Stolen Dreams - A Mary O'Reilly Paranormal Mystery - Book Fourteen

by Terri Reid

  She stopped and turned to Bradley, her eyes widening in understanding. “Then you were in my dream,” she said. “Talking to me and walking me back down the hallway.”

  “Yeah, well, I had to save the floor,” he said with a smile. “I just spoke softly and calmly, so you didn’t wake up and I led you back upstairs.”

  “I don’t ever remember sleepwalking and never sleep digging,” she replied, shaking her head.

  “Yeah, I don’t remember you doing anything like this either,” Mike agreed. “Maybe’s it’s a pregnancy thing.”

  “Well, we’re going to have to do something about this,” Bradley said, pointing down at the damaged floor.”

  “I’ll just call Casey,” she replied absently.

  “Who?” Bradley asked, confused.

  “Casey Ditsworth,” she explained “The cute, wood flooring guy.”

  “Excuse me?” Bradley asked, his eyebrows raised.

  Mike chuckled. “Now you’re in for it,” he muttered.

  Mary grinned. “I mean the highly proficient, and reasonably priced, wood flooring professional. Besides, that’s just what other people call him.”

  “What I meant,” Bradley said, “is we need to figure out what’s causing these dreams.”

  Mary folded her arms protectively around her belly. “How?”

  Bradley shook his head. “I don’t know yet.”

  “Well, the first thing we need to consider is that maybe this dream isn’t about my namesake,” Mike said.

  “Why? What makes you think that?” she asked.

  “Because last night, when you were going to town on the floor, you said you were trying to find your little girl,” Bradley replied.

  Chapter Two

  Mary sat back in her chair and stared at the computer screen. She had been doing research all morning, looking back at the archives from the local newspaper, hoping to find something about a missing baby girl. But so far, nothing fit with her dreams. All she had was a sore back and the beginnings of a headache.

  The bell over the door rang and Mary looked up to see Rosie and Stanley entering her office. “Hi, how are you two doing?” she asked.

  “Well, better than you from the looks of it,” Stanley said. “You feeling labor pains?”

  “No, Stanley,” she said with a smile. “The baby is not due for a few months. I just have a headache.”

  Rosie walked past her to the little refrigerator in the office and pulled out a bottle of water. Walking back, she opened the bottle and handed it to Mary. “How’s your water intake been today?” Rosie asked.

  Mary sighed. “Not good,” she admitted.

  “Drink. Then we can talk,” Rosie ordered.

  Mary obediently raised the bottle to her lips and swallowed half a bottle before she put it down on her desk. “Thanks, Rosie,” she said. “I needed that.”

  “So what’s your problem?” Rosie asked.

  “I’ve been having a reoccurring dream for several months,” Mary explained. “I’m trapped in what seems to be an old house. There are narrow, long hallways and heavy, wooden doors all around me. And someone has taken my baby from me. I keep hearing a baby cry and I keep running through the house trying to find the baby, but the doors are locked. In the last few seconds of the dream, I am trying to open a door that’s shrinking, but I know my baby’s on the other side.”

  “Sounds terrifying,” Rosie said. “Do you ever find the baby?”

  Mary shook her head. “No, I usually just wake up in my bed, still screaming for the baby.”

  “Usually?” Stanley asked, cocking his head. “So, what’s happened that changed things?”

  “Well, last night I actually started to sleepwalk in the middle of the dream,” she said. “Bradley found me downstairs taking a fireplace poker to the wooden floor. I guess I thought it was the door.”

  “Oh, well, Casey can fix that,” Rosie said casually.

  “Who’s Casey?” Stanley asked.

  “He’s that cute, flooring guy,” Rosie and Mary answered at the same time.

  “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard about him,” Stanley replied.

  “You have?” Rosie asked.

  “Sure, my daughter-in-law talks about him all the time,” he said. “Sounds like he has a fan club.”

  Mary laughed. “Don’t tell Bradley about it,” she said. “Or I’ll have to hear about the Spandex Queen fan club.”

