Dream Child

By J.J. DiBenedetto

Dr. Sara Alderson can deal with eighty-hour workweeks as a resident at Children’s Hospital. Dealing with crises in the Emergency Room or the OR is second nature to her. But now she faces a challenge that all of her training and experience hasn’t prepared her for: Lizzie, her four-year-old daughter, has inherited her ability to see other people’s dreams.

After Lizzie befriends a young boy on a trip to Washington, DC, and then wakes up in a panic that night because of a “bad funny dream,” Sara knows exactly what it means: her daughter is visiting the boy’s dreams. Complicating matters is the fact that the boy’s father is a Congressman, and he’s dreaming about a “scary man in a big black car” threatening his Daddy.

Unraveling a case of political corruption and blackmail would be hard enough for Sara under the best of circumstances. But when she has to view everything through the eyes of a toddler, it may be an impossible task.

Dream Child is the second 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: Mar 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301156795

Book preview

Look Who’s Talking

(February 2, 1996)

Well, it’s official. Doubly official, in fact. I just had the ultrasound and I’ve got the pictures to prove it. I can’t wait for Brian to get home so I can tell him the news, although I think he already suspects.

Even if he does, he’s still got a surprise coming to him. It certainly surprised me—when I heard the word twins I sat straight up from the table in shock and accidentally head-butted poor Dr. Kensington.

Somewhere between her office and the garage, the excitement begins to fade, though, and the fact that I’ve only gotten maybe three hours of sleep in the last thirty-six hours starts to catch up with me. I’m on autopilot as I get off the elevator and make my way to my car; thank God for assigned parking spots!

I rally a bit once I start the engine; the horrible thought of what Brian would think if I fell asleep at the wheel and got myself killed is almost as good as a nice strong jolt of caffeine. It keeps me awake for the short drive home, but I feel myself fading again as I lock the car and walk to the elevator.

By the time I put the key in the lock and hear my mother rush to the door, I’m almost asleep on my feet. Mom puts a finger to my lips. Quiet, she whispers. I just got Lizzie down for her nap.

Thanks, Mom, I whisper back. I could use one myself. I could tell her the news, but I want Brian to know first.

She leads me into my own apartment and sits me down on my couch. I can see that, she says. When’s the last time you got any sleep?

What day is today? I wish I was joking, but I’m not. For a first-year resident, even in a less stressful field like pediatrics, and even with the new hospital rule that’s supposed to limit us to only eighty-four hours a week, the schedule is pretty brutal.

Mom knows. I don’t complain about it, but I don’t have to—it’s obvious the toll it’s taking. It’s why she doesn’t make me ask for help with Lizzie, she just keeps volunteering herself. You want me to stay until Brian gets home, so you can get some rest? Exactly like that.

I hope she won’t mind doing it for the next two and a half years until my residency is finished. Or that it’s not going to be just Lizzie. God, yes. I’ve got just enough energy left to poke my head into Lizzie’s room and look in on my daughter. Mom is right behind me, peering over my shoulder.

Isn’t she beautiful?

Everyone says that about their children, but Lizzie really is. She’s got my eyes, but almost everything else about her takes after Brian. She’s skinny, even though she eats everything we put in front of her, and a lot of things we don’t—I have to admit that I’m very jealous about that. And she’s tall for her age—she’s probably going to be taller than me by the time she hits junior high school. Her hair is jet-black, like her father’s, but a little bit darker even than that. She’s sleeping so peacefully.

I wonder what she’ll think, when the time comes to tell her the big news? I don’t have the energy to think about it now—that’s a problem for another day. I go to my bedroom, take off my shoes and collapse. I’m out almost before my head hits the pillow…

Sara looks down, and she’s surprised to see her belly rather than her feet. She had no idea she would get this big this fast. It wasn’t like this the last time, with Lizzie, she thinks. But then, she reminds herself, Lizzie was just one—this time it’s two.

Sara walks into Lizzie’s room, where her daughter is sitting up in her bed, playing with a very old, very ratty stuffed rabbit.

Lizzie, honey? Mommy needs to talk to you, Sara says, and Lizzie sets Mister Pennington aside and looks up. Sara sees her own eyes staring at her, something that she wonders if she’ll ever get used to. She sits down on the bed, pats Lizzie on the head. You know your friend Marnie? Lizzie continues to look intently at Sara and nods her head up and down several times. You know how she has a baby brother? Lizzie continues to nod, not breaking eye contact with Sara. Sara wonders if this was how she was with her mother.

