Dream Reunion

By J.J. DiBenedetto

Dr. Sara Alderson is heading back to college for her ten-year class reunion. Her husband and two of her children are coming with her – and so are her supernatural dreams.

One of her old classmates is becoming more frantic with every passing night. Sara can’t see his face, but she can see everything else in his dreams, and he’s coming closer and closer to committing a desperate act to try and save his business. Sara’s the only one who can save him, and his family – if she can figure out who he is and what he’s planning in time.

Dream Reunion is the fifth book of the Dream Doctor Mysteries.
Other Books By JJ Dibenedetto:
The Dream Doctor Mysteries (all ten books!)

Betty and Howard's Excellent Adventure

The Jane Barnaby Adventures (all three books to date!)

Mr. Smith and the Roach (coming soon!)

Finding Dori (Welcome to Romance)

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.J. DiBenedetto
• Release date: Dec 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311355928

Book preview

Love and Death

(April 13-15, 2001)

I knew this day was coming. I’m actually surprised it took as long as it did. It’s been nearly three months since I put Lydia Saunders into a coma, and on Monday evening, four nights ago, she died.

I’m officially a killer now, even if no one outside my family knows it, or ever will. I thought I had made peace with it. When I confronted her inside of Brian’s dream, she would have killed me if I hadn’t acted. I did everything I could. I offered to let her go—to forget about everything she’d already done—if she just agreed to stop interfering in any more dreams. She refused. More than that, she would have killed me—by that point, she had already wounded me—if I didn’t shoot back.

I know it was the only choice. If I hadn’t done it, I’d have been the one in the coma—the one who died. And she would have had free rein to destroy more lives—including my husband and my children. I couldn’t let that happen.

Even so, it’s been tearing me up all week. Brian tried to convince me that the hour of uncontrollable crying followed by two hours of vomiting on Wednesday night was all due to hormones and morning sickness, but we both knew better.

Later, he admitted it, and—like always—he said the perfect thing to me. After he helped clean me up and we were lying in bed, he told me, I hate to see you beating yourself up, but you—you wouldn’t be the woman I love if you didn’t. You were right, and you saved all of us. But it still shouldn’t be easy, or something you ever feel good about. That’s the whole difference between you and her. And then he kissed me.

He was right. I killed another human being. I can’t ever let myself forget that, no matter what justification I had to do it. If I do, that’s a big step down the road to becoming Lydia—or something even worse.

That’s why I’m here, at her funeral, in an unflattering black dress that I had to borrow from my mother. Brian and I are near the back of the church, and we both look somewhat out of place in a room full of men and women in uniform. Lydia’s husband is a Major in the Air Force, and his fellow officers turned out in force to pay their respects.

I half-listen to most of the service, clutching Brian’s hand and begging God—and Lydia—to forgive me. I’m snapped out of it as the priest begins reading a new passage, and his words completely capture my attention. The life and death of each of us has its influence on others, the priest is saying. If we live, we live for the Lord; and if we die, we die for the Lord, so that alive or dead we belong to the Lord.

That makes all the sense in the world to me. I understood it the day after everything happened, down in the hospital chapel. I just forgot it these past few days. I was given these dreams for a reason, and I think—I believe—the reason is that I’m the right person to have them, and to use them correctly. Because I’m willing to take responsibility, to step in and act when I see the need. And to question myself afterwards.

I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Nothing about this is actually funny—I’m just amused by yet another reminder of how dim I can be about myself. I’ve known this for fifteen years, since high school, and I never really understood it until now…

…what do I do? The man is conscious, he’s looking up at me. He’s trying to speak, but he can’t get any words out. It doesn’t matter; I can read the question in his eyes. He wants to know how bad it is, if he’s got a chance.

More of his blood is inside the wreckage of his car than in him. I can’t even count all his injuries. And I’m—God, I don’t know anything! What the hell was I thinking signing up as a volunteer EMT? And why on Earth did they take me? He’s bleeding to death, and I’m the only one here, the only one who can do anything.

I do know something. I can tell him the truth. I have to. I reach down, take his hand, and squeeze. And I meet his eyes and shake my head. He deserves to know. He deserves not to be lied to. And he deserves not to be alone. I can do that…

I did the only thing I could have done that night, back in high school. I did the best I was capable of. And I did the same three months ago, in the dream. I don’t know if Lydia has forgiven me for it, and I hope that God has, but the person I most need forgiveness from is myself.

