Weird Dreams

By Nelson Ancalmo

A horrible tragedy in which his entire family is killed, leaves Samuel Aaron Beckman, a young man living in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, without hope or somebody to look out for comfort.
An unexpected call from his best friend and college room mate, Larry Kendall, changes his life for ever.
He moves to New York City with the intention of starting a new life, unfortunately drugs and alcohol threaten to ruin his best intentions.
He begins to have weird dreams.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nelson Ancalmo
• Release date: Apr 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370202829

Nelson Ancalmo

Nelson Ancalmo M.D. was born in San Salvador, El Salvador, Central America. After finishing his Medical School, he traveled to the United States to complete his training in Cardio-Vascular Surgery. Presently he is retired and lives in Austin, Texas where he devotes his free time to writing, graphic design, astronomy and music. e-mail: [e-mail]

Book preview

Chapter 1

It wasn’t the loud noise coming from the busy street what woke him up, he was used to that kind of racket. Actually if the strident sounds made by cars horns, ambulances and fire-trucks sirens were taken away, there was a good chance he couldn’t get to fall asleep. What really made him jump out of bed, was the brilliant light of the morning sun coming through the bedroom window and hitting him directly in his eyes.

Son of a bitch! Just when I was getting to the better part of my sleep. How in God’s name did I forget to close the frigging curtains? Now it will be impossible to catch were I was!

Still in a daze he got out of bed stumbling towards the bathroom, while using the best of his repertoire of cursing obscenities. He barely made it to the toilet before he started to vomit, and when he kneel down, he felt his head splitting in half. So intense was the pain that he got dizzy, and for a moment he thought he was going to faint.

He wasn’t a stranger to hang-overs, but this one without any question, was the worst he’d ever experienced, and for a moment he thought of making the promise he was never going to drink again in his life, but immediately he dismissed it. He knew it was an empty promise, one he had made hundreds if not thousands of times before in his life.

At 30 years of age, with a handsome face and a thin and well built body, Samuel Aaron Beckman was proud of the way he looked, and pleased of what he had accomplished in life. He had a well paid job doing what he liked to do, and plenty of free time to enjoy the benefits of his hard work. On top of that there were lots of friends, both male and female, and he was absolutely convinced that a few of his girlfriends were madly in love with him. And he loved them all, each of them in a different way, but he managed to stay away from any kind of serious and permanent relationships.

In his mind, he thought of women as God’s gift to mankind, a gift that required to be handled with extreme care, unless you were willing to risk your freedom and your happiness for the rest of your life.

With this kind of philosophy, no women was allowed to spend more than two consecutive nights in his apartment. If he happened to like one girl in particular, he would ask her to come back another day. He was convinced that women were always looking for a new place where to move in, and his apartment located on East 10th Street, right across from Tompkins Square, in the East Village area of New York City, was a very attractive and convenient place where to live.

And this particular morning, alone in his apartment, and feeling the way he felt, was the proof he had embraced the right philosophy. The last thing he needed at this moment, was a woman screaming at him, complaining about his behavior and demanding some kind of an apology, and that was something he’d never believed in.

According to him, apologies were simply the admission of guilt and wrongdoing, in other words, irrational thinking and lack of planning. And as long as his behavior was his own responsibility, no apology was necessary, there was no need to make his life any more complicated than what it already was.

Surprisingly for a bachelor’s apartment, his place was nicely decorated and well kept. Not because he was a devoted homemaker, but because the maid service he used were there five times a week, from Monday to Friday, taking care of all his domestic needs: cooking, cleaning, and most important, grocery shopping to keep his refrigerator well stocked with his preferred meals and drinks.

And that was precisely the place he visited next. He knew he could find in there everything necessary to get rid of his hangover. He had a special concoction he’d used in the past with excellent results, he called it: the pH Shot. And it wasn’t his invention, this particular mixture was named and created by a nutritionist from Bridgewater, New Jersey, and contained a blend of kale, lemon juice, ginger root, cucumber, pineapple and water. Samuel kept a large jar of the pH Shot, cold and fresh, always available because of his frequent overindulgence with alcoholic beverages, and so far, it had proven very effective to relieve his symptoms.

