back in the chair once more.

“What made you sit up like that?”

“I sense another being with the first.”

“What do you sense? What do you feel now?”

“Sex drive. Lust. Arousal.”

“Yours?”

“No.”

“Do you know to whom these feelings belong?”

“I don’t know.” Jon cringed in the chair, vigorously rubbing his crotch with both hands.

“Relax, Jon, relax. It isn’t necessary to relive this particular experience.”

His features twitched spasmodically, moving for the first time since his face had swollen.

“What is it Jon? What’s happening to you?”

“I’m going to them. I must. I’m being drawn to both of them. Irresistible— Emotions too powerful.”

“Just sit back. Ease off. Be calm and tell me what happens.”

“I’m going down. It’s like being pulled down. I—I’m surrounded by blackness. All around me. I think I’m going to hell. No, wait. Now I can see again.”

“Where are you now, Jon?”

“In a big cave. Like a tunnel. Maybe a subway. Those feelings are stronger here.”

“What do you see? Do you see anyone?”

“Yes. A man and a woman.”

“Who are they? Do you know them?”

“I—I don’t know. I—I think the man is in some kind of uniform.”

“Do you recognize the uniform?”

“No. It’s all torn and shredded. It looks more like rags. The woman is on the floor. I don’t believe—I—I recognize her.”

“Is she all right? Is she the one who is frightened?”

“She’s crying. Her dress is all torn. I can see her flesh.”

“Do you recognize her? Do you know her?”

“Her head’s turned away. I can’t see her face.” A puzzled look crossed his enlarged features.

“What is it, Jon? What’s the matter?”

“The soldier’s personality—too strong. Uncontrollable sex drive. Violent sex. I’m going to him. I’m joining with him.”

“Why are you doing that, Jon?” Sam’s voice rose sharply.

“I must! I must in order to live!”

“What? Explain that, Jon.”

“I MUST IN ORDER TO LIVE!” His voice rasped angrily.

“Take it easy, Jon. You feel very relaxed.” Waiting until his patient had settled back, Sam said, “Why do you have to go to them in order to live?”

“I don’t know,” Jon said weakly as though he had been drained of all strength.

Sam noted the change in voice, wondering if he should continue. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” His voice grew stronger.

“You feel well and relaxed. You are very comfortable. Now, tell me what happens.”

A vicious leer swept across Jon’s face when he spoke. “Got to fuck her.”

The voice no longer sounded like Jon’s. Instead of the smooth baritone, the clipped words were spoken in a harsh manner, but not accented. Sam quickly made another note.

Before the doctor could speak again, Jon continued in the strange voice. “Why not fuck her? The war’s lost. I’ll have fun with this bitch before I’m taken prisoner. I’ll take what I can get now. I’ve suffered enough.” Jon stood quickly, unbuckling his pants, and let them drop to the floor around his ankles. Kneeling before the psychiatrist, he slowly lowered himself to the floor.

“Stop, Jon Ward,” Sam ordered gently but firmly. “It’s not necessary for you to act out the scenes you are witnessing. Do you understand?”

Jon stopped at the mention of his name. “Yes, I understand,” he said shakily in his own voice.

“Then, stand up and dress. When you are finished, sit down and lean back. Picture yourself resting beneath a shade tree in the middle of a meadow. You’re very comfortable. Birds are singing. A gentle breeze is blowing. Your wife, Trina, is coming toward you. Can you see all of this?” Sam asked once his patient had returned to his chair.

“Yes,” Jon whispered when Trina’s name was mentioned. Settling back farther into the chair, he smiled while watching the suggested scene unfold, the swelling gradually leaving his face.

“Do you feel well now, Jon?”

“Very well. Trina will be with me in a moment.”

“Do you feel well enough to return to the tunnel?”

“Yes,” he answered, his voice indifferent again.

“Good. Now just tell me what happens. You don’t have to move anymore. Do you understand?”

“I won’t move anymore.”

“Can you see the woman’s face now, Jon?”

“Yes.” A hint of anguish overshadowed the neutral tone he had used for the last several exchanges.

“Who is she?” Sam persisted.

“I want to wake up!”
he cried sharply, sitting up straight.

Sam knew from past experience with patients who had been hypnotized, the sudden desire to wake up, to overcome the control of the hypnotist, indicated the subject did not want to experience an imminent painful recollection. Since Jon had been reexperiencing a dream and not recalling something from his past, the psychiatrist surmised he faced something that would trigger a strong emotional reaction.

“You are
not
going to wake up,” he ordered firmly. “You’re in a deep sleep and are very comfortable and relaxed. Whatever is going to happen next, will not bother you or cause you unnecessary anxiety. Continue. Everything is very clear and you are willing to describe everything you see.”