She’s about to continue when someone else walks into Lizzie’s room. Sara turns, but she knows before she does who she’ll see, and she knows—even though she’s never experienced this side of it before—exactly what’s going on.

Her daughter stands in the doorway, looking at Sara and another version of herself as well. Sara doesn’t say anything; she doesn’t want to scare Lizzie. Lizzie looks at herself briefly, but the image of herself seems to hold no interest. She focuses on Sara, concentrating all her three-year-old attention span on her mother.

You’re so big, Mommy!

Where’s Lizzie? She was standing in the doorway. She was—oh, my God.

She was seeing—she was inside—she saw me dreaming. She’s got it just like I do.

I jump out of bed and I have to hold myself back from running into her room in a panic. I don’t want to frighten her. She can’t possibly realize what just happened. She can’t know what it means. I take several deep breaths, collect myself as best I can, and then I walk slowly, calmly, into her room.

She’s sitting up on her bed. She fixes her gaze on me, just like she did in the dream, concentrating on me with all her might. Mommy, I had a funny dream.

I know you did, honey. Can you tell me about it? I sit next to her, also just like the dream.

You were big. Really big. You sat like now, on the bed. You were really big.

I hug her, kiss her forehead. "That is a funny dream. But I’m not big, not for real. It was just a dream." I can’t even imagine how I’m going to explain what happened to her. I’m concentrating on keeping my voice calm and level and soothing, and that takes all my effort.

My mother is watching us from the doorway, and I turn to look up at her. Everybody has funny dreams sometimes, honey, she says soothingly. She has no idea about funny dreams—in all this time I’ve never told her about mine. I may have to now, if Lizzie has the same—talent, ability, whatever you want to call it—that I do. But for now Mom’s oblivious to that. She coos to Lizzie, Do you want to try and go back to sleep?

No! Lizzie answers. So much for that. I’m hungry!

Of course she is. When is she not? At least it’s something to think about besides her dream. God, I haven’t thought about it in so long. I haven’t had the dreams myself in more than four years, not since Dr. Morris and Maureen and all that madness. Not once. I never, ever imagined Lizzie having them—I don’t know what I’m going to do.

I can’t think about that, so instead I focus on the task at hand—a snack for Lizzie. I fix her a bowl of cereal, with just enough milk, but not so much that the cereal gets soggy. She can be very picky about that. That’s exactly how you liked your Cheerios, Mom points out. I can’t help but notice that there’s just the tiniest hint of satisfaction in her voice. I always thought I wasn’t very much trouble as a child, but I guess I had my moments. I guess everyone does.

I got the amount of milk just right; Lizzie attacks her cereal with abandon, and immediately loses interest in the boring old adults. Which is a good thing at the moment. Surely you haven’t told her? Mom asks, once she’s sure Lizzie isn’t paying any attention to us. I ruffle Lizzie’s hair; she briefly looks up from her cereal to grin at me, then goes straight back to the task at hand. I grab Mom by the arm and drag her into the living room.

Told her what, Mom? I ask, as I collapse onto the couch.

She sighs, lowering her voice. That you’re having another baby. You think I can’t see the signs? Well, I didn’t, not until she said that.

There’s no point in denying it now. I was waiting until I told Brian first. But since the cat’s out of the bag, you might as well know it all. She’s confused by that, which somehow makes me feel a little better. She starts to speak but no words come out—she doesn’t even want to venture a guess as to what I mean. It’s not ‘a baby.’ It’s ‘babies,’ as in two of them.

Twins? Really? I can pretty much read her mind. She smiles, joyfully, and her first thought is something like Congratulations, that’s wonderful! Then her eyes widen in concern, and now she’s thinking You poor dear, that’s going to be so much work! and finally realization hits home and she’s thinking Oh, my God, I’m going to be here every day taking care of them, aren’t I? It all goes across her face in a second or two, and then she shifts back to joyful. She hugs me, kisses my forehead, starts to tear up.

"Mom, calm down. You’re going to make somebody, I nod towards Lizzie, still contentedly eating in the kitchen, all nervous, and they’ll want to know what’s going on."

