Evil Dreams (18 page)

“But you were acting it out, darling.” Shuddering, she recalled him kneeling over her, the enlarged proportions of his penis.

“Well,” he said shortly, “he didn’t prescribe anything and he didn’t seem too upset because of it.”

“He said nothing? Nothing at all about what you said under hypnosis?”

“He never does. I don’t know if I’ll ever hear the tapes. All we did was talk a few minutes after he brought me out of it.”

“Talked? About what?”

” ‘Sfunny,” he said, getting to his feet. He crossed the room readjusting the volume when the music rose loudly in an impassioned crescendo. “He asked me about Mom. Did she speak German around the house? Did she ever teach me the language? Dumb things like that. I sure don’t get the connection.”

He turned, facing his wife. “Want some coffee while I’m up?”

“Yes. Yes, I would,” she said absentmindedly. German? Had he spoken German while hypnotized? What would that have to do with his stupid dream?

Turning, Jon limped toward the kitchen, rubbing his elbow as he went.

Swiveling in her chair, she watched him through the doorway. A cold shiver began as a tiny speck in her stomach, spreading rapidly like an epidemic through her entire body. As normal as he had seemed a scant few seconds before, she knew the dream could probably be the most traumatic thing he would ever have to face.

During dinner, Sam and Marie chatted lightly, aimlessly, not mentioning the reason for their being together. She had long since put the memory of Helmut Rosenspahn from her active mind but nevertheless, felt his presence whenever Sam looked at her. She enjoyed Sam’s company. In her own way, she loved him. But could she love him in the same way she had loved Helmut? Somehow, that particular question would have to be resolved, removing the barrier it represented to her, to allow real happiness and love to take place.

“Someday, Sam, you will make a good
wife
for some woman. The dinner was delicious. You know I love tempura,” she said smiling graciously at him.

“If you have an application blank with you, I’d like to apply for the position,” he said softly, winking. He had almost given up hope she would ever accept him on a permanent basis but until that remaining faith surrendered to despair, he would continue. “Why don’t we have our coffee in the living room. I can put Ward’s tape on the machine and you can listen to it.”

“Did you uncover anything new today, considering what happened to him and his wife over the weekend?”

“I can hardly wait until you hear the tape,” he said eagerly, quickly holding her chair. He helped her stand and led the way into the living room. It had been difficult not to mention the German speaking episode while they ate. But he knew Marie. If he had, it would have been all business and no idle talk, talk that he hoped would eventually allow her to tell him why she refused to accept his proposal.

With the tape on the machine, he adjusted the volume. Sitting opposite her, he listened intently, studying her face as the recording began to unfold the day’s dramatic session. She was a woman whose natural attributes emphasized her beauty. Shoulder length hair matched in color a spattering of pale freckles that complemented her fair complexion. Her brown eyes usually twinkled easily, happily. But he had seen them cloud with hurt on more than one occasion, making him wonder about the core of her apprehension. Could it be him? He had never hurt her, to the best of his knowledge, and would have sooner injured himself than inflict any wound, physical or mental, directly or indirectly, on her.

Totally unaware of his perusal, Marie concentrated on the recorded hypnotic session. With Jon’s colorless narration, the events washed over her, coupling to the first part of the dream, which was already registered in her memory. Why did the beginning seem so familiar?

Slowly the hands of the electric clock hanging above the stereo equipment moved toward nine-thirty, the session drawing closer to the explosive moment for which Sam waited. Now he could find out what Jon had said when he spoke German. He watched Marie’s face intently for the impact of the words would have on her, if any.

“I must live,”
Jon’s voice said, fading away.

“Why must you live?”
Sam’s voice seemed, too loud compared to his patient’s whispering.

Jon mumbled incoherently.

“I can’t understand you, Jon. Speak louder and more distinctly.”

Then the crisp, clear German rang from the speakers in a completely different voice. Marie’s jaw dropped. She listened closely while Sam brought his patient out of the trance to the questions and answers that followed.

