by Davis Bunn
“It’s not that.” She spoke carefully, feeling her way. “Melbourne is more than my home. It is my refuge, my place apart from everything that’s building out here. In the world. I need a space that is separate. Where I can pray. And reflect. And seek guidance.”
Jacob was silent as the doors opened and they crossed the elegant lobby. When they entered the humid Florida day, he said, “Yesterday I asked Rachel why she was calling me and not you. She said the idea of foretelling dreams linking strangers around the globe was already staggering. Adding God to the mix would make it impossible to pass on this warning.”
Elena started down the sidewalk linking the building to the visitor’s parking lot. She saw no need to respond.
Jacob sighed. “This is very hard for me. I have spent my entire life responding defensively to any mention of religion.”
“We are talking about faith,” Elena corrected. “At its best, religion is a matter of creating an earthly structure in which to express the wonder of connecting with the divine. At its worst, religion seeks to fit God into a safe and comfortable little box. Faith is man’s individual walk with the Lord. This has everything to do with faith, and almost nothing to do with religion.”
Jacob glanced over. “My father would love talking with you.”
She beeped her Jeep’s doors. And waited.
“I could not get yesterday’s conversation out of my head. That and all the things I disliked most about your book and what it implied.” Jacob’s gaze held a naked appeal. “I was hoping to talk over these things with you.”
“In that case, you would be most welcome to drive back with me.” Elena reached into her purse. “But first I need to make a call.”
• • •
When Jacob rose from the Jeep an hour later, most of the female students turned and stared. He had lived with his looks long enough to ignore the attention, or so it seemed to Elena. He glanced around and said, “The campus is lovely.”
“This side contains the new money and buildings. The older portion of the campus is pretty basic.”
He fell into step beside her. “My first gig after grad school was teaching at the Community College of Denver. The student population had doubled in less than three years. My classroom and office were in a pair of ancient mobile homes. The floors bucked and the lights flickered. A hard sneeze could blow out a window. I was there two years and thought I’d never get out.”
“I wouldn’t mind spending a few years here,” Elena said. She wanted to add, if I am allowed, but held back.
He surveyed the lake, with its tall central waterspout and border of blooming oleander. “Who is this we’re meeting with?”
“Reed Thompson is the university president. And a new friend.” She led him down the central walk flanked by imperial palms and entered the main cafeteria. They crossed the atrium with its tall windows overlooking the lake, and entered the side alcove marked FACULTY ONLY. Reed was on his phone. He saw them enter and raised one finger.
“I’ve seen him somewhere,” Jacob said.
“He was formerly the White House’s chief economic adviser.”
“Of course. Sure. I attended a conference where we both spoke.” He looked at her. “I still don’t understand why we are here.”
“Reed is a trusted colleague, another professional, and a fellow believer.”
Jacob’s smile became slightly canted. “You mean, he’s your backup.”
“If you feel that way, we can leave and talk alone after my class. It’s just, you and I share an awkward history. I thought including Reed might help.”
“I don’t know . . .” He looked beyond her. “Here he comes.”
Reed introduced himself and ushered them back to the table by the window. He offered coffee, served them himself, then took the seat opposite Jacob and said, “How do we proceed?”
“I have real reservations about this,” Jacob said. “I understand fully.”
“I mean, including you in this conversation. No offense intended.”
“None taken. But I have to say, if I’d been in Elena’s position, I would have done the same.”
“You mean, with our history.”
“That plays a part. But I was speaking of the here and now. You two are at the eye of a hurricane. Turbulent issues, a grave crisis, emotions running very high. Talking about God means adding another highly charged issue.” He gave Jacob an opportunity to object, then asked, “When a couple comes to you in turmoil, what role do you play as a psychologist?”
Elena supplied, “The objective voice.”
“But neither of you are objective,” Jacob retorted. “Not about God.”
“I am as objective as you are when you deal with the couple, given your training and your knowledge. You offer a different perspective, a different wisdom. So do I.” Reed smiled. “I suggest there are further similarities. In counseling, you deal with both the present situation and related issues from the past. I will make just one more suggestion; then if you want to go, I completely understand. All right?”
“Yes. Go ahead.”
“Dr. Rawlings, you contacted Elena and are seated here now, because you feel that your analytical stance is no longer satisfactory. Your current situation requires a clearer grasp of what is behind the veil of measurable reality.” Reed’s approach was utterly calm, he might as well have been discussing the weather. “To understand God is to know him. You must experience the reality for yourself. Cross the line.”
Jacob pondered that a long moment, before jerking a tense nod. “I’m listening.”
Elena did not so much rise to her feet as allow herself to be lifted. “I need to go teach my class.”
14
Elena emerged two hours later to find Jacob had already left for the airport and Reed had departed for an off-campus meeting. She did not care. She was exhausted from all the day had contained. She went home, ate a quick meal, and was asleep before sundown. She was woken twice during the night by rumbles, but when she realized it was thunder and not internal quakes from another dream, she swiftly returned to sleep.
