I'll See You In Your Dreams

by Miller, Tony

  “Uh, what, where you get shot to death? My god Stanley, how did you know what I dreamed?”

  “I dreamed it too! “Oh my god … oh my god, it wasn’t a dream … oh my god.”

  “Easy, Charlie, it may well be a dream; it’s just, that I dreamed it, too.”

  “We were in each other’s dream?” asked Charlie.

  “Something like that or this is the dream.”

  “Hey, now don’t say that, or we are dead, and this is heaven!” said Charlie.

  “Or the other place, more likely.” Stanley smiled.

  “Uh, Stanley, did you know you were a black man as Sam?”

  “Of course, and what’s your point?”

  “I was just wondering, did you notice if your willy was noticeably bigger?”

  “Charlie, Charlie, Charlie, your humor never ceases, but yes it was huge like mine now.”

  “Yeah, right, Stanley.”

  “So, if we are all done with our anatomy inquisition, we have to talk about our mutual dream now before it fades.”

  “Okay, just wondering.”

  <><><>

  They arrived at the Denny’s on Herndon and ordered breakfast. As they ate, they discussed the dream in its entirety. Finally they just sat there in a trance staring out the window, contemplating the ramifications of their trip to the Dreamtime. Stanley broke the silence. “We must return to finish it.”

  “Bullshit, Tonto. We just got shot to death. If we go back, boom, boom. Dead again!” Charlie said.

  “No Kimosabe. Remember, we’re in the barn with Anne as she tells the story of our first encounter with Paul and Ludwig. Remember? You and I were Sam and Colton, and we got our asses tricked and kicked by a couple of shrink want to be’s, but we got past all that and have returned to before the boom, boom, remember?” Stanley said.

  “Oh, yeah, this last visit is before the rape and our demise.” Charlie said with a slightly forlorn expression.

  “Yes, and we can easily change that outcome. We’ll meet back there tonight. In the meantime I will do a bit of research on psych-ops, which seems to be the technique employed by Paul Hawthorne even though not called that back then. It’s worrisome that such underhanded techniques have permeated our society to such an extent.”

  “What do you mean?” Charlie asked.

  “Well, remember the story Anne was telling and the insight into Paul’s mind? In Germany they mentioned a boy named Eddie. I believe that was Freud’s nephew Edward Bernays, credited along with a guy named Ivy Lee as the father of pubic relations and propaganda. It’s virtually all that is used in today’s politics. It is the way governments control their populations. He wrote a piece called ‘The Engineering of Consent,’ which is basically how to trick the masses into agreeing to their own enslavement. It permeates world governments and corporations. I was just thinking that perhaps we could fight fire with fire and use Paul’s hero, little Eddie’s techniques against him. Seems like almost poetic justice.”

  Charlie looked puzzled. “What are psych-ops exactly?”

  “It’s basically how to be a bully and get away with it while smiling!”

  “A bully?” Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Bullies don’t smile.”

  “They do in today’s world, and they have reason to smile. They’re amassing billions of dollars while reducing society to a virtual slave state,” said Stanley.

  “You sound like a cranky liberal!”

  “Please, Charlie,”

  “Such labels are examples of psych-ops. They are weasel words. They are designed to stop real discussion and obscure facts which may lead to the real scoundrel being exposed in a money or power grab!”

  “What are weasel words?” asked Charlie.

  “Google it, dumbass,” Stanley replied with bored sarcasm.

  “So, what are some psych-op techniques?”

  “Well, there’s ridicule, which is the lowest form of humor. It is an extremely effective way to control anyone.”

  “Ridicule?”

  “Yes, ridicule. No one wants to be ridiculed, so a bully can destroy someone while hiding behind the veil of humor. Bullies are always cowards and must have all the odds in their favor before bullying out in the open. They can verbally destroy you and do it with a smile. If you understandably get mad, you lose. You get labeled a cranky liberal, crazy redneck, bi-polar, manic depressive or other non-scientific and un-provable opinion that masks itself as scientific.”