By mid afternoon he was feeling almost like a human being again, so he decided to go for a stroll in Tompkins Square. It was Sunday and the weather outside was pleasant, he knew he could find a bench somewhere to sit and just enjoy the rest of the afternoon. He thought of bringing his guitar and play a bit of music, mostly for him, but people always stopped to hear him sing and play, and that made him very happy. Later, he would visit one of the nearby restaurants and have something for dinner.

The truth was he still felt a bit confused and afraid of his experience from the night before. It had been something totally unexpected, and in a way, very strange. He needed time to think and reconsider how he had been conducting his life in the past few months.

Chapter 2

A couple of miles west of the East Village, in the shopping district of SoHo, Gloria Williams, an attractive young woman in her late twenties, was found dead in her bedroom apartment. When she failed to wake up on Sunday morning, her room-mate and current lover, Virginia Waterman, placed a frantic call to 911.

The paramedics upon arrival confirmed she was dead, and leaving the scene untouched, they notified the police.

Because the death of the young woman could be the result of foul play, the police opened an investigation. The first thing they found out was that these two women, Gloria and Virginia, had attended a party on Saturday night at a place just a few blocks away from their apartment. According to Ms. Waterman, who still was under the effects of whatever chemicals she had consumed the night before, it had been one of those wild parties, with lots of people, plenty of alcohol and an abundance of drugs.

After questioning the hosts of the celebration, a list of attendants was obtained and every one of those who were present, received a summons to give their testimony at the local police department.

Detective Ruben Marino, the man in charge, knew that the list of attendants he had obtained was incomplete. As it happens, in most of these gatherings half of those present were invited by word of mouth by some friend, and had no connection with the people hosting the party. But he had to start somewhere, and based on his own experience, most of the times as the interrogation progressed, and with a little pressure from his side, new names were provided and added to the list of participants.

Unfortunately for him, the deceased, Ms. Williams, happened to be the daughter of a prominent politician in Washington, D C, and whether we’re willing to accept it or not, the wheels of justice do not move at the same speed and direction for everybody. In this case, avoiding any form of publicity became the number one priority, more so than investigating any possible foul play.

Detective Marino was enraged. He couldn’t understand how was it possible to conduct a homicide investigation and keep it away from the press, specially when the victim had such a high social and political profile.

But Chief, please you must understand me. You’ve been here where I’m, you have dealt with these people before, will you be kind to explain me how can I get to the bottom of this tragic death quietly and quickly?

The Chief of the Police Department of the Borough of Manhattan, was a man of few words, almost incapable of understanding anything else except the orders he had given, and much less willing to explain to one of his detectives how to conduct a quiet and prompt investigation.

Ruben, I’m not going to waste my time with you. If you don’t feel capable of conducting this investigation, just say so and I’ll assign another detective to the case. Now leave me alone, I got more important things to do!

Detective Marino left the office visibly upset, he knew this particular case was going to bring him nothing but troubles, and he was absolutely correct. As he was getting in his car, his cellphone began to ring, the number calling wasn’t one he recognized and the caller identity was being withheld.

"I hate people calling and not willing to reveal their identity, no need for such mysteries. Chances are it’s somebody trying to sell me something, or a nosy reporter on the hunt for some juicy news. Better wait to hear my voice mail messages, if they care to leave one."

He ignored that phone call and two consecutive calls from the same unknown number, all placed one after the other. He headed back to the dead girl’s apartment planning to check his voice mail box as soon as he had a free moment.

By the time he got there, the Crime Scene Investigation (CSI) team had already finished taking pictures, fingerprints and everything else police do when investigating a possible homicide. The Medical Examiner was also leaving the place, he was an old friend of Ruben, a retired physician who moonlighted as Coroner to supplement his income.

Well, if it isn’t my good friend Dr. Michael Stevens, nice to see you again, Doc, any ideas so far?

Hello Ruben, we meet again, eh? I guess I was the lucky one on call today. For what I can see, this looks like a drug overdose, we’ll have to wait for the toxicology analysis to find out what kind of drugs were used, but just as a first impression, it doesn’t seem to be any kind of foul play involved. As soon as I have the results, I’ll let you know, have a good day, Detective Marino, and stay out of trouble, if you can.