The next morning Elena was reading her Bible on her balcony when the phone rang and Vicki said, “Is your television on?”
“It’s six thirty in the morning.”
“You think I don’t know that? I haven’t been up this early since before our son learned to sleep through the night.” Her New York editor sounded impossibly chipper. “Sunrises are a ghastly affair, if you ask me.”
“It’s lovely down here.”
“All those colors. Bad for the eyes. Is it on?”
“Yes.”
“Turn to MSNBC. Hurry.”
The financial reporter was saying, “It’s not quite two in the morning in Lisbon. Rumors are swirling. The emergency cabinet meeting broke up an hour ago. Word on the street is, the national government has voted to withdraw from the euro and renege on its debts. In Japan, where the markets have already opened, the euro has fallen by fifteen percent. Stocks of banks exposed to Portuguese bonds have plummeted, pulling down off-hours trading to lows not seen since—”
Elena cut off the television and pressed a fist to her stomach. Her previous calm was replaced by a dread so great she felt nauseated.
Vicki said, “I had to go online to watch your press conference. The national news chose to ignore your clutch of dreamers, even with a US senator and the SuenaMed head honcho, what’s his name?”
Elena swallowed. “Trevor Tenning.”
“Those two looked like they’d had grilled cockroaches for breakfast.” Vicki chuckled. “But word kept spreading. Our in-house techies have been going nuts. By midnight, the press conference was a viral phenomenon. An hour ago YouTube announced you had taken over the premier spot. Girl, you’ve had almost four million hits.”
“It isn’t me.”
“It is as far as my people are concerned. This is beyond big. My board will let you write your own check if you’ll do a book on this.”
“Do you re
alize what you’re saying? We have no idea where this is headed.”
Vicki went quiet. When she resumed, her tone had grown somber. “Keep a journal. Make careful notes. Plan on turning this into a book. People will want to know. That is, assuming there is a tomorrow.”
• • •
Two hours later, Rachel caught Elena just as she was leaving for class. “The press is demanding another conference.”
“But there wasn’t any dream last night. Was there?”
“Not that I’m aware. You’ve heard about Portugal?”
“Yes.”
“They feel like everything has changed as a result.”
“I don’t see what we can offer. We’ve already answered every possible question. They can air what they have on tape.”
“Trevor and the senator both agree with you.” Rachel gave an exasperated sigh. “The dreamers have asked for us to set up the online conference as you suggested.”
Behind the request she felt the pressure of future actions, one after the other, and yet she still had no sense of guidance or even of calm. “I need Jacob Rawlings to be involved.”
“He is not the world authority on dreams. You are.”
“His work made the initial connection among our colleagues.” Her voice echoed as she descended the concrete stairway leading to the parking lot. “Not to mention his own patient is one of the senior officials experiencing these dreams.”
“Who is that, by the way?”
“I can’t divulge names, sorry.”
Rachel sniffed. “All I know is, he publicly denounced your work before the professional world. He insulted you.”
“Not anymore.” Elena crossed the parking lot and beeped open her car door. “And having a second counselor participate can be very helpful in maintaining a steady course.”
“Very well.” Rachel’s voice turned brisk. “Reginald has managed to speak with all the dreamers. The best time for the online conference call would be six thirty tomorrow morning.”
Elena started her car and turned the AC on high. “I will make that work.”
“Reginald will send you an e-mail with instructions. Now then. I’ve received several urgent requests for one-on-one interviews.”
Elena slipped the car into gear. “No.”
“You are seen as the group’s official spokesperson. You are the recognized authority. People need a face they can put to this crisis. Someone who can help them understand—”
“I don’t understand any of this,” Elena replied. “Not the dreams or their purpose.”
“Then you will tell them precisely that,” Rachel replied.
“I already have.”
“They need to hear from someone who can discuss this in a logical, professional manner. You are the only one out there.” Rachel hesitated, then added, “Elena, please. They need you.”
• • •
Just before eleven, Elena entered a packed lecture hall. Every seat in the banked auditorium was taken. More students lined the rear wall and the side rows. The buzzing conversation abruptly cut off at her entry. As she climbed the two low stairs to the wooden platform holding the dais and the whiteboard, the rear doors opened once more and Reed Thompson entered, followed by the provost and Elena’s immediate superior, the head of the psychology department.
Elena set out her lecture notes, fighting the dreaded prospect of being fired once more. She stared at her hands as they rested on her carefully prepared sheets, and offered a silent prayer. She then bundled up her planned lecture and replaced the pages in her briefcase.
She put on as brave a face as she could muster and smiled at the class. “I can’t imagine what you would like me to discuss today.”
As soft laughter spread across the room, Elena used the broadest pen and wrote on the whiteboard, Dream Analysis. She ignored the ripple of anticipation and went on, “Most of the leading figures in my field do not consider the analysis of dream content a valid science. Many psychologists tend to treat it with the same disdain as alchemy. I will discuss their objections another day. All I will say today is that Dr. Jacob Rawlings was until recently a leading opponent of dream analysis. He is in the process of changing his mind.”