  Charlie held up his pointer finger to interrupt. “Stanley, you have to agree there are genuine wackos who need help.”

  “Help is the key word, Charlie. For every problem in life there are good people willing to help you. It’s also true that for every problem in life, there are charlatans attempting to exploit your weakened state for money or power, and it’s the ability to discern the difference that will write the future of civilization!”

  “But, Stanley, why are you so down on psychiatry?”

  “Charlie, I’m not down on psychiatry, if you mean what the word means, a doctor of the soul. I’m down on the fraud of hiding behind that word to exploit someone who’s in a weakened state, all for money and power, and if you doubt that, Charlie, do some research on the billions raked in by Big Pharma and the shrinks. Then do research on the ineffectiveness of the drugs, and all other approaches psychiatry pushes. They’re basically more like the mafia or KKK, but with stethoscopes and a good PR department. Anything for money, nothing personal. Just business.”

  “Okay, just to play devil’s advocate, what do you think the solution is Stanley?”

  “Solution, Charlie? Now there is the problem. There can never be a solution to a problem until the correct problem is addressed.”

  “You lost me there.”

  “Okay, to put it simply, psychiatry pretends to solve the problem when they have no clue of what the problem actually is. Drugging the victim does not solve the problem. It is the wrong problem, but it’s a goldmine for the unscrupulous. Their solutions never beat a placebo because the ’real causes’ of the confused mental states, which shrinks cruelly label as mental illness, are actually the results of bullies.

  “Bullies? Bullies like you?” Charlie added with a laugh.

  “Not so funny, Charlie, there are many, many studies from all over the world by the most credible sources detailing just how bullies operate. They often use veiled ridicule, constant criticalness, and other cowardly techniques to destroy their enemies. They perceive everyone to be a potential enemy. The real nut balls are the bullies who drive good people to such confused states.”

  “Now, Stanley, don’t get pissed, but you seem like you are bullying psychiatrists. Doesn’t that make you a bully?”

  “Yes, it does, Charlie, and if you put bullies in Google and read away, you’ll discover that bullies are anti-social narcissists, as any psychiatrist with a mirror fully well knows. They don’t respond to any rational attempt to change their destructive ways. Like pedophiles, they are completely incurable. They’re the real insane, but never seem that way. They are like Scott Peterson, the wife killer in California, or Ted Bundy, seemingly solid citizens, but totally insane. The only technique that keeps them at bay is to bully the bully!”

  “Bully the bully?”

  “Yep, just like we bullied Bundy or Saddam or Hitler. Bully the bully to free the good guys from their grip!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  That evening they were back in Anne’s bedroom, and Stanley resumed his position on the chair he slept in last night. He directed Charlie to take his same position of last night, on Anne’s bed.

  Stanley spoke. “Okay, Charlie, now listen up. I want you to concentrate on Anne and her story. She has just told us of our demise. Just keep concentrating on Anne, her smell, her voice.”

  <><><>

  Anne let out a long breath of air as she finished the story of Sam and Colton’s untimely demise at the hands of ignorant and racist sociopaths. It was as if she had only breathed half-breaths during the ma
ny hours of telling the detailed story of their time in Fresno. Anne loved Fresno, as she knew Sam and Colton did. Other than Paul Hawthorne and his influence, all or at least most, had treated them with respect.

  “Are you okay?” Anne looked worried.

  “Uh … I’m sorry … what?” Charlie replied.

  “Are you okay? You seemed to be blanking out.”

  Charlie blinked and looked around the barn as he became Colton once again. He looked over and saw Stanley becoming Sam once again.

  “Sorry about that. I guess it’s the surprise of our demise that stunned me.”

  “That’s understandable, but that’s what happened the last time and hopefully we can change that.”

  Sam stood. “My god, I remember it all now! What a shame that we failed to bring justice for Tillie. It’s unbelievable what Paul was able to do. I must give him a begrudging respect, unbelievable.”

  Charlie watched Sam pace as though in deep thought.

