Dangerous Dreams: A Novel

by Mike Rhynard

  Chapter 13

  Allie kicked off her sheets, sat up, threw her pillow across the room.

  “Shit! She can’t get a fricking break . . . nothing but never-ending, life-threatening danger. And I’m a freak because I dream about her every night and think about her all day . . . like it’s all happening to me. This is trashing my life: dreams own my mind, scary, depressing, living two lives.” She shook her head, rubbed her neck. And this stupid little birthmark itches like crazy. Afraid . . . slow death, know what happens in the end, just waiting for the execution: things and people always trying to kill her . . . gonna have to marry a guy she doesn’t love . . . who looks to be a womanizer . . . if the Indians don’t kill them all first . . . and if that Panther guy doesn’t rape and kill her. Friends dying, no future . . . but she doesn’t quit, doesn’t lose hope, keeps on plugging. God in heaven! She’s only nineteen. I couldn’t do it . . . couldn’t even handle Erik without screwing it up . . . and I’m three years older. Wonder how he’s doing. Maybe we should talk, maybe email him, see if he’s ready, maybe hook up for dinner or something. She stared at the wall. I’m so sad . . . helpless, empty, depressed, nothing turns out right . . . for Emily or me. Why do I feel so close to her? Sucks . . . but gotta know what happens. Must be a masochist: know every dream’s gonna hurt, but keep on dreaming, can’t live without them.

  Wonder who the Indians were. Probably Powhatans . . . probably found them by accident, ambushed them. ’Tis one sorry . . . jeez, I’m starting to talk like her.

  She walked to the computer, which she’d left on all night, sat down, typed in Mestinon. She clicked on an entry then cross-checked with several other sites and summarized her findings.

  •Mestinon - Timespan tablets contain 180 mg pyridostigmine bromide. This larger dosage achieves prolonged duration of drug action—about 2½ times that of a 60 mg dose—but the immediate effect is about the same as that of a 60 mg tablet.

  Exactly what I need.

  •Overdosage biggest cause of side effects:

  -Loss of strength, twitching

  -Speech and/or vision issues

  -Bad vomiting or diarrhea

  -Cough

  -Mental confusion, anxiety and/or panic attacks

  -Convulsions

  Oh yay! Don’t get cute with this stuff. Nothing here about using it with sleeping pills. Funny, but it’s strangely exciting and tingly doing something dead wrong and risky.

  You’re an idiot, O’Shay. This is dangerous stuff.

  Screw it! I’m doing it.

  On a whim, Allie typed recent advances in dream theory into her browser, clicked on a selection that looked interesting, read it, reread it, read it again. Ho-ly shit! The doorbell rang. Damn!

  Nancy stepped through the doorway. “Hi, Toots.”

  Allie stood, looked at her watch, then gave her mother a quick hug. “Hi, Mom. You’re a little late.” Could have slept longer.

  “Yeah, got tied up getting away. Damned horses got out overnight, and the guys needed them this morning. Took all of us to get them in. Guess they knew it was going to be a rough day. Oh, Dad says hi . . . says he’ll call you tomorrow or the next day. Misses his right-hand gal.” She smiled. “So, tonight’s the night, huh?”

  Allie answered in a dull, subdued tone. “Guess so.”

  “You don’t sound very excited. I mean, this is hopefully the first step in getting to the bottom of all this. Like, it’s real important.”

  “I’m just worn out and depressed . . . Emily’s in deep shit again . . . and”—she wrapped her arms around her mother, pulled her close, laid her head on her shoulder, and sobbed—“and I feel so helpless, Mom, so guilty that I can’t do anything for her . . . so sad. I know they all die in the end, but I keep hoping . . . hoping that somehow it won’t happen to Emily. Help me, Mom.”

  Nancy squeezed Allie against her chest, felt their hearts pounding together; she recollected the moment she’d first heard Allie’s heartbeat in her womb, the thrill of knowing she’d have a daughter. “Just hold me, Baby. Just hold on. We’ll get through it, Hon.”

  When her tears and heaving subsided, Allie led her mother to the couch and sat beside her. “Mom, this is tearing me up. It’s so personal . . . like it’s happening to me . . . do you believe in reincarnation?”