OK, OK, she whispers, sitting down next to me.

We’re both quiet for a couple of minutes, and then something occurs to me. Mom?

She doesn’t give me a chance to finish. I don’t remember exactly.

You don’t even know what I was going to ask you!

You were the same age Lizzie is now, when I was pregnant with your brother. It wasn’t hard to guess. No, I suppose not. It’s just so easy to forget that Mom was my age, and she went through all the same things I’m going through now. Well, almost all the same things.

I don’t remember much before Bob was born. I do remember wanting to trade him in for a puppy after he came home, I laugh.

Mom rolls her eyes. You asked us that every day for the first six months or so, as I recall.

I had forgotten that. I got used to him eventually! It only took seventeen years. I hope Lizzie gets along better with her new siblings than I did with my brother. So you don’t remember when you told me I was going to have a brother?

Mom starts to answer, but she closes her mouth when Lizzie comes toddling over, milk dripping down her chin. I wipe her chin with my hand, then wipe my hand on my pants. Mom grimaces at that. My friend Marnie next door has a brother, Lizzie announces.

Yes, she does, I agree. Lizzie screws her face up, thinking very hard. She must be remembering her dream—my dream.

I want a brother too! Did I ever make demands like that? In that tone? Probably.

Mom looks at me pointedly; I guess that’s my answer. You know what, Lizzie? If you’re a very good girl, and if you wish for it really hard, maybe you’ll get one. Can you do that?

Lizzie’s expression changes in an instant; she stares up at her grandmother and says in the most serious tone she’s capable of, Yes, grandma! I can do that! I have to cover my mouth and turn away so she doesn’t see me laughing. Thanks so much, Mom.

Strangers on a Train

(December 9, 1996)

It feels like a scene from an old movie, kissing my husband goodbye in front of the open door of the train. I hang onto Brian as long as I can, but Helen, my mother-in-law, is shouting at me to get aboard already, and I have to finally let him go.

I’ll see you on Friday! he calls to me as I step backwards onto the train. Friday! Five whole days! We haven’t been apart that long since the first Christmas break right after we met. Seven years ago—I can’t believe it. It doesn’t feel nearly that long.

I take another backwards step, hanging onto the bar by the door, and I feel Lizzie come up and grab my leg. She’s peeking out from behind me. ’Bye, Daddy!

We love you! I shout to him as the sound of the locomotive gets louder. "I love you!" And then there’s a whistle, and the train starts to move. Helen pulls Lizzie away and I take another step back; the door slides closed in front of me and I wave to Brian. He’s jogging along, following me, but in a few seconds our car is clear of the platform and he’s out of sight.

Helen’s already got seats for all of us. We’re right at the end of the car—there are two pairs of facing seats, and Helen and I are on one side while Lizzie is up on her knees across from us. I settle into my seat and feel myself falling asleep almost immediately. All of my fellow residents at the hospital are the same—the moment we sit down on anything even remotely comfortable, our bodies want to go straight to sleep. I fight the urge; I’d like to get Lizzie calmed down before I try to take a nap.

That’s not going to be easy. She’s very excited, eyes darting all over the place at all the new and interesting-looking people and the scenery rolling by outside the window. She’s fascinated by everything, so much so that she’s forgotten her very grave concerns about leaving her father home all by himself with the twins. How will Daddy make Ben and Steffy go to sleep? I always help him!

Daddy will manage just fine, especially since where the twins are concerned, any task that Lizzie helps with ends up taking twice as long as it would without her. Besides, my mother will be on call in case he’s overwhelmed. I’m not worried at all. I just miss him already.

The trip down to Washington is only supposed to take two hours. My plan, once Lizzie has settled down, is to sit up with her for half an hour or so, get her a snack, and then hopefully sleep the rest of the way and let Helen watch her. I’ve got a stack of coloring books and some toys that I hope will occupy her.

But it’s immediately clear that won’t be necessary. I’ve barely got them out of my bag when Lizzie hops down from her seat and makes a beeline for a little boy two rows back and across the aisle from us. Helen’s halfway to her feet, but I put a hand on her arm. She just wants to make a new friend. I can see her from here, if she makes a fuss I’ll go get her.