  “Where are we in time? I mean, the story you’ve told us of our past. Where are we compared to, say, Tillie’s rape?”

  “Tillie’s rape occurred six weeks from now.”

  “So if nothing changed, Colton and I would be dead in less than eight weeks?”

  “Yes,” answered Anne in sad resignation.

  Colton looked at Anne. She seemed exhausted. He reached across and took her hands in his. Her hands seemed so small and soft. He looked into her eyes, and he felt his breath catch. He truly loved her.

  “Anne,” he said slowly and felt his eyes fill with tears. “Thank you so much for helping Sam and I by giving us the opportunity to right this wrong.”

  He paused.

  “You’re the real inspiration, Anne. I would risk my life for Sam, Tillie, Bessie, or you. I’d die for any of you, if I had to, but it is you, Anne, whom I would live for, just to touch you, to smell you, to know that I could hold you as my own. I will not make the same mistake again.”

  Colton bent slowly to one knee and continued to hold Anne’s hands in his. He looked into Anne’s eyes and for the first time truly understood the old proverb, the eyes are the windows of the soul. He could feel her softness of spirit, her kindness. He seemed to be melting into her, and felt now as though all time had stopped. It was as though any words would be crass compared to these feelings. He just continued to look. Finally she smiled a small and sweet smile.

  “Anne.” He felt himself choke a bit at just mentioning her name. “I can offer you little in terms of physical universe valuables, and you deserve such valuables, but if being loved, truly loved, has value in any universe, then in that universe, I can make you a wealthy woman.” Tears trickled down Anne’s face.

  “Welcome to my universe,” she choked out softly.

  “Will you?” A sob caught in his throat, and he looked down a moment to compose himself. Anne squeezed his hands as if for reassurance. He looked back up with clear eyes and confidence.

  “Will you marry me, Anne?”

  She flew into his arms and her lips smothered his. They both collapsed to the floor as Anne continued to shower his face with kisses. After many minutes Anne paused and looked again into Colton’s eyes. He smiled as he looked into hers.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes, silly boy. You’re not that good at body language, are you?”

  “I’m willing to learn, and I hope it’s like Braille.” A sly smile crept across Colton’s face.

  “You’re in trouble, bad boy. Wait till I get you to my room!”

  Sam stood smiling in the doorway to the carriage house.

  “Colton, you sure know how to change history, and, I must say, open Pandora’s Box, where there’s the presence of hope in a jar full of evil.”

  Colton went from lying flat on his back up to resting on one elbow. Anne sat up and continued to hold Colton’s hand. They both looked at Sam standing in the doorway.

  Colton spoke. “Is that congratulations, Sam?”

  “I suppose it is, uh, I mean, of course it is. I was just thinking that just by becoming engaged to Anne, you have opened something of a Pandora’s Box.”

  “There you go again, Sam. What is a Pandora’s Box?”

  “In Greek legend Pandora was the first woman. She was given a box, or jar in some versions, and she was told not to open it. Curiosity eventually overcame her, and she opened the box to see what was inside.”

  “What was inside?” asked Colton as he and Anne were suddenly riveted to this story.

  “All the misery and evil of the world flew out of that box to afflict mankind, and only one thing remained.”

  “What?” Colton and Anne said at the same time.

  “Only, hope remained.”

  “If Pandora released Paul Hawthorne, then we will need that hope to stop him, not to mention a small girl named Tillie,” Colton replied.

  “True enough, Colton, I just wanted to make sure we realized why a Pandora’s Box is often defined as a source of many unforeseen troubles. We must do everything we can to foresee what we may run up against. We must predict Paul’s strategy to carry out his selfish and destructive plans.”

  “I agree, Sam, but how are we going to do that?”

  “I have thought it over and realize I must make a trip back to England. My father, the general, is one of the best strategists in the world. His strategies were what finally defeated the Zulus when all others failed. We must investigate Paul Hawthorne and his German friend Ludwig to see what this thought manipulation thing is all about.” Colton’s eyes lit up.