  “Mrs. Shepard?” Stanley asked.

  Rosie turned and stared at him. “How did you know about her?”

  Stanley glanced to the side and cleared his throat. “Just heard about her, I guess,” Stanley said, coughing slightly.

  “Stanley Wagner,” Rosie said, winking at Mary. “I do believe you are blushing.”

  “Dagnabbit! I ain’t doing no such thing, woman,” he growled. “Now, let’s get back to talking about something sensible. So, Mary, what are you going to do about your dream?”

  “Do?” Mary asked, biting back a laugh. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Come on, girly, ain’t you heard about lucid dreaming?” Stanley asked. “I can’t be the only one who’s educated about this.”

  “Lucid dreaming?” Mary asked.

  “It’s when you go into your dream and take control,” Stanley said.

  “How do you do that?” Rosie asked.

  Stanley shrugged. “Danged if I know,” he said. “I just read about it in one of the magazines at the barber shop.”

  “The barber shop?” Mary repeated skeptically. “Really? That’s where you get your educated information? The barber shop?”

  “Hey, it was one of those fancy, psychology magazines,” he explained. “Old Bert likes to think he’s got educated clientele.”

  “Why were you reading psychology magazines?” Rosie asked.

  Looking a little sheepish, Stanley shrugged. “Well, truth be known, it was because all the other magazines were taken.”

  Mary laughed. “Well, actually I’m glad they were,” she said thoughtfully. “I think you might have sent me in the right direction, and I bet I know who will be able to tell me even more about lucid dreaming.”

  Chapter Three

  “Lucid dreaming? Girl, what are you up to now?” Dr. Gracie Williams, Psychologist for the Chicago Police Department asked when Mary called her.

  “I’ve had a reoccurring nightmare,” Mary explained, sitting back in her chair and cradling the phone against her cheek and shoulder while she picked up a notepad. “And I have a feeling that if I could just take control while I’m dreaming, I could find out what’s causing it.”

  “You do realize that sometimes we have nightmares because our conscious doesn’t want to deal with something, so it gets pushed into our subconscious,” Gracie warned. “Sometimes we aren’t emotionally ready to face those issues.”

  “Well, it’s about someone taking a baby away from me,” Mary said. “So if it’s a subconscious fear, I’d rather deal with it now, before Mikey is born.”

  There was a small pause in the conversation. Then Gracie spoke again. “You would have named that baby Gracie if you were going to have a girl, right?” Gracie teased.

  “Oh, yes,” Mary replied, nodding into the phone. “That was our first choice.”

  The soft chuckle on the other end made Mary smile. “Okay, here’s what you can try,” Gracie said. “But it might take some practice. Before you fall asleep you go through the scenario you want to have happen in your mind. You tell yourself you are in control. Remind yourself that this is only a dream. Keep repeating those thoughts. Then keep replaying the scene the way you want it to go as you fall asleep. That should be the last thing on your mind.”

  “Okay, I’m in charge of my dream, right?” Mary asked.

  “Yes you are,” Gracie said. “But you have to believe it. If you are locked in a room in your dream, you just tell yourself there’s a key in your pocket. Then you reach in your pocket for the key and get yourself out. It’s your dream. You get to write the s
cript.”

  “This is so cool,” Mary said. “I never knew I had so much power.”

  “That’s the problem with most of us, sugar,” Gracie said. “If people would just believe in their own abilities and be courageous enough to put them to the test, there’d be a whole lot more happy people out there.”

  “Thank you, Gracie,” Mary said.

  “Any time, sugar,” she replied. “You give that hunky man of yours a kiss from me and give your baby girl a hug from Auntie Gracie.”

  “I will,” Mary said with a smile.

  “And when are you going to get your little pregnant self to Chicago so I can see how cute you look?” Gracie asked.

  “Soon. I promise,” Mary said.

  “I’ll hold you to that,” Gracie said. “Let me know how your lucid dreaming works out, okay? And be patient with yourself. This stuff takes a little time.”

