Dream Heart

Rick rinsed the milk from his glass and left it in the sink. Sighing softly, he turned and made his way through the darkened house. The only light still on, besides the nightlights in the kitchen and the hallway, was beside his bed. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Ten thirty, its baleful red figures glared at him, glowing sentinels at the ready to march inexorably through the night, relentlessly marking the progress of another sleepless night.

Maybe. He stared at it for a time, watching it change to ten thirty-one, then ten thirty-two. Shaking his head, he turned it to face the wall. He eyed the bed with some apprehension, then resolutely drew back the covers and slid between the cool sheets. He slugged the pillows a few times and grunted as he settled into position, then reached to turn the light out. His hand struck a small bottle as he drew back his arm, and its soft clunk as it hit the carpet brought a muttered oath from his lips. He reached down for it, but his seeking fingers only served to push it out of his grasp.

“Slick, Rick,” he murmured to himself as he turned on the light again. When he found the pill bottle, he put it across the table, next to the alarm clock. “I hope I don’t need either of you,” he growled tiredly. “Between the gym and the jogging, and a hot bath and warm milk, I should be able to sleep through an earthquake.” He yawned as he got comfortable again and turned out the light.

He fell asleep easily enough; he always did. It was when he started to dream that the trouble came. For some time now, his dreams had been about a woman, one woman, the same woman all the time. Sometimes they walked together, through woods, or across grassland or along plowed fields, sometimes along quaint streets lined with shops and businesses, arm in arm, her auburn hair glinting in the sunlight, her jade green eyes sparkling, her smile warm and sweet. Sometimes they were driving in his car, the breeze rippling in her long glossy reddish-brown hair, whipping it about as though it were a living thing of itself, giving her a strangely wild look. At first the dreams had amused and intrigued him; while he’d had women friends, there had been few he’d ever been serious about. At the time he was not involved in a relationship, and the dreams had been a pleasant interlude in his otherwise solitary present life. But then they became more frequent, more vivid, and when he reached a point where he was dreaming about her every night, and not dreaming about anything else, he became concerned. He’d tried making himself dream about other things, to no avail. Then he began trying to avoid sleeping. But when he did fall asleep, he dreamed of her, even more intensely and vividly. His work started slipping, too. It was at that point he realized this was serious.

Doctor Bruecker was a Psychiatrist, one of the best in the business, so he’d been told. Rick told him, haltingly, timidly, about his problem. He did not laugh, as Rick had feared, or make remarks about repression and suppressed emotions. He asked Rick calmly about his love life and his current attachments and acquaintances.

“And you’re absolutely positive this woman is not someone you know or once knew?” he asked in his calm, gentle voice. Rick ran his hand through his hair.

“I’m positive. I’ve even looked at all my old photo albums and school yearbooks, thinking she might be in one of them. But I’ve drawn a complete blank. I have no idea who she is.”

“Do you like her? Do you enjoy her company?”

Rick was startled. He looked at Dr. Bruecker intently, but saw nothing in the calm, enigmatic gaze of the doctor. “Well, er, yes, I do like her. She’s pleasant, enjoyable to be with…yes, I guess I do enjoy her company. Why do you ask?”

“Hmm,” was Dr. Bruecker’s response. “Is she pretty?”

“Well,” Rick thought about her. “She’s not like a model, or an actress. She’s not so thin as most of them are. She’s nicely round and comfortable. Yes, I think she’s pretty. And her hair,” he closed his eyes, remembering it whipping in the wind, glinting in the sunlight, rippling as she nodded or shook her head. The smile that lingered momentarily on his features did not escape the doctor’s notice. “Yes, she’s pretty. Very pretty. At least I think she is.” Suddenly Rick was struck with the incongruity of it all. “Isn’t it a little strange, talking about someone who doesn’t even exist?”

Dr. Bruecker was studying his face very closely. “Are you sure she doesn’t exist?” Rick gaped at him, wordless. “After all, to a certain extent at least, she exists in your mind. Up to a point at least, she is real to you.” He smiled. “When you talk about her, you talk as if she is real. When you close your eyes, the images that come to your mind seem real to you, do they not?” Rick nodded slowly. The doctor nodded.

“Let’s try an experiment, then, for three or four days. Then you come back to me and we’ll see how it has gone.”

