Evil Dreams (30 page)

“I believe you have a classic case of soul transmigration.”

“It seems to all fit together, Sam,” Marie said quietly.

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered. “It also shows why I didn’t see the solution, if this is the problem. I deal in more real problems.”

“You’ll find this all too real, Sam,” Helmut said, his voice fading momentarily.

“Any suggestions, Helmut?” Marie asked, raising her voice.

“Just be certain you are the one to instigate the dream for your patient and help him examine every facet—every detail. Should it occur without the proper controls, I feel any-thing could happen. There is nothing else?”

“Not that I can think of,” Marie said. “Do you have anything, Sam?”

“No. I think we’ve been given a lot of information to kick around. Thank you very much, Helmut, for all the trouble you’ve gone through.”

“It was my pleasure to be of assistance, Sam. I would do anything for Marie—and the man she loves,” he said evenly.

“How did—?” Sam began, stopping when he remembered Marie was on the bedroom extension.

“Just the way Marie sounded when she mentioned your name when we talked the first time. You’ve very lucky, and I wish you the best in the future.”

“Thank you, Helmut,” Sam said, grinning. Could it be that obvious?

“Let me know the final outcome of your case, will you?”

“Of course,” Sam and Marie said simultaneously.

They said their goodbyes and Helmut’s voice disappeared when both phones were hung up. Sam turned and saw Marie coming through the bedroom door. “Well?” he asked. “Where do we go from here?”

Curling up on the couch, she motioned for him to sit next to her. “I think you should have a talk with Jon. Convince him to enter a hospital until we can rid him of this other personality.”

“Why don’t you call it what it is, Marie? Hitler’s spirit.”

He found it peculiar of Marie that, although she had solved the apparent mystery of the dream, she had difficulty handling the solution.

“That’s pretty tough, Sam. Let me refer to it my way and I’ll be fine.”

“All right, darling,” he said, mouthing the word again. He had never called her anything but Marie, and found the affectionate term most pleasant when he said it aloud. “I think I’ll call Jon right now and have him come down to the office in the morning.”

“I’d make it tonight. Remember, he’s virtually defenseless when he’s asleep or in a hypnotic state. The only thing we have to worry about is his going to sleep without some sort of supervision tonight.”

“Okay. You’re going with me to the office, aren’t you? I’d like to have you meet Jon. I also believe he’ll be more prone to accept the idea of being hospitalized if you’re there.”

“Of course I’ll go.”

Standing, Sam picked up the folder to find Jon’s telephone number. Seconds later, Trina answered.

“Mrs. Ward? This is Doctor Dayton. Is Jon there? I’d like to speak to him, please.”

“Why, no, Doctor. Isn’t he with you? He left a message saying he was going to your office. What was it you found out about his nightmare? Is—”

“Mrs. Ward, I didn’t contact your husband today,” he exclaimed, suddenly aware that he shouldn’t have corrected the woman. Something was wrong. Why would Jon tell his wife of an appointment with him at his office? He never went to the office on his day off. Only Tory had been there all day. “Will you read me the note, Mrs. Ward?”

“Yes. It says “Dr. Dayton’s secretary called.

He wants to meet me as soon as possible at his office. Be home when I’m finished.’ Didn’t you meet him, Doctor?”

Casting a look at Marie on the couch, he found she had caught the subtle change in his voice and content of the conversation. He said, “Will you meet me at my office as soon as possible Mrs. Ward?”

“Has something happened to Jon?” she asked, her voice a frightened whisper.

“I don’t believe so.” He spoke soothingly, trying not to upset her, hoping his own sense of panic would not telegraph itself to her through his voice. “Will you meet me there by, say, six-fifteen? Can you be there by that time?”

“I—I believe so, Doctor. Can you give me the address?”

He quickly relayed the information and hung up. Turning to Marie, he said, “Something’s wrong someplace. Jon got a call from someone who claimed to be Tory. She said I wanted to meet him at my office as soon as possible. Does that make sense to you?”

She shrugged and stood. “I have no idea what it means but I think we’d better get to your office and meet Mrs. Ward. I don’t like the idea of not having Jon in a situation where he’s safe.”

