Evil Dreams (34 page)

“Do you know of, or have you ever heard of, a landmark around Cistern that might be shaped like a swastika?”

He turned to stare at his passenger. “A swastika?”

“Supposedly there’s one around Cistern someplace.”

“I’ve flown over that place lots of times. I’ve never seen anything remotely resembling one.”

“You’re positive?”

“Absolutely. If I say it’s not around there, believe me. I know practically every square mile of New Mexico. How big is it supposed to be?”

Sam shrugged.

“If it’s bigger than a small house, I’d know it. Of course, if it’s small, it wouldn’t serve too well as a landmark, would it?” His eyes twinkled good naturedly.

Sam nodded when he realized that the swastika landmark was probably non-existent. Pointing ahead to a tiny splotch of light, he said, “What’s that?”

The pilot peered into the night and said, “You got me. It’s just about where Cistern should be. Might be a car. Think it’s your people?”

“If it is, we’d better land and go some of the way on foot. I wouldn’t want to startle them into doing something at the last minute that might be harmful to my patient.”

“I’ll put my spotlight on,” Chuck said, reaching for the switch.

“Don’t, if you don’t really need it.”

“Why?”

“Again, we might alarm them. Can you land in the dark?”

“It’s risky!”

“Can you?”

“I’m willing to take the chance if you are.”

Sam turned, studying him for a moment. His finely chiseled face showed laugh lines that had worked their way into the sculpture over the years. A thin, delicately trimmed moustache displayed the apparent pride he took in his appearance. Glasses, edged in metal, had been chosen to complement his overall appearance rather than serve merely in a functional way. Sam guessed him to be a rare type of man. “If you think we can do it, go ahead. I feel we should be as unobtrusive as possible at this point.”

“Okay, Doc—tor.” Chuck added the last syllable, obviously electing not to offend his customer with an abbreviated title. “I’ll drop down to about a thousand feet and try to land as close to the town as possible. I’ll set her on the road since there’s too many pine trees around to land any place else. Too risky.” He changed the pitch and rpm’s of the rotor and the helicopter began descending.

Sam turned to the women behind the front seat. Smiling confidently at Trina, he said, “It won’t be long now. I’m sure we’ll be able to have Jon with you in a matter of minutes. Are you doing all right?”

She nodded. “As soon as Jon is with me, I’ll be super,” she said quietly, more to herself than to either of the psychiatrists.

Leveling off at one thousand feet, the helicopter slowly approached the intersected roads that quartered Cistern.

While Tory cowered behind the car waiting for Howie to return, Jon, momentarily suppressing Hitler’s spirit, could hear him yelling, “All mine! All mine!” in the distance. Then he caught the same beating vibrations Tory had heard minutes before as the helicopter landed. Somehow the sounds intermingled, the peculiar rhythm of the two hammering at his mind. He knew this rhythm, this chanting sound coming at him from a distance. Steadily the cadence grew. The voice of Hitler screamed. He concentrated for several minutes, trying to locate the source of the cries. With his hands thrown over his ears, he darted through the path of the headlights into the utter dark surrounding him.

Running wildly, blindly, he could hear the far-off distant voices screaming their maddening cry of
Dee-hah! Dee-hah! Dee-hah!
until it grew into
All mine! All mine! All mine!
Slowly it became,
Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil!
growing louder and louder until he stopped abruptly, covering his ears even tighter. A half-crazed smile wrenching his mouth, he recognized for the first time in his life, the words being shouted. A bewildered look held his face while he tried to understand the connection. With Sam’s posthypnotic suggestion triggered, he obediently began trying to analyze the meaning of the shouts.

Continuing through the short pinons, he found himself completely alone. The black vacuum! He was actually running through it. But what did it mean? Sensing bursts of German words within his mind, he stopped, focusing his concentration on the idea of being alone in the oppressive gloom. The German voice ranted, raved, screaming shrilly within his mind until he spun on his heel to continue his flight through the trees.

Too late, he saw the trunk of a pinon tree, long ago felled by lightning. Unable to avoid the hazard, he tripped, sailing through the air after his foot struck it. He prepared to fall without being hurt but sprawled on the ground. Picking himself up, he brushed off his pants. Suddenly, his eyes saw movement to one side. Then someone called out. Jerking his head in that direction, he stifled a scream when the trees began turning into people.