Sam stood to turn the machine off. “Well?” he asked, expectantly.

“My God, Sam. That’s phenomenal. How do you explain it?”

“I believe there’s another personality attempting to dominate Jon. Did you notice the difference in his voice when he spoke German?”

“I certainly did.”

“What the hell did he say?”

“I don’t know exactly. It took me so off guard. Something about being heard, that he had killed himself against his will. Something about his being weak but getting stronger. Then, something about directions. You’re aware, aren’t you, that he addressed you directly at one point when he said Herr Doktor?”

“I thought I had heard that but I haven’t played back the tape until now. I strongly believe I’m dealing with a dual personality.”

Her lips puckered in thought for several moments before she spoke. “I don’t know, Sam. At this point in the analysis, it would seem to indicate that that is what you’re facing.

However, there’s something vaguely familiar about the first part of the dream, something I seem to have heard of before or read someplace —I don’t know. It’ll come to me. Do you still have the tapes of the first two appointments?”

“Yes, I do. This one is the second hypnotic session. You know, I find it unusual that the voice could manifest itself so readily this soon into analysis and be so strong as well.”

“You did say Ward had at least one personality change while he was awake, didn’t you? Have there been more?”

“Just one, maybe two in the last few weeks. Prior to those, his wife maintains his only problem was having the dream and waking up with a bad headache.”

Her thoughts, now a jumble of bits and pieces of information, spun wildly. She stood, walking to the sliding glass doors, to look at the lights of the city.

After several quiet moments passed, he said, “What is it, Marie? Is something bothering you?”

“He claims he has never spoken German. His mother supposedly did not speak German after coming to his country. Still, under hypnosis, he speaks absolutely perfect German. Austrian German, to be exact.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Remember, I’m from Vienna. There are accents and dialects in the German language just as there are drawls in the southern states; and Brooklyn and Bronx accents in New York; and midwestern twangs here in Chicago. No, Sam. What you heard was perfect, Austrian German.”

“Doesn’t that lend credence then to the theory or possibility of dual personality? What other explanation could there be?”

“You’re not Catholic, are you?”

“You know I’m not.”

“Do you know anything about possession?”

“Oh, come on now!”

“I mean it, Sam,” she persisted.

“Professionally? No. I did read
The Exorcist
and
Garden of the Incubus
when they were on the bestseller lists. They were entertai— Wait a minute! I see what’s you’re saying. Knowledge of a foreign language when such knowledge is not possible. Is that it?”

“I don’t believe Jon is possessed. I’m just trying to point out there could be, and probably are, other explanations that will seem just as correct. I’ll grant you this, his German is an interesting turn of events. Play it again, Sam.”

Sam laughed.

“What’s the matter? Did I say something funny?”

“You just said one of the most famous nonexistent lines ever to come out of a Bogart film,” he said, rewinding the tape. While they waited, he explained about Bogey and the piano player in the movie,
Casablanca.
He stopped the machine when the tape was ready to play.

“Get me a paper and pen,” she suggested.

He produced a pen and a small tablet from a table drawer near the stereo equipment.

“Now,” she said, “let it run until I say stop.

I’ll translate what has been said and then, play a little more when I tell you.”

Word by word, phrase by phrase, the German sentences were replayed until the long pause separating Sam’s shock and his reawakening of Jon began. He stopped the machine, looking expectantly at her.

“Just wait a minute, Sam,” she said, studying the notes she had taken, “I’ll put this in better English.” She worked for several more minutes before looking up at him. “At this point it doesn’t make much sense. It seems to be taken out of context from something else. Perhaps there’s more. Here goes:

“At last, I can speak and be heard—I did not want to take my life—I had no choice—everyone expected it—I could not allow myself to be taken prisoner. But, as you see, I still live, Herr Doctor!

I have been very weak—every day I become slowly stronger. My host has been difficult to conquer—soon I will control him—then I can claim what is rightfully mine!

Until this time comes—must remember: 109 degrees West
—37
degrees North—60 kilometers South—60 kilometers East—middle of a landmark in the shape of a swastika.

