Don't Wake Me if I'm Dreaming Page 6

  I looked at her oddly. “Sasha.” Just go with it. I mentally rolled my eyes.

  “Keep your eyes on the clock. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “What profession are you in?”

  “Newspaper editing.”

  “In general, how long have you been having the dreams you described?”

  “A while.”

  “Be specific.”

  “Only recently have they become lucid and real to me. I was a teenager maybe fifteen when I realized my dreams were different from most others. I think it was around a year ago they became repetitive for days or a week at a time, maybe longer.”

  “Have they always bothered you as they do now?”

  “No,” I answered truthfully. “I’ve always been able to deal with them, but now, I guess they have overpowered me or something.”

  “Do tell everything you can remember about your dreams, from beginning until now. You must concentrate on the details.”

  I had to tell a complete stranger my bedtime chronicle. Something I hadn’t even shared with those closest to me, but I was truthful and shared the in-depth details of my entire forest chronicle and the car accident. I even told her about my attraction to Jack and how he and the boy had both shared visions with me and about the gun and my clothing crossing over into my dreams.

  The doctor sat fixed in her chair gazing out the window for most of my verbalized dreams. I wasn’t sure if she had tuned me out, was possibly in deep thought, or processing my words, as they were even too much for me to grasp.

  Once I ran out of memories to share, I sat perched on the edge of the seat holding the teacup, nervously sipping from it and waiting for a response. The doctor didn’t glance in my direction when she stood and walked past her desk to the far wall that showcased an enormous library. Running floor to almost ceiling stood rows of hundreds of books lining a wall. A thin sliding ladder sat on rollers and hooked over a bar, intended for the vertically challenged to reach the upper shelves.

  I watched as she crouched slightly and ran her finger along the bindings of a few books, almost removing one. Undecided, she pulled the book next to it from the shelf, staring at it briefly before taking a seat at her desk. As she sat flipping through pages, the doctor would occasionally glance at me then finally broke the way too severely long silence.

  “Come, Sasha, I have something to share with you.”

  I sat the teacup down and walked over to the desk. Looking to where her finger pointed, I stared at the drawing.

  “What are those?” I asked, leaning in for a closer look at the angelic looking people with strange eyes. “That’s not at all what I saw in my dreams.”

  Doctor Chiaki looked at me. “Visionaries,” she said, still pointing to the image. “That’s just a picture in the book. All Sleepers dream differently. Visionaries technically are people. In some cultures they resemble angels. Other cultures consider them deities, saints, or living spirits. You are what the ancient Japanese called a Sleeper. Visionaries enter your dreams like a guardian, with different purposes, but all show important visions about the future. They don’t bring harm. Think of them as guardian angels.”

  “So wait. This doesn’t add up. These people or whatever they are, enter my dreams and show me what they want me to see. How exactly does that work? I mean do they know they’re there? How did they choose me to invade? Moreover, how do I make them leave so I can regain my sanity?”

  “So many questions and so few answers. First, they are not a danger, and they show you what you need to see, the truth. They do not choose you, but rather you chose them. It’s your dream. When you meet them in person, they may not know you, nor will they know you’ve dreamt of them. They will not remember meeting you in your dreams. It is your dream. No one but you knows what happens there. It’s in the cards that you will be placed in each other’s life, not by chance, by fate.”

  “Sorry, I’m trying hard to calculate this information. I’m a rather logical person, but this, no. This doesn’t add up. In the dreams, Scott, the little boy, is my friend Aimee’s son. Aimee doesn’t have a child, she’s not even pregnant, and Jack, I’ve never met him. For all I know, I made him up.”

  “You haven’t met them, yet, but they are real, and they can show you very important things that may happen so you must pay close attention.”

  “So you’re saying I can dream into the future?”

  “Only when that day comes will you be certain, but more or less, yes, they can show you the future.”

  “And how do you know visionaries are real people? Or that any of this is true and not just a legend. I’m sorry, but this just doesn’t make sense. They are only dreams, very bizarre, unfavorable dreams, nothing more,” I argued.

  “There have been accounts of those who have experienced this and are you not experiencing it, or is it just a coincidence that others report experiencing what you have?”

  I took a seat in front of her desk trying to process her words. “So if they show the future, Aimee is going to…die?”

  “If your dream is prophetic, yes, but her destiny can change its course, the future can change depending on the course you take. That’s why the visionaries come to you. They are warning you of changes needing to be made. Look at it as a sign, a message that has been gifted to you, if this is your friend’s pending fate, then you can help save her life, you can change her future. It’s a rather difficult predicament to conceive, but I wouldn’t ignore it.”

  I tried processing everything she explained, but couldn’t believe the illogical jumbo that spewed from her mouth.

  “This is completely preposterous! It’s absurd. They are just dreams. I don’t have those things in my dream.” I stood and pointed to the picture, then seized the book, but was not able to read the symbolic looking writing. “What does that say?” I didn’t ask, I demanded.

  She looked turned off by my tone, which encouraged her expression from curiosity to frustration.