Helen sighs heavily—she thinks I’m much too indulgent with Lizzie, but then again, she’s never really liked me anyway. I thought she’d finally warm up to me after I gave her grandchildren she could actually spend some time with, but it hasn’t exactly worked out that way.

She does have three grandkids from Brian’s brother, but they all live in Germany, and none of us have even met the youngest one. I hoped Lizzie—and now the twins—ten minutes away from her and available for visitation seven days a week, might buy me some goodwill, but they haven’t. The only thing I can really say in her favor is that Helen limits herself to private criticism; she doesn’t say anything in front of Lizzie. I suppose that’s something.

Helen turns her attention to the newspaper, and as she does something on the front page catches my eye—the name Sorrentino. Can I see that for a second? I ask Helen, and she hands the paper over. The article is about Paul Sorrentino, whose name rings a bell.

You know who that is—the mobster, Helen says, helping me out. He got off again. Everybody knows what he is, everybody knows he’s guilty, but they just can’t put him away.

That does sound familiar, but it’s not why the name attracted my attention. Sorrentino is also the last name of one of my patients, a little girl with juvenile diabetes. For just a moment I wonder if there could be a connection, but that’s obviously absurd. It’s not such an uncommon-sounding name, after all.

I hand the newspaper back to Helen and turn my attention to Lizzie and her new friend. The boy looks to be maybe a little older than her, but not much, maybe he’s five. Lizzie chatters with him—at him is probably more accurate, knowing her—and the woman sitting next to him, presumably his mother, looks Lizzie over and grins. Everything’s fine.

I keep looking at the woman—she seems familiar to me. She got on the train with us in Philadelphia, but I feel like I’ve seen her before that. Maybe at the hospital? The boy, or a sibling, might have been a patient. But that doesn’t feel right. I know her from somewhere else.

She’s older than me, I’d guess in her mid-thirties. She’s got light brown hair, almost blonde. Light glints from her ears; her earrings are real diamonds, I can tell. And she’s wearing a very stylish purple dress, as though she’s headed to some fancy event the moment she gets off the train.

While I watch the woman and try to figure out how I know her, Lizzie drags the boy away from her and back to our side of the train. The seats two rows behind us are empty, and obviously Lizzie feels she needs privacy for whatever she and her new friend are talking about. I don’t know where she gets it from—I wasn’t that social as a child, and I’m certain Brian wasn’t either. I’m glad she is, though.

I can’t quite make out what she’s saying, but as long as I can hear her voice I know she’s OK. Helen turns around to look every so often just to be sure, and after a few minutes the motion of the train is putting me to sleep again…

I awaken with a jolt. I don’t know what it was; I guess the tracks are uneven or something. It takes me a moment to get my bearings: Helen’s next to me, Lizzie is—she was a couple of rows back. I listen, but I can’t hear her. Is Lizzie still back there? I ask Helen.

Yes, she’s right where she… Helen and I turn around in unison, and, sure enough, Lizzie and the boy are no longer there. The mother is still in her seat, reading a book, oblivious. Where did they go?

OK. Think logically. Calmly. The train is moving, she can’t have wandered off it. She can’t have left the car on this end, because Helen was awake the whole time and she would have seen. So she must have gone the opposite way, towards the other end of the car. I’ll go look for her, I tell Helen.

I make it halfway down the car when I see a young man, probably college-age, knocking on the door of the bathroom, which then opens a crack. I hear Lizzie shout, I’m working! I need pri-privatecy! and then the door slams shut.

Oh, my. Working? I’m afraid to guess what she might be up to. I walk the rest of the way down the aisle. I’m sorry. That’s my daughter, I’ll get her, I tell the man. I knock on the door myself, and it opens just a crack again. I put my foot in to hold it open. Lizzie? What are you doing?

I’m almost done, Mommy! I can see the little boy in there; at a glance he looks unharmed. Nothing’s wrong. I decide, somewhat reluctantly, to let Lizzie finish whatever she’s doing; I take my foot out of the door and let her close it again. Two minutes go by, and it finally opens. Lizzie comes out, leading the little boy by his right arm. His left arm is wrapped in toilet paper. I have to look twice to see that the toilet paper is held on by several Mickey Mouse stickers.

