Hidden in Dreams (29 page)

And worry they did. Elena was almost never alone. Only one visitor at a time was permitted in the ICU, which meant she had a steady solitary stream. Bob Meadows was replaced by Reed, then Stacy, then Rachel, then Stacy again. The young girl refused to go to school. She took all of her meals at Elena’s bedside. The only time she willingly gave up her chair was when her father appeared.

Elena’s dreams were horrid. Given the sounds emanating from the alcoves to either side of her own, Elena assumed the others experienced similar troubles while asleep. She did not
have nightmares so much as vague whispers. They attacked and clawed at her, trying to drag her back into a dark hole that loomed just beyond her horizon.

On the second day the hospital staff shifted them to private rooms on the third floor. Elena insisted upon seeing the others. Dorothy spent most of their time together apologizing, as though she had let Elena down. Elena left only when she was certain the woman understood Elena felt nothing but gratitude.

Jacob remained hollowed and gouged by his ordeal. Elena sat in the chair next to his bed, holding his hand, while a nurse and Bob Meadows hovered by the door. He confessed, “I feel so weak.”

“I know. So do I. Bob says it’s the result of fighting off the subconscious commands.”

“Just like a patient recovering from a bad psychosis or nervous attack,” Bob confirmed. “Nervous energy depletion has as strong an impact on the system as physical exertion.”

Jacob clutched at her with his gaze. “I’m scared.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“And my dreams.” His swallow was audible. “Will they stop?”

“With time,” Bob assured them both. “Gradually.”

Jacob’s gaze never left Elena. “It all happened, didn’t it? They came and they dosed me and they told me to . . .”

Elena held his hand and endured her own recollections. Part of Bob’s therapy required them to recall everything, and thus bring their conscious mind into the process of throwing off the induced commands.

“Elena.”

“I’m here.”

“The night before. When we were in the car.”

She nodded. “We prayed together.”

Bob’s intake of breath was audible across the room. Jacob glanced at his friend for the first time since Elena had seated herself. Jacob turned back to her and said, “Do you think it would help to pray now?”

She smiled for the first time in what felt like years. “I think it would help us both.” She reached out to where Bob was already approaching. “Let’s bow our heads.”

33

T
he president’s house had a small apartment over the three-car garage. The apartment consisted of a living-dining-kitchen area and a small bedroom and a bathroom. The bedroom held a queen-size bed, with scarcely enough room left over for one occupant to slip around sideways. The closet was two feet square. The shower was almost as small as the closet. The rooms were under the eaves, and the ceiling sloped so that an adult could not stand up by the outer walls.

Elena thought it was perfect. It had all the comforting closeness of a cocoon. What was more, staying here meant she did not need to be alone. Or confront the memories waiting back in her condo.

She knew she would need to go back. Recall everything. Work through it all bit by bit. This was the framework upon which mental health was built. Face the bad things squarely. Work through them honestly. And move on. Elena knew this was coming.

Just not yet.

She did not even return for her clothes. Reed and Stacy saw the dread in her eyes as they pulled into her parking area, and volunteered to go inside for her. Elena stayed in the car, staring out over the sparkling waters, listening to the wind whistle past the car. The hurricane was apparently staying off the coast. The latest tracking models showed it not touching land. Yet even the storm’s outer trail was enough to buffet the car. They were expecting heavy rains that evening. But as she waited for father and daughter to return, the sun was brilliant and the AC kept the car cool. Elena kept her gaze fastened on the river and the pelicans diving for fish, and willed herself not to look at the door to her home, or give in to the memories that lurked beyond the edges of her vision.

That night they all gathered for a final dinner. Jacob was flying back to Atlanta the next day. Bob Meadows was going with him, to offer friendship and comfort and to help with patients that Jacob was not yet ready to meet. Dorothy’s daughter had arrived from Minneapolis and remained close to her mother’s side. Rachel Lamprey was silent and regal and shaken to her core, and ate almost nothing. They filled the formal dining room. Reed and Stacy served, refusing all offers of help. Elena sat facing the portrait of Stacy’s mother. Her eyes were repeatedly drawn back to the painting. She hoped the woman’s smile was meant at least in part to welcome her.

After dinner they gathered in the parlor and watched the news coverage of a severely chastened Trevor Tenning being led into custody. This was followed by a press conference held by Mario Suarez, who now served as head of the Senate Banking and Finance Committee.

For once, the senator met the gathered press without his customary rage. “The crisis masterminded by out-of-control banks has been diverted. Our task is to ensure these institutions never again are in a position to overthrow the democratic process.”

As the interview wound down, Reed said, “I spoke with Agatha this afternoon. They’ll be going after convictions, but slowly. The first goal is to stabilize the markets and assure there will be no destructive repercussions. The last thing we want is a financial meltdown.”

They closed the evening with prayer. Rachel did not speak, but neither did she draw back when the people to either side reached for her hands. Twice Elena opened her eyes to find the woman’s dark gaze glittering in the room’s comforting glow, staring at something only she could see.