  “I’ll write you a letter of introduction, and you can visit my mother and her husband, Henry Charles Lennox, a Duke with unlimited connections, to help in your investigations. They will do anything to help. My god, Sam, we have almost unlimited resources and connections to pull from to defeat these vermin.”

  “I’ll leave tomorrow morning, and leave you two to be in love and do whatever people in love do. I just want to admonish you both to keep your engagement and love for each other under wraps until I get back with a sure fire plan to defeat our evil friends.”

  “Via con dios, my friend,” Colton replied.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Paul stood at the window of his bedroom looking out at the mountains of the Sierras. He was in deep thought. Ludwig brought him out of his daydream.

  “Paul, it may take some time to arrange this marriage to Anne. So, I believe we need to set up a money stream, to, let us say, enhance our dismal existence in this rectum of western civilization.” Paul smiled at Ludwig’s way with words.

  “Yes, Ludwig, I have pondered this myself. I believe our best bet will be to set up another foundation. With psychoanalysis all the rage and with our understanding of it, it should be relatively easy to establish a mental something or other to get the purse strings loosened in this town.”

  “We will need an acronym,” Ludwig said and continued without pause. “Something like ‘Neurological Underpinnings to Sanity,’ or NUTS!” He began to chuckle at his own joke, and soon Paul’s evil laugh joined his.

  “You can serve as President, Ludwig. Your impressive background and charming German accent will allow us to exploit you and most certainly win them over.”

  Paul continued, “I should be receiving my shipment of heroin from Bayer soon. We can get some of the elite members of ‘The Thought Foundation’ enjoying the pleasures of heroin. I’m sure they will consequently contribute more to our foundation and our new endeavor, which will incidentally cater to a far larger segment of society.”

  “I like the psychoanalysis angle. It’s almost like the gypsies, easy pickings and beautiful girls to treat,” Ludwig agreed.

  Paul and Ludwig smiled at each other. Paul’s eyes suddenly lit up. “The more I think about it, all we have to do is set up a private room, and like the gypsies, come up with a story of how our visitors were a victim as a child and no one understood them. Then whatever is said, end by giving them either cocaine or heroin and a little sympathy,
and voila, like a magician, we will be their only friends and they will sing our praises!”

  Ludwig chuckled. “Something tells me they’ll be back for more, of the cure, just like they did when the snake oil salesman added opium to the sugar water!”

  “We must get serious now and apply what we developed in Vienna.”

  “That was serious?” Ludwig raised an eyebrow and smiled.

  “Factually, yes. Emotionally, no!” Paul rejoined and continued. “Okay, now if we want their money, what must we convince them of, that they’re willing to pay us for?”

  “According to your Uncle Siggy, it all comes back to sex.”

  “In that case we must convince them that nut balls don’t get any.” Paul smiled and continued. “Actually, of course we will exploit the opposite. Sane people get laid more.”

  “I’ll bite on that one myself!” Ludwig added.

  “I wonder which is true?” puzzled Paul.

  “Who cares?”

  “Our little contributors, that’s who!”

  Ludwig held up a finger as an idea struck him. “How about, ‘Love’ begins with talking or ‘Talking’ brings you closer.”

  “That’s good, Ludwig, but what did little Eddie say about the positive generality thing?”

  “Vagueness and positive association like love. What does love mean in actuality? That will work. We all want it, and remember the other side of that is fear, the most controlling of all emotions. Fear and love, fear of not being loved. Fear, fear, our little people controlling friend. Hey you better get psychoanalyzed or no one will love you!”

  “I love it!” He sniggered, and crossed his arms, satisfied.

  “So we need to cleverly imply that psychoanalysis will help them discover why they aren’t loved enough.”

  “Yes. If they come to us, they’ll be loved by us.” They both giggled.

  “Ludwig, you realize we are talking about frustrated women, whom we can, treat. Unfortunately, we have to handle the drooling, voice-hearing druids that are the majority.”

  “Of course, Paul, but money is money, and that will be the source of most of it.”