Evil Dreams (24 page)

An errant, cool breeze wafted through the open window, immediately losing itself in the humid atmosphere of the fourth floor apartment. Howie lay on his back staring at the shadowy ceiling. Next to him, Tory’s even breathing told him she slept soundly. Propping himself up on an elbow he studied the woman’s naked body, finishing his appraisal with a study of her face. What the hell did he see in her? She had been a good meal ticket but now she suddenly burst into his thoughts as a possible millstone he would have to rid himself of in the near future. She didn’t have the class to go along with the possibility of being rich.

Rich! He rolled the word around his mouth, enjoying the feel of it. He would soon be rich because of his plan for people like Sterling Tilden and Carole Nelumbo. Since Tory had to type the letter to the woman, he’d go to the library and locate the spot indicated by the coordinates Jon had mentioned in his trance. Perhaps there would be something in future sessions with the psychiatrist that would be worth the trouble to write a letter seeking additional funds from the Wards.

Refocusing his eyes on her body when she began moaning in her sleep, he trailed one fingertip across her breasts. He encircled her nipples in an imaginary line before tracing it down her stomach, around her navel, ultimately to her hairy triangle. She writhed at his touch.

Once she had served her purpose, now that she had one other than merely satisfying his sexual needs, he knew it would be smart to replace her. “You just ain’t got it, baby,” he mumbled softly. “As soon as I get enough bread together, you’n‘ I are splitting.”

Opening her eyes, she groggily sat up. “What’d you say, honey?”

“I’m glad you woke up.” Encircling her shoulders with his arms, he lowered her back to the thin mattress before rolling on top of her. “I’m horny again.”

Smiling, deliciously sleepy, Tory spread her legs before wrapping her arms around his body.

Despite the fact that she had won two out of three racquetball games, the feeling of elation she should have experienced escaped Trina. Unlike the times in the past when she had defeated Jon in the game he had taught her, she felt weary. Not of body, but of spirit—almost morose. He had been quiet most of the evening, ignoring her questions about his hypnotic session earlier in the day. Normally, they played racquetball on Wednesday nights but because of a meeting Trina wasn’t certain would be over early enough for them to play that evening, they had moved their midweek game to Monday night.

When they arrived home from the indoor tennis club, he had gone directly to the shower, then to bed. Although she followed a short while later, he feigned sleep when she slipped between the sheets. Now, she lay on her back, eyes wide open, wondering if she should say something. She could tell he was awake. He, too, lay on his back when normally he turned on one side or the other to go to sleep.

“Are you awake?” she asked.

“No.”

“Is something bothering you?”

“In a way.” He knew he shouldn’t tell her about Friday’s incident when he had fallen asleep and spoken German in a voice that didn’t even sound like his.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Is it something to do with this afternoon’s appointment with Doctor Dayton?”

“No. And I thought I said I didn’t want to talk about it,” he snapped.

Trina didn’t answer.

Turning his head to see if she had been insulted or hurt by his cutting answer, he offered, “I’m sorry. I’ve got something bugging me and as soon as I figure it out, I’ll fill you in. All right?”

She nodded. “Are you sure I can’t help? It might do you good to talk it out with me.”

“You’ll be the first to know—when I have it solved.” He smiled reassuringly. “Are you happy?”

“Me? Happy? Yes, I’m very happy.” Her voice held a touch of sarcasm at first but softened immediately. Why shouldn’t he have a private problem to solve? He didn’t have to consult her about everything. Ultimately he would tell her about it.

“About everything? About me having to go to a psychiatrist to get my head straightened out, are you happy about that?” His voice, carrying a decided edge, cut through the darkness.

“I’m mostly happy because of you,” she said. “I’m happy because you’re finally going to have an old, old question answered for you. If you weren’t going to Doctor Dayton, we’d both be disturbed over your dream—”

“Oh, it’s all right for me to be disturbed. But now that I’m going to see a shrink on a regular basis, you’ve dropped the concerned role and are happy. Is that it?”

“Are you disturbed over something that happened today?” she asked, impulsively sitting up in bed.