The evening farewells lingered quite a while. Outside the open doorway, the first squall rushed through, lashing the pavement with wind and rain. Jacob held Elena long enough for the sleeves of her dress to become damp. “Will I ever stop being afraid?”

“Soon,” she replied, hoping it would be true for them both. “You know you can call me anytime. Day or night.”

Bob Meadows waited until Jacob had run to the car before saying, “You’ll probably need therapy to work through all this.”

“I am well aware of this, Bob.”

“I’m just saying, I’d consider it an honor to help out. I have several long-distance patients. Sessions via videoconference work well enough in their cases.”

She embraced him a second time. “You’re a good friend.”

Rachel Lamprey was the last to depart. She stood behind the others, well inside the front foyer. Her dark eyes were trapped within deep hollows, as though she had not slept at all since the night she had spent searching the former lab director’s basement. She stared at the rain and the night with abject defeat.

Elena asked Reed to shut the door and took Rachel by the arm. She guided the SuenaMed executive over to a bench by the wall. It was antique oak and not very comfortable, something intended as a decorative item. Elena did not mind. She did not think Rachel even noticed.

Elena said, “I want you to think about something.”

Rachel did not speak. Her gaze remained held by whatever she saw beyond the closed door.

“This is very important.”

Rachel’s eyes gradually tracked over. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“For what? You did only what you thought was right. And best. For your company, for us, and for the world.”

“And I got everything wrong.”

“We all did. We let them use us. Me, you, a United States senator, leaders from around the globe. They duped us. It was a brilliant scam. And they almost pulled it off.”

“Because of me.”

“No, Rachel.” Despite two days of almost continuous rest, Elena still had very little energy. But she put as much as she could into saying, “If it weren’t for you, they would have won.”

Rachel blinked slowly. Elena saw the words register. She went on, “And your company still needs you.”

This pushed her back hard against the wall. “What?”

“Think about it. SuenaMind is still a huge discovery.”

“You can’t be serious. What about the side effects?”

“Remember what you found in the scientist’s notes? SuenaMind by itself is utterly safe. It is only when taken with another drug that it has this impact on the dream state. You and I both know doctors can be advised to monitor patients and additives can be inserted to negate these joint effects.”

“But . . .” She tasted several responses. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this. Or ever will be.”

“What if I were to help you?”

She looked at Elena then. Really looked. “You would do this? Come to work with us?”

“As a consultant. Absolutely. Think about it. We have a drug that, when combined with other substances, actually has the
power to influence the most basic components of the human psyche. This isn’t simply going to vanish because of one group’s attempt to manipulate human events. We have to study this, channel it, and determine how it can be used for good. I can name you half a dozen clinical issues, where there is currently no treatment at all, that could potentially be resolved with this compound.”

“I—I’ll think about it.”

“Good. Let’s talk tomorrow.” She steadied Rachel as she rose to her feet. “Promise me you’ll try to get some rest.”

She walked with Rachel to where Reed held the door open. As they embraced, Elena whispered, “Miriam would be very proud of you.”

34

H
er good-nights with Reed and Stacy were as warm as they were easy. There was more than closeness between them. It was as if they had already decided to make Elena a permanent part of their home and their lives. While she appreciated the sentiment more than she could say, Elena knew she was going to have to relocate the next day. Nice as it was, she could not afford to let Reed become the brunt of unfounded rumor.

Especially since she hoped one day to move back in here. Permanently.

Elena remained downstairs in the kitchen and listened to them move about upstairs, preparing for bed. She was tired in the manner of needing far more than one night’s rest. A solitary light burned over the stove, casting the room in a soft glow. She was seated at the table by the bay windows, her back to the storm, looking over a kitchen that she hoped would one day be her own. Beyond the light’s reach was the doorway leading to the front rooms, where another woman stood in regal solitude, overseeing her former domain. Elena offered a swift prayer that she
would be found worthy of helping to raise that precious child, and share love with this good man.

Her eyelids were growing heavy, but there was one more thing that needed doing to make the day complete. She picked up her cell phone and hit redial by the one number that had called her every day since the adventure had begun.

Elena greeted Vicki Ferrell, her New York editor, with “I hope I’m not calling too late.”

“Girl, I’ve been waiting for this call with bated breath. What kind of author and friend leaves her editor dangling like this?”

“I’ve been a little busy.”

“When you stopped showing up for the conferences, I panicked. Then when this thing started blowing up, I panicked some more.” Vicki Ferrell paused, then asked, “How are you, really?”

“Really, I’m good and getting better.”

“What happened down there, girl?”

“That’s why I’m calling.” Elena stared out beyond the kitchen and the haven of this home, out past the night and the storm. She looked beyond even tomorrow, out to a day where she could walk with ease and breathe freely and know her nightmares were well and truly behind her. Bob Meadows was right. Given everything she had experienced, the only way this could happen would be through some form of therapy. Laying it all out, in utter honesty, and examining it through the lenses of truth and prayer.

“Elena, are you still there?”

“I’m here.” She took a long breath. “I’m ready to write my new book.”