I'll See You In Your Dreams

by Miller, Tony

  She cautiously opened her eyes, and Colton’s lips were on hers. Her dream had not come true, but this wonderful reality had. Colton pulled back and looked at her with an affection she could feel. They continued to simply look into each other’s eyes as though words would be crude and break this spell of love turned up to a level where words were not necessary.

  <><><>

  “Alright, move along. Oh, hello, Anne.” A policeman on a bicycle has pulled up behind them.

  “Hello, Mr. Sullivan,” Anne replied, now embarrassed.

  “How is your mother? God bless her.” Sullivan asked with a bit of an Irish accent.

  “She’s doing better. Thank you for asking.”

  Sullivan turned a suspicious eye toward Colton. Anne interjected, “have you met Colton, our groomsman?”

  “No, can’t say we’ve formally met.” He nodded toward Colton in a silent hello.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sullivan.” Colton nodded back.

  “So, you’re rumored to be partnered with the black man with the horses, downtown. Is that so?”

  “Yes, I’m a partner of Sam Novak, the black man of which you speak,” Colton replied quizzically.

  “He talks a bit uppity, don’t you think?”

  “His accent is English,” Colton replied calmly.

  “Well, he should speak American like the rest of us,” Sullivan added nastily.

  “He’s working on it.” Colton knew better than to reason with the unreasonable.

  “I saw your father on his rounds this morning. He seems well.” The policeman had now turned his attention to Anne.

  “Yes, thank you. He is,” Anne replied.

  “He wants only the best for you, young lady.” Sullivan cut a glance toward Colton.

  “I want the best as well, and we both shall have it, the good lord willing,” Anne agreed.

  “Yes, well, best be moving on before you get hit by some flying debris from one of these ruffian construction workers.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sullivan.” Colton made a kiss sound and lightly popped the reigns and the horses lumbered forward.

  A few minutes later Anne snuck a glance back to see Mr. Sullivan disappear into the soon-to-be park. She turned to Colton. “I wonder if he saw us kissing.”

  “By his timing, I would say so.”

  “He’s a friend of father’s. I wonder if he’ll tell him.”

  “You must assume he will,” said Colton.

  “He is also a friend of Paul’s father. So, I think we must assume Paul will know of our relationship, soon.”

  “Yep!” said Colton.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Judge Hawthorne stared into the fireplace hearth of his parlor. John Sullivan stood beside him.

  “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Harold.” He shifted his weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other.

  “No, please, John, I appreciate the report. Truth and loyalty can be painful.”

  John Sullivan crossed his arms on his chest, looked down at his right foot, and played with an imaginary object. He said nothing. Finally, after several minutes’ contemplation Harold Hawthorne broke the silence. “I mustn’t delay telling him. He can take it. He must move on. Please John, wait a moment while I call him down.”

  “Sure.”

  Judge Hawthorne walked across to the bottom of the stairs that led to Paul’s bedroom.

  “PAUL,” the judge yelled up the stairs. After a few moments the sound of Paul’s footsteps preceded his entrance into the parlor.

  “Yes, father.” He looked from Harold to John and observed their obvious mood.

  “Why the somber faces?”

  “Well, Paul, John here has just reported that he came across Anne and her groomsman kissing by the Roeding Park site.

  It took a moment for him to take in the significance of what his father just said.

  “THAT FUCKING SLUT! That whore, fucking women are genetically inferior, no self-control. God damn her to hell!”

  Paul stepped to the fireplace, the veins in his neck pulsating with anger.

  “That fucking bitch!” Paul screamed as he looked feverishly from one face to another.

  “Easy, son, it’s better to know now than later,” his father said in a reassuring tone.

  John Sullivan walked over to Paul. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news, Paul. I just thought you should know.”

  “You should have fucking shot them both!”

  Paul’s father spoke. “Paul, Paul, get hold of yourself.

  I know you loved her dearly.”

