by Mike Rhynard
The Panther smirked, faded slowly into the shadowy forest.
Mother . . . dear God . . . help me.
Another cramp doubled Emily onto her bed. What’s happening to me? Hurts so. “Ahhh! Mother, help me. Please make it stop.” She rolled to her back, pulled up her smock, felt the wetness between her legs, looked at her hand. My God, I’m bleeding . . . badly . . . rags . . . need rags. Panicked, afraid, she rolled off the bed to her knees, screamed as another cramp stabbed her like a dull knife. “Someone help me!” She crawled toward her chest, doubled over with another cramp, threw back the lid; fumbled for her period rags, pulled them from the trunk; started to crawl to the bed, flattened onto the floor with another cramp. “ Ooooooh.” She rolled to her back, pulled up her bloody smock, stuffed the rags firmly between her legs, and squeezed them together. Another cramp. “Ahhh!”
Someone knocked on the door.
Emily moaned weakly, “Who is it?”
“Emme . . . I wanted to visit with you . . . Emily you sound awful; I’m coming in.” Emme burst through door. “God’s blood, Emily, what’s wrong?!”
“Aaaah! Cramps . . . like a period . . . but worse.” She panted, writhed. “Help me, Emme. I’m bleeding . . . gushing . . . don’t know . . . don’t know what . . . what it is. Faint . . . can’t think . . . can’t . . . talk. More . . . more rags . . . need more rags.” Emily’s head slowly relaxed onto the floor, eyes closed, body limp.
Emme knelt beside her, gently smacked her cheek. “Emily, Emily . . . awaken. Do not do this; you cannot die! Noooo!” She stood, rushed to the door. “Ellie, must get Ellie.” She ran outside, raced toward the Dares’ cottage.
As Emme began to knock on the Dares’ door, Allie’s dream went black.
Chapter 24
After three volleys of knocks on Allie’s door, Nancy reached into her purse, fumbled through her oversized bundle of keys, picked one, tried it in the deadbolt. “Damn! Thought that was it.” She flipped through the bundle again as a twinge of panic teased her mind. “Why doesn’t she answer? God, I hope she’s alright! Ah! Here it is.” She slid the key into the slot, turned it. “Thank God!” She quickly opened the door, rushed inside. “Good Lord! What’s going on here?” The room was dark, shades drawn, no light except for a faint glow coming through the bedroom doorway. She walked slowly inside, closed and bolted the door. “Allie?” She flipped on the living room light. “Allie, are you here?” She walked hesitantly toward the bedroom door. “It’s Mom.”
She peered inside. “Oh my God!” The bathroom nightlight cast a dim glow on Allie, unconscious on the bedroom floor, halfway between the bed and bathroom. Nancy rushed to her side, knelt. “Allie, Allie!” Oh jeez, she barfed on herself . . . must have fainted on the way to the bathroom. “Good Lord, what’s happening?” She touched Allie’s chest. “Whew . . . breathing . . . at least she’s alive . . . could have suffocated. Allie!” She tapped Allie’s cheek three times. “Come on, kiddo. Wake up!” She grabbed her shoulders, shook gently. “Come on, Allie Girl. My God, what’s wrong with her?” Tears flooded her eyes; her heartbeat surged like a race horse bursting from the starting gate; she shook harder. “Damn it!” She groped inside her purse. “Damn! Just made a call. Where is it . . . ah, there it is . . . 9-1-1 . . . gotta dial 9-1-1.” She smacked Allie’s pale face again. Her hand trembled as she pressed the 9-1-1 preset. “Never done this before. Come on, Allie, wake up!”
“9-1-1. Please speak slowly and calmly . . . describe your emergency.”
Allie moaned, moved her head, opened her eyes for a moment.
Nancy said, “Uh . . . hang on a sec. I think we’re gonna be okay.” She touched Allie’s cheek, smacked it twice. “Allie, can you hear me? Come on, Hon.”
Allie opened her eyes again. “Mom, what . . . what are you . . .”
“9-1-1, I think she’s waking up. Should be able to handle things. Thanks.”
“Are you sure? I can hang on until you’re sure.”
“No. I think she’s okay. Thanks much. Sorry to bother you.”
“Good luck. 9-1-1 off.”
She pressed end. “Allie, what the hell . . .”
Allie slurred a few unintelligible words.
“What did you say? Speak clearly.”
