More Than One: A Novel

by Fowler, Monica

  I turned to look at Rach and take in her expression. She looked concerned, but not scared. I was relieved. She put her hand on my shoulder to comfort me. I was so glad to finally tell someone about this.

  “So, what do you think? You think I’ve lost my marbles, too,” I asked.

  “No, I think you should talk to a professional, though. There has to be a root to the dreams. You need to find out what triggered all this.”

  “Are you saying I need to talk to a shrink? So you do think I’m crazy, huh?”

  “No, Jay, but I’m not a psychiatrist, and I think it would be healthier if you knew what was going on with you.”

  “Uh huh,” I said turning away.

  “I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’ve been under a lot of stress lately and you can’t harvest those dreams. Look at what it’s done to you so far. You’re taking too many classes and working overtime, clearly trying to avoid any chance of thinking about it. Not to mention, Ash and I hardly see you anymore and when we do, you’re like queen of the dead.”

  “Ash,” I whispered. I hadn’t told him and I still didn’t want him to know.

  “Yeah, Ash. He’s worried about you too and when he finds out, he’s...”

  “I don’t want him to know,” I cut her off, “not right now at least. I need some time to figure things out. Promise me you won’t tell him.” She looked disappointed and then sighed.

  “I promise I won’t tell him, but you have to promise me you’ll think about talking to someone.”

  “Deal,” I said, holding out my hand to shake on it.

  We sat in silence for a couple of minutes. I couldn’t imagine what was going through Rachel’s head. Maybe in a minute she will think I was insane and have me committed.

  “I really don’t think you’re crazy Jay. You know that, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Are you reading my mind or something? I was just thinking that.”

  “No, I’m reading your face and I don’t like what this is doing to you.”

  I started crying. My emotions were playing tug-a-war on my insides. I didn’t know how to feel anymore. Should I be scared? Confused? Hurt? I didn’t know. Now I’m bringing Rach into all of this and I feel horrible. When I looked back at her, I saw that she was crying, too. I felt even worse.

  “Please don’t cry. I hate that I brought you in on my mess. That was so stupid of me,” I said.

  “You're so silly. We’re in this together. You would do the same for me.” She wiped the tears from her face.

  “Thank you for being here for me. You don’t know what that means.”

  “No problem.”

  We hugged and some of the weight was lifted, it felt nice. I could breathe a little easier.

  “You know something else that has been haunting me? The letter I got weeks ago. You remember?” I asked, letting go of her shoulders.

  Rach looked away, “Yeah, I remember. I thought we agreed that it was a practical joke.”

  “It wasn’t funny and who does that? We haven’t talked to anyone in the dorm to find out who did it. You don’t think that is weird?”

  “Calm down, Jamie. I mean nothing has happened and that is the only letter that came. What kind of mass murderer or kidnapper or whatever A is, sends a letter then forgets to kill you or something,” she said.

  “That’s not funny.” I sighed. “But I guess you’re right.”

  “Now you can take that off your list of worries.”

  “Yeah, okay, whatever you say.”

  “You know what? We’re not gonna sit here all day looking at grass and trees. Let’s go do something. So, clear your mind.”

  “Okay, it’s clear,” I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. “Now what?”

  “Okay, what’s the first thing that pops in your head?”

  That was going to be hard. The first thing that popped in my head was the faces of the victims I killed in my dreams. I didn’t want to bring that back up though. Rach was really trying to help.

  “You’re thinking too long, I said the first thing, not the fifth,” she said.

  “Okay, okay, what about a bar? I’m in the mood to shoot some pool. What do you think?”

  “Perfect. Let’s go get pretty and then head to the Station.” she said with a delighted look on her face.

  “Kay.”

  We walked back to our room and Rach had already decided on what she was going to wear. When we got to the door, I fumbled around for my keys. Rach produced her keys first and opened the door. She leaned over to pick something up from the floor.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Nothing, it’s something that fell out of my bag,” she said, looking suspicious.

  I didn’t think too far into the look. I went in and headed for my closet.

  “Let’s hurry, I’m ready to get out of this stuffy room,” Rach said.

  “Should we call Ash?’

  “He said he was going to be busy today, he’ll probably catch up with us later tonight.”

  I hadn’t talked to Ash much over the last couple of weeks. It felt weird not knowing what he had been up to.

  “You ready?” Rach asked.

  “Yes. Can you drive? I don’t feel like it today.”

  “Sure, grab your things and let’s go.”

  I picked up my purse, threw my cell phone in, and headed towards the door.

  “I love that outfit. I'll have to borrow it, of course,” Rach said.

  “Thanks, I’m loving your ensemble as well.”

  Rach struck a model pose and then laughed. She was so pretty, especially when she wore something to bring out her mint green eyes. Her style was that of a fashionista. She had on an emerald green, banded bottom shirt, with jean capris and strappy wedges. She accessorized it with bangles, a long twisted necklace, and her auburn hair with thick curls, paired with her perfectly tanned skin. Even though she was only an inch taller than me, she was still runway model material.

