Evil Dreams (17 page)

Regaining his composure, the psychiatrist noted his patient’s turgid mask subsiding and he appeared to be resting easily. “When I touch your shoulder, Jon,” he said softly, “you will awaken and feel refreshed as though you’ve had a good night’s sleep. You will not remember anything you have told me and will only react to the command
blue trees
the next time you hear it. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Jon answered, his voice no longer vibrant. When he had spoken German, the sharp clipped inflection had expressed a high degree of excitement not previously displayed by the hypnotized man.

Reaching out, Sam touched his shoulder. Jon sat up interlacing his fingers and stretched.

“How do you feel?”

“Fantastic! Utterly fantastic. I would think you’d make a fortune doing this for people who don’t sleep well or suffer from insomnia.”

Sam smiled wanly. “Before you leave today, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Jon looked at his wrist watch. “Ten of five?” he exclaimed. “Trina will be concerned if I’m too late but go ahead if it won’t take long.”

“If I recall correctly, the form you filled out when you first came here indicated you were born in Germany. Is that correct?”

“Yes. I was born in Bonn, where my mother went after marrying my father. She was to—”

“How old were you when you came to this country?”

“About nine months old.”

“I see. Did you ever learn German?”

“No.”

“Did your mother ever speak German around you?”

Jon’s forehead wrinkled thoughtfully before he spoke. “No, I don’t think so. My father didn’t speak German, and my mother became very Americanized. When I was old enough to understand, she told me she never once spoke her native language after arriving in the United States. She felt if she were going to be an American, she should not speak any language other than English.”

Sam jotted the information in his notepad before continuing. “She might have before you were old enough to recall the fact—say four or
five
years of age?”

Missing the emphasis the psychiatrist had put on the word
five,
Jon replied, “Naturally, I can’t swear to it. But you would have had to know my mother to understand that she never went back on her word. It was almost an obsession with her to be completely honest.”

Mulling over his patient’s answers in his mind, he met his perplexity head-on. If Jon had never been exposed to German, where would he have picked up sufficient vocabulary to speak at such great length? Sam didn’t understand what had been said and felt more than thankful for the tape recorder which had dutifully captured each word of their conversation. If he didn’t have the close relationship with Marie, who would be able to translate it, he would not have found the situation impossible. Someone would be available to translate the foreign words into English, but Sam disliked working with a stranger. An eagerness to find the meaning of whatever Jon had said in German swept over him.

“What point are you trying to make, Doctor?” he asked when he saw Sam lost in thought. He checked his watch again. Five o’clock.
Five?
“It just now dawned on me, Doctor, how you emphasized the word ‘five’ a few minutes ago. Have you found something?”

“I thought perhaps I had. But I have no reason not to believe you where your mother is concerned. Apparently I misinterpreted one phase of today’s session. However, now you understand the validity of taping. I’ll replay it before your next appointment and be able to better understand what was said today.”

Jon nodded. Questions he wished the doctor would answer began swirling about, showing themselves clearly in his mind while his face assumed a puzzled look. What did the number five have to do with anything? Why did he ask if he spoke German? How could his birthplace be involved? Where did his mother fit in? Would it be right to push for answers now if the psychiatrist wanted more time with the recording of his session? He doubted it. “Is there anything else before I leave?” he asked, pushing down this new concern to a level with other unanswered questions—questions he knew they would explore in the future.

“No. I believe that’ll do it for today, Jon. Thank you,” Sam said, standing. He reached with one hand to turn off the recorder while extending the other to his patient who grasped it firmly. “Be certain to make an appointment with Tory before you leave.”

“See you next week Doctor,” he said, closing the door.

Sam hurried to the louvered doors across the room, quickly rewinding the tape which had almost been completely used. Since Marie was coming to dinner, he would have to hurry. Instead of background music to woo and win a fellow psychiatrist as his life’s mate, he would play Jon Ward’s hypnotic session. Instead of soft words, they would attempt fathoming this new aspect of the dream, trying to unravel what was becoming to him more than a puzzling mystery. Placing the reel in its plastic box after he fixed another in place on the machine, he crossed to the door.