Both psychiatrists rushed to the door and were soon hailing a cab. Surrounding lights and buildings rested on their psychedelic reflections, mirrored in the streets, wet from the day long rain. The jumble of colors seemed to symbolize their thoughts as the taxi splashed its way to the Fuller Building.

CHAPTER 16

High above the clouds, delicately washing the middle United States with an all day June rain, a TWA 727, its nose pointed southwest, swept through the gold-splashed sky. Traveling at speeds to maintain an average of better than four hundred miles an hour, the plane’s first stop would be Albuquerque, less than three hours after leaving Chicago’s O’Hare.

Howie glanced at Jon sitting back in his seat, his eyes closed in deep sleep. More confident now than when they had left the Fuller Building, Howie felt in total control of the escapade. When Jon awoke from his trance during takeoff, the words,
blue trees
instantly reinduced the hypnotic state. Everything had gone smoothly until then.

To keep his mind off their objective, Howie thought back to the cab ride through the rain. The Northwest Tollway had been crowded with the normal late afternoon traffic. However, the rush on homeward bound commuters had just begun and they arrived with time to spare.

“Pay the man and give him a decent tip, Jon,” he ordered after they got out of the cab.

The driver had tried to make conversation more than once during the trip to the air terminal, but had written off his passengers for any type of gratuity. His eyes bugged when Jon handed him a twenty-dollar bill along with the necessary fare. “Thank
you,
sir,” he cried, cramming the bill into his shirt pocket before the passenger could ask for change. When the back door slammed shut, he floored the accelerator, fleeing the terminal lot.

“Now listen to me, Jon,” Howie ordered. “When we get inside, I want you to walk right up to the counter and ask for our tickets.”

“They’re not in his name,” Tory said, anticipating a rebuke from him.

“Whose name are they in?” he asked quietly.

“Yo—yours, Howie,” she whispered.

“No problem. I’ll just go with him in case there’s any question,” he said, smiling unpleasantly at her before turning back to Jon. “Pay for the tickets with one of your charge cards. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I understand,” he answered obediently, following Howie to the ticket counter while Tory stayed back a few paces.

“Do you have tickets for—for,” Jon faltered, staring straight ahead. Since he had not been told directly who Howie and Tory actually were, he did not know his captors’ names.

“Yes?” the attendant asked, waiting for him to continue. “For Howard Liemen,” Howie interjected. “One moment, please.” Turning to consult the computer, the man looked up in several seconds and said, “Yes. Three first class to Albuquerque, New Mexico? Round trip? That’ll be twelve-hundred eighty-four dollars.”

Without hesitating, Jon handed the man his American Express Card. Waiting while the airline representative filled out the form to pay for the tickets, Howie turned to face Tory, who stood ten feet away looking bewildered. The dumb broad had ordered round trip tickets as if they wanted to come back to Chicago and run the risk of being arrested.

With his line of credit checked and the form signed by Jon, the counterman filled out the tickets in the names of Howard Liemen, Jon Ward and Tory Smith. She had protected herself but not Howie. They followed the directions as given, making their way to the correct concourse and gate. After a short wait during which Jon sat between Howie and Tory, the 727 taxied into position and the passengers were allowed to board.

Then it happened. After moving his plane to its position in line to await his turn, the pilot, at the direction of the control tower, thrust the throttles open, sending the ship roaring down the runway. The sudden noise filtering into the cabin aroused Jon from his trance. He sat up, training against his seat belt. “Wha—where am I?” he demanded loudly. “What the hell’s going on?” He turned to Howie who had a look of panic sweeping across his face.

“Ah, uh,
blue trees,
“he whispered desperately and Jon immediately relaxed, sitting back. “Why don’t you just rest, Jon?” he said softly, hoping the suggestion might work and he wouldn’t have to worry about any more unexpected awakenings.

His eyes wide open, Jon stared straight ahead until the flight attendant approached. She first asked Tory, who was seated across the aisle from Howie, if she would like a cocktail before dinner.

Looking dubiously at Howie, Tory said, “I’ll have a screwdriver,” and dropped her eyes to avoid confronting him. To escape the risk of being reprimanded for having a drink, she turned her head, attempting to be nonchalant and stared out the window.

“Gentlemen?” the woman asked when she turned her attention to the two passengers opposite the blonde. “Can I get you a drink?”