  “Okay, let’s go have some fun,” she said. Then she grabbed my hand and squeezed before we left.

  We made it to the Station and there were a lot of people walking around. After we parked in the garage, we walked up the stairs to the main street.

  Once in the bar, we got some pool cues and found a vacant pool table.

  “Okay, best two out of three, loser pays for dinner,” Rach said.

  “You’re on!”

  After three games, Rach was the victor. I knew every chance she got, she would rub this in my face.

  Rach had to go to the restroom and I stayed to watch the television that was over our table. The waitress brought me the remote and I flipped through the channels, trying to find something to occupy my time.

  I skimmed through slowly and stopped when something interesting caught my eye. It was a story on the worldwide news about a serial killer. I tried to turn the volume up, but I still couldn’t hear over the blur of voices in the background. I turned on the closed captioning and tried to keep up with the script.

  “Police are pursuing the case of the serial killer who is wreaking havoc on Rome, Italy. Everyone is baffled at the fact that after five murders, the police still have no clue as to where to look for the unknown subject... the police chief will be here later to fill us in with the information they have so far. Until then, here are photos of the victims who were found in the most gruesome way. Police are asking everyone to…”

  While the pictures flashed across the screen and the names were called, I stopped breathing. My eyes were wide with disbelief and my hands flew up to cover my mouth.

  The dreams started flooding, coming fast, but still sharp with clarity, stabbing at my heart. This can’t be real. How far can this joke go? These are the faces that haunted me in my dreams and they were really dead.

  I rubbed my eyes to finish reading the script on the television. It stung even harder when I learned where the crimes took place. First in an alley, the next on the top of a building, a man was shoved after having
his throat cut, then behind a restaurant. The list went on. It was like the reporter was reading from my journal.

  I looked around the room, and saw faces, so many faces; some looking at me, others still talking amongst their group. I felt like I was spinning, I wanted to throw up.

  I looked toward the restroom and saw Rach walking up with her arm wrapped around some guy. She was smiling and laughing until she looked at me; everything drained from her face. She sped up as she walked toward me, but I couldn’t wait, I had to get out of there. I grabbed my purse and bolted for the door.

  Once outside, I started pacing in front of the building, trying to figure out what to do, what to think. I held back the tears and the scream that wanted to explode out of me. Then Rach was by my side.

  “What the hell Jay, what happened in there?” She demanded.

  “We gotta go, I gotta get out of here,” I whispered, unable to speak above anything but that.

  “Why, what’s going on? I thought you were having a good time.”

  “Rach, listen to me,” I finally spoke up, “I need to get back to the room. I have to get away from here. I need to think and I can’t do it with everyone staring at me.”

  “Who is staring at you?”

  “The faces, the people,” I choked out, “they were innocent people who had wonderful lives and now they are gone. It’s all real.”

  “What people? Who is gone? You’re not making any sense. Please tell me what’s going on,” she pleaded.

  “We have to go. I have to show you something first. Please just trust me.”

  “Okay, I trust you,” she said.

  We ran to the car, and by the time we made it there, I was crying. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. When I got in the car, I fastened my seat belt, but put the chest strap behind my seat. I had to lean over to put my head between my knees.

  Rach was finally in and turned on the car. She sat there for a moment, turned the music down, and patted me on my back. I lifted up to rub my temples, but the pain wouldn’t go away.

  “Please hurry,” I mumbled. I felt sick.

  Rach weaved in and out of traffic, not saying a word. The silence was unbearable. I wanted to start talking, but words left me. I just sat, rocking and rubbing my head.

  We finally made it to our room and I raced upstairs, with Rach on my heels.

  Once inside the room, I ran straight for my nightstand. Rach was on the other side of the room with her arms folded across her chest.

  “So, what’s this about? You’re scaring me,” she said.

  I pulled the journal out and opened it.

  “I want you to read this first and then I will tell you what this is all about.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s my journal. After every dream, I wake up and write down everything that happens. I need you to read this before I explain and maybe it will make more sense.”

  She was reluctant, but she grabbed the book and sat down on her bed. While she was reading, I opened my laptop, went to the search engine, and found the news report on what I’d watched earlier.

  I glanced at Rach and noticed her eyes were wide with fright. She didn’t say anything other than the occasional gasp here and there. As she flipped the pages, my heart raced even more. What was she thinking?

  I closed my eyes and saw the face of the first victim who, from the report, had a daughter my age. I started crying again. Finally Rach looked up, face filled with horror.

  “What does this all mean? These are your dreams. OMG, I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through.”

  “That’s not the half of it. Now look at this,” I said turning the laptop around and pressing play.

  Rach came and knelt down by my bed. We sat in silence watching the report.

  I looked away when the reporter started showing the pictures of the victims. I couldn’t watch that again. Then it hit Rach like a bolt of lightning. She fell to the floor, pulled her knees to her chest, and wrapped her arms around her legs.

  “Are these the same people from your dreams?”

  I couldn’t speak. I just nodded.