Jon visibly relaxed, slumping back in the chair.

“Who is she? Who is the woman?”

His head rolled back and forth from side to side, a cry of torment rising in his throat until his plaintive scream filled the office.

“Who is she?” Sam demanded a third time.

“MY MOTHER!” Jon wailed, crying uncontrollably.

Sam, who had been inching forward in his own chair, fell back, staring aghast at his patient. Perhaps he had been on the right track after all with the Oedipus Complex. He quickly readjusted his own thinking, ordering his patient to stop. “Everything’s fine Jon, just fine. Rest for a moment.”

Looking at his watch, he wondered if he should continue any longer for fear Jon would go into shock. Would he be able to free him from the hypnotic state if that were to occur? Jon had been in hypnosis for sixty-five minutes. How much more of the dream had to be covered? He reflected momentarily on his conversation with Trina earlier in the day. Following the attempted rape, Jon had gone through the swimming motion before he assumed the fetal position. After that, he had been easily awakened by his wife.

Myriad thoughts pounded at Sam. The idea of his patient wishing to be nonexistent crossed his mind. What else could the desire to sexually have his mother represent, but a wish for the warmth and security of her womb as indicated by the fetal position? Could his patient subconsciously not want to exist as a living human? Trina had reported a contented smile on her husband’s face once he had assumed the fetal position which might prove that real happiness for him could be had only as an unborn child.

Sam wanted to move ahead now. He anticipated tearing apart today’s session with Marie later that evening. Despite his own jumbled thoughts, he decided to cover the last two known aspects of the dream.

“Do you feel rested enough to continue, Jon?” he asked calmly.

“Yes.”

“How do you feel?”

“Very well.”

“Fine. Let’s continue with your descriptions. These events cannot hurt you or trouble you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what is happening now.”

“Wet! I’m all wet.” He squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, shaking his fingers to drip nonexistent water from them.

“Go on, Jon!”

“Swimming. I’m swimming!”

“Where are you swimming?”

“Don’t know it’s very dark! Pitch black!”

“Are you a good swimmer? Are you afraid of drowning?”

“I’m not afraid of drowning, but of dying. I can swim as good as any of the others.”

“What others?” Sam asked, wondering if the dream had changed radically or perhaps a part had been omitted in their pause.

“Thousands—maybe millions of others all around me.”

“Are they swimming, too?”
He must be referring to other spermatozoa,
Sam thought. It would be consistent, considering that he expected Jon to assume the fetal position or at least describe his existence in his mother’s womb.

“Yes.”

“Why are you swimming?”

“I must swim to survive. I must be the one to live. No one else.” His voice assumed arrogant overtones.

Sam marveled at the complete reversal of testimony when considering his own premature conclusion drawn only moments before. Were thoughts from one spermatozoon the answer to this segment of the dream? “Who are the other swimmers, Jon?”

“They’re like me—only—not like me!”

“I don’t understand.”

“I have a will—a powerful desire—to survive! I have a reason to succeed while they are only acting out of instinct.”

“What is your reason?”

“I must live,” he said softly, his voice fading on each word.

Sam leaned forward to hear better and said, “Why must you live?”

Jon mumbled incoherently.

“I can’t understand you, Jon. Speak louder and more distinctly,” he ordered gently.

Jon’s eyes blazed brightly, the corpulent countenance reappearing. When he spoke, the words rang out totally unlike his normal voice or the guttural one he had used earlier. And they were in clear, crisp German.

“Endlich kann ich sprechen und gehort werden. Ich wollte mirnicht das Leben nehmen —ich hatte keine Wahl—jeder hat das erwartet —ich konnte mich nicht gerfangen nehmen lassen. Aber, wie Sie sehen, ich lebe noch, Herr Doktor!

“Ich bin sehr schwach gewesen—jeden Tag werde ich langsam starker. Mein Gastgeber ist schwer uberwaltingen—bald werde ich ihn beherrschen
—dann
kann ich das beanspruchen, was rechtmassig meins ist!

“Bis diese Zeit kommt—muss behalten: hundertneun Grad West — siebenunddreissig Grad Nord—sechzig Kilometer Sud—sechzig Kilometer Ost—Mitte von einem—Warzeichen in der figur eines Hakenkreuzes.

“Zozobra hat die Leute entfernt—niemand war da wegen Zozobra—niemand weiss—nur ich!”

Falling back in the chair, his face draining of color, Sam stared at his patient.

PART THREE

BLUE TREES

May 29, 1979

to

June 6, 1979

CHAPTER 9

Several seconds passed before Sam recovered from the shock. Jon had spoken German. Sam was positive of that. But why? What did it mean? Another facet which fascinated him was the animated manner in which his patient had delivered the foreign words.