Allie mumbled, “I said . . . what are you doing here, Mom? And . . . man . . . do I ever have a headache . . . dizzy and pukey . . . barely see you. My God! What’s that gross smell? Reeks!”
“You threw up on yourself . . . a good while ago. How long have you been lying here?”
Allie glanced right and left, looked disoriented, unaware she was lying on the floor. “No clue. Don’t remember getting here. What day is it?”
“Wednesday morning. Allie, what the hell have you been doing? Did you get toasted?”
“No . . . mind’s kinda muddled . . . Wednesday morning? Can’t think . . . groggy . . . barely see you.”
“Well, I called about ten times over the last three days, and you never answered. So you must have been doing something. Scared the hell out of me!”
“I . . . I was sleeping . . . sleeping . . . dreaming. Must have . . . can’t . . . can’t think . . . tired . . .” Her eyes slowly closed.
“Allie, wake up!” Panic, fear. “Did you take sleeping pills? Come on, wake up!”
Allie’s eyes stayed closed. “Just a few.”
“So you could dream more, right? Damn it, Allie. You know better.”
“Right. Jeez, I’m weak . . . wanna sleep. What day is it?”
“Wednesday morning. I already told you. Damn it! You’re a wreck! Can’t believe you did this to yourself when you know what happened to . . .”
“Needed more dreams . . . and it worked . . . but feel like crap. Gotta sleep . . . gotta . . .”
“Allie O’Shay, don’t you dare sleep. Now get up and help me get you into the bathroom, so we can clean you up. You’re a mess. Come on.” She stood, grasped Allie’s hands, tried to pull her up; but Allie was limp as a bag of potting soil, her eyes still closed. Nancy tried three more times, finally poured cold water on Allie’s face; she pulled her to a sitting position then stepped behind her, grasped her armpits, lifted her to rubbery feet. “Can you walk?”
“No.”
“Then hold on to me. Put your arm around my shoulder.” The two stepped slowly to the bathroom. Nancy sat Allie on the toilet seat, removed her wet t-shirt, cleaned her with a wash cloth. “Stay here while I find a clean shirt. Don’t move.”
“I don’t feel good, Mom.”
“Hang on. I’ll be right back.” Nancy dashed into the bedroom, rifled Allie’s drawers for a t-shirt.
“Gonna puke, Mom.”
“Damn it! Hang on, I’ll be there in a sec.”
“Can’t wait.” Allie stood, started to turn around; lost her balance, grabbed the vanity; leaned over the sink, dry heaved three times. “ Ohhhh.”
Nancy raced into the bathroom, put her arm around Allie’s waist, sat her back on the toilet seat, then slid a clean t-shirt over her head, pulled her arms through the sleeves. “That was real pretty.”
“Can’t help it, Mom . . . wiped out.”
“Okay, come on, we’re going back to the bed.” She pulled Allie to her feet. “Arm around my shoulder again. Okay, here we go.” She walked her back to the bed, rolled her onto it, covered her with a sheet; she stared worriedly at her for a moment. “Just like old times, Allie Girl.” She caressed her forehead then her cheeks. “Can’t believe you did this to yourself after what happened to Great-Grandma Ian.” Gotta get a grip on this quick. How in the hell could that advisor . . . what’s his name . . . let this happen? SOB’s gonna hear from me . . . must have given her the prescription for the pills. After Nancy walked into the kitchen and filled a glass with water, she returned to the bedroom, decided she’d keep an eye on Allie, walked to the desk, sat. “Hmm.” She picked up Allie’s cell phone. “Off. No wonder she didn’t answer.” She turned it on, brought up the missed calls. Wow. Sixteen missed calls,
eight from me . . . six from the advisor . . . there it is . . . Steve Dressler . . . jerk. Wonder if she got my emails.
She wiggled the mouse, opened Allie’s email. “Kinda tacky to do this, but . . . hmm. Four from me, six from him. This is really tacky.” She clicked through Dressler’s emails, read them in the viewing pane. “Pretty innocuous . . . sounds genuinely concerned about her; but hell’s bells, he gave her the damn pills. She said he gave her a few for when she was self-conscious and couldn’t fall asleep, but a few wouldn’t make her like this.” She glanced at Allie’s bedside table, walked to it, picked up the two bottles, looked at the prescription details. “Lots of pills.” Way more than for occasional use, and Dressler’s name is on them. She put the sleeping pills on the table, looked at the Mestinon bottle, held it up to the desk lamp. What’s this stuff? “Mestinon. No clue. Ah! Let’s google it.” She glanced at the monitor. “Wow. Look at that! She’s got a file on it.” She opened the file, read the description. Hmm. Increases dreaming. Wow. Look at the side effects . . . exactly what she’s showing. Good grief! She must have really OD’d. “Damn it, Allie. Gonna kill yourself.” She glanced at Allie then closed the file, instinctively glanced around the computer desktop.