Yeah, if I can, easy for you to say…

He felt a great sense of relief. If this was a case of death by overdosing, then no criminal act had been committed and he could wrap the investigation in just a few more days. The sooner he could get it off his hands, the better, somehow he had a bad feeling about this affair.

Now he wanted to talk again with Virginia Waterman, the room-mate, and obtain from her all possible information about how they got the drugs and what kind were they.

He heard Dr Stevens calling as he was leaving.

Ruben, wait, there’s one more thing. This is the second case of overdose we’ve been called for today. The other happened here in SoHo, just a few blocks away. None had any signs of violence.

Thanks, Michael, please let me know the results of the autopsies. By the way, any information where this people got the drugs?

Nope, but you can get that from your detective friends, catch you later, Ruben.

His cellphone rang and once more he noticed the identity of the caller had been withheld. This time he answered the call.

This is Detective Ruben Marino, who’s calling?

The man on the other side was outraged, screaming in a loud and harsh voice.

Who the hell you think you are? You have no idea who I am, why haven’t you answered my calls?

Detective Marino had the strong impulse to end the call but managed to control his temper.

OK, buddy, lets try this once more, who’s calling? This is Detective Ruben Marino of the Manhattan Police Department, what can I do for you?

Whoever the caller was, kept silence for a moment, then in a more moderate tone he spoke.

Detective Marino, this is Senator Frank Williams, I’m Gloria’s father, can we talk somewhere for a moment?

Senator, please accept my apologies for not answering your calls, but there was no name or number I could identify, and as you can imagine I try to avoid phone calls from people I don’t know, most of the time is a reporter trying to get some news to print.

"I understand perfectly well, Detective, and please forgive my outburst. I’m in New York just a few blocks from Gloria’s apartment. Would you care for some lunch? We can meet at Le Pain Quotidien here in Soho."

Thank you, Senator, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.

Chapter 3

To the surprise of Detective Marino, Senator Williams turned out to be a pleasant and reasonable man in his late 60’s, and more than anything, a grief-stricken father. When he walked in the restaurant, Senator Williams was already waiting for him, sitting at the end of one of those long tables so characteristic of the place. At that hour, the place wasn’t too busy so they had enough privacy to talk without being disturbed.

The Senator ordered a tall cappuccino, a cup of their soup of the day, which turned out to be lentil soup, and a smoked salmon salad. Ruben, who wasn’t really interested in reading the menu, ordered the same.

Senator Williams, once again my apologies, the last thing you need at this moment is a smart pants detective ignoring your calls. Please accept also my sympathy in the death of your daughter.

The Senator was visibly upset, hardly touching his food.

Gloria was our only child, Detective, and I can’t figure out where we went wrong with her. She had everything she wanted, our love, a comfortable home, education, you name it, she had it. But since Irene, that was my wife, passed away just over a year ago, Gloria seemed to have lost all desire to continue with her college studies, lost interest in everything, became depressed, and unfortunately found refuge in the damn drugs!

The old man seemed for a moment to be at the verge of tears, so Ruben waited for him to recover and continue with their chat.

I tried to stay in touch with her as much as I could, but being in the Senate doesn’t leave you much free time. Our last phone conversation must’ve been less than a week ago. She was the same Gloria, always depressed, complaining of a new illness every week and visiting as many doctors and psychiatrists as the City of New York can support. But without her mother, I guess she didn’t have anybody to guide her. I hate to admit this, but I wasn’t a good father to her. I was always too busy, too involved in the matters of the Senate, you have no idea how sorry I feel…

Ruben again waited for the Senator to recover his composure.

Forgive me for what I have to ask you, Senator, but I would like to get to the bottom of this investigation and close it as soon as possible. I need to know if your daughter talked to you about her friends, the people she visited, or the places she liked to go. I must find the bastard who is supplying drugs to these kids, and nailed him to the wall. Besides your daughter, there was another reported death by overdose in the neighborhood on that day, apparently both attended the same party on Saturday night.

"I’m sorry, Detective, but Gloria was not the communicative type of person. The only friend she talked about was her room mate, Virginia Waterman, as you may know by now, they had a serious relationship, you know what