26
It was 1:30 in the afternoon. Jack still had no appetite. He sat at his desk, his laptop open. He’d formatted the page, set the margins, double-spaced the lines. Words were supposed to be flowing now. Brilliant, incisive words with just a touch of cynicism and wit. That’s what his editor wanted. “Jack, I’ve heard your lectures. I want the book to read just the way you speak. Can you do that?”
Apparently, he could not. Not today anyway.
It was all he could do to keep from drifting back to the Doolittle Raid. As with the Pearl Harbor dream, the memories were as vivid as if he’d traveled back in time. The flashbacks weren’t just visual things; they came packed with emotion…all the fears, the anxieties, the confusion he felt during The Dream were all right there clutching at the surface. Especially the last few moments as he tumbled in the darkness, then floated almost pleasantly in the air just before smacking the ground. He winced, reliving the moment.
He thought he had died.
He thumbed quickly through the stack of papers to his right, outlines from his lectures. Now just black marks on white pages. He had to force his eyes to focus, to turn the shapes into words, then connect the words to their meaning. He forced himself to remember the excellent premise for the book. He really did believe in this material. This was going to be a breakaway book. The kind people read even if they don’t like military history.
He pushed his chair away from the desk, unable to get in touch with any part of him that cared. He leaned back and stretched. His heartbeat felt back to normal. What bothered him more than anything else was the thought that he might somehow be going mad.
Was there such a thing as reading one too many books, seeing one too many documentaries? Had the lines between acquiring knowledge and the real world broken down in his brain? Ever since he was a kid he’d read things at this level; it never bothered him before. Would he have to fear going to bed every night, afraid of where he might end up the next time?
Next time.
He didn’t want there to be a next time. He slid his chair back and stood up. He had to get out of there, get some fresh air. Do something. Anything.
After finishing the last swig of coffee, he picked up his phone. One thought had percolated several times in the last hour since his call with Thornton. Rachel. He really wanted to see her. She was subbing for Thornton today. He looked at his watch. She’d probably already taken her lunch break. Maybe he could catch her in between classes. He grabbed his overcoat and headed out the door.
# # #
He pulled into the first faculty parking spot near the Murray Building. As he rounded a corner, a steady stream of students poured out from the ancient cathedral-style doors, all bundled and wrapped in coats and scarves. As he walked toward them, he tried to reassure himself that she would still want to see him. She hadn’t called again, but then he realized, she wouldn’t do that. She wasn’t the desperate type, didn’t need to be.
As his eyes scanned the disbursing crowd, he finally saw her, the beautiful face, the brunette hair gleaming in the sun, falling gently on her shoulders. She wore a tan cashmere raincoat, tied at the waist.
This was a good idea.
She saw him and smiled, then looked around as if to assure herself Jack was really looking at her. That touch of insecurity made her all the more appealing. She turned and looked at him again. He waved and pointed to a stone bench under a brightly colored maple tree, about midway between them. She nodded and headed that way.
“Well, this is a surprise,” she said. “Professor Thornton told me he tried to reach you earlier but couldn’t.” She sat down on the bench, tucking her coat beneath her legs. “This bench is freezing.”
“Did you get any time for lunch?”
She looked at her watch. “No I didn’t. It’s been nonstop since I got here.”
“The Professor told me he asked you to sub for him today. Have any time now?”
“Maybe an hour.”
“C’mon, we’ll take my car. It’s right over here.” He reached for her hand to help her up and lingered a moment before letting it go. “Have you ever taught a class before?”
“I’ve led some discussions for a group about a third this size. I’m just a teaching assistant in the political science department. But the professor I work for treats me more like a secretary. I’d have loved to see the look on his face when Professor Thornton asked to borrow me for a couple of days.”
“Well, here we are.” Jack opened the door for her. One of those old fashioned things Gwen had said embarrassed her.
“Why thank you, kind sir.” Rachel got in. “Where to?”
“I was thinking Ye Olde Coffee Shoppe. It’s a few blocks from here. Know it?”
“I love it. They make great Reubens there.”
Jack called in two Reubens on rye so they’d be ready when they arrived. As they drove, he asked her why she was taking Thornton’s class. She said it was for her father. Since he’d retired he loved to talk about two things: sports and military history. Since she knew nothing about sports and the school would pick up the tab for any classes she wanted to take, she decided to learn more about military history. After the first month or so, she actually began to like it. Jack liked that she would go to all this trouble to connect with her dad.
The coffee shop was a quaint place, aged bricks and low-hanging oak beams, little round tables. A counter ran the length of it, where all the regulars sat. A rich coffee aroma filled the room. Soon the Reubens were served, along with a dill wedge and chips. “This is just what I needed,” Rachel said, rubbing her coffee cup.
“You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if it snowed out there,” Jack said.
“Weatherman said it might.”
A long, silent pause followed.
Jack picked up half his sandwich. “So how’d your time go so far? Any big surprises?”
“Oh my gosh, yes! Did you hear about the student who died in his sleep last week?”
“What?”
