Hidden in Dreams Page 3

  She cocked her head. “How did you know about that?”

  “I still have my contacts, and I made it my business to learn about your background. Does this have to do with your council work?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “I heard the council had been disbanded.”

  “It has.”

  “And that . . . book, the one from your friend.”

  “The Book of Dreams.”

  “Is that real?”

  “Very much so.”

  The university president became very still. “Do you have it?”

  “When the council disbanded I put it in a safety deposit box. It is still there.” She recalled how her friend Miriam had always kept it close at hand, ready to be called upon at any time. Elena had been glad to place it under lock and key. Now, she wondered if she had done the wrong thing.

  Elena realized Reed had asked her something, and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t get much sleep. Could you repeat that, please?”

  “I said, do you want to tell me the nature of this evidence?”

  “Much of it I don’t yet understand,” Elena said slowly. “But it seemed to suggest a real likelihood of a financial meltdown.”

  The words catapulted Reed Thompson from his seat. The man’s bio said he had been the star of Purdue University’s basketball team. He was not tall for a collegiate player, an inch or so over six feet. But his energy was astonishing. “The American economy is always facing risks. There are constant problems. When the housing crisis struck, the people asked, why didn’t the government stop this from happening? There are two reasons. First, because the people who were making money from the subprime loan mess were very powerful, and they pressured Washington to look the other way. And second, because the subprime issue was only one of many potential threats to our economy.”

  Reed began pacing. He moved with catlike grace. His cropped blond hair turned almost transparent as he passed before the window. Elena guessed his age at somewhere around fifty-five. He was handsome in an extremely intense way, but his looks were overshadowed by his energy. He went on, “So in one sense, the situation facing the nation’s economy is part of a repetitive pattern. The names have changed, one issue has replaced another. Normally, no one crisis situation is enough to bring down our economy. But today is different.”

  “We’re vulnerable,” Elena said.

  “Precisely. The nation is barely recovering from the financial debacle brought on us by the subprime crisis. We are in an extremely fragile state. What’s more, so are our overseas allies. And together we face a whole string of potentially devastating risks.” He stopped and began pointing at items listed on an invisible board. “The European Union is under threat from the economies of Greece, Spain, Ireland, Italy, and Portugal. One or two such problem states they could handle. But if all five default on their loans, the result would be catastrophic for the global economy. And this could well happen. Furthermore, America’s housing market is wallowing in unresolved foreclosures. The construction industry has been the driving force of our national growth for decades. It pretty much drew us out of the previous two recessions. Now, builders are hamstrung. Then there is China, which continues to sap our jobs and unbalance our trade revenues by keeping their currency artificially low. And so on. The list of potential dangers, I’m sorry to say, is as long as it has ever been.”

  Reed dropped his hand to his side, but continued to stare at the invisible board. Finally he turned around and said, “You and your friend have every reason to worry.”

  “She’s not a friend, actually.” Elena instantly regretted the comment. It seemed so inane in the face of Reed’s seriousness. “I wish I knew what to do.”

  He walked back behind his desk, but did not resume his seat. “Have you prayed about it?”

  “To be honest, my prayer time has seemed pretty hollow recently.”

  He nodded slowly, as though expecting no other response. “We all go through dry times in our spiritual walk.”

  His response ignited a gnawing fear in the core of her being. “I’m so worried. Not about the economy. I know that sounds selfish. But it’s true. I’m afraid of being dragged back into the public eye.”

  “Watching you onstage the night we met, I could not recall anyone who looked less pleased to be where she was.”

  “I positively loathe the spotlight. I always have.”

  “And yet you entered into a highly public position, one which cost you your job in Oxford as a clinical psychologist. A job which apparently you loved.”

  “Very much.”

  “Why did you take on such a task, might I ask?”

  She fought against the burning behind her eyes. “Because I felt God was calling me.”

  He turned toward the window. “While I was in Washington, I joined a prayer group run by Chuck Colson. We met in the White House basement once a week. The group had a transformative effect on my life. When I left public office, I was offered a board position with a Wall Street firm. It would have set me up for life. Instead, I accepted this position. Why? Because God called me to do so.” He nodded to the unseen beyond the window. “It has not been easy. And there have certainly been times when the position did not suit me as I might have liked. But in the middle of the night, when I stare at the ceiling and wonder about all the might-have-beens, I know that I did the right thing.”

  His phone rang. Reed picked it up, said simply, “Coming.”

  “Thank you for your time.” Elena rose from her seat. “I can’t tell you how much better I feel than when I arrived.”

  “In this day and age, Dr. Burroughs, the world would like us to think that people of faith have no place on the global stage. That the time of fervent belief is passed. They would like to relegate us to the dim recesses of half-forgotten myths and superstitions they have outgrown.” He showed her a face of stern determination. “That only makes our task more vital.”

  As Elena left the president’s office and crossed the campus to her classroom, she found herself recalling the event that had sealed her first brief meeting with Reed Thompson. Outside the Emory University auditorium, after Reed had asked her to pray about joining the ACU faculty, Elena had been filled with a sensation so strong it had cut through her fatigue and bitter humiliation.

