I'll See You In Your Dreams

I’LL SEE YOU IN YOUR DREAMS

TONY MILLER

I’LL SEE YOU IN YOUR DREAMS

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2008 TONY MILLER

Cover art © 2012 probookcovers.com All Rights Reserved – used with permission

ISBN-10: 0988616513

ISBN-13: 978-0-9886165-1-6

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DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to those who pursue their dreams and goals against all odds.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Without saying, I have to, and better say, thank you to my wife Linda, as if without her total dedication, support and belief in me and my book it would have never been published. Also, my godson, Van, who is a great writer and so much more, who continued to push me and guide me to become a published author.

Note from the author

Although this is a work of fiction, my story is centered on real historical facts and places. 

The field of physics and quantum physics validate such things as parallel universes, time travel, and theorizes that each individual must exist in at least two of those universes.

I have spent many hours in research on the sociopath, who can best be described as people who are compulsively destructive. These people won’t like my book. 

This is not a ghost story in the traditional sense or simply a love story. It could be called a historical novel in a way as it is more true than not. It is a combination of the three … like life. It is the quest of two people to find love and fulfillment through such formidable barriers as time, space, evil, and even death. Love is a powerful force. Combine such a force, with a powerful dream, and it cannot be overcome. Dreams after all, are what the ancients believed created it “all.” 

Most all religions speak of a “life time.” How many lives are contained in a life time? How many chances do we get to fulfill our destiny? There are many possible answers. My story is one of them.

C
HAPTER ONE

Charlie snatched the EMF (electro magnetic field) detector off the top of his desk and hurriedly looked around his office. “What else do I need? Hmmm, the AID (air ion detector) is in the car along with the digital camera. Got to go, got to go, only so much daylight left.”

He stuffed the map he’d just printed from his computer into his jacket pocket and hurried out the door.  Once in the car, Charlie verified all needed equipment was accounted for and looked at the map. He didn’t need a map to get to the old Meux home, but just to remind him of which exit to take to downtown
Fresno. He had actually driven by the home hundreds of times.

He had heard the rumors that it was haunted by Anne Prenetta Meux, the daughter of the good doctor who built it in 1889. He died in 1929 at ninety-one, and his daughter Anne died in 1970 at eighty-five. Anne never married and was said to be reclusive after the deaths of her parents. She lived virtually her entire life in this house.

Haunted or not, he had just gotten a unique opportunity to take a few photos of the inside of this old Victorian. It would be a perfect cover shot for his novel, Parallel Universe, in which he planned to make the case that science could verify the validity of hauntings.

He had to admit this science angle wasn’t entirely his idea, but an angle he was nagged into by his childhood pal, Stanley. Charlie couldn’t remember a moment in life when he didn’t know
Stanley. Stanley lived next door, they walked to grade school together and split gas costs in high school. They shared a room at the same fraternity in college. Their minds seemed to have merged even though they seemed opposites.

Charlie was a what’s in front of you physically at the moment kind of guy: girls, beer, games, bikinis, cars, etc. Whereas
Stanley, on the other hand, was a scientific, meta-physical, physics, how does everything work kind of guy. Separately, they were, respectively, almost caricatures of the proverbial odd couple portrayed in movies and TV.

Together, however, they were the dynamic duo.

What’s a dynamic duo without a quest?  So, the Paranormal and haunted houses currently had their interest. Charlie loved the attention. Women hung on his every scary word. He embellished these tales to works of storytelling art. The dividends were generous. A well told ghost story guaranteed a date hanging on close. The “you’re so brave,” “oh my god,” “I would be so frightened” and other comments in that vein were the fuel that Charlie’s mental engine ran on. That and a book deal.

Stanley
was convinced on the other hand that there was some truth to any tale that survived the test of time. With the top physicists of the world giving credence to parallel universes and hereto scoffed at phenomena, the truth was up for grabs. What that truth was Stanley was almost possessed to know. Stanley was convinced that it all hung on a basic bit of truth. Find that truth and the mystery would unravel. Science and research were what
his
mental engine ran on.

A twenty minute ride later, Charlie pulled up in front of the old Meux home. It was 7:00 P.M. so the sun was down behind the trees in the distance. The backlighting and subdued twilight would lend just the eeriness needed for a great cover shot. Charlie had his Nikon out and had a dozen shots in but a few moments.

The Meux home, an historical landmark in downtown Fresno, was a museum during the day, where locals and tourists could take tours of one of the oldest houses in town. 

During spring break, Charlie met one of the employees of the museum, a lovely young woman named Leslie. He had overheard her talking to her girlfriends about her job at the Meux home. It was a perfect opportunity for Charlie. Soon they were dating, and she told him of the whispers and rumors of Anne’s ghost pacing up and down her old room. There was talk she once had a fiancé who had traveled out of town for an operation. He died during the procedure, and now it was rumored Anne spent an eternity watching the loading platform of the train depot from her bedroom window, for her true love to return.

Charlie was on the case.

<><><>

The phone rang. Charlie picked it up.

“Hello.”

“Charlie, it’s me, Leslie.”

“Hey, Leslie, what’s up?”

“Tonight’s the night!”

“I knew I’d break down your defenses, eventually,” Charlie said deviously.

“Not that, the house, I have the key.”

“What key?” Charlie said with a dry humor.

