Dangerous Dreams: A Novel (117 page)

“Better. She’ll be out in a minute . . . making herself presentable.”

“This has to be very difficult for you, Nancy . . . definitely difficult for me.”

“Yeah, it is. But I think it’s hardest on Allie. She’s totally out of character right now.”

He nodded. “No doubt, and the three of us need to have a real heart-to-heart about that and where we go from here. I suppose—”

Allie walked out of the bedroom dressed in jeans, sandals, and a loose-fitting blouse. She looked refreshed, alert, and composed as she walked up to Dressler. “Where to, Doc?”

Dressler stood, smiled as she approached. “Hi, Allie. You look like yourself. Feel better?”

“Still a little groggy and blurry and upset in the stomach, but I’ll make it.” She looked into his eyes for a moment, suddenly wrapped her arms around him, laid her forehead on his chest. “I’m sorry, Steve. I’ve really let you down. Please forgive me.”

He peeked at Nancy, flashed an empathetic look and a tepid smile, noticed the surprised look on her face. “Don’t worry about it. It’s done, and
you’ve hopefully learned from it. Now let’s the three of us figure out where we go from here.”

As they seated themselves at the kitchen table, Nancy said, “Well, I’m clueless about this stuff, so your penny, Doc.”

“Okay. So let’s start with the good news . . . Allie’s
not
in denial about either of her problems, and she knows she needs to do something about them.” He looked at Allie. “Right?”

“Right.”

He nodded. “The other good news is that you’re
not
a drug addict because what you basically did was
experiment
with the drugs. The
bad
news is that you
are
a
dream
addict, and I don’t think anyone knows what that is or what to do about it. But we’re going to find out. For starters, all addictions make you do dumb things, like OD on sleeping pills and Mestinon, but I think we can control that. And hopefully, you scared yourself enough that deep down inside, you honestly want to be straight. Right?”

Allie nodded somewhat remorsefully.

“And
because
you scared yourself, you should realize that you can die from what you did.”

She nodded again.

“So, for any rehab program to work, the patient—
you
—must be committed to success. And in this case, success is having the patience, will power, and fortitude to control your overwhelming desire to dream
constantly
—your driving compulsion to know the status of someone you love who lives in constant danger—and instead dream
naturally
. Said another way, does Allie O’Shay want to continue going in the direction she just started and wreck—possibly end—her life? Or does she want to commit herself to discovering the causes and mechanics of her dreams, so she can hopefully discover the means to cope with them, while at the same time advancing the cause of science in a revolutionary way . . . and picking up a PhD?”

Allie nodded, forced a feeble, uncertain smile. “Obviously, I want to do what’s right and continue working to get to the bottom of the dreams; and you’re very right: the compulsion to know what’s happening to Emily is more overpowering than anything I’ve experienced in my life . . . so
overpowering that, though I know very clearly what I
need
to do, I’m honestly not sure I
can
do it.” Her eyes clouded with tears. “I mean, what if I go to sleep some night and don’t dream, or I dream and there’s nothing there? What happens then? I won’t know if Emily’s dead, or the dream simply ended, or whatever. Do you have any idea how that would torment me . . . forever? It would drive me crazy . . . maybe like Great-Great-Grandma Ian. I couldn’t live like that, Doc . . . I’m
that
close to her.” She looked at her mother. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Mom?”

Nancy looked pale, afraid. “Unfortunately, I do, Hon.” She looked at Dressler. “And family history suggests that
not
dreaming could be just as dangerous psychologically as OD’ing on drugs in the pursuit of
constant
knowledge of Emily’s circumstances.”

Dressler nodded. “Indeed, it could.”

Nancy said, “So which way is the best to go? There could be bad outcomes either way.” She shook her head. “Damn dreams! Wish they’d never happened.”

“Well,” Dressler replied, “here are some thoughts.” He looked at Allie. “Your mom’s right. No matter what we do, there’s potential for a bad outcome, particularly since we know what history says about the Lost Colony—it was
lost
. But there’s something I don’t think any of us have considered; and that is, unless I’m mistaken, before you OD’d, you witnessed
every
major event that happened to Emily. Is that correct?”

Allie stared thoughtfully for a moment then nodded slowly. “That
could
be true. I’ve never thought about it, but . . . yeah . . . I think it
is
true. I’ve never heard them allude to anything important that I didn’t witness . . . and it was no different with the pills. All I saw with the pills, beyond the important events, was additional background detail. So maybe I
don’t
miss anything important by dreaming naturally.” She smiled. “I see where you’re going with this, Doc.” She looked at Nancy. “See what he’s saying, Mom?”

“No. I don’t.”

Allie glanced at Dressler then back at her mother. “He’s saying that since I’ve never missed anything major by dreaming
naturally
, there’s a good chance I won’t do so in the future . . . if Emily isn’t already dead . . . which removes the need to OD on drugs.”

“I get it.”

“Kinda makes me look like a dumbshit for doing the drugs in the first place, doesn’t it?”

Dressler smiled. “No comment, but it’s like there’s something in your gift that always ensures you dream the important events during your normal sleep cycles.” He pondered for a few seconds. “You know, maybe that’s why the dreams fast forward when you’re not dreaming . . . call it
smart morphic resonance
. . . where it knows when you’re going to dream and speeds up the movie, so you don’t miss the important scenes.” He smiled again. “Something else to wrap our brains around, eh? And meanwhile, all we have to do is make your mind and body believe it’s true.”

Allie gave him a wary, expectant look. “So how do we do that?” I see rehab coming.