  Then, as now, she had known with utter conviction that she could trust this man.

  • • •

  When looking back at the night that followed, it was impossible for Elena to say when the dream started. Her memory of the event was tainted by a sensation that the dream had already existed and was just waiting for the moment when it could pounce. She closed her eyes, and it was there. Crouched in the shadows. She did not even have a chance to fall asleep. It attacked. Immediately.

  It started with the faceless man.

  In her dream, the doorbell rang. She drifted over and opened the door. The faceless man was there. The messenger in the fine dark suit. He spoke words she did not hear. Instead, she walked back to her bedroom and lay down where she already was. And she dreamed the messenger’s tale.

  She had been to her Melbourne bank only once before. She had gone there the week of her arrival in Florida to open an account. The bank was far more vivid in her dream than it had been in reality. How crystal clear the image was, how lucid, Elena thought. Everywhere she looked, everything she saw, was etched in almost painful clarity.

  A cloying fear entered her dream and mounted with every rising breath, every accelerating heartbeat. She was in a long line waiting before the counter of tellers. Elena turned around. The line where she stood extended out the bank’s entrance. She was able to keep her place in line and still see how the line snaked down the street and around the corner and down another block. On and on. Hundreds of people waiting to get inside. Thousands.

  Thunder rolled and rumbled, and Elena felt the sound shake her like a leaf. The clouds gathered and the rain fell. None of the people moved. Those who had them simply unfolded umbrellas. All of the umbr
ellas were black. A crop of dark flowers endured the torrent. Others crouched and shivered. But no one moved. They couldn’t. They were as trapped as Elena.

  Her attention returned to her place in line as people started moving forward. Her anxiety grew as she approached the counter. She watched the teller deal with the person in front of her. The teller was pleasant enough. Totally detached from the tension and the crowds on the other side of the counter. A man stood behind the line of tellers. He smiled approvingly. As though there was a total disconnect between the bank and the outside world. No storm could touch them. No fear. No panic.

  Her turn came. She heard herself say, “I want everything. All my savings. Every cent.”

  The teller smiled and spoke pleasantly. “Certainly, madame. Here you are.”

  Elena stared at the pile of shredded bank notes the teller deposited on the counter. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “Why, whatever you please. It’s yours. Take it.”

  “But it is worthless,” Elena heard herself protest.

  “Well, you could always use it to start a fire.” The teller smiled. “It should burn for quite a while.”

  4

  Elena’s hands shook as she poured herself another cup of coffee. The kitchen clock read five past seven. Elena had been up almost two hours.

  She picked up the phone and dialed Rachel’s cell phone number. The voice mail answered instantly. Elena identified herself and asked Rachel to call her back as soon as possible. She hung up and dialed the number on the back of the card.

  The voice that answered did not sound the least bit sleepy. “This is Reggie.”

  “Elena Burroughs. I’m sorry to call so early.”

  “Day or night means precisely that, Dr. Burroughs. What can I do for you?”

  “I need to speak with Rachel.”

  “She left for England this morning. She should be landing in . . . six hours and ten minutes. She’ll go straight from the airport to a meeting in London. She has a conference call slated for the ride into London. I can ask her to phone you the instant she comes out of the meeting.”

  “Thank you. Why is she in England?”

  “We are planning the global launch of our new drug, SuenaMind. Rachel is product director.” Reginald hesitated, then added, “Quite frankly, Dr. Burroughs, this issue with the dreamer could not have arisen at a worse time.”

  Elena found a subtle comfort in speaking with Rachel’s aide. Though he was worried for different reasons than her own, it was a bond they shared. “What can you tell me about your product?”

  “SuenaMind is a totally new treatment for ADHD. Children and adults. The drug is administered as a spray. There are no known side effects.”

  “None?”

  “Not a single adverse reaction has been reported in the three hundred and sixty preliminary trials. Except for the patient with dreams. Which we very much doubt are directly related to our trial. Especially since Rachel’s researchers have turned up two others claiming to have precisely the same dreams.”

  She forced her addled brain to focus. Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder was an enormously hot topic. The majority of medical treatments worked in only a small percentage of patients. And all had potentially grave side effects if taken over a long period. None of the current medications were designed specifically to treat ADHD, primarily because ADHD was the result of several different factors. Some of the causes were biological, others psychological.

  “What can you tell me about the other dreamers?”

  “We don’t know very much yet. Which is why Rachel decided not to include this data in the information she provided you. The morning after she interviewed our test case, that was four days ago, she asked a junior researcher to check and see if anyone else had made such claims. Rachel tells me she actually meant for him to check all the other clinical files. Instead, the researcher did a global Internet search and turned up two others making what appear to be identical claims. One lives in Ottawa, the other in Washington. Neither has ever had any connection to our company.”

  Elena struggled to make sense of the information. “What is your drug’s success rate?”

  “Close to a hundred percent.”

  “Is it a cure?”