Which is what Brian, and Beth, and my parents and Aunt Kat have all been trying to convince me of for the last three months. It’s only now, sitting here as the procession out of the church begins, that it’s gotten through to me. And as I mull that over, Brian turns to me and gives me a kind, loving, perfect smile.

He can tell I’m relaxing ever so slightly. I can’t quite feel it myself, but I must have eased the pressure on his hand, and the muscles in my shoulders and my back have probably loosened just a little bit. I smile back at him, and it’s barely forced at all.

My newfound feelings of peace and forgiveness are sorely tested when Don Saunders comes up to us outside the church. Thank you for coming, he says, shaking first Brian’s hand and then mine. She would have appreciated it. Especially you coming out for her, he tells me. I drop my eyes and ball my left hand into a fist.

I can feel my nails, short as they are, digging into my palm. It hurts, but right at this moment, that’s a good thing. The pain helps; it’s keeping my mind focused on something other than his words.

After a moment, though, I feel my legs begin to wobble, and my stomach churn. I still hear Don’s voice, but it’s far away now. In my mind, I see Brian in his place. I can picture it so clearly: him and Grace and Lizzie and Ben and Steffy, greeting the mourners as my casket is loaded into the hearse. That’s what I’ve done to Don Saunders. Brian realizes something is wrong; he wraps his arm around me, and I force myself to calm down. It isn’t easy, but I manage it.

I’m very sorry, I say to Don in a small voice, still not meeting his eyes. I just spent two hours inside the church thinking about forgiveness. I guess I still have some work to do.

Thank you, he answers, mercifully moving on to other mourners. Brian puts an arm around me and steers me down the church steps and around the side of the building to the parking lot.

We’ve paid our respects. We don’t need to go to the wake, he says. There’s a part of me that wants to. A small voice in the back of my mind is telling me that I ought to be there, that I owe it to Don to witness every second of his pain. But I shut it out, and I let Brian unlock the car and open the passenger door for me. Before I can get in, he notices that I’ve actually drawn blood, from jabbing my nails into my palm. He takes a step towards the back of the car, to get my medical bag out of the trunk.

Never mind, I say, handing him my purse. He digs around in it and comes out with a disinfectant wipe and a bandage. He tears open the wipe, and I take a deep breath as he cleans the wound. It stings, but just for a moment. Then, just like that, he’s got it bandaged very nicely. He should be good at that sort of minor first aid—he has a pretty good teacher, after all.

We talk a little bit about the funeral on the way home. It’s not a very deep conversation; we’ve already been over and over everything Lydia-related a thousand times, and I’m sure I’ll need to go over it plenty more. But not right now.

Quickly enough, our talk turns from what we witnessed today in church to what we’ll be doing Sunday in a different church: Grace’s Confirmation. She’s not even twelve yet, but she insisted that she was ready and she wanted to go ahead and do it. She’s definitely responsible enough to make the decision for herself, so we agreed.

She made almost all the arrangements herself. She’s been doing her classes—well, religiously. My mother bought her a beautiful new dress for the occasion. And we’re all very curious about what saint’s name she’s chosen to take. She’s keeping that a secret until Sunday.

It’s almost four o’clock by the time we get home. There’s no point in either of us going back to work for just an hour. Grace and Lizzie aren’t home yet; Dad picked them up from school, and they must have talked him into taking them over to the Pentagon City mall for a little while. My Mom is bringing the twins here when she leaves the office at five, so other than the dog, we’ve got the house to ourselves for at least a little while.

There are a lot of things we could do. I could cook dinner so it’d be ready for when the kids get home. We could straighten up around the house, or tackle any one of the hundreds of things that need to be fixed. We could even just take a nice long walk—it’s beautiful out. Chrissy would love that.

But standing there in our silent, child-free living room, Brian and I look at each other, and we both reach the same conclusion at the same exact moment. I want to—need to—put all thoughts about this afternoon and Lydia and death as far out of my mind as possible, and I can see that he does, too.

We’re in the bedroom, and then on the bed, all over each other, in no time at all. It’s difficult to think coherently with his hands—oh, God, right there! Keep doing that!

He pulls away from me, just for a moment, and I raise my head, looking towards the door. It’s open, and our children—not to mention my parents—could walk through it at any moment. I get up to close it, with Brian hanging on to me all the way to the door. I lock it as well, just in case, and then a moment later I’m back on the bed, Brian’s hands all over me.

