Hidden in Dreams

by Davis Bunn

There was the sound of another plastic tie ratcheting shut. “That’s it.”

  “Bring in the gear.” He turned back to Elena. “You couldn’t just take the payoff and enjoy yourself like any sane person. No. You had to make waves. You had to keep asking questions.”

  The fireplug opened the front door and brought in two black canvas grips. Reginald pointed at the floor to his right, where Elena could see what was happening, and went on, “Curiosity will soon kill the psychologist. Both of them. Pity.”

  “We know everything,” Elena said.

  “I’m sure you think you do.” He waved at the docile bodies positioned to either side of her. “We’ve given your friend Jacob a sedative spray. It’s another of the new products in the pipeline, all tied to what we’re going to do with SuenaMind. This baby is a game changer. But you already know that, don’t you?”

  Reginald accepted a pair of surgical gloves from the bodyguard. He fitted them on and slipped an atomizer spray from his pocket. “Where was I going with this?”

  The fireplug shrugged. “SuenaMind?”

  “The sedative. Right. Give the cop a dose.” As the guard pulled an atomizer from his pocket and sprayed Dorothy’s face, Reginald went on, “One whiff of this new stuff and the patient is pliable as plastic. Got quite a kick, so I’m told. Makes the toughest go all happy-sappy. But once the dose is over, they don’t remember a thing. Based on those new anesthetics doctors use for in-office procedures.” He held up a second atomizer. “Then we give them the SuenaMind and the other ADHD drug together in a second spray. After that, and we’re good to go.”

  Elena sought desperately for something, anything that might keep him talking. There was no real hope of a rescue. But anything was better than the doom she could see there in his gaze. “The attack in Miami. It was just a ruse.”

  “Of course it was. You needed to feel vulnerable. You needed to have an impetus to trust us.”

  “What about the market downturn? The bank’s own stocks were hit worst of all.”

  “You’re not thinking, Dr. Burroughs. It doesn’t matter which way the market moves, if you know in advance.”

  “The insiders bet against their own companies.”

  “We all did. And made a fortune.”

  “And you murdered innocent people.”

  “Of course we did, Dr. Burroughs.” He said to the others, “Give me a mask and back off.”

  The bodyguards retreated across the room. Reginald fitted a surgical mask around his mouth and nose, then sprayed the atomizer directly into the nostrils of first Dorothy and then Jacob. “We’ll give that five minutes to reach the brain.”

  He stripped off the mask so he could leer at her. “Full effect starts wearing off after about six days. To have you do what we want, you’ll need another taste. You know what it is we want, don’t you, Dr. Burroughs? We want you to stop breathing.”

  Despite her terror, Elena managed, “The dreamer and the dead bankers. They had seizures because they threatened your plans.”

  “Just like you, Dr. Burroughs.” Reginald had a truly terrible smile. “We order you to stop breathing. But your body fights the order as hard as it possibly can. Until it can’t fight anymore.”

  He fitted on a surgical mask, then dug in the canvas carryall and came up with a black face mask like a diver would wear. A flexible black hose dangled from the base, where it connected to a shiny metal canister. “We designed this apparatus to deal with what you might call the hostile patient.”

  She hated herself for begging. But she couldn’t stop the words from emerging through her clenched teeth. “Don’t. Please.”

  “You’re about to discover we’ve refined the process considerably. We can instruct the patient to dream anything, then wake up and do anything.”

  “Let them go.”

  “No problem. Dorothy here will drive home and have an accident with her gun, won’t you, dear? And Jacob, he’ll fly back to Atlanta and pick up his car from the airport and unfortunately swerve off the road. He won’t survive, I’m sorry to say. Best get your farewells over while there’s still time.”

  “No, don’t—”

  “Oh, and I’ve got something very special in store for Reed Thompson. And the girl. What’s her name?” He reached with the mask toward her. Despite Elena’s thrashing about, he fitted the mask over her face and lashed it into place. He saved his worst smile for last. “Oh, now I remember. Stacy. Sweet dreams, Dr. Burroughs.”