  “I will,” Mary said. “I’m going to try it out tonight. Thanks again.”

  Mary hung up the phone and sat back in her chair, replaying the dream in her mind and deciding how she wanted it to end. There were several sequences that were always the same every time she had the dream. That’s where she could take more control, in the areas that were familiar.

  She was startled from her musing when the bell over her door rang again. She looked up to see Bradley walking in with a couple of bags from the local deli.

  “Sorry. It looks like I interrupted you,” he said, holding up the bags. “I brought lunch.”

  She shook her head to clear it. “No, I was just planning some things out,” she said. “But I’ll always stop for food.”

  He sat on the chair in front of her desk and placed the white paper sack in front of her. “So, what are you planning?” he asked.

  Pulling out a styrofoam cup of soup and a half sandwich, she arranged her food in front of her before she answered. “I’m planning what I’m going to do in my dreams,” she said, lifting the sandwich up and taking a bite.

  Bradley paused, his sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Planning your dreams?” he asked. “Can you do that?”

  Still chewing, Mary shrugged and nodded. “I’m going to try,” she finally said. “Gracie thought I could do it.”

  Bradley took a bite of his sandwich and chewed for a few moments, contemplating what Mary had said. “So, is this Gracie’s idea?” he asked before biting again.

  Mary shook her head. “No, it was actually Stanley’s idea,” she said.

  His mouth full, Bradley could only raise his eyebrows to indicate his concern.

  Laughing, Mary shook her head. “He read about it in a magazine at the barber shop,” she said, a twinkle in her eye. “So, it must be a good idea.”

  Choking back the bite of sandwich, Bradley cleared his throat. “A barber shop magazine?” he asked. “Well, good thing there wasn’t a medical journal on the table; he might just want to volunteer to deliver the baby.”

  Chuckling, Mary pulled her pickle spear out of the wax paper and pointed it in Bradley’s direction. “It is now your official job to make sure there are no medical journals at the barber shop,” she said.

  “So, Stanley came up with the idea,” Bradley said. “And Gracie actually agrees?”

  “Well, she told me how to try and gain control of my dreams,” she replied. “I never considered that since they were my dreams, I could be in control.”

  “What’s your plan?” he asked.

  “Since I said the baby was a girl last night,” she said, “this must be someone else’s nightmare and I’m just in there with them. I need to look around and discover whose dream I’m in and figure out why I’m there.”

  “Okay, you look around inside the dream. I’ll stay awake and protect you and the wood floor outside your dream,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Mary chuckled. “How did I get so lucky?” she murmured.

  “Hey, I’m just protecting my interests,” he said.

  “Your interests?” she asked, confused.

  “Yeah, I asked around the station about this Casey fellow,” he said. “If one more woman calls him the cute flooring guy, we’re putting in carpet.”

  Chapter Four

  About an hour after lunch, Mary’s research on lucid dreaming was interrupted by her cell phone ringing. After quickly glancing at the caller ID, she had a smile on her face as she answered. “Hi, Jerry, what’s up?” she asked.

  Jerry Wiley was the editor-in-chief of the Freeport Republic, the town’s newspaper. Jerry had actually been involved in one of the first murder mysteries Mary had solved in town, and they had remained friends ever since.

  “Hey, Mary, I need a Halloween feature,” Jerry replied.

  “Well, good for you,” Mary said, her smile widening. “I hope you find one.”

  “I just did,” he said. “You’re it.”

  “Oh, no,” she said. “I’m not a Halloween feature. I take my work very seriously.”

  “Yeah, I know that,” he replied. “And I’m, you know, not looking to make light of your work. I just think it would be interesting for folks to know about what you do. It could be good for business.”

  Mary shook her head. “I don’t need any help with my business,” she replied. “But, hey, thanks for the offer.”

  She was ready to disconnect the call when Jerry added. “And it might help someone who’s been searching for someone like you.”

  She paused for a moment and Jerry moved in for the kill. “You know, some poor, little widow who everyone is saying is crazy because she thinks she hears her husband’s voice,” he said. “Or a grieving parent who needs reassurance that there is life beyond this one. Mary, this could be a very important story.”