So Rick had gone back to work, after filling the prescription, and after work he went to the gym and worked out, hard, for a couple of hours. Then he’d jogged a few miles after dinner, and downed a glass of warm milk after a long, hot shower. The pills were a last resort. Turning the clock away had been part of the instructions also, and Rick found himself opening his eyes looking for it until he finally closed them and fell asleep.

She was waiting for him, at the edge of his dreams, standing quietly in the shade of an ancient oak tree on a manicured lawn, as she often did. He hesitated, then went to her. She touched his hands with hers, and he embraced her as he’d done so many times before. She felt warm, solid, alive in his embrace. He drew back and looked at her carefully.

“You are real,” he whispered at last. She nodded soberly.

“As real as you are,” she replied calmly.

Hand in hand they walked though the familiar landscape. Rick tried to find landmarks to mark the place, but the only thing that stood out was the ancient, gnarled oak tree. He stared at it, trying to memorize its shape.

“Where do you go?” he asked. He could feel the dream ending as distance came between them.

“The same place you do,” she replied. “Back where I came from.” And with that she disappeared in a misty haze, as she always did, and he awoke from his dream of her as he always did, feeling alone and as if he’d just lost something very precious.

He turned the clock around. It was too late to take the medication Bruecker had given him. “Remember landmarks,” the doctor had said. Rick thought of the gnarled old tree. He glanced at the clock again.

“I can do better than remember it,” he said, determination in his voice. “I can draw the bloody thing from memory.” In forty-five minutes he was seated at a computer console, the fast-food breakfast he’d bought on the way cooling neglectedly at his elbow, fingers flying over the keyboard as the image of a tree slowly took shape on the glowing screen before him. Not just any tree; the tree, as accurate in every detail as he could make it.

“Not going into landscape design at this stage in your career, are you, Rick?” Marty’s deep voice from behind him startled him; he jumped half a foot and hit several keys at once. It was a few seconds before both he and the computer recovered from the confusion. Marty looked at him with concern.

“Hey, I’m sorry if I startled you. But we’ve got a meeting with the big bosses in half an hour. I can cover for you if you’re not feeling well.”

Rick glanced at the clock. He’d lost track of time. “I’m all right. Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll get the schematics run off for this phase of the project.” He gave the computer a list of documents to print, downed his cold coffee and breakfast sandwich, and headed down the hall to the restroom. “I’ll be back in five,” he called over his shoulder to Marty.

Marty shook his head. It was more like ten or fifteen minutes. The documents had finished printing, and the tree had reappeared on the CAD screen. He studied it for a while. It looked vaguely familiar, as if he’d seen it somewhere himself, but he couldn’t quite place where.

“Rick, what’s this for?” he asked when Rick returned, his hair combed and tie perfectly in place.

“Oh, just something I kind of dreamed up,” he said evasively. He saved the work in a secure private file.

“Does this have anything to do with that girl you’ve been dreaming about?”

“Maybe,” Rick said evasively. “Come on, we’d better not be late to that meeting,” he said brusquely, motioning his co-worker out the door.

He worked on the tree over lunch, and after work for a while. He felt slightly foolish, using the Computer Aided Drawing facilities of a major architectural firm and enough computing capacity to run several small countries, to chase down a dream. He rationalized it with himself by saying that if he didn’t deal with the dreams somehow, he was going to crack up, and it wouldn’t matter then. He’d just run off a printout of it when Marty dropped in. He hastily grabbed the printout and slipped it beneath a stack of papers on his desk.

“Working late?”

“Oh, just tying up a few loose ends.” Rick tried to sound normal and nonchalant.

“Have you still got that tree you were working on earlier?”

“Er, yeah, why?”

“I don’t know why, but it looks very familiar somehow, only I can’t quite place it. Could I see it again?” Rick hesitated for a moment.

“Yeah, I guess so.” His hands caressed the keyboard swiftly, and the tree began to appear, as if drawn by an unseen hand. They watched as it took shape.

“You’ve done some work on this,” Marty said admiringly. “It looks as if it’s almost real.” He scratched his chin absentmindedly. “I can swear I’ve seen it somewhere. Just can’t think where.” He shook his head.

“If you do remember where you saw it, would you let me know right away?” His voice betrayed his anxiety. Marty glanced at him with concern.

“Sure thing, buddy. I can’t have my best pal and the firm’s sharpest CAD operator cracking up on me, now. Did you go see that shrink yesterday?”

