Evil Dreams (21 page)

Standing, he crossed the room to put the tape on the machine. He listened intently to each word his patient spoke, feeling the hairs on his neck crawl when Jon faded only to be replaced by the sinister sound of the German speaking voice. When it finished, he rewound the tape, and went to the outer office. He’d have Tory transcribe it but, along with the recordings of the first two meetings, he would also keep a file of live reproductions as well a the written ones.

Tory looked up from her work when he entered the reception room.

“I don’t want this tape erased when you’ve finished with it, Tory,” he said emphatically. “Toward the end of the trance, you will hear the patient speak German. I want you to type in the written translation that’s in the box with the reel. Don’t try to type the German.”

“I’m glad you warned me,” she said, accepting the container. “I don’t know what I would have done if it had suddenly changed from English. Whose tape is this?”

“Mr. Ward’s.”

“Isn’t that unusual?” she asked curiously, raising her eyebrows.

“Not really,” he said hesitantly. Why should she know of the consternation the change in language had caused him and Marie? “You see, his mother was from Germany and Jon was born there. He came to this country while still a baby. Through introjection, he probably was able to speak the language when all his inhibitions were removed by being placed in a hypnotic state.”

“Introjection?” A puzzled look crossed her I ace.

“Introjection is absorbing into your memory bank and personality, certain aspects of your surroundings without being aware of it. Nothing really uncommon.”

“I see.” She decided to reserve acceptance of her employer’s explanation until after she had heard the entire tape. Something about the way he had answered her question made her distrustful. Smiling politely, she masked her suspicions.

Turning on his heel, Sam reentered his office. It bothered him that he had to lie to Tory. The subterfuge and falsehoods, the intrigue and mystery surrounding Jon and his dream were beginning to affect him. He also had to contend with the curious manner in which Marie had behaved. All of it ate at him like a cancer. He preferred being open and above board, especially where Marie was concerned. Not wanting to dwell on the enigma any longer than he already had, he shook his head as if to loosen the ideas from his mind. Knowing he would be rudely reminded of these same distressing thoughts later in the day when Jon kept his appointment, he busied himself preparing for his next patient.

A few minutes before three o’clock, Sam readied the recorder, placing a blank reel of tape on the machine. Checking the controls for remote operation from across the room, he returned to the chair he normally used when with a patient, and waited for Jon to make his appearance. At three o’clock Tory announced his arrival.

When he entered the room, he appeared fresh and relaxed from his long walk around the Loop. “How are you, Doctor?” he asked, placing the recorder on his lap.

“I’m fine, Jon,” Sam said, smiling. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be concerned with your well being. How are you?”

“From the standpoint of working, quite well.” He hesitated, looking away from the doctor when his pretense of ease disintegrated.

After several seconds passed clumsily without either man speaking, Sam broke the silence. “I don’t understand, Jon.”

“I had the most peculiar experience Friday—” he began.

“This past Friday?”

“Yes. It’s bothered me ever since. However, I don’t think I alerted Trina through anything I did or didn’t do over the weekend.”

“I see,” Sam said, reaching to the desk to start the tape recorder across the room. “Go on.”

“Well, I tried something new for me—recording dialogue. I hadn’t slept well the previous night—ah, trying to solve a problem in my novel. I guess I dozed off while I was sitting on the couch in our living room. I had the recorder running and it continued operating until it turned itself off automatically. That’s when I woke up.”

Sam closely studied his patient, repressing the urge to ask him if his new book could be so dull that its writing put the author to sleep. His professional aplomb and concern for his patient prevented him from being facetious during a consultation. Considering the different aspects of Jon’s hypnosis to this point in his treatment, he eagerly anticipated hearing of the man’s experience.

“At first,” Jon continued, “I wasn’t aware I had dozed off. But when I found the cassette completely exhausted, I knew I had slept about fifteen or twenty minutes. When I rewound it, I heard the dialogue I had recorded, and then my voice, faltering as I fell asleep. Let me play it for you.” He punched a button, activating the machine.