I’m lost in his touch, his kisses, but the blast of a horn somewhere outside, down the street, breaks the mood. I glance towards the clock, and I know the kids will be home sooner rather than later. I refuse to let that spoil this moment, but I can’t ignore it, either. It just means we don’t have time to take things as slowly as we usually like to.

I want to be very sure that Brian—well, that he gets everything he deserves. I turn back to him, and I give the matter my full attention. Under my touch, he lets out a gasp and just about shouts That! Don’t—don’t stop! He’s panting, and his eyes are going out of focus. I don’t disappoint him.

A little later, he still hasn’t quite caught his breath. You—that—God! I give him a very self-satisfied smile, even though I haven’t been yet. I think I’m going to have to wait until bedtime tonight. I don’t want to push our luck, the kids have to be home soon. But I don’t mind waiting; Brian will reward my patience.

In the meantime, we both collect ourselves as best we can. Brian is staring at my hands. I do know how to use them pretty well, don’t I? Even though I don’t do it often, I still have a surgeon’s hands, I tell him, sitting up. I’m just glad I can put them to good use at home, too. He starts to answer, but the sound of footsteps clambering up the stairs cuts him short.

He looks around frantically for his clothes, which are nowhere to be seen. He does the next best thing—he jumps off the bed and runs for the bathroom. I hide myself beneath the sheets.

Thankfully, it’s the twins rather than Lizzie and Grace, so they don’t question why the door is locked, and their father only opens it after a minute, and in his bathrobe. I guess Lizzie might not question it, if she saw us now. Grace, on the other hand, wouldn’t have to question it, and I’m grateful I don’t need to deal with that either.

I look over at the clock. It’s just after midnight; we’ve just been lying here for at least the last half-hour and I’m not really recovered yet. I’m still shaking. My patience was definitely rewarded. Thank you, I tell Brian for the twentieth time. It was—God, intense isn’t nearly strong enough to describe it. I don’t know how I managed to keep from screaming out and waking the kids—or maybe even the neighbors. Maybe that’s why, I mutter.

Why what?

Why it was so—why I felt… I don’t even know the words. I was forcing myself to be quiet, and I think maybe that’s what made it so much—more.

Brian’s shaking his head. I think there’s another reason. It’s not going to be much longer before—well, you remember how it was when you were carrying the twins. He’s right. If this wasn’t the last time until after I’ve given birth, that day isn’t too far off.

At least, if this was the last time, we both made the most of it. I think back to my words this afternoon. If I have surgeon’s hands, what does Brian have? After that performance…?

I laugh; I can’t help myself. He looks at me curiously, but still with a smile on his face. I just thought of something. Your hands are like—you’re a musician, and you’re playing me like an instrument. Like—I don’t know, a guitar, maybe? That’s exactly it. He knows how to play all the chords, how to strum each string, exactly the right way—and how to keep me in perfect tune.

The look he gives me when I say that—I’m completely helpless. I’ve always been, for him. Do we have time for an encore?

I can’t turn away from his gaze to look at the clock, and there’d be no point anyway. God, yes. Please!

Sara is in Brian’s dorm room. The sky is gray and featureless, but it’s lightening as she stares out the window. The minutes are ticking away; she knows they can’t stay here much longer. Beth is waiting for them back in Sara’s room; they’ve got an appointment at noon. High noon, Sara thinks.

She reluctantly disentangles herself from Brian, gets up and begins to dress. A minute later, he does the same. This whole time, from the moment Sara walked in the door, not a word was spoken. There was—is—no need. Their eyes meet and they both know there’s no choice, and no more time to delay. They have to go.

Sara takes the lead, puts her hand on the doorknob, turns it—and she’s thrown back as the door is pushed open from outside. A dark-haired woman stands there, wearing the tattered shreds of a red dress, holding a rifle in her hands. There’s a mad gleam in her eyes. You think I was going to just sit and wait for you to come into my house, princess?

Sara, sprawled out on the floor, looks up at Lydia in terror. It’s not like that! We weren’t coming to kill you!

You’re right about that!

Sara sees Brian’s movement out of the corner of her eye, sees him heading for Lydia. And then she sees Lydia react, take aim, squeeze the trigger. The report of the rifle echoes through the room, almost deafening Sara. But the sound of Brian being thrown against the wall by the force of the bullet is louder still. And the empty, dead thud of his head against the floor a second later is the loudest and most terrible sound Sara has ever heard…

I have to save him! He can’t die! I won’t let him! I’m kneeling over Brian, trying to—to—what?

He’s opening his eyes, staring up at me. Sara?

