Sweet Dreams (18 page)

“Say it.”

“Well, when I put my hand on the phone, I couldn't remember what I was going to do. I was blank. It was like . . .” He hesitated, a confused look on his face.

“Like your mind had been wiped clean,” Jerry finished it.

“That's it,” Voyles said softly. “Scared me. I'll damn sure admit that.”

The two men stood for a few minutes while the ambulance driver and the cops removed the body.

“How many times did you attempt it?” Jerry asked. “Can you remember?”

“Oh, yeah. Half a dozen times. Same thing happened every time. Doc?”

Jerry looked at him.

“I don't know how to fight this. I'm . . . getting scared, Doc.”

“If it's any comfort to you, so am I. Look. Do this for me. Let's find out how far the aw,
shit
! might as well say it – let's find out how far Sanjaman's control extends. We can drive out into the country; travel as many roads as possible. Do you have a CB in your car?”

“Yeah.”

“Let's do our talking on ... say, channel forty. Shouldn't be too much traffic on that.”

“Do you have a good CB?”

“I've got one with a booster on it that'll blow your doors off,” Jerry said with a grin.

“Those are illegal, Doc.”

“So arrest me.”

Voyles grinned boyishly. “I can't. I've got a booster in mine, too.”

Jerry laughed. “O.K. Let's start right after the funeral service.”

“Done. Look, how much do we tell Patrolman . . . Patrol
person
Hammel?”

“That's up to you, Dick. You're running this show, not me.”

Voyles shook his head. “No, that's not right, Doc. I think we're all in this together. I think whatever we do had better be coordinated. Do you agree?”

“I agree. Tell you what. At one o'clock this afternoon, let's all meet at my house. We'll level with your new” – he grinned – “patrolperson.”

“Cute, doc, cute. How about Bud and Leo? I don't know where they live.”

“I have a feeling they'll be there.”

“Then you're going to get in touch with them?”

Jerry shook his head. “No. But I'll bet you they'll both be there at one o'clock.”

Voyles gave him a funny look, then shuddered. “That old Indian gives me the creeps. Well, this will sure be something to tell our grandkids, won't it?”

“If we live through it,” Jerry said, tossing some cold water on the cop's statement.

Voyles nodded his head. “Yeah. There is that to consider. Talk to you, Doc.”

“See you.”

 

Heather and Marc met at the shopping center parking lot. They really did not have to speak; the expressions on their faces told the whole story.

“So how's it going over at your house?” Marc asked.

Heather told him, straddling her bicycle.

“Yeah,” the boy agreed. “It's pretty grim at my house, too.” He told his story.

“Marc? Look around you. Everything looks normal. People are going to work, gathering over there at the café for coffee and breakfast. They're going shopping and stuff. Nothing is
wrong
to them. Nothing. Marc, I don't understand what's happening. And why us?”

“I don't know if anybody knows what's happening,” Marc countered.

“Whoever is doing this does. Marc? I gotta say this, and don't get mad at me.”

“I'm not gonna get mad. Say what?”

“I'm scared of your father.”

Marc nodded his understanding. He looked at Heather, an odd glint in his eyes.

“What's wrong?.”

“I've got an idea, that's all. Something . . . look. Let's find a place to sit and talk, kind of hide out for a few hours. Until after the funeral. Then we can go over to Doctor Baldwin's house.”

“Why not go over there now? He won't mind us staying inside his house. I betcha.”

“Let's go.”

They left, pedaling hard, both of them conscious of being watched.

But they didn't know if the eyes on them were human. . . .

Jerry felt nothing as the minister intoned his final pleas for Lisa. It seemed wrong that he could not muster up even a tiny modicum of emotion for his dead wife, but he concluded they both had been dead to each other for a long time. As it was, for all he knew; they might be burying a total stranger that morning, no one knew what ashes belonged to whom after the fire.

Very few people were in attendance, and those who had come left hurriedly immediately after the service, mumbling a few hellos and I'm sorrys, their eyes downcast. Fearful, frightened eyes, Jerry thought. Confused and uncertain eyes. They know something is happening around this town, but they don't know what. They have retreated to the safety of a sanctuary; back to the fire in the cave; primitive emotions have taken precedence; their brains tell them danger is near, and to survive they must stay out of sight.

Jerry lifted his eyes to meet Maryruth's gaze. She nodded her head in understanding.

Very sharp person, Jerry thought.

Even the minister seemed to be in a great hurry to depart the scene. In a very short time, only Jerry and Maryruth remained.

Maryruth came to his side. “Strange, stranger, and strangest,” she remarked. They were the first words she had spoken to him since her arrival at the gravesite.

“Wait until you hear the stories Marc and Heather have to tell you,” Jerry said. “Those two kids are badly scared, Maryruth – just scared.”

“I can empathize with them, Jerry,” she admitted. “Believe me.”

Briefly, Jerry told her what Marc and Heather had experienced the previous night, and what he and Voyles were planning.

“Is that safe?”