  “It’s my native tongue.” She reached over, retrieving the book. “I’ll read to you. ‘Ancient legends speculate sleepers are beings influential enough to alter time using prophetic vision. The predestination is the divine foreknowledge of what the future entails created by a paradox between alternate parts of time and the mind. Sleepers experience out of body involvements while sleeping, possessing exceptional abilities only while dreaming. Once a sleeper possesses the ability to manipulate his dreams, he will possess the power to alter the future.’ You need to understand, Sasha, this is a very powerful and delicate matter. Meddling with other’s fate—”

  “What does that mean, manipulate the dream?”

  “It means that your dreams are lucid, you are no longer dreaming but become part of the dream and can use others to show you what you need to know to change the dreams.”

  “This is all a joke, right? This is just…I’m having another dream. This is all a hoax!” I looked up to the ceiling in search of candid cameras. To experience the dreams was one thing, to hear this, a completely different.

  “Your mom didn’t die because of mental illness. This was very real to her, too. It is real.” She frowned, sounding frustrated. “You have a special gift and need to use it wisely.” She snapped the book closed.

  “How did you know about my—condition anyway? You’ve seen it before? Has someone else told you about these gifts or whatever you called them?”

  “Very few have dreams like these, not many, but there are others like you. You will end up like her, your mother, if you are not careful. These dreams are powerful enough to change more than your future. I’ve seen it. I know it to be true.”

  “Okay.” I sucked my lips in, releasing them with a small pop. “I need to go now. Thank you for the information.” I walked over to the sofa and collected my handbag. “Thank you for the tea,” I said, closing the door behind me.

  I left Doctor Chiaki’s office feeling beyond ill.

  “You’ll never believe this,” I explain
ed to Matt over the phone on my drive home. “The doctor I saw today is a certifiable quack job. She tried telling me I have some farfetched sleeper crap. She couldn’t have been any more off her rocker if she fell from it and landed on her face. Telling me about ancient Japanese visionary something or other nonsense, and oh my God, she almost had me believing it was real, like I could see the future or something.”

  “Wait, what?” Matt asked completely oblivious.

  “And to think she gets paid for that!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My dreams, Matt. I talked to a doctor about my dreams.”

  “What did you tell her? I’m so lost.”

  “I thanked her for the tea and left.”

  He laughed slightly, but sounded very confused, “At least you were polite about it.”

  “Not exactly. I expected to schedule a sleep study, not this madness. It was horrible. I’m not even sure she’s working under American standards. I’ll be sure to thank my primary doctor for the referral,” I rambled.

  “She really ruffled your feathers. Sorry babe. Maybe you should consider a second opinion.”

  “No kidding Sherlock! I’d rather pop sleeping pills to cope than listen to her nonsense.”

  “I wish I knew what was going on. I have no clue what this is all about. You told me you had bad dreams, but what’s this about the future business? Will you talk to me?”

  “No.”

  “Well—I’m afraid I can’t make your day much better. I’m covering for Matlock tonight. His wife Kelsey went into labor.”

  “Great news,” I groveled.

  “Twin boys. I guess. He said she’s been having contractions for the last few hours and her water broke. We’ll have to stop by the hospital tomorrow and meet the little guys. Could you imagine having twins?”

  “I could imagine driving my car off a bridge first.”

  “Two babies. Hon, I want twin sons someday, that would be awesome.”

  “Don’t think I don’t see through your not-so-clever ploy of distracting me. There isn’t a disturbance on earth that can make this all go away,” I spoke bitterly.

  “Until you tell me what’s going on, I’m not having a discussion about it because it doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “Well, having children doesn’t make sense to me, so we’re even!”

  “I was just hoping you’d get a little baby fever if you met the twins,” he confessed.

  “Wait! You what? What the hell! No babies, no fever! You just stay away from my uterus if you have that nonsense on the brain! What is it with everyone today? I no longer have a happy bubble left to burst, so stop trying to pop it.” I exhaled an exasperated groan.

  “Babe! I’m sorry. I was trying to make you laugh. I’ll find someone else to cover tonight. I think you need me more than the department does.”

  “You know, I think I need a night to clear my head. And you...” I said, wanting to punch him. “You have ill intentions!” I pressed the end call button on the steering wheel several times out of frustration.

  Once I arrived home, I thoroughly conducted a web search for this so-called sleeper nonsense. I searched for visionaries and sleepers and found nothing more than profits and pajamas. Still frustrated, I felt my options were slim at this point for any permanent cure of my nightly hell. I also knew undeniably there was incontestable truth to what Chiaki said; I just wasn’t convinced how much truth, nor was I ready to accept it.

  I took my sleeping pill, cleaned up for bed, and then eventually located an online link with a short passage giving vague information from an anonymous writer. To my surprise, it supported Chiaki’s book theory. ‘Sleepers are people of the night with lucid dreams, some reoccurring or slightly varying for a period. These dreams are at times futuristic or prophetic in part, bringing confirmation, direction, and warning, exposing different variables ranging from meaningful events that fulfill one’s innermost desires to calamity and catastrophe.’