You’re alive! Why wouldn’t he be? Why did I think…?

He realizes it the same time I do. I feel myself starting to relax as he says, You were dreaming. He takes my hands, pulling them off of his chest. I still half-expect to see them covered in his blood—why? What was I dreaming about?

But there’s no blood. I close my eyes tightly, try to force myself to remember. Nothing comes to me. Of course not. I never remember my own dreams. Only everyone else’s. I can still make a good guess. It must have been Lydia. I must have been dreaming about her, about… About things happening differently when we confronted each other. It could have gone that way so easily.

Obviously, I still have a lot of things to work through. My eyes are still closed, and I feel Brian’s arms around me, enfolding me. You’re still here. And so am I. Neither of us is going anywhere, Sara. No, we’re not. I guess I’m just going to have to remind myself of that from time to time.

The day goes by very quickly. After a leisurely breakfast, Brian and I spend most of the afternoon in church. There’s a rehearsal for Grace’s Confirmation, and then her and each of her fellow candidates—I’m pretty sure that’s the right word—have five minutes with the Bishop.

On the way back home, she tells us, He just asked if I was sure about everything, if I knew what Confirmation meant. And he wanted to know what saint’s name I picked.

And? I don’t really expect an answer, and I don’t get one.

It’s a surprise, Mom. Three months after she started calling me that, I still feel a twinge in my heart every time she does. There are times, more and more often now, when I almost forget that I didn’t give birth to her, and I definitely forget that she only came to us two and a half years ago.

I guess that surprise will have to wait until tomorrow, but there’s a whole other surprise when we get home—Ben and Helen are there. Grace runs to them the moment we get in the door and hugs them both. I look at Brian, and before I can even ask if he knew they were coming, he shrugs.

Grace called us and asked us to come, Ben explains.

I get the full story over dinner. It’s a very crowded house, with Brian’s parents and mine both here. My godfather is, Grace says, and then hesitates before going on, he died. And I don’t know where my godmother is. I haven’t heard from her since before… She doesn’t need to finish the sentence. Anyway, I wanted someone to stand up for me. Besides you and Dad, she tells me. So I asked Grandma Helen if she—if she’d be my new godmother. And, she turns to my father, Grandpa Howard, he’s my godfather now. I know I’m not supposed to be the one to choose, but…

I can’t take it. I have to get up and walk away from the table before my whole family sees me dissolve into tears. I’m not the only one; my Mom is barely holding them back and even Helen is more emotional than I’ve ever seen her. This is just—I don’t think there are any words. I try and fail to compose myself, but I go back to the table anyway. I have to do the only thing I can think of—grab Grace, pull her out of her chair, and hug her to me until she whimpers and starts to turn blue.

We’re sitting in the pews, three rows in back of Grace. One by one, the Bishop reads the names of the candidates for Confirmation and they come up, their footsteps echoing in the huge cathedral. Until a few weeks ago, I didn’t even know there was a Catholic cathedral in Arlington.

I’m not sure what order they’re being called in, because it isn’t alphabetical. About half of the candidates have been called when the Bishop finally gets to her. Grace Marie Nicholas Sorrentino Alderson, he says, and our daughter, in her beautiful white dress, walks proudly up to the altar. My first thought is how lucky I am—we all are—to have her in our lives. My second thought is that she’s got the longest name of anyone who’s been called. And my third thought is—Nicholas?

I put it out of my mind for the rest of the service, but afterwards, at a late lunch, everyone wants an explanation. Except for Helen and my father—she must have told them ahead of time. I spent a long time trying to think of who I should pick, Grace says. I—I took your name, and I—I guess I just wanted to pick a saint that made me think of my father.

One of the things that Saint Nicholas is the patron saint of, my father picks up the story, is thieves.

"Reformed thieves," Helen adds. Paul Sorrentino was much worse than just a thief, and I don’t honestly know if I can say he was reformed. But I understand exactly what Grace was thinking.

He’d like it, Grace says. Once I explained it to him. I think she’s right. He was honest at the end, when he brought Grace to us. He knew what he was, and he wasn’t proud of it. But he loved his daughter with everything he had, and he did his best to protect her from the world he was involved in.

As hard as he tried, though, she was too smart not to know that her father was a criminal. And she’s too honest with herself to pretend it’s not true. Thinking of him as a reformed thief is her way of admitting the truth about him, coming to terms with it and honoring him, all at the same time.

Just like all the rest of my kids, she just keeps surprising me. He’d love it, honey. And I do, too.