“I don't know, Maryruth. But we'll soon know.” He glanced at his watch; ten-thirty “Why don't you go on over to the house, stay with the kids? I'm going to drive around and stay in contact with Voyles. I'll be back in about an hour or so. We're all going to meet there at one.”

She touched his face with her fingertips. “You be careful.”

“Bet on that.”

 

“You copy this, Dick?” Jerry spoke into his mike.

“Ten-four, Doc. You 'bout blew me out of the car.”

Jerry adjusted the volume. “That better?”

“Five by five, Doc.”

“Where are you?”

“I'm on a county road heading due west. Just crossed over the interstate. Everything O.K. so far. I . . .”

The silence seemed loud in the car. “Voyles! Can you hear me, Dick?”

“Who is this?” Voyles questioned, his voice hard-sounding.

“Doctor Jerry Baldwin. Dick, do you remember anything about this?”

“Baldwin? What are you talking about? What's going on?”

“Listen to me, Trooper. And don't interrupt. Turn around. Repeat:
Turn around
. Just do it. Come back toward the interstate. It will all clear up for you in a minute.”

“Baldwin, what are you trying to pull? I don't take orders from you. What's going on?”

In desperation, Jerry shouted into the mike. “Voyles, you big lard-assed dipshit! I'm goin' to whip your fat ass, you stupid pig.”

“What's your ten-twenty, you bastard!” Voyles roared, rattling the speaker in Jerry's car.

Jerry grinned. “Turn around and find me, you prick.”

“On my way!”

In less than thirty seconds, Jerry's speaker blurted out, “I lost it, didn't I, Doc?”

“You sure did. I had to threaten to whip your ass to get you to turn around.”

Voyles chuckled. “I don't think I want to mix it up with you, Doc.”

“And I don't think we should pursue this any further. It's too dangerous. Once outside the perimeter one of us might not be able to get back in. Come on. I'll meet you at the drive-in at the shopping center.”

After ordering coffee and taking a table away from the other customers, Voyles said, “Look at the people, Doc. See anything odd about them?”

“Sure I do, just as you do. They're subdued. Look at their actions and their eyes. The eyes appear lifeless . . . dead. Like zombies'.”

“I wish you'd use another word to describe them, Doc. That conjures up memories of old movies about the undead and werewolves and stuff like that.”

“Can you think of a better way to describe what we're seeing?”

Voyles shook his head and inspected his coffee cup.

“Let's say Sanjaman's powers extend about three miles in any given direction from the center of town,” Jerry offered. “That sound about right to you?”

Again, Voyles nodded. He was studying the people in the café, All of them had, at one time or another since entering the café, rubbed the back of their necks. “Cut your eyes to the people in here, Doc. See if you pick up what I'm seeing.”

Jerry looked around for a few seconds. “I don't know what you're driving at, Dick.”

Voyles said nothing. He watched as Jerry began rubbing the back of his neck.

 

Vickie Hammel got in her car and sat for a moment before cranking the engine. She thought: These sure are some weird people around here. Not one of them remembers a damn thing about the night in question.

Everyone she had spoken with had replied in the same dead, unemotional tone of voice. And they all looked . . .
scared
.

Odd.

Vickie was in her late twenties. She had been with the highway patrol since she was twenty-one. She was considered a fine investigative officer, and she was a crack shot with rifle, pistol, and shotgun.

A green-eyed redhead, her temper matched the beautiful flame of her hair, as the trainees at the academy had discovered when Vickie was the lone woman going through state trooper training. Several of them had also learned, some a bit more painfully than others, that Vickie's father was a Marine Corps colonel, a man who'd served with a Marine Raider Team during World War Two. Colonel Hammel had seen to it that all his kids learned the techniques of unarmed combat – wand knew them well.

Bluntly speaking, Vickie had stomped the shit out of one rather offensive young man who had delighted in needling her.

After that brief but impressive episode, Vickie was allowed to continue her training without the wisecracks and not-so-subtle remarks about her gender.

She graduated among the top five of her class.

She had been involved in three shoot-outs during her tenure on patrol. She had wounded two men and killed another. She had been the spokesperson during a tense hostage situation and had managed to resolve it without injury or death to either side.

She had earned the respect of her peers – the hard way, the only way cops get it. Good cops, that is.

She put her unmarked car in gear and pulled out. She had spot-checked the town for more than two hours, and she was experiencing a ... well, an
odd
sensation. Something – she didn't know what – was definitely out of whack with the townspeople. They acted – Christ – like, like . . . zombies!

She decided to drive out into the country, talk to a few farmers and their wives.

But two miles out of town, Vickie drew a blank. She could not remember what she was supposed to do, why she was there, or where she was. She pulled over to the side of the road and stopped.

“What's happening to me?” she said aloud. “Good God! The last thing I remember is leaving Sikeston at seven o'clock this morning.” She looked around her. “Where in the hell am I?”

