Erika
To the one person in my life I cannot do without. My wife, June
There was a long pause before Dr. Tyler answered. “Very well, Hawkins. Be at my office by 9:30.”
Hawkins O’ Brien has a problem that must be solved before it possesses him forever.
One could say that Hawkins O’Brien is a most unusual person. For seven years his dreams have been saturated with his love for Erika. Just who is Erika? Hawk can’t remember. Is she real, or just a dream? What will happen to change Hawk and everything in his life when he finds out?
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Erika
Copyright © 2013
Wayne Greenough
ISBN: 978-1-77111-532-2
Cover art by Scott Carpenter
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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Erika
By
Wayne Greenough
To the one person in my life I cannot do without. My wife, June
Chapter One
“Hawkins, I want you to start probing as deeply as you can into your last dream. Try to remember every detail. Now close your eyes. Tell me when you see or hear anything.”
“I hear music.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you describe it?”
“No. No, I can’t.”
“Hawkins, try to tell me about the music. Did you see anything with it?”
“Oh all right, all right. It’s a tinkle sound, like wind chimes. It’s inside a dark enclosed area.”
“Was there anything else?”
“Yes, I smell perfume.”
“What kind?”
“It’s indescribable.”
“Have you smelled it before?”
“Yes, whenever I have the dream.”
“Go on. Tell me more.”
“I hear a voice.”
“Do you hear words?”
“I heard love.”
“Love for a person?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who?”
“Me.”
“Are you sure?
“Yes.”
“Can you see who’s talking?”
“No.
“The voice you hear, does it sound familiar?”
“I don’t think so. I’m not sure.”
“Could it be Shanna Mason’s?”
“No! No!”
“All right, calm down. Easy now, take some deep breaths. Can you tell me what the voice means to you?”
“It means ultimate love.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“In my dreams I feel love.”
“Who do you love, Hawkins? Tell me who.”
“I don’t know! I don’t know! I…don’t…know…A name…I want to know a name…Help me…”
“I will help you, Hawkins. Calm down. Take deep breaths. Relax. Are you able to tell me more about your dream?”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, take a breather for a few minutes, relax.”
“Nuts to that. It’s your line of dialogue, Doc.”
“What would you have me say?”
“You’re the one who is being paid for all this, so say something brilliant.”
“You’re being hostile.”
“Can you name a day I’m not?”
“No, but then I don’t see you every minute of the day and night. Do you know why you have such an abrasive attitude when you are here?”
“No.”
“It’s because you don’t like being questioned. Let’s talk about your girlfriend, Shanna Mason. Do you love her?”
“No. How could I? She’s just a convenience for me to use.”
“I see. Have you told her so?”
“Why would I?”
“If there is no love between Shanna and you, do you have a lady friend you feel love for?”
“I told you in other sessions I know only Shanna. Love somebody else besides my dream person? Why would you ask?”
“Because I suspect you might. It’s not unusual for a person your age to be acquainted with more than one member of the opposite sex. Surely you’re not attempting to hide from the human race. Or are you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I try to avoid most friendships.”
“Why? Do you feel superior to everybody?”
“Perhaps I feel inferior. You tell me, Doc.”
“Do you have sexual problems with Shanna?”
“Now why would you ask?”
“Your dreams contain sexual content. Has Shanna helped you sexually?”
“My sex life is none of your business. Yes, I’m horny and I’ve read Sigmund Freud several times.”
“And you argue extremely well and circle around my questions.”
“Right, I know something about everything. Would you like to discuss weapons? I’m an expert shot with rifle and pistol.”
“No discussion, thank you. Your father presented me with a thick folder about your passion for weapons.”
“Oh? Just what did my know all, hear all, and see all father say about my passion?”
“He’s quite concerned as to how you might someday use those weapons. We’ll delve into the matter in a future session. Tell me why you enjoy guilt.”
“I don’t think I do.”