When we get home, everyone is happy, well-fed and thoroughly exhausted. Chrissy is panting and whining, but I’m not up to taking her for a walk. My Dad very kindly agrees to take her out, as long as a grandchild or two goes with him, and he ends up with all four of them.

I collapse onto the couch, and it’s only now that I see the mail sitting on the end table. We never got around to opening it yesterday, and right on top are two letters from the Crewe University Alumni Association, one each for Brian and me. Mine is thicker than his, which doesn’t make any sense. And then, after two seconds of thought, it does. We didn’t graduate the same year, so my envelope is going to have something his doesn’t. I tear it open, knowing what’s going to be inside: the invitation to my ten-year class reunion…

Sara

(October 5-7, 2001)

It’s ten o’clock and I’m just laying out on the bed when the phone rings. I pick it up immediately. I don’t want it to disturb Matty, sleeping in his crib. Especially since it took almost an hour to get him to sleep tonight.

I don’t need to bother with the caller ID; I already know who it is. I’ve been hoping not to get this call, but I expected it. When I hear Beth’s brittle, barely-controlled voice say, She’s still throwing up! I sit up immediately.

I wish I was wrong. But I know I’m not. Little Sara is going to need surgery, and she’s going to need it right away. I feel a strong, comforting arm around me, but I don’t turn to look at my husband. All my attention is focused on my best friend, on calming her down. Beth, we’re going to take care of her. But we need—you need to bring her to the hospital tonight. Right now. I try to project calm and confidence and hope to her, but she’s not hearing it.

"The hospital? Can’t you just examine

Reviews for Dream Reunion

[mary6endersbe · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Sarah and Brian's lives are progressing and believe it or not, it is time for Sarah's 10 year college reunion. She is excited to reunite with all of her old friends. Only, once again, Sarah's dreams predict the future of one of her classmates, someone who has gotten himself into a lot of trouble and Sarah believes she is the only one who can help. The mystery is, which one of her classmates is the one who needs the help so desperately and how will she be able to come to someone's rescue without risking her relationship with Brian.This book was lots of fun as I got to catch up with some of my old favorites from the early books. DiBenedetto also does a wonderful job of progressing Sarah and Brian and their family through their lives. Besides the paranormal twist, their day-to-day lives seem realistic and believable. At the end of this book, there are hints at some changes coming down the road for the Aldersons. I especially appreciate the caring relationship the parents have with their large household of 5 children, surrounding them with love and loving people in their lives. This is another great installment in the lives of the Aldersons, and I am anxious to see what the next chapter brings.

[reneenmeland · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Dream Reunion takes us into the life of Sara, a woman who can see into other people's dreams. I was thrilled to find out that it was written in first person. Though the dream part was interesting, I felt more emotionally involved with Sara's family life. The author did a great job making each character a full-fledged human being with real, every day problems that we can all relate to. Sara was not only a powerful woman who had an extraordinary gift, she was also a wife who felt guilty for yelling at her husband, a mother who dreaded talking to her daughters about boys, and a daughter who needed her parents' help more than she wanted to admit. I'm excited to see what happens in the next one.

[sheiladeeth_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

J.J. DiBenedetto creates a wonderful sense of real world relationships in his Dream series, with characters that love and care for each other, marry, give birth, struggle with finances, jobs and commitments, and... Well, then there’s his equally wonderfully created, slightly paranormal world as well, where a generous doctor called Sara shares other people’s dreams and struggles with the morality of interfering in the name of giving help. Of course, in book 5 of this series, the moral and paranormal struggle became scarily physical. But now, in book 6, readers are able to explore the aftermath of a decision to “do no harm”—not just a doctor’s decision but also a dreamer’s.As Sara prepares for her 10-year reunion, as her daughters prepare for their teens—for boys, for kisses and more—as her husband struggles with the morality of weapons built for war and with finances ever failing, and as imagined guilt threatens to overwhelm them all, the dreams begin again.I love the very human, very real characters in these novels. Over the series, readers come to know them well and want the best for them. Luckily we can trust that’s what the author wants too. I love the gentle hints of spirituality as Sara questions why she’s been given her gift. I love the wise and powerful messages of love that overcome argument sand slammed doors. And I love these books. Going from strength to strength, heading forward through time and complexity, they’re clearly best read from the start, but each novel’s complete, and hints of the past will only encourage new readers to go back and read the rest.Disclosure: I was given a copy and I offer my honest review