“No. I thought—”

“You thought I didn’t care anymore since you’re going to the doctor? Oh, darling. I’m interested in everything where you’re concerned. I didn’t mean to imply I’m not worried about you. I’ll worry until you’re given .1 clean bill of health.”

“I’m glad that’s what you meant.” He sat up next to his wife.

She reached out, taking his hand. “How do you feel? Are
you
happy?”

Hesitating several seconds, he finally said, “I was just taking mental inventory and I guess
I
‘m about as happy as anyone could be.”
Except,
he thought,
I want a dog.

“Are you happy, even about seeing the doctors and having spent time in the hospital?”

“I guess I am. Yeah. I am.”
But a dog would make things absolutely perfect.

“Then,” she said dramatically, “let’s go out Saturday night. What do you say? We haven’t been out to dinner since our anniversary in April, other than in Galena.”

“It’s been a while,” he agreed before voicing the thoughts that had intruded several seconds before. “I want a dog.”

“You want a
what?”
she exclaimed, studying her husband’s shadowy figure.

“Yeah,” he said, bounding off the bed. “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. An Alsatian bitch, and I could call her Blondie.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” she said, smiling to herself in the dark.

“Ja!”

“Are you forgetting the landlord has a rule about no pets allowed?” she asked, misinterpreting his one word answer for slang instead of German. After groping for the lamp on the stand next to her side of the bed, she turned on the nightlight.

Limping up and down the half dark bedroom in a slow, almost painful manner, he bellowed in English, “Who does he think he is, anyway? When I regain my power, he’ll be the first to go. It is very important for me to have a dog.”

Huddling back toward the headboard, she pulled the sheet around her bare body when the high pitched voice slashed out, sending a chill through her.

Despite his nakedness, he went to the window, opening it to the top. Breathing deeply, he turned to face her. Startled by her appearance, cringing behind the sheets, he said in his normal voice, “What is it, darling? Will the opened window be too much?”

She fought the tears struggling for release and coughed to rid her throat of the lump forming there. “It might be. Why not just leave it open a few inches and come back to bed.”

“All right,” he said passively, closing the window to within a hand’s breadth of the sill and returned to bed. When he lay next to his wife, he looked up at her. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she managed, sliding down next to him. Within minutes, he breathed deeply but his eyes remained fixed to the shadowy ceiling. If Jon were to be helped, Doctor Dayton would have to be told about this latest incident of personality change.

CHAPTER 13

The hum of the copying machine automatically stopped and Tory scooped together the duplicate pages of Jon’s third session. Placing the material in a manilla envelope, she returned to her desk, quickly concealing it in the drawer over the kneehole. She straightened the original copy, slipping it to the back of the file the doctor had asked for when he came in. Picking up the reel of tape, she went to the door of the psychiatrist’s office and entered quietly.

“Yes, of course you did the right thing, Mrs. Ward,” Sam said, not noticing his secretary coming through the door. He paused while listening to Trina. “It may be helpful. At this time I wouldn’t be able to say. However, I will put it in his file.” He paused again. “Thank you, Mrs. Ward. ‘Bye, ‘bye.” He laid the phone in its cradle.

Perhaps it was Sam’s haggard appearance, or the way he sat behind his desk staring at nothing in particular while he talked on the phone, that told her something out of the norm bothered her employer. She wondered if he suspected something about her activities. A quick mental check of her covert methods convinced her that such could not be the case. At least, not at this point. She knew of no clue she might have left. She was certain. Maybe the psychiatrist needed a psychiatrist, she mentally giggled.

“Doctor Dayton?” she said softly, approaching him. “Here is the complete file on Jon Ward.”

Looking up with a start, Sam forced a tired smile. “Oh, thank you, Tory. Do you have the tape of yesterday’s session, too?”

“Right on top,” she said, laying the items on his desk.

He opened the file, inserting the information about Jon’s wanting a dog. What could that have to do with his dream? he wondered. Still, he knew from his own professional experience that many times it was the insignificant clue or item that had gone overlooked for a long time, that held the solution to a patient’s problem. Right now, he couldn’t think straight. He’d wait to attack the meaning when he was with Marie that evening.