  “I will get even with that whore if it’s the last thing I do,” Paul said with determination.

  <><><>

  Paul turned and stormed up the stairs to Ludwig, the only person who would understand.

  When Paul got to the top of the stairs, Ludwig was holding the door open. “I heard.” Ludwig gestured him in. Paul’s anger subsided a bit as he entered his own domain.

  “I can’t believe that whore deceived me. That fucking bitch!” He spit for emphasis.

  “And with a lowlife horse shit shoveller at that. What a scum bag.” Ludwig spoke calmly, a small smirk on his lips.

  Ludwig continued, “Paul, Paul, let the little whore fuck her horse trainer. Paul, we have untold wealth to amass. There will be many little whores to amuse you. Let this one go. The small inheritance you may have collected is trivial compared to our current endeavor.”

  Paul whirled around. “No little whore is going to get away with deceiving me!” Paul’s nostrils flared and his eyes filled with such hate that he looked as if he was the devil himself. Even Ludwig was momentarily taken aback. Paul became suddenly calm.

  “I’ll get even with that treacherous bitch.”

  “Think of how your prosperity will create envy in her as she sees what she lost. That is the ultimate way to get even.” Ludwig said reassuringly.

  “I have a more painful way in mind!” Paul laughed wickedly.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “I’m sorry, Sam, I didn’t intend to create a hopeless scenario in your mind. That is, however, the specific point of my concerns,” the Duke said seriously.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t follow?” said Sam.

  “You’re proud of your new country, are you not?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why?” the Duke inquired bluntly.

  “Because of the Bill of Rights and the Declaration of Independence, and all the freedom they stand for,” Sam responded confidently.

  “Do you have them on you?”

  “Of course not, they are in Washington DC.”

  “Well then, they don’t belong to you, do they?” The Duke crossed his arms in amusement.

  “They’re in my mind, and I agree with them,” Sam replied with mild indignation.

  “Exactly!” the Duke exclaimed with a relish. The Duke continued, calmly looking at Sam, a look of wisdom and patience on his face.

  Sam dutifully sought the realization he knew the Duke waited for. “Forgive my ignorance, but I still don’t understand.”

  How did they get into your mind?” said the Duke.

  “I read them in school,” responded Sam.

  “Okay, so what medium was used to deliver the Declaration of Independence and the Bill of Rights to your mind?”

  Sam thought for a moment. “Words!”

  “Very good, and a word represents what?”

  “Hmmm.” Sam thought for a moment.

  “It represents an idea.”

  “Outstanding, Sam! Whose idea fathered the Declaration of Independence and the Bill of Rights?”

  “Our forefathers,” replied Sam confidently.

  “I’m afraid not, Sam. That would defy all science and wisdom.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Sam.

  “There’s always only one father. There may be many lovers, but there is only one true father.”

  “I would say either Jefferson or Adams. I know Jefferson pen
ned most of it, if my history lessons serve me correctly.”

  “If the holder of the pen is the father, then you make many secretaries quite prodigious in their contributions to mankind.”

  Sam went to deep thought. “Oh, yes, yes, I see your point. Of course, it’s the, uh, thinker, the idea. Actually it’s the thinker of the thought that is the father. Yes, yes, I see, so in this case, probably John Adams was the father, even though Washington gets the credit. Yes, I would say Adams is the father of the United States of America and the Declaration of Independence and the Bill of Rights.”

  “Good, however, it could be that his wife planted the seed in his mind that America should be a free country. After all, it is the original planter of the seed whom science and philosophy recognize as the father, although it may take many others to bring that seed to fruition.”

  “So why do we discuss this fascinating subject?”

  The Duke smiled. “I only wish to make the point that an idea is the most powerful force in the universe. It has creative or destructive power, depending on the user, and there’s only one creative medium that allows an idea to move from the universe of thought to reality!”

  “Please go on, I’m spellbound, I can’t fathom a single source,” said Sam.