  “Hmm. I guess I can’t say I believe in it . . . but I definitely don’t disbelieve in it. So I guess my answer is, I really don’t know. Why? Are you thinking you’re Emily, reincarnated?”

  “It’s crossed my mind. I mean, how else could I feel so close to her or be in her mind like I am?” Allie squeezed her lips together, frowned. “Just thought of something. Come over here; look at this.” She walked to the computer, sat down, wiggled the mouse. “Read that.”

  It has long been known that dreams frequently include events and feelings the dreamer has experienced. But new theories hypothesize that it may be possible for experiences and feelings of one generation to be passed to subsequent generations of the same family through their genes and DNA, or perhaps through genetically guided access to selected information stored in what Jung described as a “collective unconscious”—a sort of window through which we’re able to access such information from the whole of mankind from its beginning to the present. It is thought that these experiences and feelings could manifest themselves in the form of dreams that portray the actual events and feelings experienced by those earlier generations.

  “Oh my God! Have you shown this to the doc?”

  “Not yet, but I’m sure he knows about it. I’m going to mention it this afternoon, anyway. Just found it right before you got here. Pretty amazing, huh . . . even though it’s completely theoretical? Might explain a lot of what’s happening . . . though I don’t know how in the hell you’d prove it . . . guess that’s the doc’s job.”

  Allie and her mother stared wordlessly at each other for a long moment before Nancy put her arm around Allie’s shoulders. “Hon, I’ve got something to tell you . . . something about Ian . . . the thing I didn’t want to discuss on the phone yesterday.”

  Allie’s lips parted; her eyes instantly bloomed wide and cautious. “What is it, Mom?”

  “Well, two things, actually. The first is that in addition to her telling me her dreams were true, she told me they were always about our family’s ancestors. Again, I don’t know how she knew, but she did . . . same for the dreams being true history. So maybe that’s why you feel so close to Emily . . . could also be tied into what we just read. You know, you and Ian are the only ones I’ve ever heard of who dreamed like this, and you’re the only ones with that butterfly birthmark. So I’m thinking that maybe your special ability may be something that enables you to do what that article says, while those of us without your gift can’t.”

  Allie stared blankly at her mother; her mind spun like a top. “Mom, you just told me that Emily’s my Great-Great—Many-Great—Grandmother. Good Lord, I’ve got goose bumps all over.”

  “I guess that’s what I’m saying, isn’t it?”

  “Wow! Just wow! Did we know we had an ancestor at Roanoke?”

  “Not as far as I know, but we really don’t know much about the family before Ian’s time. Obviously, if she knew, she didn’t share it . . . probably because she didn’t think anyone would believe her, which is a real shame.”

  Allie reflected for a moment. “Wouldn’t it be something if she had the same dreams I’m having? Amazing. No wonder I feel so close to Emily.”

  Nancy’s face saddened; she shook her head. “Allie, don’t forget what history says: the entire colony vanished. So even though you may now understand the why of it, the outcome probably won’t change. I mean, that’s just the way it is. You can’t change history.”

  Allie’s eyes suddenly glowed with excitement. “But, Mom, wait a minute. If Emily’s my Many-Great-Grandmother, she can’t die now. Because she hasn’t had any kids yet. And if she died before she had kids, we wouldn’t be here today, would we?”

  Nanc
y went pensive, held her silence.

  “Hot damn! Emily’s gonna make it . . . at least long enough to have a baby . . . and that baby has to make it, too, because we’re here.” Allie beamed with relief and satisfaction at her conclusion. “The history books are wrong, Mom. Emily’s gonna make it.”

  “Allie, hang on a second. There’s more. I just remembered something . . . and you’re not going to like it . . . I remember Ian telling me her dreams weren’t always of direct ancestors . . . some were of siblings of the direct ancestors . . . and . . . and many of them died young.”

  Allie’s smile vanished; she squinted tight lipped at her mother.

  “And here’s the part I didn’t want to tell you on the phone.”

  “Damn it, Mom. Spit it out, will you? I can handle it!”

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Ian became just as addicted to her dreams and the people in them as you’ve become to yours . . . as if the dreams were drugs. And when some of the people died she . . . she basically went into withdrawal, deep depression, and . . . and . . .”

  “Say it, Mom.”