A young woman in the second row raised her hand. Elena said, “Yes?”
“Is he as good-looking in person as he is on television?”
“I saw him yesterday,” another woman said. “He’s a major hunk.”
When the laughter died, Elena said, “We need to hold to a tone of professionalism. This is especially true with discussing dream analysis. Opponents will use any excuse to discredit the entire field. As I know from bitter experience.”
She swiftly filled the whiteboard with the standard table her colleagues used in dream analysis. “I suggest you take notes, as this will be covered in your exams.”
She knew she had adopted the coldly formal tone she had used in front of the cameras. It was a reflexive response to the three men standing by the rear doors. There was nothing she could do about it. As she wrote, she explained, “These are the two key models currently used in analyzing dream phenomena. This first row contains the most widely accepted breakdown of dream sequences: instigation, visual imagery, delusional belief, bizarreness, emotion, repressed memories, and uncovered meanings. The second row is the explanation offered through psychoanalysis, and the third row contains what is called activation-synthesis. This is a more recent approach, championed by professionals who seek to combine psychological and biological trends. So here we see under the heading, visual imagery, the psychoanalyst would interpret this as a regression to sensory levels, while the activation-synthesists would describe this as an activation of higher or subconscious visual centers.”
Elena had long yearned to apply the rigor of her profession to a full scrutiny of dream analysis. For decades her colleagues had met in quiet corners at professional conferences and spoken of this only with a trusted few, knowing full well that if they went public, they would face the same derision and condemnation as she had known.
Forty minutes into the lecture, she asked for questions. A somber young man in the fourth row asked, “How do you explain these dreams on the news?”
She had known this was coming from the moment she wrote the first words on the board. Now that it was here, she found herself filled with a deep sense of calm resolve. “If you strip away all the sensationalism, what we are dealing with is known as foretelling. This concept is often met with derision among psychologists. The reason for this is simple. Virtually every long-term study of dreams has revealed that foretelling is far more common than previously recognized, particularly among people of strong faith. By this I mean people who pray regularly, are part of a community of believers, and study the Bible.”
She ignored the resulting buzz of conversation, cleaned her carefully prepared summary from the board, and wrote the name Sigmund Freud. “The father of modern psychoanalysis was an opponent of any notion of God. He restricted his view of human nature, and dreams, to two essential components, which he called simply ‘us and them.’ The body and the external world. The ego and the id. The individual brain and the outer environment. Freud saw dreams as an unconscious attempt by the mind to work through events and emotions that were imposed on it by the external world. Nothing more. He was vehemently opposed to any concept of a divine force at work. His rejection of religion was so vicious that some contemporary analysts suggest it was actually a phobia. Freud wanted a dream state that was observable, subject to human analysis and control. To inject the divine into this meant there were things a scientist could neither predict nor analyze. So, as far as Freud was concerned, it simply did not exist.”
Elena capped her pen, set it on the podium, and finished, “With respect, I disagree. Freud’s severance of this link blinds us to a wealth of possibility and understanding. The evidence may be swept under the carpet. But the evidence is still there. The dream states contain remarkable insights into a linkage between the physical world a
nd what lies beyond.”
She lifted her hand to block a hundred further questions and said, “Class dismissed.”
• • •
The three men moved against the tide heading for the exit. As they descended the stairs, one of the students who clustered around Elena asked, “What’s going to happen next?”
“I have no idea.”
“But one of the other dreamers, he’s saying things are going to get worse.”
“When was this?”
“I saw it on the news just before class.”
“I can’t answer for anyone but myself. The dreams are very vivid. They do not talk about steps beyond the one image. I personally think offering predictions beyond this one image is extremely dangerous.”
Reed Thompson interrupted. “Elena, could we have a word?”
The president’s formal tone caused the remaining students to fade away. Elena took a grip on the podium and waited. Her fears grew into a tense knot at the center of her gut.
The head of the psychology department was an older gentleman whose face beneath his graying beard had begun to descend like hot tallow. “I congratulate you on a most remarkable lecture, Dr. Burroughs.”
She did not trust her voice, so made do with a nod.
“I don’t know what I expected to hear, but your professionalism rang through.” He hesitated, then added, “I must tell you, I was opposed to your hiring. I thought it was little more than a publicity stunt, something Reed hoped might lift our college’s profile. I warned him that this might well blow up in our faces. When I first heard of this recent issue, I thought my worst fears had been realized.”
He examined her as he would a bit of new evidence that had disproven his thesis. He said reluctantly, “I have been wrong before. I will no doubt be wrong again. Now if you will excuse me, I have a class of my own to teach.”
Reed watched him leave with a thoughtful expression. “He ran my Sunday school class until his wife became ill. I’ve had the impression ever since I arrived here that he preferred to keep a tight separation between his faith and his profession.”