Hidden in Dreams

by Davis Bunn

  The aide bolted from the room. Suarez swept the documents away from the table in front of him and said, “This meeting is not happening. Understood?”

  “Yes,” Elena replied.

  He rose from his seat as a woman entered the room. Elena saw in that action a different side to the senator. He might be rigid, impatient, and perpetually irritated, but he held others in respect and had no trouble showing it. “Have you met? Agatha Hune, Dr. Elena Burroughs. This other guy you know, right?” The woman was in her late fifties and attractive in a severe manner. She wore a sleek gray suit with a pewter and alabaster lapel pin. She seated herself across from the two psychologists. “Hello, Jacob.”

  Suarez asked, “You want the guy to stay, right?”

  “Jacob is crucial to this, in my opinion.” She turned to Elena. “I very much like your questions and your direction, Dr. Burroughs. Particularly this morning. You were right to include the issue of faith.”

  “Whatever you say.” Mario Suarez dominated the room with his sense of presence. “Look. I’m not here to lay a charm offensive on you, Dr. Burroughs. And I don’t expect you to leap over to our side.”

  “I thought we were all on the same side here, Senator.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Agatha?”

  “You go ahead. I’ll chime in if necessary.”

  “Right. Dr. Burroughs, what I want you to do is consider, just consider, that you are being manipulated.”

  “Not just you, Dr. Burroughs,” Agatha Hune said. “Every last one of us.”

  16

  Elena confessed, “I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

  “And?”

  “Realistically, I don’t see how it could be possible. The distance between dreamers, the timing, the dream’s precise vividness, the dream patterns, the absence of archetypes, the fact that none of the dreamers knew one another before this started. All this indicates to me that these dreams are an actuality.”

  The senator impatiently shifted in his chair, but remained silent.

  Jacob added, “To impact a patient’s dreams requires manipulation of the person’s deepest subconscious. This usually requires hypnosis in conjunction with drugs. Though it flies in the face of my entire professional career, I agree with Elena.”

  “We’re not suggesting that the dreams aren’t real,” Agatha Hune replied.

  “We’ve both had the dreams,” Suarez agreed. “We’re not here to discuss how real they are.”

  “We have read your book,” Agatha Hune went on. “We have studied your comments. We have observed you during the interviews and today’s online conference. Mario met with you both in Miami. I have known Jacob for some time now. And this has led us to trust you with what we feel may be a very real threat.”

  The leather of the senator’s chair squeaked as he shifted forward. “What if someone is playing us like their public marionettes?”

  Elena looked from one to the other. “You mean they’ve discovered a method for dream manipulation?”

  “Right.”

  Jacob said, “And they’re applying this process to fifteen dreamers spread around the globe.”

  “Exactly.”

  Elena wanted to dismiss the idea. She disliked the senator’s attitude and his manner. But the idea held her at a visceral level. “I don’t see how that would be possible.”

  “Right. Neither do we.” Mario Suarez nodded to his friend. “Tell them, Agatha.”

  “We have been hearing rumors. A hint of something here, a shadow of a whisper somewhere else. Then yesterday Mario’s most trusted aide overheard comments. These things simply do not add up unless we accept one impossible fact: that someone is doing this for a secret purpose.”

  Elena asked, “What precisely did your aide overhear?”

  “My aide was representing me at a conference of bank directors on Wall Street. They were discussing the crisis. I’m on the senate finance committee, it’s normal for either me or my top committee aide to be there. At break time my guy was hidden in this alcove, texting me an update. Two of these Wall Street jokers passed by, he didn’t see which ones they were and couldn’t recognize their voices. What he heard was, one of the guys asked the other how the project was going. The other said, and I quote, ‘You mean the market exploitation, or the dreamers?’ The first guy said, ‘Both.’ Guy two then said, ‘All but one of the dreamers are behaving themselves. As for the market, I should hope you’re making a killing like the rest of us.’”

  Elena looked from one face to the other, and saw grim intent. And very real fear. “So if this is true, the aim behind manipulating our dream states is to subvert the world economic system.”

  Jacob protested, “That suggests an incredible level of power behind their actions.”

  Agatha added, “And coordination among different groups. No lone bank or even political system could do this alone.”

  Suarez rose from his chair, and began crossing the back of the room, pacing like a caged beast. “When I was a kid, my grandfather used to tell us stories. My mother always objected because they gave me and my sisters nightmares. But my father insisted. He remembered the crossing from Cuba. And losing his own mother on the boat. And he wanted us to learn. After a while my sisters would run and hide whenever my grandfather started on his stories about life under Castro and what they went through in escaping to America. But I stayed. And I listened. I learned about how power drove some men mad. How they used the most insane reasons to excuse their actions. How the lives of others mean nothing to such people. How they build their ideals into golden calves, how they will sacrifice the lives of millions at the feet of their idols.”

  Suarez turned and glared at them. “I have learned from bitter experience that the world scoffs at politicians who trumpet their faith in God. So I don’t speak about it except with my closest friends. But I know the Bible. I know the evil that lurks in this world. And I am telling you that in my heart of hearts, I think we have become trapped inside someone else’s nightmare.”