“There’s an indication otherwise. More often than not you openly refuse to cooperate with me. Such an attitude informs me you like your problems and don’t want them to be solved. What do you think?”
“I think you talk nonsense.”
“Do I? I knew you would disagree. It seems to be an inborn reflex with you.
How do you feel today?”
“I feel all right.”
“Well enough to discuss a very personal subject?”
“Like what and who?”
“What do you remember about your mother?”
“I have no memory of her.”
“I’m sure you do, Hawkins. She was killed by a drive by shooter on your sixteenth birthday. You were seriously wounded. I believe most of your problems are caused by what happened.”
“So explain the relationship to my dream and my mother being murdered.”
“I really can’t, yet, which is why I need to have you talk about your mother. Then I might have an explanation.”
“I don’t remember her.”
“You’re not being truthful. Your father, when I explained the necessity of my knowing what happened, told me everything he remembered in detail. But I need your version.”
“Please, let’s not discuss my mother.”
Tell me why not, Hawkins.”
“I can’t. The pain, I can’t stand the pain.”
“All right, Hawkins. Relax. Close your eyes.”
Silence, interrupted by Hawk blowing his nose.
“Are you all right now?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, open your eyes. Are you on drugs, prescribed or otherwise?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I’m attempting to determine if you’re hallucinating. If you are on certain drugs you could be.”
“Are you saying my same dream over and over for seven years could be a doper trip? You can’t be serious.”
“What do you think they are?”
“I feel they’re about a real person.”
“Can you tell me why?”
“Sometimes my dreams have given me a glimpse of a world I prefer to this one.”
“Is your dream person part of that world?”
“Yes.”
“We all wish for a better world, Hawkins. More money, better relationships, you name it. But you failed to answer my question. Are you on drugs? Certain types can do strange things to the mind. Things you would guarantee were real.”
“I don’t smoke, drink, or use drugs of any kind. I’m confused, not stupid.”
“Would you volunteer to a urine or blood test to prove you’re drug free?”
“Of course, even a hair test. It might surprise you to discover how kind I’ve been to my body.”
“Very well, Hawkins. You’ll have to leave now. It’s time for my next client. I suppose Shanna will drive you home as always.”
“Yes. But first we’re headed for Cannon Beach to visit her racing buddy who lives there. The drive will help iron out the mental kinks your sessions always give me.”
Chapter Two
Cannon Beach was one of Hawk’s favorite places to let his imagination wander. The ocean water was clean. It swirled and rolled with beautiful blue green colors, its smell so fresh and exhilarating it should be bottled and sold. The ocean wind housed ancient sirens and flirtatious sea nymphs who called to you, played with your hair, zipped through your clothes to smell the closeness of your skin. If they loved you they’d touch your entire body, sometimes with cool fingers, other times with icy sharp ones that would spear through to your soul so you’d never forget their caress.
“Hawk, I’m over here.”
Shanna’s voice jerked his brain back to reality. She was about two hundred feet away talking to a man wearing what appeared to be a navy-blue watch cap, gray shorts, and a camera. He was probably the person she wanted him to meet. He shook his head and decided not to join them until later. Right now he would sooner stare at the ocean waves. They were always crashing and roaring with indefatigable strength onto the clean flat sand, bringing with them foam so white it looked as if it could be used as topping on a dessert.
He inhaled deeply, savoring the cool freshness of the air as he walked toward a fog bank rolling in to spellbind him. In it he could see Captain Nemo’s Nautilus, the Flying Dutchman, a lonely, memory-haunted sea captain walking an eternal beach, a faceless woman chanting a love sonnet.
“Hawk, don’t be a standoff. Come over here.”
* * * *
Hawk stared at the man. He was three or four inches taller than six feet, broad shouldered, with narrow hips and slim waist. Gray shorts revealed long, muscular legs. His arms bulged with hardness. Under a navy-blue watch cap, black curly hair stuck out just enough to act as a crown for his gray eyes, his aristocratic nose, a generous mouth, and a strong, square chin.