  “So are you like a psychic or something?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m having these dreams. I can’t figure out why this is happening to me.” I started to hyperventilate. I stuck my head between my legs.

  “We have to tell someone,” she said.

  “Who can we tell? Should I go to the police and tell them I’m having dreams about murdering people and oh, by the way, it’s the same people who were killed in Rome.”

  Rach was still rocking. “You’re right. So what do we do then?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t tell my parents, they’ll throw me in a rubber room. I mean, let’s slow down here, this might not mean anything,” I said.

  “And it could mean everything. You’re dreaming about murders that are really happening, there’s gotta be something to it.”

  “How do I figure that out though?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I think you should talk to someone. Maybe a psychiatrist can catch something we’re missing.”

  “A shrink?” I steamed. “Not this again.”

  “Yes,” she cut me off, “don’t you want your life to go back to normal. You know, like before the nightmares. This might help you.”

  I sighed and realized maybe she was right. It would be nice to put this all behind me. I just hate the thought of seeing a shrink.

  “Okay, I’ll try it, but you have to go with me,” I said.

  “Of course,” she agreed.

  We sat in silence for another fifteen minutes. It

  seemed the time just lingered on. Rach finally got up and sat on the bed next to me. The look on her face screamed panic on the inside, but she was trying to stay calm for me. I was lucky to have her as a best friend. I just hoped it wouldn’t change after all this was over.

  Chapter Four

  I woke up that morning feeling sluggish from the restless night I had. Once again, my mind was blank, which meant my dream was filled with nothingness.

  I should be happy since I was spared the depravity of my once normal dreams, but it was hard to get excited. Instead, I lie in bed contemplating on the day ahead. It was Monday and I didn't want to go to class, but I definitely had to go to work.

  Rach wanted me to call and set up an appointment with some psychiatrist and I promised her I would. I still didn’t know what to think or how to feel about the situation.

  I needed to know what was causing me to have these nightmares, so seeing someone would be my best resolve.

  I got up, stretched, and turned on the television. I didn’t want to watch the news for fear of a report on more dead bodies being found, so I put it on the cooking channel.

  I turned on my laptop to find a therapist to talk to. When the screen popped up, I saw an email from my mom.

  I hadn’t talked to her in a couple of days and she worries if I don’t communicate in some form. I opened the email and it was her usual rant about what was going on with her and my dad. Then she started grilling me about not calling.

  By the end of the email, she was asking me to come home for the weekend because she was missing me. Oddly enough, I was missing them, too.

  I wondered if Rach would want to go. My parents adored her and I could have her there for comfort, since she was the only one I’d talked to about what was going on.

  I quickly realized that Rach was becoming my support system. I smiled at the thought because for whatever reason, she knew it, but didn’t mind.

  I emailed her back explaining about the extra hours at work and school. Then I apologized over and over again about not calling. I told her that I would make plans to come the weekend and asked if it was okay to invite Rach.

  In the mist of checking the rest of my emails, I forgot why I was online in the first place. I backed up my thoughts and remembered the shrink.

  I knew there were therapists on campus that I could talk to, but m
y parents knew most of the staff. I couldn’t risk one of them telling my parents, even if it is supposed to be confidential. They would find a loophole and then I’d have an angry mother, who would be hurt for not coming to her first.

  I put that out of my mind and finished putting my request in the search engine and waited. Seconds later, over a dozen of sites pulled up. I clicked on them one at a time to see which one appealed to me. Half way down the list, I saw an ad for a Dr. Brian Silverman.

  Maybe it was because I was tired of looking, but I picked my cell phone up and dialed the number.

  I listened as the phone rang, trying to figure out what I should say was happening if they asked.

  “Dr. Silverman’s office, how can I help you?” the woman’s voice was chipper on the other end.

  “Uh, yes, my name is Wendy Smith and I was trying to schedule a time to talk to the doctor,” I said. I knew I didn’t sound believable. I couldn’t even fool myself.

  “We have an opening for tomorrow, what time can you come in?”

  “One would be the best time for me.”

  “Okay Miss Smith, I’ll schedule you for a consultation and if something comes up, please call and let us know in advance.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “Have a nice day and we’ll see you tomorrow at one,” she said.

  “Bye,” I said and quickly hung up the phone before she could say anything else.

  This is insane. What am I going to say to this man tomorrow? I wondered what kind of patients he normally had and if they were anything like me.

  I closed my laptop and went to the bathroom to get cleaned up. After I was done, I came out and Rach was up on the phone. I turned down the television and went to my closet.

  I pulled out some jeans and a black fitted tee. I put my clothes on and waited for Rach to get off the phone. I wanted to tell her about the consultation and make sure she was available.

  She finally looked up and saw I was waiting. She told the person on the phone that she had to go.

  “Hey, I called and set up an appointment for tomorrow at one. Are you free?” I asked.

  “Yeah I’m free. I’m glad you called. Maybe this guy can help,” she said.

  “I hope so,” I sighed. “I was going to get something to eat, you wanna come with me?”