“Yes. Dr. Bruecker. In fact, this was sort of his idea.” Well, it was only a small fib.

“Right. Well, I’ll keep my eyes open. You should get some rest, man, you’ve had five o’clock shadow since one o’clock.” He gave Rick a friendly slap on the shoulder as he left.

A quick glance at his watch, and Rick hurriedly shut down the computer and left the office. The gym would close in a few hours, and he wanted to get in a good workout tonight.

Rick smoothed the creases from the drawing of the tree and laid it on the bedside table. A landmark. He studied it for several minutes, thinking of the woman he’d met there so many times in his dreams. Suddenly he realized he didn’t even know her name. He mused on that. All the time they’d spent together, in his dreams at least, and he didn’t know who she was. Finally he shook his head and pushed the picture across the table, anchoring it under the corner of the alarm clock, its face turned toward the wall like some errant child in time-out.

He slipped into bed and turned out the light, and shortly he was asleep. The mistiness in his dreaming mind cleared, and she was there, waiting for him beneath the old gnarled tree. She looked troubled, for a moment, then she saw him and her face lit up in a smile.

“Hi!”

“Hi, yourself,” he said, taking her in his arms. Her hair ran like silk between his fingers, and she smelled sweet like flowers on the wind. He drew back to look into her jade green eyes. She looked back at him searchingly.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” he said slowly. “I just realized that in all the time I’ve known you, in my dreams, I’ve learned so much about you. I know what your favorite color is, and what you like to eat, and probably a hundred other things about you. But I’ve never known your name.” He looked at her, watching for any sign of reaction.

She looked soberly at him for a long moment. Then, unexpectedly, she began to laugh. “You know, you’re right!” she said when she’d caught her breath.

“I’m serious,” he said quietly.

“Oh, I know. I am too. I just hadn’t noticed until you pointed it out.” She touched his cheek with her palm. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just funny. It seems like everyone else I know, the first thing I learn is their name.” She looked deep into his eyes, as if to see into his soul. “I’m Molly. Short for Melinda.” He returned her gaze steadfastly.

He caught her hand gently in his and placed a tender kiss on the back of her hand. “Hello, Molly. And I think you’re just the right height for Melinda.” She smiled, blushing slightly. “I’m Rick. Richard, really, but Rick is less, er, imposing.”

“I like Richard,” she said softly. “It’s rather regal.” She placed her arms around his waist and closed the distance between them. “Hello, Richard,” she whispered, and surprised him by kissing him lightly, chastely, on the cheek. She’d never kissed him before. They stood in the shade of the old twisted tree, embracing each other gently. To his surprise, Rick felt feelings stirring deep inside himself. He buried his face in the hair at the nape of her neck, breathing its sweet aroma as the silken strands slipped across his face. They had often embraced before in his dreams, but it had not been like this. Never before had his passions stirred like this. His lips sought the nape of her neck, then the soft curve of her ear and the hollow of her cheek, before claiming her warm and willing lips. She groaned softly, and her lips parted in sweet invitation to his plunder. She kissed him with an urge that met his own, her arms drawing him to her as strongly as his held her to him. They drew apart at last.

“This is impossible,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “This can’t be happening. I’m dreaming.” Even to his own ears, his voice lacked conviction.

“We have to meet,” she whispered in a voice fraught with emotion. “For real, out there.” She was starting to recede; the mist was forming between them.

“But how will I find you?” he asked desperately.

“Look for the tree. I’ll be nearby.” Then she was gone.

“Molly!” Rick cried desperately, as he awoke to find an aching emptiness in his arms and a yearning fullness elsewhere. He sat on the edge of the bed and cupped his face in his hands. “I’m in love with a woman who exists in my dreams,” he said morosely. Then the irony of it hit him. “The woman of my dreams,” he muttered, “is a dream of a woman.” He looked at the picture of the tree. All right, he thought grimly, if that tree exists, I’m gonna find it. I’ll give it my best shot, anyway.

It was a busy morning at work, but Rick managed to squeeze in a call to the city forestry department. After several frustrating minutes trying to describe the tree, he finally suggested,

“Look, I’ve got a drawing of something like it, how about if I just fax that to you?” There was a long silence on the other end.

“You’re really serious about this?” The other man’s voice sounded dubious.

