Tell Me Your Dreams

“But, Walter—”

“No, sir. This has to be unanimous. We’re either giving him my daughter’s painting or we don’t give him anything at all.”

Alette said, “I like her painting very much. Let’s give it to the pastor.”

Walter Manning smiled smugly and said, “He’s going to be very pleased with this.”

On his way home that evening, Walter Manning was killed by a hit-and-run driver.

When Alette heard the news, she was stunned.

Chapter Four

ASHLEY Patterson was taking a hurried shower, late for work, when she heard the sound. A door opening? Closing? She turned off the shower, listening, her heart pounding. Silence. She stood there a moment, her body glistening with drops of water, then hurriedly dried herself and cautiously stepped into the bedroom. Everything appeared to be normal. It’s my stupid imagination again. I’ve got to get dressed. She walked over to her lingerie drawer, opened it and stared down at it, unbelievingly. Someone had gone through her undergarments. Her bras and pantyhose were all piled together. She always kept them neatly separated.

Ashley suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Had he unzipped his pants, picked up her pantyhose and rubbed them against himself? Had he fantasized about raping her? Raping her and murdering her? She was finding it difficult to breathe. I should go to the police, but they would laugh at me.

You want us to investigate this because you think someone got into your lingerie drawer?

Someone has been following me.

Have you seen who it is?

No.

Has anyone threatened you?

No.

Do you know why anyone would want to harm you?

No.

It’s no use, Ashley thought despairingly. I can’t go to the police. Those are the questions they would ask me, and I would look like a fool.

She dressed as quickly as she could, suddenly eager to escape from the apartment. I’ll have to move. I’ll go somewhere where he can’t find me.

But even as she thought it, she had the feeling that it was going to be impossible. He knows where I live, he knows where I work. And what do I know about him? Nothing.

She refused to keep a gun in the apartment because she hated violence. But I need some protection now, Ashley thought. She went into the kitchen, picked up a steak knife, carried it to her bedroom and put it in the dresser drawer next to her bed.

It’s possible that I mixed my lingerie up myself. That’s probably what happened. Or is it wishful thinking?

There was an envelope in her mailbox in the downstairs entrance hall. The return address read “Bedford Area High School, Bedford, Pennsylvania.”

Ashley read the invitation twice.

Ten-Year Class Reunion!

Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief. Have you often wondered how your classmates have fared during the last ten years? Here’s your chance to find out. The weekend of June 15th we’re going to have a spectacular get-together. Food, drinks, a great orchestra and dancing. Join the fun.

Just mail the enclosed acceptance card so we’ll know you’re coming. Everyone looks forward to seeing you.

Driving to work, Ashley thought about the invitation. “Everyone looks forward to seeing you.” Everyone except Jim Cleary, she thought bitterly.

“I want to marry you. My uncle offered me a really good job in Chicago with his advertising agency … There’s a train leaving for Chicago at seven A.M. Will you come with me?”

And she remembered the pain of desperately waiting at the station for Jim, believing in him, trusting him. He had changed his mind, and he had not been man enough to come and tell her. Instead, he had left her sitting in a train station, alone. Forget the invitation. I’m not going.

Ashley had lunch with Shane Miller at TGI Friday’s. They sat in a booth, eating in silence.

“You seem preoccupied,” Shane said.

“Sorry.” Ashley hesitated a moment. She was tempted to tell him about the lingerie, but it would sound stupid. Someone got into your drawers? Instead, she said, “I got an invitation to my ten-year high school reunion.”

“Are you going?”

“Certainly not.” It came out stronger than Ashley had intended.

Shane Miller looked at her curiously. “Why not? Those things can be fun.”

Would Jim Cleary be there? Would he have a wife and children? What would he say to her? “Sorry I wasn’t able to meet you at the train station. Sorry I lied to you about marrying you?”

“I’m not going.”

But Ashley was unable to get the invitation out of her mind. It would be nice to see some of my old classmates, she thought. There were a few she had been close to. One in particular was Florence Schiffer. I wonder what’s become of her? And she wondered whether the town of Bedford had changed.