  She sighed and closed her eyes. This could be good, she thought, or really, really bad.

  “When do you want to run the story?” she asked.

  She could hear the glee in Jerry’s voice when he replied. “Actually, I wanted to send someone over this afternoon,” he said, “and run it in tomorrow’s paper.”

  “Wait. What?” she answered. “Tomorrow’s paper? What’s really going on Jerry?”

  There was a long pause and finally Jerry spoke. “Okay, the scheduled feature was pulled at the last moment,” he said. “So, I’m using you for fill.”

  “Oh, so much for the widows and grieving parents,” she replied sarcastically.

  “Well, they’re still out there,” he said. “I just didn’t care about them as much as I do now.”

  “Now that your other story died,” she inserted.

  “Yeah, exactly,” he said. “Hey, I’m an editor. I have to be a heartless, cruel bastard. It’s part of the job description.”

  “What was the pulled story?” she asked.

  “We were going to run a feature on that old, haunted mansion on the edge of town,” he said. “But I got the feeling the paper was being used as a marketing tool for a sketchy business.”

  “So someone wanted to use you, instead of you using them?” Mary asked.

  Jerry chuckled. “Yeah, but at least I’m being honest about it,” he said. “Besides, there’s something about that whole ghosts-for-sale business that just doesn’t sit right with me.”

  Mary nodded. “Yeah, me too,” she replied. “Unless, of course, they want to be there. Like Anna.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and Mary grinned as she pictured Jerry slowly glancing around the newsroom. Anna Paxton had been the paper’s powerful, society reporter, and she and Jerry had enjoyed years of mutual malevolence. And when she died at her desk, she had decided one lifetime of ill will was not enough. So, she made a point of haunting the newsroom, especially while Jerry was there alone.

  “That wasn’t nice, Mary,” he replied slowly.

  She chuckled. “It wasn’t meant to be, Jerry,” she said.

  “Okay, I guess I deserved it,” he said. “When can I send the reporter over?”

  Mary looked out her office window and saw one of the youn
g, cub reporters walking briskly down Main Street towards her office. “You were pretty sure of yourself,” she said acerbically.

  “Damn, she’s already there?” he asked.

  “She’s halfway down the block,” Mary replied.

  “So, um, the reporter will be there anytime, if that’s good with you,” Jerry said nonchalantly.

  Mary had to chuckle. “Yes, as a matter of fact, that will be fine,” she said.

  “Hey, Mary,” Jerry said.

  “Yes, Jerry?”

  “Thanks. And I mean it,” he said.

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “And tell Anna I said hello next time you, um, see her.”

  “Not funny, O’Reilly,” Jerry replied, his voice dropping. “Not funny at all.”

  Chapter Five

  After the hour long interview, Mary decided that she deserved to take the rest of the afternoon off and closed up her office for the day. She had just locked the door and was turning toward her car when Stanley walked up to her. “You leaving already, girlie?” he asked. “You feeling okay?”

  Mary nodded. “Yes, I’m fine,” she said. “Clarissa and I have to do some Halloween costume shopping this evening, so I thought I’d get home early and get dinner ready.”

  “Ain’t you got old sheets?” Stanley asked. “Just cut a couple of holes in the middle and she can go as a ghost.”

  Mary shook her head. “Stanley, Halloween is not what it used to be,” she explained, “especially for girls in grammar school. There’s a lot of peer pressure to be accepted.”

  “Best she learn to ignore peer pressure now, when she’s young,” he replied. “If they don’t like you because you don’t have the right costume, they were never your friends in the first place.”

  Mary sighed and nodded. “I agree with you in principle, and in the important things I’m willing to draw the line,” she said. “But there are some things, like costumes or backpacks or even some clothing styles, that are important to let her have so she can be accepted by her peers. If a cool costume now can help her build her self-esteem in grammar school, then she will be able to walk away from more difficult choices later in life.”