Evil Dreams (6 page)

“You cold?” Jon asked when she shivered.

“What? Oh, no. I’m all right,” she said, realizing she had been too responsive to her own thoughts.

“In a way, I’m looking forward to my next appointment with Dayton.” When she didn’t respond, he looked at her. “And where are your thoughts?”

“I’m sorry, darling,” she apologized. “I guess my mind is wandering all over the place.”

He recounted his feelings, returning his attention to the book he held when it became obvious she didn’t want to talk.

Trina lapsed into her reverie again, recalling the strange expression he had displayed when he had said something about wine affecting his decisions and his ability as a leader. Had he actually finished the word? He had corrected himself so quickly she wasn’t certain. Maybe her imagination had played tricks on her. She would have to be more on guard against making wild interpretations of things that might easily be normal.

“Let’s go on vacation,” he said suddenly.

“What?”

“Let’s go on vacation.”

“All right. Where do you want to go this summer?”

“Not this summer. Right now. Tomorrow!”

“Tomor—? I can’t. How could I? School isn’t out for another five or six weeks.”

“Quit.”

“I can’t. You know that. What brought this on?”

He shrugged.

“It can wait until next month,” she said patronizingly.

“Don’t do that!” Jon snapped. “Don’t humor me. I want to go now.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just feel I have to go someplace.”

“Where?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You must have some idea.”

“West. To California. Yeah. Come on, Trina. We’ve never gone west. Let’s do what Horace Greeley advised.”

“That leaves me out, then.”

“Why?”

“I’m not a young man,” she giggled.

“That’s not funny.” His voice harbored an unfamiliar air of authority along with a tone of injury.

Trina only caught the hurt in his voice. “I’m sorry, darling.”

“I just feel an overwhelming desire to go to California.”

“You’re certain?”

“Positive.”

“You aren’t trying to avoid seeing Doctor Dayton, are you?”

“I just said a few minutes ago that I’m looking forward to seeing him again. But you know, somehow, it doesn’t seem to be California, now that I’ve said it out loud.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, like when you’re trying to think of someone’s name and you can’t quite get it. Then you try saying it aloud and suddenly you spit it out. It’s like that—only now that I’ve said California, I know that’s not the place I want to go.”

“Well, why not sleep on it?” she asked. “You’ve had a different type of day. You might be thinking about everything you and Doctor Dayton talked about more than you realize.”

“I don’t think so,” Jon said irately. Dropping his book on the floor, he fluffed his pillow. “I’m going to sleep.”

“When school’s out, we’ll go wherever you decide.”

He grunted and turned his back to her. After several minutes of silence, he said, “I wish you’d quit teaching tomorrow, regardless of any trip.”

“I can’t—not this close to the end of the school year. I wouldn’t mind, though. It would be kind of nice to lead a lazy life for a change,” she said, leaning over to kiss his ear. She ran her tongue over the top, jabbing him with it once above the lobe. “G’night, sweetheart.”

“G’night,” he mumbled, slipping off to sleep.

Trina often wished she could go to sleep as quickly as Jon. Tonight, in addition to her normal rolling and turning until she fell asleep, she would rehash the unusual event that had taken place earlier. His wanting to have her quit teaching so suddenly, too, was out of the ordinary. Really extraordinary. She recalled how they had planned their budget for one year to allow him to take his leave of absence. At first, he refused, saying it wasn’t right to use part of her inheritance to support them while he tried to write. But in the end, she had had her way.

Maybe he really needed a vacation trip to someplace. They had always gone to Florida during Christmas vacation and to the Wisconsin woods during any summer trips they had taken. She had never been to California and something different might be just the thing the doctor ordered. The doctor. She made a mental note to think about calling Doctor Dayton on Monday morning to tell him of the change in Jon’s personality and his peculiar limp. After a while, she dropped off to sleep, an unnatural scowl on her oval face.

CHAPTER 3

Trina clung to Jon, their lips pressed together in a lingering kiss. Holding her away from him at arm’s length, he studied her. “What’s the matter? Don’t you want to go to work?”