  “If you think about it, Sam, we all do it all the time. We do it now. We each have an idea, created in our own personal world of thought. We wish to share that thought, or more accurately, we wish to paint a picture, as any good artist desires. That picture we paint only has value if we can display it for another to view.”

  “That makes total sense to me,” Sam said with interest.

  “In the physical world, an artist has many mediums to create in: oil, watercolor, chalk, stone, and a myriad of other mediums, but in the world of ideas, there’s only one medium and that medium is, words.”

  “Hmmm.” Sam considered Duke’s words.

  “Well, how about art?” asked Sam.

  “Good, Sam. That is why art is so valuable. It transcends words, but words and art share the most powerful attribute.”

  “What’s that, Henry?” Sam was riveted.

  “They’re symbols.”

  “Symbols?”

  “Yes, it’s obvious. A painting of a unicorn isn’t an actual unicorn, but a symbol of or replica of a mental painting or image created by the artist in the realm of his mind or thought realm.”

  “I understand and I’m intrigued as to where this is headed.”

  “Well, Sam, it should be obvious to everyone, but it certainly isn’t, that the world of thought or mind, or spiritual world, if you so choose to call it, is the real world.”

  “You lost me there, Henry.”

  The Duke smiled. “Sam, I have an exact replica of the Declaration of Independence in my library. Which do you feel is the real Declaration of Independence, the one in my library or the one in Washington D.C?”

  “The one in Washington D.C., of course.”

  “Why?” The Duke cocked an eyebrow.

  “The one in your library is only a copy of the original.”

  “So, you’re saying that an original is more real than a copy?” enquired the Duke.

  Sam smiled. “Well both the original and copy are technically real, but, hmmmm, I believe one of the definitions of real implies not a copy or counterfeit, which, of course, is a copy of an original, so, yes, I’m saying an original is more real!”

  The Duke picked up his wine glass and turned it, rolling it slightly between his fingers. “Do you consider this glass real?”

  “Of course.”

  “And yet it is a mere copy from a mold which itself is a mere copy of the original which resides in the mind of some artist somewhere who first envisioned this glass. That artist may at this moment be having dinner with his family with that original picture of this glass stored away in his mind.”

  The Duke waved his hand around the room. “All this, you see, is but a copy in the physical world of creations that exist in the minds of artists. We just make copies or symbols of the true reality in the thought world.”

  “You are quite a philosopher, Duke.”

  “Henry,” the Duke corrected.

  “Yes, sorry, Henry.”

  “As a Duke with responsibilities for other people, I felt it was my duty to seek to understand those people so that I may better serve them. It was in that quest that philosophy became of paramount importance. In that study, I discovered the ultimate medium that was used to create, essentially, reality!”

  “Words?”

  “Exactly, more specifically, the agreements that the words created. A passage in the bible was what piqued my curiosity. It said, In the beginning was the word and the word was with God and the word was God. I thought that interesting.”

  “God was a word?” Sam puzzled.

  “That’s what the good book says.”

  “I don’t quite grasp that,” said Sam.

  “Well, imagine before the physical universe, there must have been only consciousness, and since there was nothing physical to be conscious of, then consciousness would be mathematically zero or nothing and yet potentially exist. Then one day someone says let there be light and there was light, or some such. As soon as someone created the first thing, it was off to the races in a new physical universe!”

  “I’m afraid I will need considerable time to digest these concepts.”

  The Duke threw his head back and laughed. “Yes, it is like the old childhood contemplations of where does space end?” His laugh subsided to a chuckle.

  “Sam, the only reason I mention all this is to impress upon you the magnitude of danger created by Rockefeller, and his monopoly of pharmaceuticals and their addictive qualities. He’s amassing millions upon millions, and that will buy a lot of words!”

  “Huh? Buy a lot of words?”