“I’m very serious about this,” Rick said impatiently. He jabbed at the computer keys. “It should be coming any minute.” There was another long silence.

“It’s coming now,” said the voice on the other end. “Wow! Are you some kind of artist?”

“No, just a CAD operator. Why? Do you recognize it?”

“No, sorry. Not around here. A tree like that could be hundreds of years old. There’s nothing like that around this city.”

“Oh.” Rick’s disappointment was heavy in that word.

“I’ll pass it around, though. If I hear anything I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks. Thanks, anyway,” Rick mumbled as he rang off.

He was leaning back in his office chair, staring at the tree on the computer screen and contemplating what to do next, when Marty came bustling in. A quick glance at the clock told him Marty was back early from lunch, a rare occurrence indeed.

“What’s up?”

“I think I’ve found your tree!” Rick froze.

“You what?” he breathed finally, his voice barely a whisper.

“I think I found your tree. Carol and I were having lunch on the mall, and I mentioned it to her. She thought she remembered seeing it too. So we dashed over and took a look. If it’s not your tree, it’s a dead ringer for it!” Marty was obviously immensely pleased with himself. Rick just stared at him for several moments, his throat suddenly gone dry and lifeless. Finally he found his tongue.

“Where?” he managed to get out at last. “And who is Carol?”

Marty looked at him pityingly. “You really have been off in your own little world, haven’t you? Carol and I have been engaged for nearly a year. We’re getting married this Fall. And you’d better come to the wedding, my man. I’m going to need you.” This slowly sank in.

“Engaged?” Rick was befuddled for a moment. “Have I met her?”

Marty nodded. “Man, you’re worse off than I thought. It’s a good thing you went to Dr. Bruecker when you did.”

Rick shook his head to clear it. “You said you saw the tree?” Marty nodded. “Where?”

“At the bookshop down on the mall.” Marty watched as Rick rapidly closed down the program. “What are you doing?”

Rick grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it. “I’m going to the bookstore. Cover for me, will you? Tell them I’ve had a medical emergency. Tell them I’ve gone insane. Tell them anything. I’ll be back after I check it out. But I have to check it out.” He paused momentarily in his headlong rush. “That’s funny, though. The City Forestry office said there weren’t any trees that old around here.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You did say the bookstore?” Marty nodded.

“It’s on a poster in the window,” he called out to Rick’s retreating back. Rick gave no sign that he had heard him, but loped on down the corridor to the connecting hall where the elevators were. Marty shook his head slowly. “He’s got it bad,” he said quietly to the empty office.

Rick stood looking up and down the streets outside the bookstore, frustration mounting. It wasn’t like Marty to pull a practical joke on him, but he was beginning to think maybe he had. Then, just as he was about to lose it, he spotted the tree—on a poster in the bookstore window. Then he remembered Marty yelling something at him as he’d hurried out. For a long time he just stood and stared at the poster. It was the tree, all right, almost exactly as he’d drawn it on the computer. But it wasn’t the only thing on the poster. Standing next to the tree was an auburn-haired lass who looked so much like Molly it could have been her twin sister. Beside her stood a man that could have been his reflection in the mirror in some sort of armor, and next to him was a very large, scalesome, sinuous, bat-winged creature done in a rich bronze color that could only be a dragon. He stared at it as if mesmerized for several minutes.

“Lose something, Mister?” The brisk voice of a security officer finally jolted him back to the present. Rick glanced at him.

“No, not really,” he said slowly. “I think I just found something, though.” He smiled at the man, who was regarding Rick as if he expected him to have epilepsy or something. “Something very special.” He reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a printout of the tree and showed it to the man. The officer looked from the paper in Rick’s hand to the poster in the window.

“That’s pretty good,” he said with begrudging admiration. “You an artist?”

“I work in computer aided design. Drawing with a computer. No broken pencils to mess with.” He smiled at his own joke. The officer grunted.

“Well, you’re early. The autograph session isn’t until tomorrow.”

“Autograph session?” Rick looked at the man blankly.

“Yeah. The lady that writes the dragon novels. She lives overseas, and she’s going to be here for a couple days signing autographs. Then she’s off on a tour, several places in the states, for a few weeks. She does it every year.” He looked at Rick intently. “You a fan?” he asked, a tinge of suspicion in his voice.