“In a way, no,” she said, fluffing her hair into place. “I thought about it all weekend. Maybe I should take some time off.”

“When I agreed to your idea of taking a year off to write, the deal was I would have the peace and quiet of the daytime hours to myself, to write. Just how much to you think I’d accomplish with you underfoot all the time?”

“I wouldn’t bother you.”

“You would. That’s why I suggested that I don’t write during weekends, although I might have to, to make up for the time I lost last week in the hospital.”

“Funny,” she said. “You’d better think about having me around this summer when I’m finished with school.”

“I’ll figure something out,” he said, looking at the clock on the fireplace mantel. “You’d better get going.”

“Will you be all right?”

“Of course.”

“I can call in sick. They can get a sub for me.”

“Hey, come on. I’m not an invalid.”

“I know, darling. See you at three-thirty.” She kissed him on the mouth and was gone.

Jon straightened up the kitchen, putting their few breakfast dishes into the dishwasher before going to the living room. Slowly sitting down at his desk, he stared at the typewriter.

Trina gathered up her briefcase and purse, throwing her raincoat over one arm. The day had been cloudy when she arrived at school but by noon the sun was shining brightly, enhancing Spring’s rebirth in all its glory.

She hurried out of the parking lot and unlocked the Mustang. In seconds, the late afternoon traffic absorbed the red car. Guiding it by automatic reflex, she replayed her conversation with Doctor Dayton. She had called the psychiatrist during her break at ten, after mentally wrestling with the idea most of the weekend. He had seemed interested in her observation of Jon’s limp, remarking that he, too, had noticed a degree of lameness at the end of their appointment Friday afternoon. Jon’s sudden change in personality caught his attention and he asked several questions. Then, the doctor thanked her and when she hung up, she felt relieved. His closing words remained fresh in her memory. “Don’t look for things. There’s nothing drastically wrong with your husband. In time, the idea of his visiting a psychiatrist will be quite commonplace for both of you.”

Don’t look for things.
She resolved to treat Jon in a normal manner. Why should she act differently? The dream would soon be understood. When it ceased to occur, they would have nothing bothering them.

Still, she hated to admit, since she felt one of them should be strong at this point, that her own confidence might be wavering. She had been the one to suggest she stay at home before she left for work. What would she do if his visits to the psychiatrist brought about further changes in Jon? Alter him in such a way that he wouldn’t love her anymore? Maybe she wouldn’t love him. No! She would never allow that to happen.

That damned nightmare!

“A dream is a dream is a dream,” Jon had said on their wedding night when the nightmare had struck.

She remembered trying to quiet him but apparently someone had heard his screams and called the motel manager. Only seconds, at least it had seemed like seconds, passed when the pounding on their door began along with loud demands to open up.

After slipping into a negligee, Trina had crossed to the door. Cracking it, she found the pasty-faced manager with his fist poised, ready to hammer on the hollow core door again.

“What in the name of God is going on in there?” he demanded shakily, his slack jaw trembling. “I had five calls within a minute or two reporting someone was being murdered.”

Despite being upset to the point of feeling weak because of Jon’s experience, she fought to keep from laughing at the mousy man. “I’m afraid my husband had a terrible nightmare.”

“Nightmare? Come on, lady. Don’t give me that. The people who called said they never heard such a blood-curdling scream before in their lives.”

“I assure you, he—” she stopped when Jon came up behind her.

“I—I did have a bad dream, I’m afraid,” he croaked, his voice barely a whisper, “but I’m perfectly all right, as you can see.” He managed a fragile smile for the frightened man.

“Nobody else in there?” he demanded. “You know if you sneak someone extra into your room without paying for him, you’re breaking the law. You’d be defrauding an innkeeper.” He raised himself up with more assurance, almost certain no one had been hurt or killed in the room. Straining to look taller than his five-foot five-inch frame would allow, he tried to look directly into Trina’s eyes.

“Would you take someone along on your honeymoon?” Jon demanded, stepping around his wife to openly confront the intruder.

The manager faced him, relaxing his exaggerated height when he realized he could never match Jon’s stature, even on his tiptoes. “I’ve been in this business twelve years and I’ve seen it all. Nothing would surprise me anymore.