“We found out about it this morning. A kid named Ralph Riesner. He was in Thornton’s class. I’ve seen him but didn’t really know him. Anyway, I guess he died in his sleep. Some of the kids were saying he must have had a terrible nightmare.”
Jack couldn’t believe his ears. “Really? A nightmare killed him?”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. They were just joking. I forgot you had a pretty bad dream a few nights ago. Apparently, his heart snapped in the middle of the—Jack? What’s wrong?”
“What?”
“Are you all right? I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Jack looked down at his sandwich, his appetite instantly gone.
“Did you know Ralph?”
Jack let out a sigh. “No, I didn’t. Did they say anything else about it, about this kid’s death?”
“I didn’t hear the story firsthand. A student told me about it on his way in, then Thornton announced it to the class this morning. Everybody was in a fog afterward. Kind of like your reaction. I guess there’s something wrong with me.”
Jack laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“But I’m not really all that upset. Look at you.”
“I’m not upset about this kid’s death. I never knew him.”
“Then what is it?”
Jack didn’t want to tell her about last night but now thought he must. “Believe me, my reaction was totally self-serving.”
Rachel took a bite of her Reuben. “I’m listening.”
Jack looked away. “I had another bad dream last night.”
“Like the Pearl Harbor dream?”
“Pretty much, except last night I was on the Doolittle Raid to Tokyo. I don’t mean I dreamt about it, it was like I was there.” Jack went on to fill in some details. As before, Rachel’s face and eyes reflected the horror and wonder of it as Jack’s account ebbed and flowed. Right up to the part when he told about smacking into the ground and all the life being crushed out of him. “I wok
e up terrified. My heart started to race. I felt dizzy and light-headed. Then I had another bad headache.”
“Are you all right?” she asked, reaching her hand across the table and resting it on his forearm.
Jack found it more than comforting. It seemed to pull him back to the present. “I’m fine now. It’s just what you said about that kid who died. That it happened in the middle of the night. And that his heart snapped. Just a little too familiar.”
“That is weird, the similarities I mean.” She softly slid her hand back in place.
“I’m sure there’s nothing to it. But…”
“Have you ever had dreams like this before?”
“Never.”
“I’ve got to admit, I haven’t either. I don’t even know anyone who has.”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve been racking my brain trying to make some sense of it.”
“I’ve got an idea.”
“I’m open to anything.”
“My mother has been seeing a sleep specialist in Charlotte, at least she was a month ago. She said he’s supposed to be the best in the state. I could call her, see if she could get you in.”
Jack smiled, enjoying the sympathy. “I don’t know Rachel. I think those guys are all about things like snoring and insomnia. Maybe narcolepsy. Not what’s happening to me.”
“Narca-what?”
“Narcolepsy. You know, people who fall asleep in the middle of the day, even in the middle of a conversation.”
Rachel laughed. “That would be about half of the students in my professor’s classes. But Jack, I think these doctors also care for people with chronic nightmares.”
“These aren’t really nightmares, though. Not in the classic sense. Rachel, I don’t know if it comes through when I explain it, but if you told me I traveled back in time last night, I’d believe it. It was that real.”
“Yeah, that’s what it sounded like. But I still think you should try seeing a doctor. It can’t hurt.”
“What was your mom seeing him for?”
“Just insomnia.”
“I could use a little insomnia right now. Could you call her without telling her it was me?”
“Sure, I can say it’s for a colleague at school. But they won’t care about something like that. They’re not nosy types. You could just say you’re having some trouble sleeping.”
“All right, I guess I’ll see him. But isn’t Charlotte quite a drive from here?”
“Three hours. I know some scenic roads.”
It sounded like she was thinking of going with him. “Three hours up and back, that’s a lot of driving for one day. Maybe I should make the appointment in the afternoon and get a hotel room for the night.”
“Or…” She was smiling.
“Or what?”
“Or, we could stay at my parent’s house. They’ve got a huge place. My folks would love to meet you, especially my dad. Well, you guys already met years ago.”
“You want to go with me?”
“Sure. Besides, I’m overdue for a trip back home.”
They finished their sandwiches and coffee. The remaining conversation was light and airy. They got on the subject of old movies and, to Jack’s delight she repeated the invitation to see a movie together this Sunday night in the downtown area, the theater that played old movies on the big screen.
He happily agreed. They got up and put on their coats. Jack helped Rachel into hers. “Guys do this kind of thing in old movies,” he said.
As they walked out into the chilly wind, Rachel said. “You know Jack, I wouldn’t let this dream thing get me down. If you think about it, it’s almost like a gift for an historian, if you could control it somehow. Some people would pay a lot of money to have experiences like that.”
27
Professor Thornton sat in the parking lot of The Sleep Center in Falls Church, waiting for the staff to leave. He had come to confront Jameison but didn’t want to make a scene. Before deciding to do this, he’d waited almost two hours at home but Jameison never called him back. He couldn’t wait any longer, so he went on the internet and found there were a few seats left on a direct flight from Atlanta to Dulles. It cost a fortune, but he booked it anyway. Right now Thornton didn’t care about money.