She sat in her car for a few more minutes, attempting to control her shaky nerves and piece together what had transpired between seven that morning and the present time. She looked at her watch. Eleven-thirty.

Backtrack, she thought. That's what I have to do. Retrace my steps.

“But what flippin' steps?” she said.

She glanced down at the clipboard beside her. Picked it up, and scanned the pages. Good Hope, she read.

All right. Fine. So I've been in Good Hope. I know where that is. But what are these notes? TV shows? Her handwritten notes made no sense to her. What about TV shows?

She read on: People are very evasive. People are acting strangely. Weird. Funny like in odd. What is going on in this town? No one remembers what transpired on night in question.

“What night in question?” she said.

She gripped the steering wheel tightly. Gripped it until her hands ached. She closed her eyes and attempted to pull something – anything – from the depths of her mind.

Nothing.

“Well, then, by God, I'll just drive back to Good Hope.”

She turned the car around and headed back. Five hundred yards down the road her memory returned. Everything. She pulled over and parked. Sweat began dotting her face. She clicked her ballpoint and wrote in a shaky handwriting: Return to Good Hope if you lose memory again. Last odometer reading: 23029.2.

She turned her car around and headed back up the road. A few seconds later, she lost all memory of what had transpired.

She stopped and looked around her.

“What the hell am I doing out here?” she said. She looked around her, glanced down at the clipboard, read the message.

“Oh, God!”

She again turned the car around and headed back toward Good Hope. In a few seconds, total awareness returned.

“Voyles said this was a weird one,” she muttered. “He sure wasn't kidding about that.”

She spoke aloud to calm her shaky nerves.

She headed for the town of Good Hope. She wanted to sit down and have a long chat with Lieutenant Voyles, tell him about all this. And she just might punch him out for not leveling with her about this “weird one.”

 

Voyles tape-recorded everything the kids told him. He was red-faced from thinly disguised rage as Heather related the events that had occurred at her house the night before.

Voyles muttered something extremely vulgar under his breath about certain types of parents and what he'd like to do to them – painful procedure.

Heather had left nothing out. She had used the exact words she had heard the adults and her brothers utter. Voyles, Jerry, Janet, and Maryruth were clearly embarrassed at certain points in the girl's description of the events.

Even Marc shifted in his seat a couple of times. He'd heard all those words in the movies and read them in certain books, but still . . .

“Are you afraid, Heather?” Maryruth asked the young girl.

“Yes, ma'am. I am. And for some reason – I've already told Marc – I'm very much afraid of Marc's father.”

“In what way?” Jerry asked.

“Sexually afraid,” she replied.

Marc said, “Heather, you remember back at the shopping center? When I said I had an idea?”

She nodded.

“Well,” the boy said, “I'm not trying to be ugly or disloyal to my parents, or anything like that, but it's like Heather said: our parents have turned against us. So ... things being the way they are, I think there is something Lieutenant Voyles should know.”

Voyles looked at the boy. “All right, Marc. Go ahead.”

“Up until now, my Dad pretty well had his act together. I mean, he's been not just a good father, but a great one. But I overheard him and mother talking one night. I was about . . . oh, five, I think, but I remember it clear as day. She asked him, ‘Do you really, really think you've got it whipped this time, Harry.' And my father said, ‘I really believe I have. The doctors think so, anyway.' My Mom said, ‘All right then, Harry. But I don't ever want to go through this again. I don't want to have to leave a community in disgrace. Not ever again. If Marc has any little girls over here playing, I want you out of the house. You stay away from them, Harry. Do you understand?' My Dad said he did and that was the end of the conversation.”

“Guess my fears have some grounds to them,” Heather said.

“Where was this, Marc?” Voyles asked.

“Frederick, Maryland.”

“Were you born there?”

“No, sir. I was born in Dallas, Texas.”

“And you left there when?”

“When I was four.”

“Was your father ever in any trouble with the police in Maryland?”

“I ... I don't really know, sir. But a couple of times police in plainclothes came to the house and talked to my mother and father. One time Dad got real mad. He shouted at them. Said, ‘Goddammit, I haven't done anything like that in a long time. How long does it take for a man's background to fade?' ”

“Did the police reply to that?”

“Yes, sir. They said, ‘In your case, Anderson – never.' ”

Voyles sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I'm going to run him. Dallas and Maryland. I'm going to tell Jeff City this is top priority and to shake it. We should know something by morning. If we're real lucky, by late this afternoon.” He walked out of the room to radio in from his car.

When he opened the door, Bud and Leo were standing on the porch.

“Is the meeting still planned for one o'clock this afternoon?” Bud asked politely.

Voyles nodded his head. “You're weird,” he said. “I won't even bother to ask how you knew about the meeting. You'd just tell me my white mind would not understand. Right?”

“That is correct.”

“Go on in,” Voyles said. “I'm going to use some white man's magic and radio in.”

“An electromagnetic wave of sixty meters or less. You must have a repeater system in this state.”

Voyles stalked off the porch, muttering under his breath. Bud smiled and opened the door for his friend.