Tory looked up, smiling at her employer when he entered the outer office. “Is that one ready for transcribing, Doctor?” she asked soberly, indifferently, concealing her own interest in the tape.

“No. This one isn’t ready yet. I’ll give it to you when it’s to be processed.” He reached for the large envelope lying on her desk.

Quickly grabbing it, Tory said sharply, “That one has some stuff in it that has to be mailed.”

“Stuff?” Sam asked.

“It’s mine,” she offered shakily, opening a drawer and handing him an empty envelope.

Sam dropped the tape box in, folding the flap in place. “See you Thursday, Tory.”

“Very well, Doctor.”

Sam left his office, hurrying to the elevator. He had less than two hours to get ready for Marie’s arrival at seven. Knowing she would be prompt, he wanted their meal’s preparation completed before she made her appearance. While the elevator descended, he wondered about the ultimate outcome of Jon’s treatment. What did his dream mean? Did it have significance, a message? The fact that the identity of the woman in the tunnel had been proven to be his patient’s mother brought him back to the Oedipus complex. Since Jon apparently engaged in sex with his mother in the dream, he would have to give it more exploration. Or could he really have another personality locked up inside, one that had been trying to manifest through the medium of the dream and had momentarily emerged, which would explain the German he spoke. Sam knew cases such as these usually resulted in the merging of the divergent personalities into a completely new entity. What would happen to Jon Ward, the teacher? The aspiring author? Would he be able to continue writing? Would he still love his wife? Would she love him? What would the new Jon Ward be like if the two identities melded?

Opening the street doors, Sam joined the crowd of people who hurried toward their homes. Thankful he didn’t have to contend with the commuter rush and would only have to walk six blocks to his apartment, he quickened his step, clutching the envelope containing the reel of tape under his arm. Tonight, with Marie’s help, he might gain additional insight.

While Sam made his way toward his apartment building, Marie Von Keltzer luxuriated in a steaming shower, relishing the hot water cascading over her well-proportioned body. Stress and tension collected during the day’s appointments washed away. Feeling reborn with the exuberance of a twenty year old, she turned the water off, and left the glass cubicle. She toweled her skin dry, then wrapped herself in a terry cloth robe before vigorously brushing her strawberry blond hair.

Thoughts of Sam ran through her mind while she prepared for their dinner engagement. She loved Sam and felt more than confident he loved her. Feelings of guilt gnawed at her whenever he proposed marriage or suggested they live together. She always refused. She had to because of Helmut Rosenspahn. For some reason unknown to her, she had elected to keep Helmut a secret from Sam. Why, she had never been able to comprehend. She and Helmut had been lovers while attending the University of Vienna. When they decided to marry, both families objected strenuously because of the differences in their respective religious and cultural backgrounds. Without marital blessings from their parents, the couple broke up.

Many times, Marie saw an ironic humor in the situation. Since she, in her profession, helped people solve problems, why did she find herself incapable of accepting her own situation? Why couldn’t she adjust accordingly?

Dressing, she recalled her first meeting with Sam, shortly after her arrival at the University of Chicago for a series of lectures. He had been a member of the audience and approached her when she finished her talk.

“Doctor Von Keltzer? I’m Sam Dayton,” he had said in his boyishly charming manner.

“Yes?” she replied aloofly.

“Could I buy you a cup of coffee, or a drink perhaps? I have a few questions I should like to have you answer—pertaining to the psychology of mass hypnosis.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Dayton, I do not conduct private seminars.” Her attitude grew haughty.

“It’s
Doctor
Dayton. I’m a psychiatrist, too,” he had said, smiling.

They laughed about the misunderstanding many times, whenever the incident came up in conversations. Their friendship grew after establishing a professional relationship. And the thing Marie had feared most happened when Sam told her of his love. She could not deny her feelings for the handsome American but the specter of her affair with Helmut and their thwarted plans hovered menacingly between them. Sooner or later she would have to come to grips with the problem. But she had found it easier to keep Sam’s proposals in perspective by not telling him about Helmut.