  31

  Elena watched it all unfold from an impossible distance, helpless to defend herself, unable to bring things into real focus. She drank in the words Reginald spoke as she would a poison. She had no choice. Her will was gone.

  She heard the canister hiss into the mask. She held her breath as long as she could, and struggled until it felt like her wrists were lacerated. None of it mattered. Reginald kept his face in tight enough to observe her through the Plexiglas. His expression was almost clinical, like a scientist preparing to dissect an insect. When she had gasped through a trio of sobbing breaths, he stripped off the mask, then moved over and sprayed first Dorothy and then Jacob with the SuenaMind mixture. He spoke to them with precise calm, glancing at Elena from time to time, making sure she was listening. Which of course, she was. She had no choice.

  He returned and squatted down in front of her chair. When he smiled, a veil rippled across Elena’s vision. It was as close to a response as she could come.

  “I’ve saved the best for last.” Reginald gave her the orders with a sense of genuine satisfaction. “When you come out of this, everything that’s happened here will be just another bad dream. But you’ll feel like you’re coming down with a cold. No, call it the flu. You’ll phone in sick, then lay down for a nap.”

  He rose from his position in front of her chair, smiled down at her, and finished, “And you know what happens when bad girls fall asleep, don’t you?”

  She felt trapped in layers of invisible chains, held far beneath the surface. Even so, Reginald’s leer rippled and ran momentarily, as her frustrated rage fought for air.

  “No,” Elena moaned.

  All three men turned to her. “You hear that?” Reginald asked.

  The tall one said, “I thought they couldn’t speak.”

  “It’s nothing. She moaned,” Reginald said. He leaned in closer still. “You will fall asleep, and you will stop breathing. Permanently.”

  Elena struggled and fought, and managed, “Don’t.”

  The three exchanged a glance. “Lady’s got some chops,” the fireplug said.

  “Cut her loose,” Reginald ordered.

  Even after they released her, they continued to hold her captive. A tiny segment of her mind knew this, and saw what was happening, and wept.

  Reginald walked behind her chair and said, “Stand up.” He then guided her to her feet by gripping her upper arms and steadying her as she rose. When he was certain she could manage on her own, he said, “Go make coffee.”

  The small hidden component of herself observed as she turned and shuffled into the kitchen. Behind her, Reginald said, “See how easy it is to make the lady behave?”

  Again the faint ripple passed over her eyes, another veil of rage, there and gone. She watched her hands fumble through the process of filling the glass pot with water. Her hands were unsteady, and she spilled water on the counter as she filled the brewer’s reservoir. She had even more trouble with the coffee, dumping as much on the counter as she did in the basket. She fit the pot on the eye and turned on the machine. Then she stood there, waiting. Reginald checked on her when the machine started gurgling. “Clean up this mess.”

  She took the towel from its place on the oven handle and did as she was told. Then she went back to standing in front of the machine. The cabinet directly in front of her was covered with a walnut veneer. One tiny strip of the veneer had frayed by the brass knob, where years of use had gradually taken its toll. The pressed plywood underneath was revealed, not much, smaller than the nail
on her little finger. Elena had never noticed it before. She did not really notice it now. She stood there because she was incapable of moving without another direct order.

  Reginald called, “Come in here, Dr. Burroughs. I want you to see something.”

  She left the kitchen and shuffled back into the living room, where Reginald directed her into a chair stationed in front of the television. Dorothy and Jacob remained seated in their chairs, facing the foyer wall, staring at nothing.

  “No, don’t look at them, Dr. Burroughs. Watch the screen. Pay careful attention.”

  On the news channel, Trevor Tenning stood before a battery of microphones. Elena’s vision rippled once more, as another surge of rage almost managed to cross the impossible distance and break free.