“The key! Something is seriously wrong with you Charlie.”

“Nothing you couldn’t cure, but I’ll settle for the key.”

“You are incorrigible, Charlie, just shut up a minute. My boss, Martha, felt nauseous and asked me to close. I have to give her the key back tomorrow at noon when the tour opens.”

“How do I get the key?” Charlie asked.

“I’ll leave it under the big flower pot on the back porch. I’m going over to my girlfriend’s house for an alibi in case you bungle it and get caught. I’ll just say I must have dropped the key.”

“Perfect!”

<><><>

After shooting the outside photos, Charlie returned his Nikon to the car, and then picked up his digital camera and the tripod. He slid the ion detector and the magnetic field detector in the roomy pockets of his field jacket.

“It’s show time, Annie baby … or not,” he said and laughed. The pictures would be payment enough for this little adventure. He looked up at the Meux home. “Classic with a capital C.”

He looked around and saw no one in sight. He carefully climbed the wrought iron fence surrounding the Meux home and strolled around to the back porch. He lifted the pot and grabbed the key. Looking around once more and seeing no one, he inserted the key and turned it. The door opened and he stepped inside. He crossed through the kitchen into the dining room and paused to look around. He could almost sense the oldness of the house and presence of the Meux family … creepy.

He proceeded to the living room and up the stairs to the landing on the second floor. He looked at the various doors and got his bearings. The train station was to his left, so he knew Anne’s room would be the last door on the left. He paused for a moment outside her door as though showing a bit of respect, then  closed his hand around the doorknob. He turned it slowly and pushed gently. The door opened a crack and Charlie peeked in.

Twilight lit enough to see the empty room and the old furnishings arranged to recreate it as it was when Anne breathed her last breath. Charlie noticed a bed against the wall and it faced the bank of windows that looked out upon the train station.

Charlie laid his tripod upon the bed, removed his jacket, and draped it across a chair. He had no time to waste as the failing light would be perfect for capturing that feeling a genuine haunted room should have. He pulled his light meter from a jacket pocket and checked the available light. Then he grabbed the camera and adjusted its settings. Picking up the tripod from the bed, he set it up in a corner and screwed on the camera. He adjusted the view until it covered the room at an angle that captured the bed and window. He set the auto-shoot setting to fire a picture every twenty seconds. With his one gigabyte card he had the capacity for hundreds of shots. Just erase the bad ones.

Charlie grabbed the ion meter from his jacket pocket just as a prop for the pictures. He pushed the camera button, stepped into the frame, and began to pose in various stances to simulate a serious ghost investigator. Charlie loved this Hollywood part of the ghost biz and actually didn’t believe in ghosts. He didn’t disbelieve in them; he just didn’t care either way, sort of a ghost agnostic. The effect on women, he believed in. He found it amazing that brainiac Stanley gave ghosts so much credence. Sometimes those brainy guys are too dumb for common sense.

Charlie began to hum as he posed around the room. It was all he could do to prevent himself from laughing at the charade. These were going to be some great pictures.

Charlie stepped into a corner between the bed and a wall; he heard a cracking sound and a board in the floor gave way. His foot crashed through and dropped six or seven inches. With the board still intact, it was now a V on top of Charlie’s foot. His foot had gone through the board, and it had sprung back up. Only his ankle prevented the board from closing the V. When he tried to pull his foot up, the V wedged tighter. He panicked and began jerking his foot to no avail. He was stuck.

He sat down. Don’t panic, he told himself. Think. Panic won as he realized his cell phone was in his jacket draped across a chair out of reach. He had no tools in reach to free his foot. My god, he thought, I may be here until 1:00 P.M. tomorrow when the museum opens, the screaming begins, and the cops come out. Then, of course, I’d be in the newspaper as one of those idiots who bungles a caper of some sort. The hopelessness of his situation began to set in. He lay back on the floor and, like a gazelle in the mouth of a lion, decided to give up.

“Hello,” came a soft almost indiscernible female voice.

Charlie sat bolt upright!

CHAPTER TWO

Charlie’s heart pounded as he stared at a woman sitting on the floor, in a corner, a mere four feet away. He could see through her. My god, he could see through her, a ghost, oh my god, Charlie couldn’t seem to catch a breath. He felt confused. He thought he might faint.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said softly.

Charlie’s eyes suddenly focused as the combination of adrenalin and testosterone hit his brain. “Uh … uh … no … I’m … uh … just, surprised,” Charlie replied as he let out a great lungful of air with a ragged
whoosh
. “I thought I was alone and, when you said hello, I … uh, well it frankly stopped my heart for a second there,” Charlie continued as he recovered his wits, which had been scared half out of him.

“I’m sorry. You seemed to be in such a forlorn state of mind that I couldn’t help myself, but to reach out and comfort you,” she stated slowly and softly. “And who might you be?” she continued. 

“I’m Charlie,” he replied and caught himself just in time to prevent his hand from extending. He got a little chill at the thought of trying to shake hands.

“Why are you here?” she asked quizzically.

In his peripheral vision he could see her picture hanging on the wall. He was captivated by her beauty. There wasn’t a hint of what Charlie would expect, like, ‘What in hell are you doing in my bedroom?’ Instead, Charlie felt almost like a co-conspirator stuck in the same predicament.