Ashley Patterson had grown up in Bedford, Pennsylvania, a small town two hours east of Pittsburgh, deep in the Allegheny Mountains. Her father had been head of the Memorial Hospital of Bedford County, one of the top one hundred hospitals in the country.

Bedford had been a wonderful town to grow up in. There were parks for picnics, rivers to fish in and social events that went on all year. Ashley enjoyed visiting Big Valley, where there was an Amish colony. It was a common sight to see horses pulling Amish buggies with different colored tops, colors that depended on the degree of orthodoxy of the owners.

There were Mystery Village evenings and live theater and the Great Pumpkin Festival. Ashley smiled at the thought of the good times she had had there. Maybe I will go back, she thought. Jim Cleary won’t have the nerve to show up.

Ashley told Shane Miller of her decision. “It’s a week from Friday,” she said. “I’ll be back Sunday night.”

“Great. Let me know what time you’re getting back. I’ll pick you up at the airport.”

“Thank you, Shane.”

When Ashley returned from lunch, she walked into her work cubicle and turned her computer on. To her surprise, a sudden hail of pixels began rolling down the screen, creating an image. She stared at it, bewildered. The dots were forming a picture of her. As Ashley watched, horrified, a hand holding a butcher knife appeared at the top of the screen. The hand was racing toward her image, ready to plunge the knife into her chest.

Ashley screamed, “No!”

She snapped off the monitor and jumped to her feet.

Shane Miller had hurried to her side. “Ashley! What is it?”

She was trembling. “On the … the screen—”

Shane turned on the computer. A picture of a kitten chasing a ball of yarn across a green lawn appeared.

Shane turned to look at Ashley, bewildered. “What—?”

“It’s—it’s gone,” she whispered.

“What’s gone?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I—I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, Shane. I’m sorry.”

“Why don’t you go have a talk with Dr. Speakman?”

Ashley had seen Dr. Speakman before. He was the company psychologist hired to counsel stressed-out computer whizzes. He was not a medical doctor, but he was intelligent and understanding, and it was helpful to be able to talk to someone.

“I’ll go,” Ashley said.

Dr. Ben Speakman was in his fifties, a patriarch at the fountain of youth. His office was a quiet oasis at the far end of the building, relaxed and comfortable.

“I had a terrible dream last night,” Ashley said. She closed her eyes, reliving it. “I was running. I was in a huge garden filled with flowers … They had weird, ugly faces … They were screaming at me … I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I just kept running toward something … I don’t know what …” She stopped and opened her eyes.

“Could you have been running away from something? Was something chasing you?”

“I don’t know. I—I think I’m being followed, Dr. Speakman. It sounds crazy, but—I think someone wants to kill me.”

He studied her a moment. “Who would want to kill you?”

“I—I have no idea.”

“Have you seen anyone following you?”

“No.”

“You live alone, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you seeing anyone? I mean romantically?”

“No. Not right now.”

“So it’s been a while since you—I mean sometimes when a woman doesn’t have a man in her life—well, a kind of physical tension can build up …”

What he’s trying to tell me is that I need a good— She could not bring herself to say the word. She could hear her father yelling at her, “Don’t ever say that word again. People will think you’re a little slut. Nice people don’t say fuck. Where do you pick up that kind of language?”

“I think you’ve just been working too hard, Ashley. I don’t believe you have anything to worry about. It’s probably just tension. Take it a little easier for a while. Get more rest.”

“I’ll try.”

Shane Miller was waiting for her. “What did Dr. Speakman say?”

Ashley managed a smile. “He says I’m fine. I’ve just been working too hard.”

“Well, we’ll have to do something about that,” Shane said. “For openers, why don’t you take the rest of the day off?” His voice was filled with concern.

“Thanks.” She looked at him and smiled. He was a dear man. A good friend.

He can’t be the one, Ashley thought. He can’t.

During the following week, Ashley could think of nothing but the reunion. I wonder if my going is a mistake? What if Jim Cleary does show up? Does he have any idea how much he hurt me? Does he care? Will he even remember me?