The headlights, acting as a beacon, allowed Chuck to set the helicopter down in the middle of Cistern’s only intersection. Leaping from the cabin, Sam, followed by the pilot and two women, dashed into the night along the road leading to the north, toward the car and his patient.

“Hurry!” he cried over his shoulder.

As the rotor coasted to a stop, the crescendoing silence sweeping in was broken only by the sound of their running footsteps and the cry, “All mine,” filtering out of the night. Approaching the car, Sam saw Tory hiding behind the car. He also caught sight of Jon running away just out of range of the headlights. Tory would have to wait. His first responsibility had to be Jon. Hearing Chuck’s heavy steps behind him, he didn’t turn to see if the women were following but sensed they would not be too far away. Thoughts of Howie Liemen flickered through his mind bringing him to wonder for an instant where he might be. Then he saw Jon trip and fall. He stopped quickly, allowing Chuck and the women to reach his side.

“Sam!” Marie whispered excitedly. “Look at Jon! What does all this remind you of? Listen! Do you hear it?”

Tory watched her employer run past, wildly hoping he didn’t see her. Frightened, she wondered who the man following Sam might be and immediately generated questions as to the identity of the two women chasing after them. Where was Howie? She could still hear him madly yelling off to the right looking for that damnable swastika. She wished she had never met him, had never laid eyes on him. But what could she do now? She had met him and slept with him and served him for the last— How long? A lifetime? Now she found herself alone. She must get away from here before Sam discovered her.

Crawling on hands and knees, she made her way to the driver’s side of the car, opening the left front door. Slipping in, she fumbled for the keys but found only the empty ignition switch. Howie had taken the keys with him.

Now what could she do? If she went back in the direction from which the doctor had come, there might be more people waiting there to arrest her. She couldn’t follow Howie. She didn’t know exactly where he had gone, although she could still hear him yelling in the distance. Maybe, if she followed Sam and these other people, she could hide when they came back. Then she would continue in that direction after they left. She’d be able to get away after all. She moved away through the dark.

Sam strained his eyes to see his patient splayed on the ground next to the small upended pinon pine. He hushed the other three, motioning for them to get down behind the stunted trees. Working his way over to Marie, he said, “What do you mean? Listen? Look at Jon? Do I hear it? Do I hear what?”

“The dream! It’s like the dream, Sam. Don’t you hear someone crying
all mine
over and over? It sounds like the same
dee-hah
rhythm of
sieg
heil.
And Jon, running through the trees, it’s like his dream forest. Now he’s fallen. All of it might prove to be too much for Hitler’s spirit,” she whispered excitedly.

“If that’s the case, the spirit might willingly leave him,” he said, motioning for the rest to stand. “Jon! Jon Ward!” he shouted at the bewildered man.

Jon had already gotten to his feet when he heard the cry but didn’t recognize his name. Standing, he looked about and then screamed.

The trees appeared to be turning into people. The German voice babbled incoherently. The dream took a firm hold of Jon but he felt compelled to stand, to study the phenomenon. He counted them. Four. Four people staring at him. The German voice screamed maniacally but he steadfastly obeyed Sam’s order.

Then, from behind the threatening people, he saw another figure. The blond woman ran out of the night toward him. At last, he would see the woman of his nightmare face to face.

Tiptoeing so she wouldn’t make any sound, Tory didn’t see the place where Sam and the others had crouched out of sight. Startled by their sudden appearance when they stood, she bolted toward Jon.

Entranced by the figure of the woman running toward him, Jon turned, following her departure as fascinated as he had been by her sudden appearance. He returned his attention to the people behind him and found them shaking their fists, waggling their fingers at him.

Terror-struck, the German voice continued hissing.

Tory swept past Jon. When she felt it safe to do so, she slowed her pace. Afraid of falling in the inky blackness, she watched constantly for a decent hiding place. She finally turned when she saw a clump of trees looming out of the blackness, slowly making her way toward it. Just as she hunched down, she heard a crashing approach from the same direction she had just left. Her eyes widening, her heart pounding wildly, she waited.