  SuenaMed’s CEO was both direct and diplomatic. His demeanor invited calm, confidence, even affection. He said, “Our attitude toward ‘too big to fail’ is outdated. The current crisis has pushed the world beyond all that. If we are going to salvage our economic future, we must accept this as fact and go in a new direction. We need to create a world banking system, a system of universal financial governance. One so large and powerful it can never fail.”

  One of the journalists called up, “Doesn’t this threaten the rights and freedoms of individuals and nations?”

  “Of course it does. But isn’t this also precisely what has happened with this present crisis? Who is free of these horrible effects? Which nation, which family? Isn’t it worth giving up some fragment of our freedom in order to make a clear and safe tomorrow? The One World Bank consortium guarantees financial stability. So the nations lose the right to choose a course that leads to disaster. So what? The current system is a failure. If we want to survive, if we want to enter a new era of growth and strength, we have no choice but change.”

  Reginald cut off the television. He squatted in front of her, so close his face filled her immobile gaze. “You see why your investigation was so futile, Dr. Burroughs? You and your puny band could never stop this juggernaut. Never. Sharper minds than yours have worked and planned for years.” He poked her shoulder. “Minds like my own, Dr. Burroughs. After bowing and scraping to Rachel Lamprey for months, what difference does it make, cleaning up a few loose ends? Nothing, that’s what. I look forward to taking care of her next.”

  A bodyguard called from the kitchen, “What do I do with this coffee?”

  “Give them half a mug each.” Reginald straightened, but stood where he could loom over her. “Order them to take the mug and sip it slowly. Talk to them like you would a child.”

  “Then what?”

  “Those two will start coming out in about ten minutes. They’ll leave here, follow their instructions, and poof. Our problem is over. This one will take a little longer. We need to be gone by then.” He leaned over once more. “Which is a pity. It really is. I’d love to stay for the whole show. But we can’t stay, can we? Not when we’ve never been here.”

  The taller bodyguard brought Reginald a mug. “They won’t remember us?”

  “You heard what I told them. We’re nothing. A bad dream.” He gestured to Elena. “Give her the mug.”

  The taller bodyguard waved a hand before her eyes. “What happens if I slap her hard?”

  “Don’t.”

  “No, I mean, will it wake her up?”

  “I know what you meant, and I’m telling you not to do it.” Reginald took the coffee from him and said, “Go pack our gear.” He handed her the mug and said, “Drink it slowly. It’s hot.”

  She did as she was told, blowing and sipping. She felt the liquid course down her throat. She knew at some deep level that she only had a few minutes left. Because as soon as she woke up, she was going to call the university, claim illness, then treat her wrists and lie down and take a nap.

  And she would never wake up again.

  But she could do nothing. Not even weep for her own demise.

  “Check around carefully. Take any valuables you can find; make it look like a burglary.” Reginald looked at her. “Okay. Finish your coffee. It’s almost time to—”

  The door exploded inward, followed by a rush of so many bodies they could not be counted. The sound was massive. “Stop! Police! Hands where we can see them! Down! Everybody down!”

  Elena jerked as though electrocuted. She did not merely draw the world back into clarity. Her awareness surged back. She exploded back to a state of full alert.

  Even so, her body remained trapped and sluggish.

  She forced her head to turn to the left. It required a very conscious effort, giving herself precise instructions over and over. Turn and keep turning.

  She saw two different kinds of uniforms. She realized some of the people were university security. Which could mean only one thing.

  A surge of emotion rose within her, a relief so strong she could not stop the tears. “Reed!”

  “Here, Elena. I’m here.”

  She tried to blink away the tears, but they kept coming so fast she could not clear her vision. Reed was a shadowy blur in front of her, kneeling so as to cradle her face in his hands. But his voice was intense and caring and crystal clear. “My darling, what have they done to you?”

  She made both her hands come up to grip his arms. Her speech felt slurred, but even so it carried all the desperate need she could muster. “Tell me not to dream.”