He’d rented a car, braved the bumper-to-bumper traffic and made it here a few minutes before five. As he sat watching the last minutes of sunlight fade, he tried to extinguish any thoughts that he was an accomplice to murder. They came anyway. He had invited Ralph Riesner over for dinner the night before he died, had given him a dose of Jameison’s “revolutionary” new drug—just like he had done with Jack last night, and Jared Markum the night before that. And now Ralph was dead. That much was indisputable. A young man cut down in the prime of life. Someone’s beloved son.
Thornton had arranged to pick up a copy of the coroner’s report on his way out of town. Georgia happened to be a state that allowed such a thing. The report was difficult to read, but it did seem to rule out anything beyond the heart attack already reported. But Thornton couldn’t sit idly by as his worries and fears consumed him. He had to find out if he was responsible. He had to talk to Jameison himself.
Scenes leading up to this moment replayed in his mind. He could genuinely empathize with people who had committed crimes of passion, convinced a stronger man would have brought a gun. Thornton, on the other hand, ushered spiders out of his apartment on a napkin.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a middle-aged woman wearing a large overcoat and carrying a purse walking out of Jameison’s building. Finally. The Sleep Center was beginning to close. It was an attractive single-story facility, sleek and modern, resting comfortably at the base of a small hill. It was part of a larger complex and, judging by the sign out by the road, they were mostly other medical offices. The entire area was very upscale.
He was unsure of himself now that the moment of truth had arrived. How could he have allowed himself to be drawn into such a mess? But what could he do about it now? Losing everything he’d worked for all these years wouldn’t bring young Riesner back. And there was at least a chance there was no connection between the drug and Ralph’s death. The coroner’s report seemed to indicate this. Maybe he should leave, just go back to the airport and fly back home.
He hated his double-mindedness.
No, he must stay and confront Jameison. He had to know for sure. He got out of the car and walked somberly toward the front door. Reaching for the handle on the glass door, he pulled and found it was locked. He cupped his hands and looked inside. Vague shapes of an empty waiting room came into view but no signs of life. He stepped back to look for a doorbell. There was none. He dreaded banging on the door and was just about to, when a young blonde stepped into the reception area. She looked up, startled to see him.
“I’m sorry,” Thornton yelled. “But I need to speak with Dr. Jameison.”
She came near the glass door but didn’t unlock it. “We’re closed,” she yelled back. “We reopen at 9am. You’ll have to come back then.”
“I’m not a patient. I’m a…business associate.”
“I do all of Dr. Jameison’s scheduling. He didn’t tell me about this.”
“Please just go get him. I’m sure the minute he sees me, he’ll let me in.”
The woman paused a moment. “Wait right here.”
She disappeared down a hallway and returned in a few minutes with Jameison in tow. Jameison was clearly shocked to see Thornton. He mumbled something to the young woman that she didn’t seem to appreciate, and she went back down the hall. Jameison hurried to the door then unlocked it. “Thornton, what are you doing here?” His head swiveled nervously as he ushered Thornton into the reception area, locking the door behind them.
“Jameison, we need to talk,” Thornton said. His hands were shaking.
“Not here. Come back to my office.” Jameison walked down the hall. Thornton followed.
“Don’t you check your messa
ges?” Thornton said, trying to sound in charge.
“Not in the hallway. We can talk in here.” Jameison opened a paneled mahogany door leading into his office and locked it behind them.
Thornton rubbed his sweaty palms on his slacks as Jameison made his way around the desk.
“Sit down. What’s all this about?”
Thornton wondered where to begin. Where was all the hatred he could so easily tap into just a few moments before? Why couldn’t he muster the strength to lay into Jameison now that he had him sitting right here? All he felt was fear and intimidation.
“Jameison, Ralph Riesner is dead,” Thornton announced.
“Who is Riesner? What are you talking about?”
“Bre’r Fox. Bre’r Fox is dead,” Thornton said, referring to Jameison’s silly code names.
Jameison’s face instantly grew serious. He looked away from Thornton, then steepled his fingers and raised them to his lips. After a lengthy pause, straight-faced and emotionless, he said, “All right, tell me about it.”
“You said this drug was safe! You said nothing could go wrong. You said—”
“I didn’t say lecture me, Thornton. I said tell me about it. Calm down old man and tell me what happened?”
“There’s not much to tell,” Thornton said, returning to his intimidated, shaky voice. “I gave the drug to him, and to the others. I did everything just the way you said, and Riesner died that same night of massive heart failure.”
“Is that what the coroner’s report said?”
“Yes. It said he had something called a septal defect, something congenital. Some unexplainable trauma may have triggered it bringing on a massive cardiac arrest. Something like that.”
“No mention of any foreign substances?”
“I didn’t see any.”
Jameison let out a pent-up sigh. “Well then, why the panic?” The news had brought obvious relief.
“Jameison, we killed him!” Thornton shouted. “You know it. And I know it. It was your drug that triggered it. We’re the reason for his ‘unexplainable trauma.’ Didn’t you hear? He died in his sleep—the same night I gave him the drug.”
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