  “And she had several emotional meltdowns . . . and they say she tried to kill herself a couple times.”

  “Damn! I knew it.” She shook her head repeatedly. “I can relate, Mom. I can really relate. You can’t imagine how attached I am to Emily . . . how I love her . . . how she’s part of me. I’ve been afraid with her, afraid for her, sad for her. I don’t know what’s gonna happen when she dies . . . or what I’ll do . . . or if I’ll be able to handle it. I’m scared, Mom.”

  “Allie, you’re scaring the hell out of me, too.”

  “I know.” She stared at the floor, saw Emily running from the Panther, whispered, “But all I know is I’ve got to get back to her . . . be there with her for whatever happens . . . before it’s too late.” She closed her eyes. Emily, I’ll be there. Hang on. “It’s all falling apart, Mom . . . and me with it.” Tears filled her eyes as she lunged to her mother’s arms, held her tight. “Hold me, Mom. Hold me.”

  Allie spoke in a flat tone. “So as always, it was like a TV serial and ended at a dramatic, scary moment and left me hanging. Why in the hell does it always do that? Pisses me off.”

  Dressler stopped writing, looked up at Allie, smiled. “Well, that’s how it always seems to go with us cowardly humans. When stuff gets scary and we’re about to die, we instinctively wake up to preclude our demise.”

  “Hmm. Well, Emily keeps managing to stay alive, but things are really turning to shit. So let me ask you this. I know I’m a lucid dreamer, but I haven’t tried to make anything happen in the dreams, which lucid dreamers are supposed to be able to do . . . and which I’ve actually done a few times with normal dreams. Do you think I could change anything . . . like maybe command her to escape from a situation where she’s about to die?”

  “Won’t know until you try it; but don’t forget there’s an old time-travel adage: you can’t change history. And if you’re dreaming real history, the same may hold true for your dreams.”

  Allie frowned, looked away. “Well, as I told you, my mom says my Great-Great-Grandma Ian knew for sure the dreams were true, and this morning she told me that Ian also knew for certain they were of our family’s ancestors. How about that?”

  Dressler’s eyes squeezed into a tight, academic squint; he nodded slowly several times. “Does she know how Ian knew?”

  “Nay . . . damn it.” She slapped herself mockingly on the cheek. “There I go again—second time today I’ve talked like them. Getting spooky. No, she doesn’t know, but she says Ian was absolutely certain.” She handed him a piece of paper. “Here. Take a look at this. Just found it on the net this morning.”

  He scanned the sheet. “Very intriguing. I actually read this study, and it made great sense to me . . . even before I met you. But now it makes a hell of a lot of sense.”

  “So if it really works that way, and we assume Emily’s my ancestor— possibly my Many-Great-Grandmother, as I call her—and I have her genes and DNA, and she’s my channel to the collective unconscious where all this history is stored, how can I see and feel things that other people besides Emily see and feel and say when Emily’s not there? And how can I understand the Indians? And why are there apparently just a few of us in the history of the world with this gift, and why are we women, and why does it skip generations?”

  He smiled. “Don’t know yet. I haven’t considered it all together in context . . . but I do have some preliminary thoughts.”

  Allie’s eyes widened, enlivened as she leaned toward him. God, let him figure it out. “Hit me, Doc.”

  “Well, I’ve started working my way back through my library and— oh, by the way, you might want to read some of my books . . . could possibly stimulate a few thoughts that haven’t occurred to either of us . . . so I’ll give you the list. So, for starters, a guy named Waggoner suggests that lucid dreaming connects us with our unconscious at greater depth and breadth; and I think you’re seeing that, for sure . . . at least the immensity part. Then in the book Healing Dreams”—he glanced at the cover—“ Barasch suggested—and I’m paraphrasing—that maybe we should examine dreams less symbolically and more as an anthology of ‘stories’—stories that can exceed the limitations of ‘time & space’ . . . time and space . . .” He glanced at her. “That would be your dreams, Allie. He also talks about dreams being well-crafted, meaningful tales full of vivid realism and senses, emotion, movie-like scripting and characters, and the twists and turns of real life—all of which rise above the personal realm and tend to hover in our memories. He says lots of other stuff, too; but one you’ll appreciate is that the psychoanalytic idea that dreams have to do only with the dreamer’s life is a joke to native people . . . like the Indians, who’ve always had visions and vision quests as an integral part of their cultural and spiritual existence.”