  32

  They were rushed to the regional hospital. Elena and the others were placed in the ICU under strict observation. A police officer remained stationed outside her alcove. Bob Meadows was flown up from Miami, and he hypnotized all three of them, Elena and Dorothy and Jacob. When she emerged from the treatment, she found Bob very pale, very troubled. She had to smile at that. It was so good to let someone else worry for her just then.

  And worry they did. Elena was almost never alone. Only one visitor at a time was permitted in the ICU, which meant she had a steady solitary stream. Bob Meadows was replaced by Reed, then Stacy, then Rachel, then Stacy again. The young girl refused to go to school. She took all of her meals at Elena’s bedside. The only time she willingly gave up her chair was when her father appeared.

  Elena’s dreams were horrid. Given the sounds emanating from the alcoves to either side of her own, Elena assumed the others experienced similar troubles while asleep. She did not have nightmares so much as vague whispers. They attacked and clawed at her, trying to drag her back into a dark hole that loomed just beyond her horizon.

  On the second day the hospital staff shifted them to private rooms on the third floor. Elena insisted upon seeing the others. Dorothy spent most of their time together apologizing, as though she had let Elena down. Elena left only when she was certain the woman understood Elena felt nothing but gratitude.

  Jacob remained hollowed and gouged by his ordeal. Elena sat in the chair next to his bed, holding his hand, while a nurse and Bob Meadows hovered by the door. He confessed, “I feel so weak.”

  “I know. So do I. Bob says it’s the result of fighting off the subconscious commands.”

  “Just like a patient recovering from a bad psychosis or nervous attack,” Bob confirmed. “Nervous energy depletion has as strong an impact on the system as physical exertion.”

  Jacob clutched at her with his gaze. “I’m scared.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  “And my dreams.” His swallow was audible. “Will they stop?”

  “With time,” Bob assured them both. “Gradually.”

  Jacob’s gaze never left Elena. “It all happened, didn’t it? They came and they dosed me and they told me to . . .”

  Elena held his hand and endured her own recollections. Part of Bob’s therapy required them to recall everything, and thus bring their conscious mind into the process of throwing off the induced commands.

  “Elena.”

  “I’m here.”

  “The night before. When we were in the car.”

  She nodded. “We prayed together.”

  Bob�
�s intake of breath was audible across the room. Jacob glanced at his friend for the first time since Elena had seated herself. Jacob turned back to her and said, “Do you think it would help to pray now?”

  She smiled for the first time in what felt like years. “I think it would help us both.” She reached out to where Bob was already approaching. “Let’s bow our heads.”

  33

  The president’s house had a small apartment over the three-car garage. The apartment consisted of a living-dining-kitchen area and a small bedroom and a bathroom. The bedroom held a queen-size bed, with scarcely enough room left over for one occupant to slip around sideways. The closet was two feet square. The shower was almost as small as the closet. The rooms were under the eaves, and the ceiling sloped so that an adult could not stand up by the outer walls.

  Elena thought it was perfect. It had all the comforting closeness of a cocoon. What was more, staying here meant she did not need to be alone. Or confront the memories waiting back in her condo.

  She knew she would need to go back. Recall everything. Work through it all bit by bit. This was the framework upon which mental health was built. Face the bad things squarely. Work through them honestly. And move on. Elena knew this was coming.

  Just not yet.

  She did not even return for her clothes. Reed and Stacy saw the dread in her eyes as they pulled into her parking area, and volunteered to go inside for her. Elena stayed in the car, staring out over the sparkling waters, listening to the wind whistle past the car. The hurricane was apparently staying off the coast. The latest tracking models showed it not touching land. Yet even the storm’s outer trail was enough to buffet the car. They were expecting heavy rains that evening. But as she waited for father and daughter to return, the sun was brilliant and the AC kept the car cool. Elena kept her gaze fastened on the river and the pelicans diving for fish, and willed herself not to look at the door to her home, or give in to the memories that lurked beyond the edges of her vision.