  Elena met the man’s burning gaze and found herself saying, “I have prayed and prayed for guidance. And all I have received in response is silence.”

  “As though God is not a part of this,” Suarez agreed.

  “What should we do?”

  “We need your help,” Agatha said. “Desperately.”

  “We’ve shared this with three of our most trusted aides, and nobody else,” Suarez said. “Not even our families. We ask that you do the same.”

  “We’re almost certain we’re being watched,” Agatha Hune confirmed. “If our fears are correct, you must assume they are keeping you both under surveillance.”

  “They need us, so they fear us,” Suarez said.

  “If we’re right,” Agatha corrected. “If we are indeed part of a hoax.”

  The word hung there in the air between them. Elena found herself surprised at her own calm. As though she was glad for the company of those who also felt a need to question. “So we shouldn’t contact you?”

  “Only when there is a critical need, or you have something to report,” Suarez replied. “And you’ll need a cutout.”

  Agatha said, “She doesn’t understand that word.”

  “I do, actually. You want me to find someone they won’t suspect, who can make the contact for me.” Elena thought. “I have just the person.”

  “Our aides will be hunting for more evidence,” Agatha Hune replied, sliding a card across the table. “If you find anything that suggests we are right, you can reach us day or night.”

  “You’re both professionals,” Suarez said. “Clinicians, isn’t that what you want the world to see? So design an experiment. Check your data. See if there is a shred of evidence we’re right.”

  “Before it’s too late,” Agatha said.

  Suarez headed for the door, then turned back to give Elena a look of deadly experience. “If we’re right, and I fear we are, remember this. There are people out there who will do anything and say anything and s
acrifice anyone to get what they want.”

  17

  Jacob gave his postgraduate student some bills and told him to grab a taxi back to the university. He and Elena made the trip downtown in silence. It was only as they left the freeway that Jacob asked, “What just went on back there?”

  “I’m going to need some time to fully digest it.”

  “But you think it might be real?”

  “They certainly think so. Two intelligent professionals on the world stage, one in politics, the other in finance, both suggesting this is very real.”

  “But to manipulate dreams around the globe—”

  “Is impossible. I agree. Not to mention manipulating the world economy.”

  “So how—” Jacob was halted by the ringing of his cell phone. He glanced at the readout, then handed it over. “Answer that, will you?”

  When she answered, Reginald Pierce said, “We’ve just heard from CNN. Don’t go through their front doors. Come in by way of the garage. It’s marked Employees Only, but just tell the security guard your names and they’ll let you through.”

  The young man sounded impossibly tense. Elena demanded, “What’s the matter?”

  “The dreamer who claimed all this was garbage, you know who I mean?”

  She recalled the pudgy Frenchman who had spoken with such disdain. “Actually, he just suggested our experiences were not foretelling.”

  “Well, he’s using the word now. Garbage. On television. And his claims have gone global.”

  • • •

  Nothing could have prepared her for what awaited them downtown.

  The street fronting CNN headquarters was blocked off. Police had stationed yellow barriers across the turning. Beyond them was a solid wall of humanity. Jacob fought through the snarled traffic, rounded the corner, and finally arrived at the entrance to the underground parking garage. When he gave his name to the uniformed officer, the guard leaned over to give Elena a long look, shook his head, and waved them through. Elena turned in her seat to see him lift the phone and speak with someone, his gaze still on them.

  The garage elevator deposited them in the main lobby. To her horror, Elena was surrounded by images of herself. She stared down from a dozen massive flat-screen monitors that lined the foyer and flanked both buildings overlooking the street.

  “Dr. Burroughs?” A harried young man in a rumpled shirt pushed his glasses up square to his forehead. “Hi, I’m Jeff, they’re ready for you—”

  The crowd spotted her through the foyer’s tall glass windows. A woman shrieked her name. The crowd picked it up and began hammering the glass. The young man said something she could not hear, and pulled them into an elevator. When the doors closed, he said, “The loonies have us under siege.”

  Jacob asked shakily, “How did they find out?”

  “We posted your name on the online interview schedule. Our website is updated every few hours. It’s normal.”

  “Nothing about that crowd out there is normal.”

  “No, what I mean is, her name was just there on the list. You know, ‘Stay tuned to see Dr. Elena Burroughs live at eleven.’ Like that. But this thing, it’s just exploded in our faces.” The doors opened. He directed them down the side corridor. People emerged and watched them from every doorway. “Makeup is down on your right, Dr. Burroughs.”

  “Isn’t Dr. Rawlings appearing with me?”

  “I’ve got it down as just you, Dr. Burroughs. But I could go ask.”

  “Yes. Do that. Please. And I need a word in private with Dr. Rawlings.”

  “Sure thing.” He opened the makeup door and spoke quickly, and a young woman exited the room. “Just let her know when you’re ready.”