“Jeez Louise, look at all this stuff: depression symptoms, dream theory, dream characteristics, Lost Colony, Lakota, rape . . .Oh no! Rape symptoms . . . my baby. Oh my God. What else? Oh shit! Orgasm.” Her eyes were the size of large ball bearings. “Oh my God! Pregnancy, breast feeding. Lord, my poor baby.” She again looked at Allie. “That bastard! He raped her, and now . . . now she’s pregnant, and . . . oh my God. This is horrible! What the hell are we gonna do?”
Two hours later, Allie awoke; she looked up into her mother’s eyes. “Mom. You’re here. Can’t see very well . . . blurry . . . hot . . . upset stomach . . . what day is it? How . . . how’s Mary Bakken?”
“It’s Wednesday noon; Mary’s having a tough time, so they’re delaying the funeral. They cremated John, so there’s no rush. She’s still pretty much a wreck . . . kind of like you when you woke up the first time.”
“Woke up? I woke up?” Don’t remember dreaming anything . . . but . . . but it was that same blackness as after the massacre. What did it mean? Emily bleeding badly . . . and . . . and unconscious . . . maybe dead. Gotta get back, gotta know. She closed her suddenly misty eyes, rolled away from her mother.
“Yes, you did. You’d barfed all over yourself and were unconscious on the floor. How cool is that?”
Allie sobbed. “I’m a mess, Mom, a worthless piece of . . . but I’ve got to dream . . . gotta know what happens to Emily . . . and Isna . . . and all of them . . . she’s dying . . . or already dead.”
Nancy stared silently at her for a moment. “Allie, I’m really worried about you.” She showed her the two pill bottles. “You OD’d on these, didn’t you?”
Allie didn’t respond.
“And while I was watching you sleep, I happened to look at your computer . . . saw a bunch of files that—”
“Well, that was a sneaky thing to do.”
She sighed. “You’re right, but I didn’t do it on purpose. The stuff was there in plain sight and—”
“Damn it, Mom, you have no right to go through my—oh! I’m gonna barf.”
“Allie. Did Dressler rape you? Are you pregnant?”
Allie rolled toward her mother, looked at her with groggy, blinking eyes. “Are you kidding, Mom? Steven? Rape me?” She laughed cynically. “First, you go through my private stuff, and then you start throwing accusations around like confetti. Ohhh. I really am gonna barf.”
“Allie, I’m worried about you. Parents have a right to do that, you know . . . even with their adult kids.” She paused for a moment. “So why is all that stuff on your computer?”
“You’re getting rid of my grogginess by pissing me off, Mom. It’s there because I researched things that happened to Emily in the dreams. Like, she got raped by Tayler and got pregnant . . . had an orgasm during the rape, and I wanted to know if that could really happen . . . and it can. Bet you didn’t know that. And the breastfeeding stuff is about how someone who’s not a mother can nurse . . . which Emily did for Virginia Dare. Bet you didn’t know that could happen either, did you? And . . . and depression symptoms. Think she might be a little depressed after all that?” Like me . . . damn it. “I really am gonna barf, Mom.”
“Okay, okay. But what about OD’ing on the pills?” She looked at the bottles, pointed at the Mestinon. “The file on your computer says this one induces dreaming and has some ugly side effects . . . which, by the way, I’m looking at right now.”
Allie looked away for a second then back at her mother. “Yes. I OD’d . . . because I needed to dream more. I’d actually like to dream all the time. Don’t you get it? I can’t be away from Emily, and I’m going to dream as much as I can until I know what happens to her.”
“Oh! And then you’re going to just quit, and that’ll be the end of it, right?”
“Right.”
“Bullshit, Allie O’Shay. You may find out what happens to Emily, but you’ll become a druggie in the process. Is that what you want?”
“I don’t care. I’ve got to dream.”
“You’d better care, or you’re going to end up just like Ian, and—”
“I need to sleep, Mom. Give me the pills.”
