Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (47 page)

A
llie stared at the ceiling. All gonna die . . . no chance in that water.

She thought of the night she and some friends had been caught on Flathead Lake in a sudden thunderstorm; remembered their terror, their panic, no life vests, almost capsizing; imagined herself floating face down in the angry water, being tossed about like a leaf. But they have a board to hold on to . . . wonder if they can swim . . . her life sucks. Not fair. Too young and nice for all the crap that’s happened to her. I couldn’t have handled all that when I was nineteen . . . probably not now either . . . people trying to kill me, the general hardship of life, friends dying all over the place, decisions about men . . . no way. And George . . . kind, gentle George . . . gone . . . just like that . . . trying to help people. She rubbed sudden tears from her eyes, rolled over, buried her face in the pillow. He didn’t even think about it, just did it. Emily wanted so much to love him . . . maybe she did and didn’t know it. God, I feel for her . . . at least Elyoner and Virginia made it . . . maybe. Got two babies now. What a freakin’ emotional yo-yo . . . wonder how it all ends . . . does it go on until Emily dies . . . do I start another dream then? God, I don’t want her to die . . . how the hell can I go through life like this . . . leading two lives.

And then there’s Tayler . . . better be careful . . . at least ’til she knows more. But I think he really loves her, wouldn’t hurt her. Still . . . and that handsome Indian, Manteo’s friend; is he a stud or what? Shook her up, got in her head, lusty warm fuzzies in her heart . . . and other places. But he’s an Indian, cultures are too different, won’t go anywhere . . . just a little raw passion, but he
is
a hunk. Oh yeah, said he has Viking blood . . . like
her—must be why he looks different from the other Sav . . . Indians. Vikings, Vikings . . . oh yeah, Emily dreamed of them . . . wonder where they were.

Jeez, dummy! You dreamed of them, too . . . Emily’s dream . . . dreamed what she dreamed. We both saw black, then the gray TV screen, then the Viking dream . . . but how could that be?

She sat up on the bedside, stared at the window, flirted with a crumb of recollection that teased her memory. Something about that in my notes. She stood, walked to the desk, booted her computer, opened the “Dreams” folder, scanned it. There it is . . . from Waggoner’s book,
Lucid Dreaming. Mutual Dream = a dream experienced by several people at the same time—(scientifically proven)
. But how could it work with someone who’s . . . who’s dead? “But Allie, even though Emily lived over four hundred years ago, she’s alive . . . alive in your dreams.”

“But how can that be? Makes my head hurt.” She sighed. Guess I better get it all into the dream log so I can tell the doc. She rubbed her birthmark.

When Allie completed the log, she stared sadly at her words. This really sucks, hurts like it’s real, happening to
me
. . .
is
it happening to me? There’s definitely a tie between Emily and me . . . I feel it. But what?

Don’t want to dream anymore . . . too sad, too painful. But how can I
not
dream? Can’t control it . . . like a curse, sucked in, emotionally entwined, no escape. And you just convinced the doc to bring you on to the project, and he did something magic to make it happen . . . wonder what it was. No, can’t screw him over. You’re hooked, can’t live without the dreams, gotta know what happens to Emily.

“So what do I do?” Her mind whirled then lit on a thought. I can’t
not
dream, can’t turn them on and off; I’m addicted . . . got to follow it through, wherever it goes, whatever it does to me. Only chance is to understand what’s happening and learn how to live with it . . . and control it, and the only way I can do
that
is with the doc. So, Allie Girl, quit whining and get on with it, pursue it to its conclusion . . . dream
more
, not less. And how do I do that? She nodded to herself—sleeping pills . . . or whatever drugs let me sleep longer and dream more . . . even when I’m not in the lab.

She stared at the picture of her family on her screen saver—Mom and Dad, brothers, happy, smiling, ranch in the background—thought how much she missed them and the ranch life; shivered, felt an ache in her chest; realized the pathway she was choosing might forever alienate them, quickly discarded the thought like a pair of old jeans. Drugs are everywhere, easy to get, just need to know which ones and how to get them.

