Hidden in Dreams Page 8

  “It is a need that consumes me,” Trevor agreed. “At this pivotal point in my company’s global operations, I can think of nothing else.”

  Rachel said, “Now you see.”

  Elena’s motions had grown to where her entire upper body slowly rocked. “But you can’t, can you? Not without jeopardizing everything you and your firm have invested. You needed an outsider. Someone who could take the step for you. Someone with recognized authority on the subject of dreams. Someone who would make the world listen.”

  Trevor Tenning looked at his associate. “You were right all along.”

  Elena knew they were waiting. She saw the light of comprehension in Jacob’s gaze, and wished he would say the words for her. But that was not his role. It was hers. Much as she loathed the prospect. The hour had arrived. Elena said, “It is time to go public.”

  10

  When the meeting with Tenning ended, Rachel rode with them to the floor occupied by the division she ran. As she exited the elevator, Rachel slipped into professional mode. Elena had done it herself often enough. Rachel’s tone became crisp, direct. A general issuing orders. “You will have your own suite of offices.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “You have no idea what you will need. We haven’t even started. There could be a thousand different things that arise. Trevor has placed SuenaMed’s resources at your disposal. I would advise you to take full advantage.”

  Rachel’s assistant was there to greet them. Reginald announced, “You have the conference call with Germany and France in two minutes.”

  “And the press conference?”

  “We’ve scheduled it in an hour and a half.”

  “Take charge here.” She said to Elena, “My PR people are putting together a news conference. We’ve managed to pull together a solid audience, especially for a Saturday.”

  She strode off before Elena could formulate an objection. Reginald said, “Shall I get you settled?”

  The floor was dominated by the largest open-plan workspace Elena had ever seen. The ceiling was almost warehouse height. Multicolored glass bricks and blooming plants formed borders between the office areas. Illuminated smart boards showed timelines and ticking clocks on the two sidewalls. Even on a Saturday morning, the atmosphere was quietly frenetic. Most of the faces were young and energetic and so very alive. This floor was clearly Rachel’s domain; very efficient, very demanding, yet somehow maintaining a distinctly feminine feel. Elena had a fleeting wish she could tell Miriam what she had found here. How Rachel might be her own person, and very different from her older sister, but still carried traits that were remarkably similar to Elena’s departed friend.

  Reginald led her to a glass-walled corner office connected to a conference room. He touched one switch to turn on the lights, and another to turn the wall opaque. “The wall is electronically controlled, and also baffles all sound.” He turned the walls transparent once more and indicated the adjoining conference room. “I suppose your associates can set up in there.”

  Bob Meadows cleared his throat. “Actually, I need to be returning to Miami. My office is in a panic. I have a patient who has escaped rehab, and another who may require institutional care.”

  Elena listened as Reginald made arrangements for him to return home, and dreaded hearing the same farewell from Jacob. But her former nemesis merely stood at the window and frowned over the city beyond.

  Bob shook Elena’s hand with both of his own, leaned in close, and said, “I will be praying for you. Night and day.”

  “Thank you.”

  “A word of advice?”

  “Of course.”

  “Trust Jacob. Beneath all the razor-sharp edges beats the heart of a very caring man.”

  When they were alone, she joined Jacob by the window. Orlando was a study in contrasts. Skyscrapers dotted the downtown landscape. But the city was blanketed by trees and lawns and lakes. From this height, it appeared to be a well-tended garden where people lived and worked in an almost idyllic setting. The sun shone, the sky gleamed a bright blue, and yet on the horizon lurked a very dark stripe. Elena stared at the approaching thunderstorm and shivered.

  Jacob glanced over. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  It was a standard opening line, and under any other circumstances would be good for a smile. But today, Elena said, “Out there to the east I have classes. A place at a college that welcomes me. A few new patients.” She took a breath. “A life.”

  Jacob finished for her, “And here in this place, all you have are new responsibilities you don’t want.”

  “But volunteered for,” Elena finished. “I feel so conflicted.”

  “I’m sure you do. And trapped.” He frowned at the city below. “I need to go back and see to things at my office. I can return on Monday. If you want me to.”

  “If I want?”

  “I just thought—”

  “You just thought what? That I would rather do this alone?”

  “No. Of course not.” He grimaced. “I suppose I was hoping you would not need me, and I could go back to my—”

  “Don’t even think such a thing. This is as much your doing as anyone’s.”

  He nodded slow acceptance. “I’ll rejoin you after the weekend.”

  She stared at him. His stony expression only heightened his good looks. “How many of your young female patients fall in love with you?”

  He met her gaze, but did not smile. “Almost as many as the number of male patients whose hearts you steal.”

  “I’m not a thief.”

  “And I,” he replied, “am not a lecher.”

  “I never said you were.”

  “No. That’s right. You never attacked me personally. You never questioned my character or my motives.” He turned back to the glass wall overlooking Orlando. “It was one of the things I most admired about you. Even when I most despised your work.”

  She turned with him, looking out over the emerald-green city. “I can’t believe I’m actually seeking your advice.”