“Er, no. Actually, I, I’ve never read any of her books.”

“Well you ought to. They’re real good. I’ve read most of them, myself.” He drew himself up, looking slightly smug and superior.

“Well, in that case, I guess I’d better start reading,” Rick said calmly. He’d read most of the poster except for the fine print at the bottom. “Thanks for the recommendation,” he said pleasantly as he turned and walked toward the bookstore entrance.

“Any time, fella.”

It’s a good thing it’s Friday, Rick thought as he lugged a heavy sack of books in addition to his briefcase to the elevators after work.

“What’s in the sack?” Marty asked as they got on the elevator. Rick showed him. “Hmm. Planning on doing some heavy reading?” Rick looked at him and caught his grin. They both laughed at that.

It was late when Rick finished the second of the novels he’d bought. They were very good, he had to admit. Though he’d never been a fan of swords and sorcery type novels, with or without dragons, he was enjoying these. But after reading two of them, he was no closer to any clues about Molly. There had to be a connection; the poster in the bookstore made that clear. But what exactly was it? He shook his head. Perhaps he’d find out at the autograph session tomorrow afternoon.

Saturday morning crept by with exasperating slowness; Rick judged lichens could grow on a boulder faster. He’d eaten breakfast and washed up afterwards, then read two more of the novels before it was even close to time to think about getting ready to go to the bookstore. Finally he could stand it no longer.

“I’ll just be there early.”

It turned out to be a good thing. There was already a queue when he arrived. It stretched nearly to the door. After a good half-hour, the author arrived. He had to smile; her description of herself on the book jackets, while technically accurate, was also incomplete and left room for much incorrect extrapolation. The middle-aged lady who smiled genially as she seated herself at the table to sign autographs obviously startled a few fans in the line.

She glanced at his books as she autographed them. “You haven’t read some of these yet, have you?” she queried.

Rick coughed embarrassedly. “Actually, it was the tree that brought me here.”

“The tree?”

“On the poster.” He pointed to one nearby. “I seem to remember it from somewhere.” He drew out the picture of the tree he’d done on the computer. “It haunts my dreams.” He showed it to her. She spread it on the table, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Have you by any chance seen it?”

She looked at it, then at the poster, then at him, as if seeing him for the first time. She shook her head. “It isn’t possible,” she said softly. She looked up at him. “Are you looking for this tree, specifically?” Her words left something hanging, unspoken. Rick decided to play all his cards at once.

“Actually, I’m looking for Molly, er, Melinda.” He watched her face very carefully. Her expression left no doubt that she knew who Molly was. He leaned toward her, his eyes pleading. “I have to meet her. I have to know I’m not going crazy. Who is she?”

The woman studied him for a long moment. “She’s my grandniece. She does the illustrations for my books.” She seemed to come to a decision. “Wait right here a minute.” She bustled off to the manager’s office and soon returned. She pointed him to a chair on the side of the store. “Wait over there. It may be a while.”

Rick watched the people in the line, their books in their arms or in bags. One youngish looking woman had a backpack loaded with books. A young boy held his two volumes as tightly as though they were treasures. People came and went, and the doorbell jingle merrily each time the door was opened. Then a young woman came in, her auburn hair flowing behind her like a silken pennant.

“She looks familiar,” Rick thought. He watched intently as she bypassed the queue and went straight to the table, gathering a few disapproving looks on the way. She bent to speak to the older woman, and her hair fell down across her arm, an arm that looked, oh, so familiar. “It can’t be,” Rick thought, his throat going dry as his heart suddenly pounded far too hard. He stood up shakily. The older woman was pointing at him, and the younger woman turned to face him. Her eyes found his, and a look of utter shock crossed her features, to be gradually replaced by joy.

“Richard!” she cried, erasing the distance between them. They embraced.

“You really are real!” they both blurted out at once. Then they laughed, to the mystification of the onlookers. Finally the older woman spoke up.

“Why don’t you two get to know each other? I think there’s one of those awful ethnic restaurants down the block a ways. You can pick me up here after five o’clock, if you don’t mind, and we’ll sort out the future over dinner.” She spoke wryly. Molly kissed her on the cheek.

“Thanks for being so understanding,” she said tenderly.

“If you only knew, dear,” the older woman said softly, a faraway look in her eyes as she watched them leave, hand in hand. “If you only knew.”