I follow her as she heads back to our seats. Lizzie stops at the mother’s seat, where she’s finally noticed that her son is missing. Lizzie grabs the wrapped left arm and holds it up to the woman. Billy hurt himself. I’m making him all better. I’m all done except I need an inna-veeney. I bet my Mommy has one, and then he’ll be all better. Lizzie is absolutely beaming with pride.

The mother is horrified. Helen has come over, and she’s equally appalled. We all notice at the same moment spots of blood on the boy’s white shirt, and soaked through the toilet paper. Lizzie is unfazed by all the attention. My Mommy is a doctor, and she makes people all better. I watch her so I know what to do. I’m a doctor too!

Lizzie, what did you do? I’m the only adult who’s not ready to scream her head off.

Billy hurt himself. The train made a big bounce and he got a cut, she points at his left arm.

Right there, Billy agrees, gesturing to the sharp-edged tray, unfolded from the back of the seat in front of where they’d been sitting.

I know what to do, ‘cause I watch Mommy do it, she repeats to the boy’s mother. We went to the potty, and I told Billy not to cry ‘cause I was gonna make him all better so he shouldn’t cry, Lizzie explains. I closed the door ‘cause of privatecy, just like at the hospital ‘cause it’s private when you go to the doctor. Then I washed my hands, and I used soap ‘cause Mommy says that’s what you do when you’re a doctor.

The mother is calming down; Helen still looks appalled, though. And several other passengers are listening, too; the young man who had to use the bathroom has decided to hold it in, apparently fascinated by Lizzie’s tale.

She’s got herself an audience now and she knows it. She smiles brightly, making eye contact with each of her listeners in turn before she gets back to her story. He had blood ‘cause he got a cut. I know what to do. Mommy says you have to wash the cut place first, so I washed it with soap. Billy cried a little, but I told him not to and I said if he was good he could have a lollipop when I was done. It takes all my self-control to keep from doubling over with laughter at that.

She goes on, Then you have to bandaid up the cut, so I did that and I taped it with my stickers so it stayed. Indeed she did. I gave him the Mickey Mouse ones ‘cause he’s a boy. Perfectly logical. Now I’m all done ‘cept he needs his inna-veeney. I have no idea—oh, yes, I do. I know exactly what she means, but looking at the blank expressions around me, I’m the only one who does.

Lizzie, honey, what’s an ‘inna-veeney?’ Helen asks, clearly afraid of the answer. Lizzie gives her grandmother such a disdainful look that even my old professor Dr. Morris in his foulest mood would have approved of it.

You know! she says with supreme impatience. I’m going to have to talk to her—it’s not right for her to talk to her grandmother like that—but I can’t bring myself to stop her in the middle of her performance. An inna-veeney! You stick it in your arm, and there’s a big baggie with medicine and stuff and the stuff goes from the baggie into your arm and it makes you all better! Mommy always has them in the hospital!

Unbelievable. There is no way I was that smart at her age. No way.

The mother has fully recovered her composure. Thank you, Lizzie, she says.

Lizzie gives her a perfect little curtsey—where the heck did she learn that?—and says with her most charming smile, "You’re welcome. But you should say Dr. Lizzie. That’s how everybody at the hospital talks to Mommy."

The mother is almost as close to rolling over with laughter as I am. "Of course. I’m so sorry. Thank you, Dr. Lizzie."

I take Lizzie’s hand, and Billy’s, and walk them both over to our seats. I look back over my shoulder to the mother, I’ll just check over Dr. Lizzie’s work for you. She nods, and then she does start laughing. I can’t blame her. It’s the cutest thing I think I’ve ever seen.

OK, Doctor, I tell Lizzie, rummaging through my luggage for my travel medical bag. Let me take a look. You know how Dr. Laurie double-checks everything I do? That’s all I’m doing.

What about the inna-veeney?

We don’t always need an intravenous, Lizzie. If it’s a small cut like this, just cleaning it and bandaging it up is enough. We only use the intravenous when somebody is really hurt badly, I tell her as I pull out a bandage, an alcohol swab and some tape.

She’s disappointed; she obviously was looking forward to sticking an intravenous into Billy’s arm. Billy, on the other hand, is very relieved. Come here, I tell him, and he hops up on the seat next to me. You did a very nice job, Lizzie, but you know what? Maybe we could use this bandage instead, what do you think? She looks at it very carefully and nods her approval.

"Why don’t