  “Think about it. Reality is just agreement. We agree this is a wine glass because of the words ‘wine glass,’ and good and bad becomes so by agreement. The ultimate thought brushes are words, and just like a paint brush, the value of the creation is in the display and the agreement it gathers. With Rockefeller’s endless money supply, his words will create the society’s future reality. He and his spawns are exceedingly dangerous to us all.”

  “How so?” asked Sam.

  “The oldest goal next to survival itself is to live as free people. There have been many methods and attempts to enslave the many by the few. Physical universe methods have been used for the most part. Threats of pain and death to force the many to serve the goals of the few have been utilized. The ultimate enslaver will not be the war of the worlds, but the war of the mind.”

  The Duke stood and walked over to the window. He peered out at the beautiful gardens while reflecting on the ideas permeating his mind.

  “Rockefeller is purchasing pharmaceutical companies and endowing psychiatry and various universities. That goes a long and clever way to enslave the masses into agreeing with his words alone. He will most assuredly eventually buy up newspapers and such as well. In the end was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God, seems to be Rockefeller’s mantra. He who has the gold can buy the words to rule the world, or more accurately, the human mind, which creates the world we must live in. In his reality, he’s the one true God!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Sam stood on the deck of the Oceanic, one of the largest passenger liners in the world. Her twelve steam boilers powered a single four cylinder steam engine, and her four masts carried sails. The Duke had arranged first class tickets, and Sam was grateful for the just over six days the trip would take. As he stood at the foredeck rails overlooking Liverpool Harbor, he tossed around in his mind all he had learned in England.

  He certainly had been mentored by the best. The General and the Duke were certainly not only great strategists, but enlightened philosophers as well. They would each be doing all they could, using all their contacts to get truthful information into the right hands to expose Paul and
Ludwig.

  However, Sam was troubled, as he rummaged through his mind. He recalled his past, which was actually his future at this moment. It grew increasingly foggy with each passing day. He was concerned by his memories. In a bit over a hundred years from now the society would be inundated by drugs. Pharmaceutical companies would be earning more money than any industry on earth. Their strangle hold on the public perception and government was virtually total.

  Sam remembered from his business and history classes that Rockefeller was almost worshiped by the population. He recalled some of the reports of an investigative reporter that got access to the Rockefeller archives. At first, Rockefeller was strongly despised, mainly because of his underhanded business dealings and techniques. Attempts were made to create virtual slavery in Ludlow and the Colorado Fuel and Iron Co. Rockefeller had refused to pay the miners American money, but paid them in Rockefeller script instead. That incident spawned the first strike, when miners stopped work and demanded to be paid in American money. Rockefeller responded by hiring Chicago henchmen to break the strike. They murdered thirteen of the miners’ women and children in the process. He bribed the railroads not to ship competitors’ oil and used various other underhanded techniques to sabotage competition and drive them out of business.

  How did he get away with it and become known as a philanthropist? Rockefeller had a genius public relations man named Ivy Lee to thank for handling all such public relations faux pas. Ivy was also indebted to Rockefeller for making him the father of public relations. Ivy had proven his skill to Rockefeller back during the depression when he had approached him and stated bluntly, “I can make America love you!” This was a bold statement, as Rockefeller had just been elected ‘The most hated man in America’ in the press. No thanks to a book by Ida Tarbell, outlining the history of Standard Oil.

  Rockefeller had replied, “What do I care if America loves me? I made seven million dollars yesterday.”

  Ivy Lee replied, “That may be true, but, how much could you make if they loved and trusted you?”

  Intrigued, Rockefeller invited Ivy to prove it. So Ivy Lee asked the old man to step outside on the sidewalk in front of his office building in Chicago and to bring a secretary. Ivy scribbled a few questions down and asked her to survey each mother at his signal. He, Rockefeller, and the secretary, stepped out on the sidewalk. Money was scarce, due to the depression. Ivy pulled out a roll of newly minted dimes. He poured them into the boney hand of the richest man in America. He stopped a child of about three years old, walking with his mother on the bustling sidewalk.