“You can never be honest with me again, Karen,” Mike snapped vehemently.

“Mike, you’re a fool if you thin
—” His voice drifted away as he dozed. Then, the sound of steady, even breathing filled the office. After several minutes, during which Sam watched his patient apprehensively waiting for some development other than the gentle snoring, the rhythm changed abruptly, becoming more rapid. The labored gasping grew in volume, accompanied by the sounds of someone thrashing about.

Sam held up his hand, indicating Jon should stop the machine. When the room was quiet, he said, “Were you experiencing your dream at this point?”

“I’m not certain. I don’t recall anything about it and I didn’t have a headache when I was awakened by the machine turning itself off. However, the thing that disturbs me is about ready to play. Do you want me to continue?”

“By all means,” Sam said, pulling himself to the edge of his chair.

Jon punched the button, the sound of his disturbed sleep once more coming from the small machine. Suddenly, it stopped. A low moan began, growing in intensity until a choking, heaving scream gashed the space between them. Then a voice, unfamiliar to him but known to Sam as the one which had spoken German during the last session, cried triumphantly,
Ich lebe noch!

Stopping the machine, Jon sat back, staring at the psychiatrist. “Well?” he said after several minutes passed.

“Well, what?” Sam asked in return, hoping to buy a little more time before attempting an explanation that would satisfy his patient.

“Explain that, for chrissake! You asked me last week if I had ever spoken German, if my mother had ever spoken German around the house. I think you were trying to find out if I might have been exposed to the German language when I was a kid, when I could have subconsciously picked up some of the words. What the hell gives? Is that what you were looking for when you asked those questions? Did I speak German last week while I was under hypnosis?”

Sam knew it was too soon, too premature, to tell Jon the possibility existed of another personality dwelling within him. A dissociative type of hysterical neurosis would be difficult enough for the psychiatrist to accept, to control, under the right conditions. Usually patients affected by such a neurosis were women of high intelligence. It had only been within the last decade or so that definite confirmation of a man being affected had been documented. Through research, since Jon had become his patient, he had found the condition in men to be extremely rare. No established treatment had been found except to work patiently with all of the personalities involved, make an attempt to have the original individual become aware of, and gradually accept, the other beings residing within his body. Jon’s body in this case. Deciding the best course to follow for the present would be simply bypassing the question, he cleared his throat. He would have to be evasive and at the same time maintain Jon’s confidence.

“I want you to try and follow what I’m going to say,” he began slowly. “I hope you aren’t trying to tell me you have never once in your entire life ever heard the German language spoken. There are literally hundreds of ways you could have been exposed to the language. Through movies. Television programs. Overheard conversations on buses or elevators, or just walking downtown or through a store. Any one of these instances could have made an impression on you and under the right conditions, a complete recollection of a few words or a phrase could be made. For instance, being tired and falling asleep when you least expected could have triggered this phenomenon. The words you spoke while apparently dreaming might actually have been words you inadvertently picked up someplace, retaining them in your subconscious.”

“But, did I actually speak them? It certainly doesn’t sound like me.”

“Under the circumstances, I feel the voice sounds familiar to me,” Sam said, turning away. He hoped his lie would escape detection.

“Are you leveling with me. Doctor?”

Jon’s direct manner warned Sam he was on thin ice concerning his patient’s trust.

“Actually, Jon, it is too soon to tell if such is the case. I’d like to reserve opinion, if I may. When we have all the necessary information, we can make an intelligent decision concerning your particular neurosis. If you like, leave your tape and I’ll have it translated to help put your mind at ease. Is that fair enough?”

Jon frowned for a moment before answering. It’s not unlike, he thought, trying to write about something obscure without doing the necessary research. If he cooperated, giving all the information he could, the psychiatrist would be able to tell him what the nightmare concerned. Then all of his questions would be answered in due time.