  He was silent for a long moment, then said, “Going public with this could be an act of professional self-destruction.”

  “Worse than my book on dreams?”

  “That was a questionable piece of research. This is a public pronouncement of impending doom. You are going to be overwhelmed by the bizarre fringe elements.”

  Elena lowered her head. “I feel as though my life has been ripped from my control. Again.”

  He settled a hand upon her shoulder. The act of a friend offering strength. She fought against a sudden tide of tears. If he noticed, he did not say. Instead, he asked, “You want me, your nemesis, to tell you not to do this?”

  “Yes,” Elena replied. “Please.”

  “I wish I could,” Jacob said. “So much. But I can’t.”

  • • •

  Rachel came for her an hour later. “We’re ready.”

  Elena turned to where Jacob still stood by the window. He was watching her now, his back to the world outside, his gaze haunted by myriad things she could not fathom. Elena turned in a slow circle, looking for a reason not to go forward with this, a way out. Reginald stood behind Rachel, filling the only doorway. Elena stood inside an elegant glass cage. Trapped.

  Rachel crossed the room and picked up the controls to the flat screen from the shelf behind the empty desk. She turned it to MSNBC, and kept her hand out, using the control to point at the screen. “Look.”

  “No, I don’t—”

  “Look.” Rachel turned up the sound just as the pretty business newscaster said, “Off-hour trading shows markets down around the globe. I’m joined now by the chief broker with Bank of America’s London branch. Glenn, what’s happening over there?”

  “If this wasn’t a Saturday, I’d call it a crash.” The man sounded as though he had breakfasted on gravel. “I dread to think what’s going to happen on Monday.”

  Behind the broker, the bank’s trading floor was one degree off pandemonium.
The camera panned a giant room filled with screaming, gesticulating people. The newscaster asked, “Can you tell me what is behind the panic?”

  “The London bank run caught us off guard. Now we’re hearing rumors about more disasters to come. Dublin, Rome, Athens. Take your pick. Nobody can track down what’s real. You’re seeing the herd mentality at its worst.”

  “What do you see as the next logical step?”

  “Logical? Did you really use that word?” His laugh carried a manic edge.

  Rachel cut off the television and stepped in close enough for Elena to smell her perfume. The scent was subtle, expensive, and suited the woman perfectly. “You must do this,” Rachel said softly. “You must do this now.”

  • • •

  The news conference was a dread event.

  Rachel and Reginald and a chirpy young PR specialist led her onto the stage. The podium was glass and set to one side of a gigantic screen. Two more screens filled the edges of the stage. Only when Elena was seated did she realize her face would soon be up there on display.

  Rachel walked to the podium and introduced herself. Without preamble, she said, “Something has come to our attention that could well have repercussions far beyond the scope of SuenaMed’s current research and product lines. I wish you to know that everything you hear has the backing of our CEO, Trevor Tenning, and the board of directors.”

  The room was not full. Perhaps fifty men and women were seated in the steeply banked seats rising up to where a trio of television cameras was focused on the stage. Some journalists sat at the ready, notebooks out and pens tapping the empty page. Others sprawled in the haphazard manner of people who would prefer to be somewhere else. A couple had iPads hooked up with one earphone in place, listening to Rachel with one ear while watching news feeds.

  Rachel said into her mike, “Patch us into MSNBC.”

  The trio of screens came to life with blaring intensity. The same images Elena had seen upstairs assaulted the audience. Journalists sat up straighter, exchanged glances, pulled out their earphones.

  Elena lowered her head and offered up a brief prayer. She had a dozen different wishes, most of them desperate. But the only words that came to her with utter clarity were, Be with me.

  Rachel had to raise her voice to be heard. “Cut the sound.” When the room went silent, she went on, “What you are about to hear may sound out of place in this day and age. But I repeat what I said at the beginning. SuenaMed’s senior executives have given this careful study. We concur that what is happening is real, and vital. I would now like to introduce Dr. Elena Burroughs, a respected psychologist and clinician. Some of you may know her as a specialist on dream analysis, and author of the international bestseller, The Book of Dreams. Dr. Burroughs?”

  If God was in this moment, Elena could not detect him. She felt no guidance as she approached the podium, nor any sense of genuine peace. Instead, there was only the moment, only the looks of skepticism that confronted her. So she responded as she would to approaching colleagues with information they would prefer to dismiss. With clinical detachment.

  “From the analytical perspective, dreams fall into three basic categories. The first are commonplace, and form a backdrop upon which the subconscious can work through the dreamer’s waking life. The second category includes all attempts by this same subconscious to deal with deeper issues, core fears, and severe traumas.”

  The room was filled with the buzzing of barely muffled conversation. She saw a few smirks, a few head shakes, some unmistakable gestures. Elena grimly continued, “The third category is the most disputed. And has to do with dreams of foretelling.”

  A pair of younger men toward the back of the room laughed out loud. The room took this as a signal to raise the volume. Elena let it continue for a moment, then rapped her knuckles on the Plexiglas podium. “I must ask that you please be quiet.” When this did not work, she motioned to Reginald, who rose from his seat. Elena said, “Anyone who finds it difficult to grant me the chance to conclude my remarks will be evicted.”