“Allie, you’ve never done drugs. Don’t start now; don’t mess up your life.”

“But I need to dream, need to know about Emily, whatever it takes; and since we dream mostly in REM sleep, the answer’s to find a drug that gives me more and longer REM.” Wonder if there is such a thing.

“But what about side effects, addiction?”

“Can’t worry about that. Already addicted . . . to the
dreams
. So what’s another addiction?” She trembled as she remembered one of her father’s favorite gems of wisdom:
No matter what else happens in life, you’ve got to live with yourself. So never consciously do anything you might be ashamed of when you look back on it tomorrow
. Tears ran down her cheeks as she brought up her search engine, typed in
drugs that increase REM sleep and dreaming
, then dragged her cursor down the list of hits; she was about to click on one when the phone rang. She looked at the caller ID. Whoops. Forgot to call her. “Hi, Mom.”

Nancy said, “Hi, Allie Girl, how’s it going today? Did he call?”

“Yeah, he did.” She thought of the Viking dream then Emily floating dead in the black water. “And guess what?”

Nancy’s heart raced with anticipation. “What?”

“I’m in. Somehow, he got the committee to appoint me as his assistant. Don’t know what he said, but it must have been good.”

“Hallelujah! Are you excited?” Nancy closed her eyes, sighed, thanked God for answering her prayer.

“Hell yes, I’m excited. I mean, after last night, I’ve just got to get to the bottom of what’s happening to me, and I don’t think there’s any other way.”

“What do you mean? What happened last night?”

Allie told her mother about her mutual dream with Emily, Elyoner’s disclosure of Tayler’s misdeed, the storm, the wreck, George’s heroism and death. Her tone grew morose as she told of Emily being tossed about by
the black, churning water. “So Mom, it gets more depressing every time I dream, one emotional extreme after another: happy, sad, happy, sad. They just can’t get a grip, and I don’t want to dream anymore, but I’m completely addicted to it . . . got to know what happens to Emily. It’s really frustrating, messing me up, but I’ve decided the only way I can save myself is to work with the doc and try to get to the bottom of it before it kills me.”

Nancy’s body tightened like a rope in a tug-of-war; in an instant, her mind flushed all of Allie’s words except
depressing
,
addicted
,
save myself
, and
before it kills me
; she felt a chill of déjà vu trickle down her back, a flood of panic deluge her mind. “Allie, what the hell are you saying? What do you mean? You’re scaring me.” Damn. This is not going the right way . . . but it’s heading exactly where Ian said it would go. Pray to God the doc has answers. Maybe I should tell her . . . no, it would push her closer to depression, make her do something rash. But she’s headed there anyway. Maybe knowing what’s ahead
now
will help her get a grip before it’s too . . .
before it’s too late
. She remembered Allie’s earlier guessing of the words, her seeming intuition that the dreams led to disaster. No. Dressler’s the only hope. Got to give him a chance.

Allie read the alarm in her voice. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’m not going to do anything stupid.” She cringed at her lie, wished it could be otherwise, but knew it couldn’t. “You know, it might help if you’d tell me what scares you so much about these dreams . . . and how Great-Great-Grandma Ian knew they were true. And also what happens when someone dies . . . like does that dream end? Do you start a new one right away, or do you not dream for a while? And how do you keep it all from driving you nuts and taking over your life? Come on, Mom. Tell me more.”

Nancy held her silence.