The night before Ashley was to leave for Bedford, she was unable to sleep. She was tempted to cancel her flight. I’m being silly, she thought. The past is the past.

When Ashley picked up her ticket at the airport, she examined it and said, “I’m afraid there’s been some mistake. I’m flying tourist. This is a first-class ticket.”

“Yes. You changed it.”

She stared at the clerk. “I what?”

“You telephoned and said to change it to a first-class ticket.” He showed Ashley a slip of paper. “Is this your credit card number?”

She looked at it and said slowly, “Yes …”

She had not made that phone call.

Ashley arrived in Bedford early and checked in at the Bedford Springs Resort. The reunion festivities did not start until six o’clock that evening, so she decided to explore the town. She hailed a taxi in front of the hotel.

“Where to, miss?”

“Let’s just drive around.”

Hometowns were supposed to look smaller when a native returned years later, but to Ashley, Bedford looked larger than she had remembered. The taxi drove up and down familiar streets, passing the offices of the Bedford Gazette and television station WKYE and a dozen familiar restaurants and art galleries. The Baker’s Loaf of Bedford was still there and Clara’s Place, the Fort Bedford Museum and Old Bedford Village. They passed the Memorial Hospital, a graceful three-story brick building with a portico. It was there that her father had become famous.

She recalled again the terrible, screaming fights between her mother and father. They had always been about the same thing. About what? She could not remember.

At five o’clock, Ashley returned to her hotel room. She changed clothes three times before finally deciding on what she was going to wear. She settled on a simple, flattering black dress.

When Ashley entered the festively decorated gymnasium of Bedford Area High School, she found herself surrounded by 120 vaguely familiar-looking strangers. Some of her former classmates were completely unrecognizable, others had changed little. Ashley was looking for one person: Jim Cleary. Would he have changed much? Would he have his wife with him? People were approaching Ashley.

“Ashley, it’s Trent Waterson. You look great!”

“Thanks. So do you, Trent.”

“I want you to meet my wife …”

“Ashley, it is you, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Er—”

“Art. Art Davies. Remember me?”

“Of course.” He was badly dressed and looked ill at ease. “How is everything going, Art?”

“Well, you know I wanted to become an engineer, but it didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Anyway, I became a mechanic.”

“Ashley! It’s Lenny Holland. For God’s sake, you look beautiful!”

“Thank you, Lenny.” He had gained weight and was wearing a large diamond ring on his little finger.

“I’m in real estate now, doing great. Did you ever get married?”

Ashley hesitated. “No.”

“Remember Nicki Brandt? We got married. We have twins.”

“Congratulations.”

It was amazing how much people could change in ten years. They were fatter and thinner … prosperous and downtrodden. They were married and divorced … parents and parentless …

As the evening wore on, there was dining and music and dancing. Ashley made conversation with her former classmates and caught up on their lives, but her mind was on Jim Cleary. There was still no sign of him. He won’t come, she decided. He knows I might be here and he’s afraid to face me.

An attractive-looking woman was approaching. “Ashley! I was hoping I’d see you.” It was Florence Schiffer. Ashley was genuinely glad to see her. Florence had been one of her closest friends. The two of them found a table in the corner, where they could talk.

“You look great, Florence,” Ashley said.

“So do you. Sorry I’m so late. The baby wasn’t feeling well. Since I last saw you, I’ve gotten married and divorced. I’m going out with Mr. Wonderful now. What about you? After the graduation party, you disappeared. I tried to find you, but you’d left town.”

“I went to London,” Ashley said. “My father enrolled me in a college over there. We left here the morning after our graduation.”

“I tried every way I could think of to reach you. The detectives thought I might know where you were. They were looking for you because you and Jim Cleary were going together.”

Ashley said slowly, “The detectives?”

“Yes. The ones investigating the murder.”

Ashley felt the blood drain from her face. “What … murder?”

Florence was staring at her. “My God! You don’t know?”

“Know what?” Ashley demanded fiercely. “What are you talking about?”