  “We’ve been specifically ordered to avoid using this word in association with our product, Dr. Burroughs.”

  “Of course. I understand.”

  “What we can say is, SuenaMind is groundbreaking in every sense of the word. This time next year, Rachel Lamprey could be both famous and rich.”

  “What about you?”

  If Reginald Pierce felt any discomfort over her question, he did not show it. “You’re asking why I would serve as Rachel’s PA?”

  The man was as observant as he was handsome. “You do seem overqualified.”

  “I’m the second person to hold this position. My predecessor went on to become a vice president of SuenaMed. Rachel has asked me to stay for two years. Night and day. Your basic corporate servitude. When it’s over, the sky is the limit. Rachel delivers.”

  “How long have you been with her?”

  “Ten months. To tell the truth, I’ll be sorry when my time is up. She is an amazing lady.”

  Elena heard the unspoken. “Rachel’s interest in dreams does not fit her profile.”

  “Rachel lives for her work. She is as driven as anyone I have ever met.” Reginald Pierce hesitated a long moment, then added, “We’re approaching critical mass here. The marketing and publicity departments are gearing up for a global release. Our first-year sales of this product are expected to be over three billion dollars. Now, she’s been blindsided by this. When every second counts. The future of our company is riding on this product and its launch.” A hint of Elena’s own panic entered the young man’s voice. “Can you help her?”

  Elena shook her head in denial to the man she could not see. “I was actually calling to ask the same question.”

  His tone instantly became guarded. “What’s the matter?”

  “I’ve had the dream.”

  “What, the same one that our clinical patient reported?”

  “Exactly the same.”

  The kitchen clock ticked softly through the silence. Elena’s brain flashed through dream images, and she felt her heart race the seconds.

  Reginald asked, “Could this be the result of the power of suggestion?”

  “I’ve been asking myself the same thing. It is certainly possible. But the force of this experience . . .”

  “It was as intense as what the man described?”

  “I felt as though I had entered a second reality.” She swallowed against the gnawing terror. And something more. “Ever since I woke up, I have felt a burning need to tell people.”

  “Just like the patient reported.” Reginald Pierce almost groaned the words.

  Elena used the sleeve of her robe to wipe the perspiration from her forehead. “I’ve never known such intensity. I’m a trained professional. I cannot fathom how this sense of urgency could be derived from observing a patient describe his symptoms. I have treated patients for years without ever having such a reaction.”

  “This is so totally not good.” Reginald’s sigh rattled the phone. “I will have Rachel call you the instant she lands.”

  • • •

  The phone rang so swiftly after she hung up, Elena assumed it was Reginald again. She answered with a simple “Yes?”

  “Tell me I haven’t woken you up.”

  “Vicki?”

  “I knew I should have waited. But believe me, hon, this was too good to keep.”

  Vicki Ferrell was her New York editor, a woman who sheathed her razor edges in Gucci and Ferragamo. She was a Valkyrian queen of fire and ice. Her voice carried a natural force that could launch or destroy careers from half a world away. She was a passionate follower of opera and French cuisine. Above all, however, she was constantly in pursuit of the next global bestseller. Her stable of authors was legendary.
Elena knew full well what would happen the instant her book faded. Unless she produced another hit, she would be erased without a backward glance. New York publishing had no time for has-beens. Concern over yesterday’s friendships was left on the Jersey shore. Even so, Elena found Vicki both charming and irresistible. It was also nearly impossible to tell the woman no.

  Elena declared, “I’m not doing any more public appearances.”

  “Do you hear me asking? No, you do not. Can’t a girl just get in touch, see how my favorite author is surviving in the Florida swamps and gators?”

  Elena felt the bundle of tension that had gnawed at her begin to ease. Vicki had the power to cut through anything else the day might hold. “I haven’t seen any of either.”

  “What about mosquitoes? I hear they’re big enough to carry off mobile homes.”

  “You don’t call unless you want something. What is it this time?”

  “Hon, I want to make your day.”

  Elena decided it had to be a sweetened offer for a new book. Elena wanted to turn Vicki down before the woman started her pitch. But one glance around the rented condo’s tawdry kitchen forced her to say, “I’m listening.”

  “I got an e-mail this morning from your nemesis. None other than Professor Jacob Rawlings.”

  “What?”

  “I know. Talk about your basic bombshell. He also phoned my cell. Eight times. When we spoke, he claims he got my number from the Emory president. Another name to add to my scalp list.”

  “Jacob Rawlings called and e-mailed you. About me.”

  “Right. To say he’s sorry for how he treated you during the debate, and how they managed to blindside you by his appearance. He apologized and he apologized. It was almost an aria.” The words carried barely suppressed laughter. “We pause while the world famous author picks herself up off the floor.”

  Elena had the feeling that she was running after the conversation, unable to catch up. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  “You betcha. The best kind. One that’s true. Hon, I’m telling you, the man was on his knees. It was delicious. Desperation dripped from his every word. The man actually begged. He needs you to check out something on the Internet. Got a pen?”