  I gave little thought to the article then continued reading. ‘In the 17th and 18th century, people admitting to having prophetic dreams or seeing the future through dreams were considered witches and hanged. In the late 1930s, a scientist had a team of researchers conduct studies on people claiming to have such dreams, calling the dreams delusional illness. Persons with such ability were alleged to be insane and had been considered to be delusional or suffered from Schizophrenia. Other studied results were inconclusive. It also had been said that Darwin’s theological claims came from similar insights or visions of the future.’

  After reading the passage, I curled up on my sofa with a throw pillow. I gave consideration to being delusional and schizophrenic. I knew if I didn’t learn to control my dreams, they would eventually control me, and I would end up losing my mind like my mom had. I stared at the bullet hole in the wall, waiting for the sleeping pill to kick in; my thoughts drifted to Aimee. I thought about the possibility of the accident happening and began feeling nauseous at the thought of seeing her lifeless body.

  All I could think about was the years spent together and how she was indisputably the most important person in my life. I thought about our past seventeen years of life together. At age seven, we were the only two girls in our small private school with strawberry blonde hair and coincidently in Ms. Scothfield’s class. We shared an instant sisterly connection, which was awesome considering neither of us had a sister. After spending our juvenile years practically conjoined, and premeditating our future endeavors together, we attended the same college, and much like Vegas, what happened in college stayed in college. Thankfully, those years were short lived. Aimee managed to land an internship at local middle school that hired her permanently after grad school, and everything else fell into place. Her coworker had introduced her to Vance, and it was love at first sight. Six months later they married and were inseparable. We became the three amigos until we met Matt, who became a perfect fourth leg.

  My thoughts drifted back to the dream of Aimee in the water, and all happiness disappeared. I questioned the likelihood of that dream having any relation to reality. I wondered if so, if taking the pill would create unwanted ramifications since I couldn’t resolve the mystery of preventing her death or knowing when it would happen.

  My thoughts were distracting and overwhelming to the point of wanting to scream, but instead I curled onto my side letting the heaviness of the pill’s effects weigh my eyes closed, allowing me to fall into a deep, peaceful slumber.

  Impossible

  The office chatterers greeted my arrival in the break room at work. After failing miserably with my incognito slip-in for a cup of coffee, I surrendered myself to them for a few minutes.

  My co-workers lived vicariously through my romance with Matt and were always thrilled to corner me for an interrogation. Since I’d been hiding from them, they were past due for juicy details. It was known throughout the break room there was nothing comparably sexier than a firefighter, and of course, I agreed. I was the only one in my department that wasn’t married other than our revolving young interns that floated in and out. I honestly didn’t mind sharing the rated PG-13 version of my love life, since the alternative was everyone else’s drab stories about their bittersweet, mostly bitter marriages.

  After escaping the break room interrogation, I found the morning paper sitting on my desk. Matt and a couple other firefighters made headlines, with a picture of them in front of the blazing warehouse.

  “Looks like ol’ lover boy made the news, again.” Martha’s face popped around the cubicle wall. “Thought he had the night off?”

  “Eh, he got called in,” I mumbled, reading the headline print.

  “Huge fire. Suspected arson it says. Glad nobody was hurt.”

  “Yeah, I’m reading it now.”

  After I had read the article, I tossed the paper in the drawer. “I wonder how the department wives deal with this. It makes me a wreck just reading this crap.” I stared at the picture of him on my desk feeling
uneasy.

  “You wouldn’t ask that if you didn’t fancy the idea yourself.” Her left eye became sharp for a second, digging for the truth.

  “It’s been a subject lately,” I confessed.

  I caught a glance of her large grin. “Don’t make me wrench out your tongue, sugar bun.”

  “We talked about it, and I’ve thought about it a little,” I admitted, “but nothing is set in stone. I’m just not sure I’m ready, yet.”

  “Yet! I bet your diamond will be extravagant.” She tried looking at my hand.

  “I haven’t given it a thought. He hasn’t even asked yet, and he still has to ask my dad first.”

  “Uh… didn’t you say your old man lives on the other side of the continent?” She smirked.

  “Suppose it might be a while then.” I wrinkled my face. “I have to get to work. I’ve got a ton to do around here.” I didn’t need her encouraging the ideas in my head.

  “Liar!” she said, returning to her cubicle.

  “Oh, hey, Martha, I’m going to sneak out early again. I’m meeting Aimee at the gym. Will you text me if anything exciting happens, pretty please.”

  “That twiggy girlfriend of yours? If she loses any more weight, you’ll have to tie a string around her ankle to keep her from drifting away in the wind.”

  “Cute. She’s trying to gain muscle. There’s a difference. Maybe you should come with us? It would be good for you.”

  “Ha. Honey, this ass hasn’t seen a gym since my senior year in high school, and it’s not about to now.” She snorted. “You sure are a hoot sometimes.”

  ***

  Aimee strutted into the locker room with her hot pink gym bag over her shoulder. Her eyes were bright and her mouth embellished with a smile. She tried to smooth her smile with her hand, but let out a squeal and grabbed my shoulders.

  “What already?” I questioned her as I tied my shoe.

  Her expression changed as her smile returned, more strained than before. “You were right.” She clapped her hands, bounced on her toes, then threw her arms around me in a death grip and blurted, “We’re pregnant!”