  He flipped to the next page. “Then, get this, even Jung wondered how the collecting house of experiences and memories passes from generation to generation. So whose experiences and memories—essentially their pasts—was he talking about? Well, he was probably talking about their personal pasts; but I think, per your article, a person’s personal past might include their ancestors’ pasts, which means Emily’s experiences, feelings— everything in her memory and unconscious—are now part of your past, whether it’s accessed in the collective unconscious or carried in your genes and DNA, or some combination of both.” He paused for a breath. “You know, to avoid confusion in our future discussions let’s say that memory and the unconscious are functionally one and the same, regardless of where they reside. So from now on, we’ll just talk about memory, be it personal or collective. Okay?”

  “Sounds good.”

  He nodded. “So to conclude, Barasch talks about dreams sometimes inserting dreamers into other peoples’ existences, which, of course, can greatly broaden their perspectives on things.” He again looked at Allie with sad, sympathetic eyes and parted lips. “If that ain’t you, nothing is.”

  Her face was a picture of gloomy surrender; her head nodded like a metronome. “That’s me.” She looked away as a single tear worked its way down each cheek. “I know it’s that way because everything about Emily is so real, so personal, so me.”

  “Are you alright, Allie?”

  “Yes . . . I’m just emotionally drained, sad, feeling helpless and utterly consumed by Emily and the dreams.” She took a deep breath. “What else?”

  “Have you ever heard of atavism?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Doesn’t it have to do with traits being carried from generation to generation?”

  “It does. It’s the inclination to go back to an earlier ancestral type . . . like a backward leap in evolution . . . where long-gone traits suddenly reemerge. And one way atavisms can occur is when genes for an earlier trait are carried forward in DNA and eventually show up again due to some aberration— perhaps a mutation—that allows the old traits to dominate the new ones. So if we assume t
hat atavisms can be selective about when and where they occur, this might explain why only you and Ian, two women, generations apart, have had this dreaming gift. Now understand, I’m extrapolating from a theory that applies to non-dreaming entities, like organisms, and applying it to dreaming entities, like people; and I’m doing that because we’re organisms, the theory fits, and there’s, as yet, no reason not to apply it. By the way, the word atavism comes from the Latin word atavus, which is a multiple-great-grandfather—a distant ancestor. So in the spirit of modern thinking, where we’ve started down the pathway of psycho-physiological dream theory—as opposed to Freud’s purely psychoanalytic approach—we have a melding of things of the mind, genetics, and physiology, and I understate when I say we haven’t even scratched the surface of what’s there. But, Allie, my dear research assistant, that’s where we’re going.”

  Allie curved her lips into a modest smile. “Let’s go!”

  He held his own warm smile as he fixed his inquisitive eyes on hers for a moment, repressed a sudden urge to hold her. “Okay. So to summarize, I believe the answers to your questions are in some combination of the collective memory, genetics, the stuff I just read to you, and several other theories, such as morphic resonance, formative causation, activation synthesis, Lamarckian inheritance, and a few more; and we’re going to analyze all of them, along with the results of your sleep studies, with respect to each of your dream characteristics.” He paused, waited for her to process what he’d said. “But for now, if Emily’s your—how did you say it?—”

  “Many-great-grandmother.”

  “your many-great-grandmother, you have her genes and DNA, and I think, somehow—TBD—they direct your personal memory to the right spot in the collective memory to access all her experiences, feelings, thoughts, and memories; and that’s why you feel the thoughts and emotions of those who were associated with her, even though she might not have always been present; they’re in her temporal and personal section of the collective memory. Or, another possibility is that she acquired knowledge of those things, and it was stored in her personal memory, and you received it directly via her genes and DNA with the same result: the ability to access exactly the right place in the collective memory to find the personal memories of all the people who interacted with Emily.” He smiled. “And as I inferred a moment ago, it’s like all these fragments of causality are floating around out there somewhere in space, and we have to pluck out the right ones and meld them together into the best possible theory that explains human dreaming . . . and most especially, Allie O’Shay’s dreaming. Allie, are you sure you’re alright?”