Evil Dreams (22 page)

Jon’s eyes, focused on the statuette since the tumefaction began, suddenly moved, riveting themselves to Sam’s. The psychiatrist recognized madness in the stare. A low, evil chuckle replaced the laughter and slowly, Jon’s mouth opened.
“Adolf Hitler!”

The two words brought drops of cold sweat to Sam’s forehead. Impossible! It was completely, irrevocably impossible for Jon Ward to have said and meant what he had just heard. Had his question been answered properly? Had he pronounced the words correctly? He sat back heavily under the malevolent gleam pouring from the eyes fixed on him. Silence in the room pounded loudly in his ears. The only noise he could hear other than his patient’s and his own breathing came from the tape recorder, taking down every sound made in the office. Its hum seemed to be slowly growing louder.

Dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief, Sam studied the slip of paper, quickly mouthing the words that would ask in German if the personality could speak English.
“Spricht Sie Englisch?”

Perniciously reflecting malice, depravity, hatred, Jon’s eyes remained fastened on Sam for several long seconds before his mouth moved again.
“Ja! I could not when I was alive —in Germany. But now—I can speak English.”

“You say you are Adolf Hitler. How do I know you are who you say you are?” His throat felt rough and dry. He could scarcely believe the words he had just spoken.

“Does Jon Ward speak German?” the voice asked slyly.

“He says he can’t,” Sam countered.

“Well, doesn’t that prove it? If he doesn’t speak German and I do, doesn’t that prove I am who I say I am.”

“That proves nothing,” Sam sneered. “You’re not dealing with an idiot. You could be anyone, or anything.” He blanched again at what he had just said, unable to understand why he had added the last word.

“You are most curious, are you not, Herr Doktor, as to the meaning of Herr Ward’s dream?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know how it is I inhabit his body with him?”

“Yes.” Sam watched the face slim back a little until he appeared almost normal. “Jon? Can you hear me? Jon Ward, answer me!”

“Neitt!
I am here yet. I have not left.
He
is the one who is gone.”

“Is he gone for good? Will he come back?”

“He will be back.”

“Where is he? Where is Jon Ward?”

“You hypnotized him.”

“I know that. Is it only when he is hypnotized or asleep that you are strong enough to make your presence known?”

“Ja,”
the voice answered reluctantly. “When he sleeps, certain memories of mine invade his thoughts, disturbing him deeply.”

“The dream is
yours?”
Sam wheezed in a hoarse whisper.

Jon’s facial muscles grew rigid, unmoving. The voice did not answer.

“Is the dream Jon Ward has experienced since childhood, your dream?” He could not bring himself to address the new personality by the name it had chosen.

“Ja!”

The single word carried a sharpness that caused Sam to flinch momentarily. “Tell me about it,” he said firmly after several minutes passed.

“No!
Nein!
Never!”

“Why?”

“It is too painful—
too painful!”

“I know,” Sam said with a touch of sympathy. “Jon has suffered a long time with it!” He felt as though he might be gaining an advantage over the new personality despite its sudden appearance.

“That is not my concern,” the voice said haughtily.

“You have no right to—”

“I have every right! Am I not Fuehrer of the Third Reich?”

The strong voice, precisely clipping the last words, sent an involuntary shudder through Sam. The thought couldn’t be more horrible, more terrifying. If this really were— He stopped, mentally chastising himself for having formulated the thought. It’s not possible, he told himself repeatedly. He would not be able to dwell on any one aspect of the conversation at this point. Later he would study the tape before beginning an analysis of it. “That part of history is over!” he said.

“You are right,” the voice agreed without the alarm he had anticipated. “But it is only over for now. Not forever.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, trying to smother the panic he had experienced just seconds before. “How will you rise to power if you are dead?”

“I will use Herr Ward’s body. I will direct it, and it in turn, will be followed by all true Nazis in the world.”

“What happens to Jon?”

“Who cares?
I must rise to power again!”

“I care. Jon Ward especially cares what happens. His wife cares.”