“You’re a fool, Marie Von Keltzer,” she chastised her mirrored image, applying a touch of eye liner. “You’re thirty-five years old and will not be attractive all your life. Accept Sam’s proposal. Forget the past. It would be much easier.”

Maybe her brother, Rudy, an ordained priest, had been right. She would be able to enjoy happiness if she allowed herself to recognize it. Happy whenever she was with Sam, she found him occupying her thoughts more and more. The next time he proposed she would give it more serious consideration than she ever had in the past.

Walking into the bedroom, she stopped, checking her reflected appearance in the full length mirror. The rosy earth tones of her soft flowing blouse complemented the mushroom colored Quiana trousers. Dissatisfied with the neckline, she loosened one more button. Adjusting the gold braid sash, she turned to gather her handbag and light coat in the event she did not stay all night.

Would it do any good to be so attractive for Sam tonight if Jon Ward and his dream dominated their conversation? That dream! In her seven years of practice she had not heard of such a detailed, highly sophisticated, symbolic dream. The five years she had spent in the United States had been a combination of lecturing and practicing psychiatry when time permitted. She readily admitted that her exposure to such phenomena had not been extensive; in fact, it was nonexistent. She had studied classic examples but had never witnessed nor treated someone with such a problem. Perhaps she found the dream intriguing because of its nagging familiarity. The dream made her feel she had been privy to something similar sometime, someplace in her past but could not quite recall it.

Leaving the apartment, she threw her coat over one arm. It would be easier to catch a cab than take her own car and worry about finding a parking place. Once in front of the building, she hailed a taxi that whisked her away from the curb toward Sam’s apartment building.

Surreptitiously studying Jon across the top of her magazine, Trina squirmed in her chair. He had not mentioned much about his session that day with the doctor. She wondered about his attitude toward giving up his Monday afternoons. At least it had been changed to Tuesday this week. “Does losing half of each Monday bother you during the rest of the week, darling?” she asked, jumping at the sound of her own voice.

He looked up from his newspaper. He, too, had not realized how quiet the living room had become. Laying the
Tribune
aside, he stood, crossing the room to the stereo. Fumbling with the dial until the hauntingly romantic opening of Chausson’s
Poeme
filled the room, he adjusted the volume. Satisfied they would be able to converse normally, he returned to his easy chair.

“Not really. Being hypnotized is relaxing. Actually, I feel I’ll do better work the balance of the week because of it. Once Dayton figures out the dream and how to get rid of it, I may continue with the sessions just for the after affects.”

Unable to determine if he had been completely honest she forced a smile. She recalled how he had talked of possibly cancelling last week’s appointment but after being hypnotized, was enthusiastic about the sessions. Now, he appeared at ease. Despite his apparent tranquil mood, she sensed a resentment to his involvement with doctors and hospitals in the last few weeks. She assumed total responsibility for that, which in turn made her suffer guilt pangs, an unfamiliar sensation for her.

She had apprehensively anticipated his return this evening since their weekend had ended so disastrously. They had barely spoken to each other since. When he came home later than usual, she had thought horrible things might have been discovered in the doctor’s office.

He had entered their apartment smiling, kissing her deeply, but said nothing about the appointment or what he and the doctor had discussed, nothing about their apparent indifference to each other until that moment. Her curiosity stirred to the fullest, she wanted to know. She felt she had a right to know. “Did everything go all right today?” she finally ventured.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

“Well, didn’t the doctor say
anything?”

“You mean about the weekend?”

“Yes.” She tingled impatiently.

“Not really. Oh, we talked about the continuation of the nightmare when I first arrived. I told him about keeping the rest of it secret from everyone, even you. I’ll say this, I felt like an ass when I was telling him. But Dayton’s a pretty good guy ‘cause he didn’t get angry with me for not leveling with him. I did get the impression when I suggested I might hurt you in my sleep, that he felt the dream’s content would be confined to the dream itself.”