“The day after the graduation party, Jim’s parents came back and found his body. He had been stabbed to death and … castrated.”

The room started to spin. Ashley held on to the edge of the table. Florence grabbed her arm.

“I’m—I’m sorry, Ashley. I thought you would have read about it, but of course … you had left for London.”

Ashley squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She saw herself sneaking out of the house that night, heading toward Jim Cleary’s house. But she had turned and gone back home to wait for him in the morning. If only I had gone to him, Ashley thought miserably, he would still be alive. And all these years I’ve hated him. Oh, my God. Who could have killed him? Who—?

She could hear her father’s voice, “You keep your goddamned hands off my daughter, do you understand? … If I ever see you around here again, I’ll break every bone in your body.”

She got to her feet. “You’ll have to excuse me, Florence. I—I’m not feeling very well.”

And Ashley fled.

The detectives. They must have gotten in touch with her father. Why didn’t he tell me?

She took the first plane back to California. It was early in the morning before she could fall asleep. She had a nightmare. A figure standing in the dark was stabbing Jim and screaming at him. The figure stepped into the light.

It was her father.

Chapter Five

THE next few months were misery for Ashley. The image of Jim Cleary’s bloody, mutilated body kept going through her mind. She thought of seeing Dr. Speakman again, but she knew she dare not discuss this with anyone. She felt guilty even thinking that her father might have done such a terrible thing. She pushed the thought away and tried to concentrate on her work. It was impossible. She looked down in dismay at a logo she had just botched.

Shane Miller was watching her, concerned. “Are you all right, Ashley?”

She forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

“I really am sorry about your friend.” She had told him about Jim.

“I’ll—I’ll get over it.”

“What about dinner tonight?”

“Thanks, Shane. I—I’m not up to it just yet. Next week.”

“Right. If there’s anything I can do—”

“I appreciate it. There’s nothing anyone can do.”

Toni said to Alette, “Miss Tight Ass has a problem. Well, she can get stuffed.”

“I feel dispiace—sorry for her. She is troubled.”

“Sod her. We all have our problems, don’t we, luv?”

As Ashley was leaving on a Friday afternoon before a holiday weekend, Dennis Tibbie stopped her. “Hey, babe. I need a favor.”

“I’m sorry, Dennis, I—”

“Come on. Lighten up!” He took Ashley’s arm. “I need some advice from a woman’s point of view.”

“Dennis, I’m not in the—”

“I’ve fallen in love with somebody, and I want to marry her, but there are problems. Will you help me?”

Ashley hesitated. She did not like Dennis Tibbie, but she could see no harm in trying to help him. “Can this wait until tomorrow?”

“I need to talk to you now. It’s really urgent.”

Ashley took a deep breath. “All right.”

“Can we go to your apartment?”

She shook her head. “No.” She would never be able to make him leave.

“Will you stop by my place?”

Ashley hesitated. “Very well.” That way I can leave when I want to. If I can help him get the woman he’s in love with, maybe he’ll leave me alone.

Toni said to Alette, “God! Goody Two-shoes is going to the twerp’s apartment. Can you believe she could be that stupid? Where’s her sodding brains?”

“She’s just trying to help him. There’s nothing wrong with—”

“Oh, come on, Alette. When are you going to grow up? The man wants to bonk her.”

“Non va. Non si fa così.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Dennis Tibbie’s apartment was furnished in neo-nightmare. Posters of old horror movies hung from the walls, next to pinups of naked models and wild animals feeding. Tiny erotic wood carvings were spread out on tables.

It’s the apartment of a madman, Ashley thought. She could not wait to get out of there.

“Hey, I’m glad you could come, baby. I really appreciate this. If—”

“I can’t stay long, Dennis.” Ashley warned him. “Tell me about this woman you’re in love with.”

“She’s really something.” He held out a cigarette. “Cigarette?”

“I don’t smoke.” She watched him light up.

“How about a drink?”

“I don’t drink.”

He grinned. “You don’t smoke, you don’t drink. That leaves an interesting activity, doesn’t it?”