“And I care about me. The world cares about me.”

“The world
hates
you, Adolf Hitler, if that is who you are.”

“Nein!”

“Your public, your countrymen, your fellow Germans, all despite you. They loathe the memory of your very name!” he said loudly.

“NEIN!”
the voice screamed, unable to accept the truth.

“Tell me about the dream, if you do not want to talk about yourself,” Sam said, bearing in to find the truth.

“Nein.
It is too painful. It is not good for me to remember it. It is bad enough when
he
experiences it through the dream.”

“What does it mean?” Sam persisted.

“How I came to be with him in his body—in his mind—in his soul.”

“Tell me about it. Perhaps I can help you forget it. That is my job, to help people. I can’t help you unless I know all about your problem.”

Sweat beaded on Jon’s corpulent face as he rolled his head from side to side. “After I killed my body,” the voice began after several long minutes of indecision, “I found I still existed. I sensed, rather than saw my surroundings, but I existed. I floated up and out of the bunker where I had hid for so many days. I wanted to scream to those faithful few who had remained with me that I was still alive. I tried, but I could not make a sound. I passed through the ceiling and earth separating my underground fortress from the fresh air and for a while, hovered over Berlin in all its ruination. I could feel death and destruction all about me but I did not care—I still existed. Somehow, I instinctively knew I must survive long enough to solve my dilemma by acquiring a new body. Something like highly excited feelings of emotion attracted me toward an underground railway that was not too far distant from my bunker.

“There I found a crazed soldier about to rape a woman. I had no control over what happened next. I was drawn to the soldier, absorbed into his spermatozoa. When he ejaculated his seed into the woman, my spirit passed along with that particular seed that was to become Jon Ward.” The voice fell silent.

Many times in the past, Sam had thanked modern technology for the tape recorder when things happened quickly and words or phrases could have been missed during an analysis. He knew he would have failed miserably at taking notes and would have had less than half of what had been said. Now, he couldn’t be grateful enough. Knowing he had every sound on tape, he’d have the leisure of time to study each word, each syllable if necessary. “Would you explain the first part of the dream to me now?”

“NEIN! NEIN! NEIN!”
the voice screamed. “It is too painful.”

“What did you say in German the first time you spoke while Jon was in a trance?”

“You don’t understand German, Doctor?” the voice chuckled. “That is my little secret. Only I know what it means and I shall keep it my secret until the time is ready.”

If the information given the first time was so highly confidential, Sam did not want the entity to be aware of the fact he already knew its content. It would be better to be on good terms with the other personality if Jon were to be helped at all. He made a note to check with the library to see if they had found the meaning of the word
Zozobra.
They were also checking the coordinates for him and hopefully the two riddles when answered, would explain the cryptic message.

“Can I bring Jon back now? I believe our conversation is ended.”

“You may if you want. I shall be back. Back to stay. Soon.” The voice deteriorated with each word.

The tumescent features shriveled, disappearing as the voice weakened and Jon’s face reappeared. Sam looked at his watch, calculating he had more than an hour of tape remaining on the unused reel. An idea flashed in his mind. Without thinking, he acted immediately. If wrong, he would be able to undo it the next time Jon came in. However, if it proved to be correct, his patient would be able to solve his problem in degrees each time he had the dream in the future.

“Are you relaxed?” he asked when Jon’s eyes returned to the ballerina.

“Yes. I feel very good.”

“When I touch you on the shoulder, you will awaken refreshed and well rested. Do you understand, Jon?”

“Yes.”

“However, the next time you have the dream, Jon, I want you to study it closely. Take your time with it. Examine it in its minutest detail. Allow it to develop in slow motion so you will be able to look at each scene more than once and be able to tear it apart as you experience it. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Fine, Jon,” he said, reaching out to touch him. “Wake up, Jon. How do you feel now?”

“Great. Simply great,” he said, noticing the look of delight on the doctor’s face. “What happened? What did you find out?”