“I’ll be leaving right after my three o’clock appointment today,” he said, rubbing his face. Even his skin felt tired. Earlier in the day, he had fallen asleep on the couch in his living room at five-thirty, awakening with a sense of panic at seven. He had played Jon’s tape so many times Monday night he had lost count. After a quick shower and shave, he still had not arrived at any conclusion concerning the strange turn of events when the other voice proclaimed itself to be Adolf Hitler. The brief walk to his office had been refreshing but with barely an hour to wait before his last appointment, his exhaustion closed in with a vengeance once more. The morning appointments had gone smoothly but fatigue began rapidly overtaking him after lunch. Only the opportunity to talk about this Hitler thing with Marie would revive him to the point of being efficiently alert.

As she left Sam’s private office, Tory wondered what Mrs. Ward had wanted. When she got her hands on the file, she’d read the note Sam had scribbled hurriedly, then stuck in the folder. She smugly realized that Howie would find the latest episode in Jon’s hypnotic revelations more than interesting. Hoping the information she pilfered would be worthy of their scheme as well, she resumed her work. Five minutes before three, the attractive but troubled Carole Nelumbo entered the office.

Marie never looked better to Sam. Once they were together, his exhausted faculties quickly rejuvenated, the cloak of weariness peeling from his tired body. She told him how she had waited apprehensively to see him since her own musings about Jon had turned up nothing but more confused thoughts. Still, the idea that his dream seemed somehow familiar, constantly, persistently gnawed at her. It was just begging to be recognized.

“I think I’d better just have coffee for now,” he said when she offered him a martini.

“Why?” Noting his tired appearance, she wanted to know the reason for his fatigue.

“You said we should be eating before settling down to play Ward’s tape from yesterday’s session. I’ll tell you why I’m beat though. I only slept about an hour and a half last night.”

“Out running around while I’m working my you-know-what off?” She smiled teasingly, reentering the living room with filled cups.

“I wish,” he said, taking the coffee, “that was the reason. I played Ward’s tape over and over last night—”

“Must be interesting,” she broke in.

“I think you’ll find it a little more than interesting. But we’ll wait. I’m hoping dinner perks me up.”

“You’ve really got my curiosity aroused.” She turned to leave for the kitchenette.

“Wait a minute, Marie. I want to play one little thing for you,” he said, taking Jon’s cassette from his jacket.

“What is it.?”

“You’ll see.” Flipping the door shut on the cassette, he turned his portable machine on. He had set the tape so it would be a minute or so before Jon spoke the brief German statement. “Jon fell asleep Friday afternoon and had his dream manifest while his recorder was running. He spoke German and I want you to translate.”

“Is it much?”

“Only three or four words.”

As though on cue, the strange, high pitched voice shouted,
“Ich lebe noch!”

He stopped the tape and turned, waiting for her translation.

“I still live!” she said simply.

“He seems to be stuck on that one idea, doesn’t he?” he suggested, ejecting the cassette from the deck.

“Was that all? There was nothing more?” she called over her shoulder from the kitchenette.

“Just labored breathing before and after. If you liked that number, wait ‘til you hear yesterday’s session.”

“Why, Sam? After Jon began speaking German unexpectedly during the one meeting, and now again when he fell asleep, what else has happened that could top it?”

“I won’t say. I want you to hear it for yourself,” he said, mentally cursing the habit of taking food for bodily sustenance. He wanted to get on with playing the tape. “You say he stated in German, ‘I still live,’ right?”

“That’s correct.” She brushed past him to the dining area with the salad.

” ‘I still live’ seems to be a kind of theme, doesn’t it?” he said, thinking back to when the voice identified itself as Adolf Hitler.

She nodded, indicating he should sit down and begin eating. Reluctantly taking his seat, he toyed with the leaves of Romaine lettuce. They had talked about her trip when he first arrived uid she had insisted, because of his exhausted appearance, that they have dinner before devoting the evening to Jon Ward and his dream. Suddenly, she found herself wondering what Jon Ward was like as a person since she had previously thought of him and his dream as being one complete entity. The dream’s strange scenes had crossed her mind more than once in the last few days when she tried linking it with her own memory. For now, she would allow Sam to have his secret. After a decent meal, they would listen to the tape together.