  There was a shocked quality to the stillness. No matter how powerful the figure, most business executives feared the press and their ability to destroy. Elena could not have cared less. “At its most basic, foretelling is controversial because it defies the logic of our daily existence. It suggests that the dreamer has the ability to pierce time and distance and human limits.

  “The reason I have been asked to speak with you today is because we have evidence that just such a dream of foretelling has been occurring. Now. Today. By a number of individuals who have no physical connection. They do not know each other. They have never met. And yet, they all share the same images.”

  This time, the silence was genuine. A voice spoke directly in front of her. “Does this mean different people are having similar dreams?”

  “I would ask that you raise your hand and be recognized before speaking. To answer your question, no, that is not what I mean at all. These subjects are not having similar dreams. They are exactly the same. They follow a precise pattern. One that defies any form of standard analysis.” A hand rose toward the back. “Yes.”

  “What are the dreams about?”

  “The current financial crisis.” Now it appeared that every hand in the room shot up. She pointed at another. “You by the aisle.”

  “How many of these dreamers are there?”

  “Eleven. They stretch right around the globe. They come from a variety of economic strata. They include senior politicians and international business leaders. They share only one thing. All of them have experienced the same two dreams.”

  “Two dreams?”

  “Yes. First one, then the other.”

  “What are they?”

  Elena found it increasingly easy to maintain her clinical tone as she described the two dreams. She concluded with the pressure that all the dreamers felt, the desperate need to warn the world. Then she stopped.

  Someone asked, “What’s the tie-in to SuenaMed?”

  Rachel stepped over to the podium. “That question will be answered at a later date.”

  The question Elena dreaded finally came from a heavyset woman in a rumpled dark suit. “Am I missing something? What’s the story? I mean, the crisis has already happened. Even if they were experiencing what you called it, foretelling, the thing is already foretold.”

  Elena felt the burning need rise up inside her, an intensity so powerful she gripped the podium with both hands, just to maintain a steady tone. “The dreams are not about what has happened up to this point. They are about what is coming next.” Her swallow was audible over the microphones. “If the dreamers are correct, this crisis has not even gotten started.”

  11

  Elena left Orlando in her SUV, which had been brought back from Miami and left in the SuenaMed garage. Rachel had offered to have a company limo drive her back to Melbourne. Elena replied that she had no interest in being driven anywhere else. By anyone. She just wanted to be home.

  The drive from SuenaMed’s headquarters on the eastern side of downtown Orlando to her home in Melbourne would take her just over an hour. The Beachline Expressway cut a straight swath through the wetlands surrounding the Saint John River. The Jeep Cherokee was bigger than any car she had ever owned. It suited Florida driving. She liked being up high, able to see over most traffic and survey the road ahead. And the easy switch to four-wheel drive meant extra traction was available when required. Like now.

  A thunderstorm struck when she was about thirty miles from home. Rain lashed her windshield. Elena switched the wipers to high, but the rain defied their rapid drumbeat. Water draped a translucent curtain over the glass and the noise drowned out her radio. Elena focused on the taillights of the car directly ahead. She told herself to relax. It was just another September storm.

  In a brilliant flash of lightning, everything changed.

  There was a low roar, a whooshing noise like a freight train bearing down on her. Where before the rain had desce
nded straight down, now it came at her from all sides. She could see nothing.

  Then a set of brake lights flashed past her. The car was to her right. Off the highway. And moving backward.

  Elena hit the flashers and pulled onto the verge. For a heart-stopping moment, the car just floated. The brakes instantly started the ABS stuttering. The tires gripped with a jarring that tumbled her against the door. Elena continued off the highway verge and into the grass. She felt the slick bumping and then the ABS kicked in a second time, finally bringing her to a halt.

  Elena would not have thought it possible, but the rain intensified. The wind accelerated to a shriek. The downpour struck with such force it pounded her SUV like a metal drum. She covered her ears, trying to clear her head enough to decide what to do.

  Then it was over.

  The rain and the wind departed as swiftly as they had arrived. Elena’s wipers still whipped at a frantic pace, only now they shuddered over dry glass. She cut them off and rose unsteadily from her car.

  To the west, the sky over Orlando was a mottled purplish black. The storm rumbled and growled like a hungry predator.

  All around her, cars were scattered like children’s toys. They faced every direction. One truck had jackknifed across the central grassy strip. As she watched, the driver pushed open his door and slipped to the ground on unsteady legs. He surveyed the scene and crossed himself.

  An elderly gentleman struggled from his motor home, which was pointed back in the direction he had come from. His voice shook as he asked Elena, “What was that?”

  “A tornado.”

  “Glory be.” He patted himself. “I’ve entered the belly of the beast and come out alive.”

  Elena heard weeping, and stumbled to the minivan behind her. The young woman had both hands locked on the wheel. Her vehicle had spun ninety degrees and faced away from the highway. The young woman stared out the windshield at the marsh beyond the highway fence. Elena called through the glass, “Are you all right?”