“Well, I’ve been beating that question around all afternoon, and here’s what I think. I think a formal rehab program will kill your chances of getting your PhD, as well as undermine our results with the committee and the world.”

Allie sighed. “It won’t help
you
either, will it?”

“No.”

Allie and Dressler studied each other for a moment as if trying to find the answer in the other’s eyes.

Nancy said, “Let’s do it here.”

Allie and Dressler startled, looked at her then at each other. Dressler said, “Why not?”

“I’m game,” Allie replied.

Concern suddenly shadowed Dressler’s face. “Allie, I think doing the rehab on our own is definitely worth a try, but I don’t want you to think it’s going to be easy. It’s not. It’s going to be damn tough. In spite of everything we’ve just talked about, you’re going to crave dreaming and demand sleeping pills and Mestinon, and you’re going to be very upset with your mom and me when we don’t let you have them . . . maybe even violent. And when that happens, you’ve got to remind yourself that the only alternative to rehab
here
is
formal
rehab. And that will mean
game over
for the project . . . period.”

Allie bowed her head, stared at Dressler with mournful, uncertain eyes, then glanced at her mother. “Let’s give it a try . . . I know it’ll be tough . . . because I’m already antsy to dream.” She held up a trembling hand, shook her head. “Look at that. Neither of you can imagine how I feel right now.” She paused, swallowed. “I know it’s gonna be ugly, so I apologize now for whatever I do or say. We’re doing the right thing, and I want it to work. And I’m glad I have both of you here to help me.” She rubbed her eyes.

“Well, theoretically, the fact that you haven’t been doing the pills very long should work in your favor, but I don’t want to be too optimistic about how long this might take. However it goes, each day should be a little better than the day before, and”—he glanced at Nancy, spoke in a questioning tone—“ one or both of us should be here twenty-four hours a day until she’s out of the woods.”

Nancy nodded, looked at Allie. “I’ll tell Dad what’s going on, and—”

“Oh, Mom, I’m so embarrassed.”

“Well, we
are
where we
are
. And you know he’ll be a hundred percent behind you.”

“I know, but still . . .”

Dressler said, “I’ll be here every day, and”—he looked at Nancy—“ if it’s okay, I’ll sleep on the couch, then go home for a bit in the mornings before I go to the lab or come back here to work on data analysis. Actually, most of the folks at the lab are on vacation right now anyway, so I’ll probably be here most of the time.”

Nancy nodded. “Sounds good.”

He alternated his hopeful look between mother and daughter. “I think we give this a max effort for a week; and if we don’t make good progress, then . . . well . . . you know what we’ll have to do.”

Allie nodded. “Yup.”

“Okay. So, Allie, let’s start with you giving us any other sleeping pills and Mestinon you have.”

Allie stared numbly at him for a long moment, pressed her lips together, took a deep breath, then stood slowly, walked measuredly into the bedroom.

“Damn it, Mom. Don’t you get it? I can’t fall asleep. I need a pill . . . even half a pill. I’m going nuts with frustration, probably trying too hard, just lying here bug-eyed.”

“Can’t help you, Hon. I don’t have any pills. You’ve got to get your brain clicking and work through this.”

“I can’t. I’ve got to dream, got to know. Don’t you understand?”

“Yes, I
do
understand. It’s real hard for you . . . but there’s no other way than gutting it out, working through it; and I know you can do it, Allie Girl. Try to relax and quit thinking about it . . . maybe take a hot shower.”

“Already did, and it didn’t help. Damn, this sucks—whole body aches, chills, upset stomach, sweating like a stuck pig. Damn it, Mom, help me!”

“I am, Allie . . . you just can’t see it right now.”

“Thanks a lot! This sucks!” She climbed out of bed, put on her bathrobe, started for the door.

“Where you going?”

“Living room. Is Steve there?”

“I think so.”

With Nancy close behind, Allie stormed into the living room, walked to the couch where Dressler sat reviewing her dream log from the first weekend dream. “Doc, will you
please
give me a sleeping pill? I’m getting nowhere. It’s after midnight, and I haven’t slept a bit. For Christ’s sake, we can’t do the fricking project if I don’t sleep and get data. Really, I thought we had a deal where I could have a small dose if I couldn’t sleep.”

He shook his head. “That was before you OD’d, Allie. Deal’s off. You have to tough it out . . . but nice try. Why don’t you watch TV or read a book or do some computer research . . . anything to help you relax . . . just need to get past your own mind. You’ve got to be exhausted—”

“No way, Doc! I’m going out to get some over-the-counter pills.” She turned, started back to the bedroom.

Nancy said, “Don’t bother, Allie. We’ve got your keys. Nothing’s open anyway.”

Allie screamed, “This is crazy! I’m missing stuff. Emily may be dead, and you two are gonna feel like the pits if she is and you made me miss it. Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! This sucks! You can’t do this to me!” She slammed the door, plopped onto the floor, sat cross-legged with her face in her hands, moaned and wailed.

After Allie sat on the floor for half an hour, crying herself out, Nancy opened the door, knelt beside her. “Come on, Baby, it’s after two. Let’s go to bed. I’ll give you a rub.”

Allie looked up with forlorn eyes. “Won’t do any good . . . but okay.”

In the morning, Nancy emerged from the bedroom, wearing sweats and moccasins. “Hmm. No Steve.” Must have gone home for a bit. She made a pot of coffee then searched the refrigerator for breakfast possibilities. “Not much here. Ah! Eggs and bacon—perfect. Better buy some grub today.”