“I guess,” he said, handing him the cassette, “I’ll be patient and play the game with you, Doctor. Let’s get on with it. I’ve had the dream for twenty-eight years and what’s another week, month or year when it’s been that long?”

“I’m glad you’ve decided,” Sam said, silently breathing a sigh of relief and placed the small tape on the desk.

“Other than the German speaking incident, have you had anything unusual take place?”

Jon bit his lip for a moment. “No. None that I can think of. I find it a little strange that there are no apparent repercussions from this—this thing.”

“That’s true. You don’t seem to be suffering in any way because of the dream. The only incidents I can think of that are not in keeping with the norm, are this last one Friday, when you went into the hospital—and, of course, the time in Galena.”

Sam thought back to his patient’s folder. He knew he harbored doubts concerning Trina’s ability to observe. The blood had been seen by her alone and all evidence, if indeed it had existed, had disappeared by the time the ambulance attendants arrived. He hoped to get to the bottom of that experience before releasing Jon as a patient.

“I’ll admit,” Jon said, smiling, “the recording of me speaking German threw me a bit, but I do trust you, Doctor Dayton. I guess I just don’t want to lose my appointment to be hypnotized.”

Sam smiled thinly. “Very well. Now, you don’t recall having the dream occur since our last appointment—other than the incident you accidentally recorded, which may or may not be related to the dream?”

“Not once.”

“That you remember,” Sam corrected.

“That I remember,” he agreed.

“Does the word
Zozobra
mean anything to you?”

Jon’s forehead puckered at the sound of the strange word. “No. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard it before. Why?”

“No reason that’s important right now. What language would you say it is?”

He mouthed the word silently for a moment before shrugging.

“It’s not important, Jon. However,
blue trees
are.”

Jon instantly relaxed, entering a state of hypnosis.

“Are you comfortable, Jon?”

“Very comfortable. I’m very relaxed.”

“Do you recall our having talked about your dream before?”

“Yes.” His voice quickly became unvaried in its inflection.

“Would you like to discuss it some more? Explore it more?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember the part where you describe yourself as swimming?”

He began wringing his hands, shaking them as though they were wet. “Yes.”

“Why are you swimming, Jon?”

“I must swim to survive. I must live. No one else.”

“What do you mean by no one else?”

“None of the others must live—only me!”

“Are the other swimmers just like you, Jon?”

“Yes. No. Not really like me. I’m different from them.”

“How are you different?”

“Something—or someone—is with me. There are two of me—only one of them.”

“I thought you said before when we talked there were many others.”

“There are. Individuals. There’s something or someone with me.”

“Can you explain that to me, Jon?”

“I can’t. I don’t understand it. But I must live,” he said softly, each word failing until his mumbles were devoid of meaning.

Sam knew, if the other personality were to manifest itself as it had before, the moment had come. Sitting forward, he said firmly, “If you are there, whoever you are, speak and let me know.”

Jon’s face began heaving as it had during the last session until he looked like someone else, someone Sam felt he would not like as a person. Jon’s eyes blazing brightly, stared straight ahead, past Sam, toward the ballerina.

“Guten Tag, Herr Doktor!”
the voice said in a higher pitched timbre.

Swallowing hard, Sam cleared his throat, speaking slowly and distinctly.
“Wie heissen Sie?”
What is your name? What are you called?

The sinister laugh coming in answer sent a chill down his spine. He tried again.
“Wie heissen Sie?”

Again no response, other than the awful laugh.

Sam fumbled in his jacket pocket for the slip of paper on which Marie had written the phonetic pronunciations of several German questions and statements. Pulling it out, he first checked the question he had asked. Repeating it to himself to make certain he had spoken it correctly, he voiced the query again.

Still nothing.

His eyes scanning the list, Sam found one he thought might help the situation. If the personality were told he did not speak or understand German, perhaps the cooperation which the doctor wanted would be given. Rehearsing it for several seconds first, he cleared his throat.
“Ich spreche nicht Deutsch! Wie heissen Sie?”