“I don’t want you to get your hopes up about anything. It may be nothing, and again—” His voice drifted off. If would be wrong to tell Jon too much and have him be too aware. “Just trust me a while longer. As soon as I know something absolutely concrete, we’ll talk. Is that fair enough?”

“I’ve gone along with you this far, Doctor, and I guess a little more trust isn’t going to hurt me. See you next week?”

“Sooner if you feel you should need or want to talk with me, Jon.” Sam had deliberately let the door remain open for his patient to call him between appointments. He seldom, if ever, had done that in the past. He was jealous of his free time. He felt he needed space about himself, to keep his patients as independent as possible. But Jon had an’ exceptional problem. He was convinced of that. If Jon needed him during the week, then, as a psychiatrist, he should be available. “Here’s my card with my unlisted private number. Call anytime. If I’m not there, my answering service will be able to locate me.”

“Fine, Doctor,” he said taking the card and slipping it into his shirt pocket. “I’ll see you next week.”

Jon left the office, making an appointment for the following Monday with Tory. A wide smile masked her real feelings of anticipation for the tape she knew would be more than interesting. The cries of
“NEIN! NEIN! NEIN!”
she had overheard piqued her curiosity. She wanted to get her hands on that tape as soon as possible. Something pretty awful must have happened today and it might be worth something. If she were right, Howie would be more interested in Jon Ward.

When the door closed behind Jon, Sam quickly looked up the number of the library he had called previously. He had requested their reference librarians to search for the meaning of the word
Zozobra
and to locate the spot indicated by the coordinates as given by Jon in German.

When the nasal voice of the library’s switchboard operator answered, Sam said, “Betty Renard, please.”

Tapping his fingers impatiently while he waited, he dwelt on the latest aspect of Jon’s analysis. Could the spirit of Adolf Hitler be cohabitating in the same body as one of his patients? Unbelievable! Totally impossible. Or was it?

“Betty Renard, please,” he repeated when the reference department answered.

“I’m sorry, Betty isn’t working today. Can I help you?”

“Who’s speaking?”

“Ann Shepherder.”

“This is Doctor Sam Dayton. I had asked Miss Renard to do a little research for me. Would you know if she has completed it?”

“Pertaining to what, Doctor?”

“I wanted to know the meaning of the word,
Zozobra,
and the location indicated by the coordinates 109 degrees West, 37 degrees North.”

“Yes, Doctor. I worked with Betty on that. We haven’t found the meaning of the word yet. Do you by chance know what language it is?”

“I have no idea. What about the coordinates?”

“I believe they’re here on Betty’s desk—someplace. Just a moment, please.”

He forced himself to breathe normally. For some reason he felt closer to solving the dream than at any time since Jon had walked into his office for the first appointment.

“I’ve found them, Doctor,” the girl said. “They locate the Four Corners area in the Southwest, exactly.”

“Four Corners? Oh, yes. Where four state boundaries form right angles. Is that correct?”

“Yes, it is. The spot indicated sixty kilometers south and sixty east, is almost the center of a town called Cistern. Do you still want us to continue looking for the meaning of the word, Doctor?”

“By all means. If you find anything, could you call me immediately?”

“Of course.”

Sam gave his office number, adding, “If I’m not here, leave any messages with my secretary.”

“Fine, Doctor, and thank you.”

“Thank
you,
Miss Shepherder,” Sam said and broke the connection. Shaking his head, he returned the phone to its cradle, looking at the piece of paper where he had scribbled, “four corners—exactly. Sixty S., Sixty E.—Cistern.” Now, what the hell could that mean? And what did this bit of information have to do with Jon and his dream, or more precisely, with Adolf Hitler’s dream?

CHAPTER 12

A single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling lighted the squalid apartment in the harsh Flood. If Tory ever noticed the ugliness of her life she never mentioned it for fear of incurring Howie’s wrath. Watching him read Carole Nelumbo’s file, she waited for some indication that her choice proved suitable for their next endeavor. The tension resulting from having stolen confidential records slowly eroded her nerves. A word of thanks, a compliment, a smile from him, would serve her well now.