“Mom, are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here . . . Hon, I don’t know the answers to most of your questions, but I’ll tell you what I
do
know.” Some of it, anyway, she thought. “Ian never told me
how
she knew the dreams were true, but she said she was absolutely sure they were. Remember, I was a little girl, so she didn’t go into a lot of adult detail. She said that when one series of dreams ended, she
always
had another, but not necessarily right away; she was still having them
when I knew her . . . in her nineties. And I kind of remember her saying that stressful events brought them on, but I’m not sure of that. Again, I was so young.” An image of the old woman’s haggard, wrinkled face, sad eyes flashed through Nancy’s mind; then she saw the family gathered around her coffin, talking to one another about her dementia. A twinge of sadness overcame her, sent a tear down each cheek as she remembered being the only one who’d shared intimate moments with her in her last months. No, she hadn’t suffered from dementia . . . she was all there; the others were wrong, simply couldn’t bring themselves to accept what she’d told them about the dreams and their burden—too big a leap, so they’d written it all off as insanity. She closed her eyes, again savored the memory of Ian’s warm, reassuring embrace, the sincerity and honesty in her eyes; shook off a chill as she thought of her sad end, the end Nancy wasn’t supposed to know about. And now Allie was following precisely in her footsteps, perhaps sprinting inescapably toward the same end. God forbid!

“Mom . . . Mom . . .”

“Oh . . . sorry. Just thinking about something . . . you know, I forgot to tell you that Ian had a butterfly birthmark just like yours—same place, same shape and size. She showed it to me once, and I remember being
very
impressed. Funny, but I didn’t think of it when I first saw
your
birthmark, never made the connection. Weird. I wonder if—”

“No kidding. Wow! That’s wild. Just like mine . . . and you don’t have one?”

“Nope. Just you and Ian. So maybe it’s something the dreamers in the family share. I’ve never seen the mark on anyone but you two.”

“Mom, what was Ian like? Did she just die of old age?”

Nancy froze as if hit by a stun gun, her mind fogged with confusion.

“Damn it, Mom! You okay?”

“Yeah . . . I’m . . . I’m okay.” Long pause. “Allie, I want to come see you again. I don’t want to talk about this over the phone. I need to be with you.”

“Jeez. It must be really bad. Come on, Mom. I can handle it.”

“No . . . how about I come over tomorrow?”

“No, Mom! That won’t work. I’ll probably be at the lab getting wired up. Why can’t you tell me now?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s the wrong thing to do. So how about the day after tomorrow?”

Allie knew her mother, knew her heels were dug in; also knew how much she needed her, wanted her to be with her, console her, reassure her. But what if I’m doing drugs? Hm. “Okay. Day after tomorrow . . . come in the morning . . . I may be in the lab in the afternoon . . . won’t know until I meet with the doc today. Ooh! I need to get going. Call you later, Mom. Bye.”

“Okay. Keep me posted. See you soon . . . love you, Allie.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

“Allie . . . don’t do anything dumb.”

Dr. Dressler said, “Well, Allie, how’d it go last night? You look kinda tired. I’m sure my late call didn’t help.”

Allie gave a cynical snort. “No, I went right back to sleep.” Thank God for sleeping pills. “But I never seem to get much rest when I dream, always wake up feeling spent, helpless, and sad. But that’s probably because I’m so emotionally caught up in it and not much good ever happens, especially to Emily.”

“Another bad one, huh?” A little hint of onset depression . . . not good . . . need to watch her.

“Well, it started out good but then went steadily downhill.” Allie handed him a printout of her dream log then recounted all the major events. Her face lit up like a floodlight when she recounted her mutual-dreaming experience, her realization that Emily was alive. “Doc, knowing she was alive, even in the coma, was incredibly exciting . . . like being there . . . I was lucid and actually remember twitching or something. It really floored me when I realized we were dreaming the same dream—me here today, and her at Roanoke over four hundred years ago, somehow connected through time in dream space. Does that make any sense?”

He nodded as he took notes at a feverish pace. “I’ve never heard of it with people in different epochs, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’ve never heard of a lot of the things that are happening to you.” He looked up, noticed the peaceful, serene look on her face. She’s a beautiful girl, he thought . . . honest emotions, happy and sad, always fresh and exciting to be with; her face is a window to her soul.

Allie snickered. “Well, you’ll also see stuff in there about Emily thinking she has Viking blood, and about a new Indian she met who
knows he
has Viking blood—a really handsome man . . . who, by the way, she kind of has the hots for. Anyway, I’m thinking there’s some kind of Viking connection to all this, but I don’t have a clue what it might be or why.”