She said to him sharply, “Dennis, if you don’t—”

“Only kidding.” He walked over to the bar and poured some wine. “Have a little wine. That can’t hurt you.” He handed her the glass.

She took a sip of wine. “Tell me about Miss Right.”

Dennis Tibbie sat down on the couch next to Ashley. “I’ve never met anybody like her. She’s sexy like you and—”

“Stop it or I’ll leave.”

“Hey, that was meant as a compliment. Anyway, she’s crazy about me, but her mother and father are very social, and they hate me.”

Ashley made no comment.

“So the thing is, if I push it, she’ll marry me, but she’ll alienate her family. She’s really close to them, and if I marry her, they’ll sure as hell disown her. Then one day, she’ll probably blame me. Do you see the problem?”

Ashley took another sip of wine. “Yes. I…”

After that, time seemed to vanish in a mist.

She awakened slowly, knowing that something was terribly wrong. She felt as though she had been drugged. It was an enormous effort merely to open her eyes. Ashley looked around the room and began to panic. She was lying in a bed, naked, in a cheap hotel room. She managed to sit up, and her head started to pound. She had no idea where she was or how she had gotten there. There was a room service menu on the nightstand, and she reached over and picked it up. The Chicago Loop Hotel. She read it again, stunned. What am I doing in Chicago? How long have I been here? The visit to Dennis Tibbie’s apartment had been on Friday. What day is this? With growing alarm, she picked up the telephone.

“May I help you?”

It was difficult for Ashley to speak. “What—what day is this?”

“Today is the seventeenth of—”

“No. I mean what day of the week is this?”

“Oh. Today is Monday. Can I—”

Ashley replaced the receiver in a daze. Monday. She had lost two days and two nights. She sat up at the edge of the bed, trying to remember. She had gone to Dennis Tibbie’s apartment … She had had a glass of wine … After that, everything was a blank.

He had put something in her glass of wine that had made her temporarily lose her memory. She had read about incidents where a drug like that had been used. It was called the “date rape drug.” That was what he had given her. The talk about wanting her advice had been a ruse. And like a fool, I fell for it. She had no recollection of going to the airport, flying to Chicago or checking into this seedy hotel room with Tibbie. And worse—no recollection of what had happened in this room.

I’ve got to get out of here, Ashley thought desperately. She felt unclean, as though every inch of her body had been violated. What had he done to her? Trying not to think about it, she got out of bed, walked into the tiny bathroom and stepped into the shower. She let the stream of hot water pound against her body, trying to wash away whatever terrible, dirty things had happened to her. What if he had gotten her pregnant? The thought of having his child was sickening, Ashley got out of the shower, dried herself and walked over to the closet. Her clothes were missing. The only things inside the closet were a black leather miniskirt, a cheap-looking tube top and a pair of spiked high-heeled shoes. She was repelled by the thought of putting on the clothes, but she had no choice. She dressed quickly and glanced in the mirror. She looked like a prostitute.

Ashley examined her purse. Only forty dollars. Her checkbook and credit card were still there. Thank God!

She went out into the corridor. It was empty. She took the elevator down to the seedy-looking lobby and walked over to the checkout desk, where she handed the elderly cashier her credit card.

“Leavin’ us already?” He leered. “Well, you had a good time, huh?”

Ashley stared at him, wondering what he meant and afraid to find out. She was tempted to ask him when Dennis Tibbie had checked out, but she decided it was better not to bring it up.

The cashier was putting her credit card through a machine. He frowned and put it through again. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry. This card won’t go through. You’ve exceeded your limit.”

Ashley’s mouth dropped open. “That’s impossible! There’s some mistake!”

The clerk shrugged. “Do you have another credit card?”

“No. I—I don’t. Will you take a personal check?”

He was eyeing her outfit disapprovingly. “I guess so, if you have some ID.”

“I need to make a telephone call …”

“Telephone booth in the corner.”

“San Francisco Memorial Hospital …”

“Dr. Steven Patterson.”

“One moment, please …”

“Dr. Patterson’s office.”