Zozobra took the people away—no one was there because of Zozobra—no one knows—only me!”

Sam stared at Marie when she stopped reading. “What the hell does all that mean?”

“I imagine it might be more symbolism, not unlike the first part of the dream. However, the directions sound authentic. What do you make of it?” She handed the tablet to him.

His eyes flitted across the delicate handwriting before stopping at the bottom.
“Zozobra?
What the hell is that?”

She shrugged. “It’s not German. I’m sure of that.”

“I thought you said it was all perfect German.”

“It is, except for that one word. I have no idea what it means or what language it is. I don’t know if it’s a he, a she, or an it. It’s handled like a noun and not a verb. I wonder—”

“What?” he asked when she didn’t continue.

“I wonder if we’re dealing with two separate, distinct dreams. The first is so solidly symbolic. Yet, it’s as though Ward is experiencing it himself. The second part seems to have more of a fantasy element. More detachment from reality.”

“Two separate segments,” Sam muttered.

“If, and I say
if,”
Marie continued, “they are of one makeup, it is up to you, Sam, to find the connecting link between the two parts.”

“What the hell does any of the German mean?” he persisted. “Directions, swastika,
Zozobra.
Ramblings about being alive. What the hell does it mean?”

“When do you see Mr. Ward again?”

“His regular appointment has been Monday afternoons.”

“I’ll give you several questions to ask in German. One is, ‘Do you speak English?’ The other, ‘What are you called?’ We’ll see if he has a name for this German entity. I’d better include, ‘I don’t speak German.’ “

He watched her write the statements first in German, then in a phonetic breakdown. When she finished, he studied the pronunciations for a moment. Convinced he would have no trouble in speaking the German words, he placed the paper on the table. Looking up, he discovered her staring at the stereo equipment, obviously lost in thought. “What are you puzzling over now?”

“The whole of the problem is contradictory. The first segment, I feel, we’ll have no trouble solving, in time.” She paused when she saw him smiling. “Did I say something amusing?”

“Not really. Just sort of comforting. I like the way you use the word
we
when you referred to the two of us solving the meaning of Ward’s dream.”

“Oh,” she said softly. Maybe she should allow the serious consideration, which she had thought about earlier in the evening, to have its way. Maybe they should forget Jon Ward and his dream for the time being. Still, her training fought her natural instincts for precedence and she knew, for now, they would remain on the subject at hand.

“A penny for your thoughts,” he said, wistfully, moving next to her on the couch.

“It—it was nothing. I’m trying to understand how his mother plays a role in his dream. She somehow seems totally out of place.” She turned to face him, drawing both legs up on the seat.

“I thought I might have had the whole thing solved today before he started speaking German.” Sam reached out lightly touching her shoulder.

“How?”

He told her about his theory of Jon wishing to be nonexistent, considering at first a complicated Oedipus Complex. When he finished, neither spoke for several minutes.

Then she broke the silence. “I always found it difficult to understand why Freud could not come to grips with the idea that dreams could have a basis of truth gleaned from some ancestral or hereditary memory.” She lifted her face, her eyes roving about the room.

“What are you saying, Marie? That Ward is experiencing something from his father’s or mother’s past?”

She shrugged. “Perhaps even more remote. You’re not into the analysis far enough to draw any conclusions yet. Still, I believe you should leave the door open to any and all possibilities. The solution could be pitifully simple, or so complex the dream might never be solved.”

“I explored at first the idea that it might be caused by certain, current stimuli. But he shot me down at every turn by reminding me that the dream has, at least the first part, remained virtually unchanged since he began experiencing it twenty-eight years ago.”

“That’s an awfully long time to never question it.”

“His wife became concerned enough to finally convince him to seek help.”

“I see. Well, at any rate, you have your work cut out for you.”

“That’s the second or third time since I mentioned how you were including yourself, that you’ve excluded yourself. What is there about me, or us, or our situation, that turns you away from facing what I hope will be inevitable?”