His face distending, Jon glared at the attendant. “
Nein
,” he barked.

The woman, taken off guard, forced a smile before turning her attention to Howie.

“Easy, Jon, old boy,” he said comfortingly and patted him on the arm. “I’ll have a Jack Daniels on the rocks. I guess my friend won’t have anything.”

After the woman had left to complete her round of the first class passengers, he growled into Jon’s ear, “Knock that German shit off or you’ll be sorry. Just sit back and behave. Do you understand me?”

Slowly, Jon turned to face his adversary, un-blinkingly gazing at his captor. Howie could feel his skin crawl under his clothes.

“Just—just sit back and relax, Jon. Okay?” he said shakily. Abruptly, he began wondering if his idea would work after all.

Jon’s face returned to normal and Howie breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. For the time being, things appeared settled. When the drinks were brought, he sat back to gain more than just the enjoyment the fiery refreshment would bring him. He felt he needed it if he were going to complete his plan. After a second drink, the attendant served dinner and he ordered Jon to close his eyes after they had eaten.

While the jetliner winged its way toward the southwest, a cab splashed to a stop at the curb in front of the Fuller Building sending a wave of gutter water to the sidewalk. Two people jumped out. After paying the driver, Sam joined Marie under the canopy extending from the front of the building to the curb.

“I hope Mrs. Ward is here,” Marie said, hurrying beside him into the quiet lobby.

“There she is by the elevator,” Sam said, rushing over to her. “Mrs. Ward. I’m glad you’re here already.”

“What’s happened? I’ve been going out of my mind since you called.” Stepping into the elevator after the doors swooshed open, Sam introduced Marie to Trina, explaining how she had helped analyze Jon’s tapes.

“What have you found out that makes this meeting so important?” Trina persisted. “Why did Jon come to your office to meet you if you didn’t know anything about it? How come—” Asking her questions rapidly, she stopped when Sam raised his hand.

“Wait until we’re in my office. I think we’ll want some privacy.”

When the doors opened and they got off, she said, “Very well, doctor.”

Two men who had stepped back to make room for the disembarking passengers, now moved forward, blocking their path. “Doctor Dayton?” the larger of them asked, flashing a badge. “I’m Detective Lieutenant Jules Hongisto, police. I have a few questions to ask you. Could we go to your office?”

Marie shot an uncertain look at Sam who returned one of his own. Had something already happened to Jon? In turn, the two psychiatrists looked at his wife, both wondering if she possessed stout enough moral fiber to understand, without breaking down, the information they would reveal to her.

“Let’s go to my office,” Sam said, indicating they should follow him. “Normally I’m gone by this time and today’s my day off. What made you come by now?”

“We just started this case and we had to begin someplace,” Hongisto said.

Once inside, Hongisto introduced his partner, Sergeant Mike Ross. “We received a phone call from a Mrs. Millicent Tilden this afternoon, saying that she and her late husband were being blackmailed by someone.”

“Late?” Sam choked the word hoarsely.

“Sterling Tilden killed himself last Friday morning at the First Federal Security Bank.”

“Oh, my God!” Sam said softly. “Poor Sterling. I didn’t know.”

“Mrs. Tilden informed us that her husband had been consulting you but she wasn’t aware of the reason. The letter seemed pretty explicit in—ah, certain details and we thought it logical for us to question you first to find out why Sterling Tilden was consulting you.”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but that’s privileged information. I couldn’t possibly release my files on Sterling to anyone. Not even his wife.”

Hongisto reached in his serge coat pocket, withdrawing a folded piece of paper. “If I allow you to read this and it happens to be the reason for his seeing you, will you tell me?”

“Just what are you getting at, Lieutenant? Are you saying whoever was attempting to blackmail the Tildens, might have gotten their information from me or my records?”

“I’m not saying anything, Doctor. I’m here to follow up on a possible lead where I might be able to gather some information. Information that will lead to the apprehension of the person or persons responsible. That’s all. I don’t accuse, I don’t judge, or try people. I merely gather information and present it to the proper personages in charge. I’m not a difficult person to get along with and usually I’m most congenial where others are concerned. However—” Hongisto paused dramatically before continuing in a slightly ominous tone of voice, “I dislike anyone who stands in the way of a police officer performing his duty.”