“I know what you’re doing, Sam,” Marie said, shaking her fist at Jon. She followed suit while Trina and Chuck watched in shocked amazement. The psychiatrists knew the more real and terrifying the dream could be made for Jon, the better the chance of Hitler’s spirit voluntarily abandoning his host.

“Do as we do,” Sam ordered the startled man and woman.

“Wh—why?” Trina gasped.

“Just do it,” Marie exhorted. “We’ll explain later.”

The four people swayed back and forth among the trees, clenching their fists, threatening Jon Ward.

Jon felt a tightness within him as though an unseen force were constricting his head, his limbs, his body. He wanted to scream but found his throat tight, dry. He opened his mouth. A choking gurgle burst forth. Bubbles of moans mixed with German curses vomited out in screaming disarray. While spinning about in a clumsy pirouette, dizziness and nausea swept through him in waves. The cacophonous stream of shouts and groans crescendoed to a deafening roar. Could this be reality or a different aspect of the dream he didn’t know? Could the monotony of his nightmare suddenly change after all these years?

Thick spittle built in his mouth until, overflowing, it gushed down his chin, clearing his throat and windpipe. Alone at last, Jon Ward screamed. The figures of people and trees danced before his eyes and he willfully succumbed to the whirling spin in which he had been flailing about.

When he collapsed, he caught sight of Trina and Sam standing behind the low pinon trees, next to a strange man and woman. Staring at them while the landscape stopped spinning, he tried calling to his wife but his throat ached. He suddenly felt stronger than at any time before in his life. His face tingled as it returned to normal. The screams and cries and curses dissipated in the night when a sense of elation, of joy, of freedom, overwhelmed him.

Lying in a twisted heap, he felt a great weight lifted from him more quickly than the dream had manifested. He wanted to laugh and sing and cry.

Unexpectedly, out of the gloom, Howie dashed past him. Jon turned to watch the stranger he couldn’t recall ever having seen. Looking about, he cried, “Where the hell am I? Hey? Who’s around here who can answer a few questions? Hellooo?” He clumsily got to his feet, turning when he heard more running footsteps approach. He saw Trina’s tear-streaked face coming at him out of the darkness and held his arms open. Leaping into the warmth of his embrace, Trina smothered her husband’s face with kisses.

Unnoticed by the reunited couple, Sam and Chuck ran up. Deciding Jon was in no apparent danger, the psychiatrist continued running after Tory and Howie. The pilot indecisively followed him.

Jumping up from her hiding place when she saw it was Howie running toward her, Tory cried, “Over here, Howie!”

The sound of her voice brought him to a halt. “Where are you?” he asked hesitantly.

“Over here,” she repeated, moving toward him.

“We gotta get outa here. There’s people crawling all over the fucking place looking for my gold. Come on. We’ll lead them away from here and then double back later to find my gold,” he whispered hoarsely, trying to catch his breath. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her after him.

Walking faster and then breaking into a slow trot, he did not notice the blackness of the yawning hole stretching before him. Two paces away from the edge, he tried to stop but lost his balance, slipping over the edge, slamming Tory to the ground at the same time. He clung tightly to her hand.

“Don’t let go,” he screamed to the girl who lay on her stomach, struggling to keep him from falling. “Don’t let go, Tory. For Chrissakes, don’t let go!”

The words rang hollowly over and over, across the natural cistern, bouncing from one smooth wall to the other. Then, like the water held there for so long, they, too, evaporated.

“My hand’s slipping,” he hissed. “Help me!”

She reached down with her free hand, smothering the scream she felt rising in her throat when her breasts dragged across the rocks and dry, hard ground. When he slowly brought his other hand up, she grasped it tightly with her left but he released his hold from her right hand, and slipped, her fingers barely holding him.

“Jesus Christ! “
he screamed as he dangled below her, suspended by her left hand only. “Don’t let go until I get a grip with my other hand. Hang on to me.”

“I’m trying, Howie,” she grunted. “I won’t let you go, honey. I love you.” Sobs racked her body from the strain of holding him and from the thought of losing him. She had been wrong. She
did
love him. Now she must prove it by saving his life. But could she?