I guess I’ll take your word for the fact nothing out of the ordinary has happened.” Glancing slyly at Trina, he suggested, “Try to hold it down, will you? People are trying to sleep, you know. Goodnight.”

While closing the door, Jon heard the man mutter under his breath, “Goddamn perverts with their weird fucking sex.”

Despite his aching head, Jon turned to face Trina who also heard the comment, and burst into laughter. “Would you like to rejoin me in bed,
ya goddamn pervert
?” he had asked, imitating the manager’s voice.

“Sure, why not?” Trina had answered.

Slowing to a stop for a traffic light, she beamed when she finished reliving the episode. They laughed every time they thought of the incident. She looked at her watch. Three-sixteen. A few more blocks and she would be home.

Jon would be all right, she told herself. He had to be. “Dear God,” she whispered softly as she drove, “let everything be fine with Jon.”

A sudden gloom clouded her face. Neither she nor Jon went to church anymore. At best, she had been a lukewarm Catholic when they met. Jon had allowed his faith to be destroyed when his mother died. “How could a loving God allow my mother to die?” he had asked bitterly the night they discussed religion. As far as Trina was concerned, she would go to church if Jon wanted to but as long as he felt the way he did, she wouldn’t push the subject. After all, she enjoyed those lazy Sunday mornings in bed with coffee, the
Tribune,
and Jon.

She suddenly caught herself praying again. “Please let everything be fine with Jon and I’ll start going to church again.” A small tear formed, swelling in size until it dropped down her cheek. Was it all right to bargain with God?

Jon hurled his eraser across the room. “Sonofabitch,” he cried. “Who the hell said I could write, much less type? That has to be the millionth mistake today.”

He had lost track of time during several daydreaming episodes since Trina left that morning. The same sheet of paper he had inserted at seven forty-five remained in the typewriter, a dozen smudged lines gracing it. He looked at the clock on the mantel. Three-fifteen? It couldn’t be. In a few minutes Trina would be home and he had all of a half page finished. What the hell could be wrong with him? He couldn’t write! Why waste his time? Why waste Trina’s money? She had such faith in him. Could he disappoint her without at least trying?

Standing, he stormed around the room in a circle again—the same path he traversed whenever his mind got cramped, as he put it. After making two rounds, he sat down heavily to stare at the paper.

“By God, I’ll finish this page before Trina gets home—or else.” He began again, immediately making a mistake. “Aw, shit!” he screamed. Without looking, he groped for the eraser but couldn’t find it. Then he recalled throwing it across the room. Pivoting on the chair, he abruptly froze in position, his eyes open but blind to his surroundings, as the minute hand on the clock moved toward the six.

Trina turned into the alley behind the mansion, pressing the electric eye button to open the garage door. Carefully driving ahead, she parked the Mustang and turned off the ignition. Her hands shook and she was vaguely aware of a drop of sweat trickling between her breasts. Feeling light-headed, she suddenly thought of Jon. He had to be all right. He
would
be all right.

The car door seemed to resist opening and with a quiet grunt, she pushed until it swung clear of the frame. Stepping out, she locked it, and stood swaying for a moment. Her knees trembling, she leaned against the side of the auto to regain her equilibrium. Dizziness gave way to an overwhelming fright and she felt ill, fighting the gagging urge to vomit. She had to be strong now when Jon needed her most.

The minute hand moved slowly, inexorably past three twenty-eight while Jon remained rooted in his rigid position. Droplets of sweat drenched his face, his soaked shirt clinging to his body.
In the distance he could hear the cheering.

Shaking her shoulders, Trina valiantly tried to throw off the heavy-hearted depression that had gripped her since entering the garage. She took a tentative step toward the door, which led outside, happily discovering she felt better.

The screams of adulation faded away and Jon could hear the pounding of his own running feet.

Her heels clicking on the concrete floor, Trina crossed the dim garage, gray with subdued sunlight fighting its way in through grimy windows.

Plunging headlong through the familiar dream forest, Jon could feel his wildly beating heart. His body and seared lungs ached.