  The makeup room was narrow and long, with a light-rimmed mirror taking up one entire wall. The waist-high counter was filled with every imaginable cosmetic and brush and hairspray. A stack of broad napkins anchored both ends. Elena slipped onto one white leather stool because her knees felt weak. “They have me going on live?”

  “It sounded that way.”

  “On national television? Jacob, I don’t have anything to say!”

  “Be a professional. Tell them the truth. No varnish. Don’t let them bully you into saying anything more than what you’re comfortable—”

  “Will you pray with me?”

  He stared at himself in the mirror. But Elena was uncertain what exactly it was he saw. His past, his reputation, his way of life. Whatever it was, she actually saw the change come over him. The intent manner in which he studied his own reflection, and the tightening of his features. “I’m not ready to take that step.”

  “I understand,” she said softly. “Maybe somewhere down the line. But I can’t let all of this pressure me into doing something that doesn’t feel right.”

  “Jacob, you don’t have to explain. Would you tell them I need another moment, please?”

  He realized he was being dismissed. He looked at her through the mirror, and started to say something more. She could sense the conflict behind his eyes. In the end, though, he simply nodded and left the room.

  After he had left, Elena remained as she was for an instant, staring at the place where he had been. In her heart, she sensed a door softly closing.

  She opened her phone and dialed the number from memory. When Reed Thompson came on the phone, Elena said, “I’m about to go live on CNN. I can’t do this on my own.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Pray with me.”

  His reply was immediate. “Let’s bow our heads.”

  • • •

  As soon as Elena’s makeup was done, she entered the center of a maelstrom.

  Because the news was fed live to the cable channel, the entire production unit hummed with a frantic energy. Yet the atmosphere was also extremely professional. There was no shouting, hand waving, or hysterics. What she saw were the glittering faces of people forced to run through every day chopping and slicing their waking moments into tight five-second bursts. And they loved it. The vast production space was filled with young people who were thrilled with their work. Even when they were extremely worried. Like now.

  She was handed from one person to the next. All of them showed her a bright cheerfulness and hurried her along. She heard herself referred to as “the eleven-fifteen.” As in, the time-slot she was slated to fill. They all knew her name; they knew the topic she was to discuss. They all said how glad they were she would make time for them. Elena had the impression they spoke the same words to a hundred different faces every day, and remembered none of them.

  “Okay, Dr. Burroughs. I’m going to walk you out and sit you next to Betty. You should address your answers to her. Try not to look at the cameras at all.” The woman was in her thirties, but under the glare of the television lights she had the tight-edged features of someone who had lived hard, pushed harder, and missed her big chance. She still wore her hair with the shellacked perfection of a person born for the camera’s eye. But she had a clipboard and headphones and her ID said PRODUCTION. “You will be on for twelve minutes. It’s best to keep your answers short and to the point. Any questions?”

  Elena shook her head. She found herself isolated from the energy and the scene, and preferred not to speak.

  But the woman took her silence for fear and said, “Everything is going to be good. We’re on your side here, Dr. Burroughs. We just want to get the word out to as large an audience as possible. Okay?”

  “Yes,” Elena said, but mostly so the woman would not pester her anymore. Elena was held by a very strong sensation, as though she were shielded from not just these people and their agendas but the energy and the place as well. She moved among them, and yet they did not reach her. Not where it mattered.

  If she had to put a name to it, she would have called it peace.

  “Okay, here we go.”

  Elena was led onto a carpeted dais and up two steps to a curved desk of blond wood. The presenter of the nation’s most watched television busines
s news journal had half risen from her chair in order to see off her last guest. Then she turned and offered Elena the smile that had galvanized a thousand on-air arguments. “Dr. Burroughs, I have so been looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Commercials over in ninety,” the producer said, moving away.

  “It seems as though the whole world is talking about you and your little group. I thought we might begin with a late-breaking item from one of your dreamers, then allow you to respond. Is that acceptable?”

  “Of course.” The wall behind her chair was seamless glass shaded a pale aqua. Behind this were rows of computer terminals and staffers and researchers. All of them wore headphones. The far wall was lined by an LED ticker that streamed a constant flow of stock data. The atmosphere was in direct contrast to the newscaster’s voice. This was part of her persona, the calm at the center of whatever storm happened to be brewing that day.

  And today, it was Elena and the dreamers.

  But Elena remained utterly removed from the pressure. Calm. Alert. And ready.

  The woman must have noticed this. A steely glint entered her gaze. Clearly she enjoyed stripping away her guest’s power or calm or whatever shield they had brought with them to reveal their hidden flaws and weaknesses to the public eye.

  “Five seconds.”

  “Let’s begin, shall we?” The woman turned to the camera, introduced herself, and then said, “Our next guest has suddenly appeared on the world stage, claiming to represent a cluster of dreamers who can foretell the future. Welcome, Dr. Elena Burroughs.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Tell me, Elena. Should I sell my shares of GM?”

  “I can only describe what you have already heard. The dreams are very specific. To discuss anything further would be both wrong and potentially dangerous.”