“No. I won’t. Dressler got these for you, didn’t he?”
Allie sat up. “No! I got them myself. Now damn it, Mom! Give me the f’ing pills. I need to dream.”
Nancy slid the bottles into her jeans pocket. “No, Allie. I won’t help you ruin yourself; and I don’t believe for half a second that Dressler didn’t give you the pills . . . or that he didn’t rape you, for that matter. What the hell’s happened to my wonderful little girl?”
Allie raised her voice. “Your little girl’s a fricking addict, Mom— addicted to her dreams, and now drugs. So give me the damn pills!” Allie slid her legs over the side of the bed, stood, walked assertively toward Nancy, who had backed toward the door to the living room.
“Allie, calm down . . . control yourself . . . you can’t—” Someone knocked on the front door. Nancy glanced at it then back at Allie. “Want me to answer it?”
Another knock.
“No. I will . . . no, you do it. I’m sick.” Allie rushed into the bedroom, slammed the door behind her.
Wow, this ought to be good. “Who is it?”
“It’s Steve. Are you alright, Allie? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for two days . . . getting a bit worried.”
Nancy opened the door. “Hi, Dr. Dressler, I’m Allie’s mom, Nancy O’Shay.”
Dressler’s jaw dropped. “I . . . I . . . Mrs. O’Shay . . . sorry . . . you surprised me.”
“Please come in. Allie’s told me a lot about you.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you and your husband, as well.” He stepped inside, glanced around the room. “Allie thinks the utmost of both of you; and if I may say so, you did an exceptional job raising her. She’s quite a young lady . . . aside from her extraordinary capability. Is she . . . is she okay?”
She gave him a neutral look. “No . . . I’m afraid she’s not okay.”
“What’s wrong?”
“She OD’d on these.” She pulled the two pill bottles from her pocket, handed them to him, felt her hackles rising, a pulse of anger in her veins. “They have your name on them . . . like you wrote the scripts. Did you want her to dream more . . . get more data . . . so you could win a Nobel Prize?” She waited for a reply; none came. “Did you even think about the risk to Allie?”
Dressler stared at her with expressionless eyes then looked at the pill bottles. “My name and number, but I didn’t write them.”
Nancy’s eyes filled with doubt.
He glanced at the bottles again. “Whoever did write them was smart enough to write reasonable dosages.” He paused. “But with all sincerity, Mrs. O’Shay, I would never do anything to jeopardize
Allie’s safety. In fact, I’ve cautioned her several times about the risks of abusing meds like these.”
“Well then, how did she get them, and why do they have your name on them? She didn’t just walk into the pharmacy and demand them . . . and they’re made out to her, so we know she didn’t steal them.”
“I share your concerns and questions. Why don’t we ask Allie? Is she here?”
Nancy ruminated his words, studied him suspiciously. “She’s in the bedroom . . . but she’s rather a wreck right now and probably incapable of a straight answer.” She sighed. “Never thought I’d say that about Allie.”
“I’m a little confused. I thought she was at the ranch all weekend.”
“No. She was here. Didn’t she tell you?”
His eyebrows raised in surprise. “Tell me what?”
“One of our neighbors passed away Friday afternoon, and we helped the family all weekend. Allie never came to the ranch.”
He frowned. “No. I didn’t know that. Maybe this is starting to focus a bit.”
“You may think so, but I don’t . . . because there’s also a bunch of stuff on her computer about rape, pregnancy, breastfeeding, orgasms, and more; and if you want to read between the lines, feel free.”
He assumed his psychologist’s expression, pondered for a moment. “I haven’t seen the files, but everything you just mentioned has to do with the girl in Allie’s dreams and her plight.”
“I know who Emily is, and Allie’s religiously told me everything she’s dreamed about her, but she’s never mentioned any of these things.” She suddenly recalled Allie’s claim that the files were about Emily, felt a sprout of embarrassment germinating in her mind. “But she did say the same thing you just said, when I confronted her about the computer files.” She pressed her lips together for a moment, wondered if she’d been hasty. “Perhaps I’m presuming too much here, Dr. Dressler. I’m . . . I’m just damn pissed about what’s happened to my daughter and frustrated because I don’t know what to do about it. She’s always been a perfect kid, and now she’s headed down the pathway to destruction, and . . . and you seemed like the logical one to blame . . . so I came out with my guns blazing. Sorry.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m really scared for her.”