Returning Your Dream

By Trudy Dannhardt

Returning Your Dream

Since the tender age of seven, David was haunted by the same recurring dream at the same location seeing the same people and with the same ending. It was a nightmare that dominated his life and for which he had no explanation.
Desperate for help, David sought out an old friend with whom he shared a room at college. Robert was a well known doctor of hypnotherapy. He promised to help him to interpret the dream and provide nightmare therapy and counselling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469179100

Trudy Dannhardt

The Author Trudy Dannhardt was born in Germany. After she had immigrated with her two sons to the USA, she discovered her love for writing. Her novels, written in German, are now being translated into English. Today, Trudy lives with her husband in Ottawa, Canada. She says, “Canada is inspiring, all I want to do is write.”

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Returning

Your Dream

Trudy Dannhardt

Copyright © 2012 by Trudy Dannhardt.

ISBN:          Softcover                                 978-1-4771-1799-6

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4691-7910-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 1

David would have preferred to spend the afternoon doing something else, but he just couldn’t live with the stress of not knowing anymore. He certainly didn’t want to spend another hour fumbling with his hands tied for a rational explanation for the inexplicable. Feeling helpless made him anxious. But he did however have a plan in mind, which gave him some measure of control over the situation. He had made an appointment with a Doctor Norton and was on his way to see him now. Feeling empowered, David broke into a light jog. He loved the way the streets of San Francisco ran and the way exercise could spring his mind and body free. He stopped only to confirm the address of a particular high rise, dashed through the lobby to an open elevator and let himself be transported to Doctor Norton’s practice on the eighth floor. When he arrived, David found the waiting room empty. There were only three chairs in the room, which he took as sign the wait would be a short one. A hint of lilac greeted him as he crossed the floor but when he searched for the source, he came up empty. There wasn’t a bud vase or an open window to be found. Undeterred, his nose finally traced it to a tiny capsule of scent blooming under the shade of the lamp. Another gentle waft calmed him enough so he could pause to take in the large black and white photographs that framed the walls around him. They looked to him to be vacation shots. Definitely not of Northern California. Maybe Western Canada. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes so he could contemplate the images scrolling through his own head, the ones that had plagued his dreams for years. The door opened and a delicate-looking woman with a coarse voice said: David, we’re ready for you in room number two.

Doris appeared to be in a bad mood, her face stained with bitterness. She didn’t even look at him. Her gaze was completely fixed to the chart held in her hand, as she led the way down the corridor. He took the opportunity to study her and came to the conclusion, that despite her outward demeanor, she really was quite attractive. He wondered what could possibly have poisoned such a lovely woman and made her so ugly. She hardly seemed suited to this line of work. A round of hypnosis would probably do her good too, he thought. Bad enough already that he was there for treatment, but to have someone like Doris be part of his healing process? What could be eating her, he wondered: a bad marriage, money problems combined with small children? No call to be so rude though, everyone has problems nowadays. Doris had been an integral part of this successful practice for a good ten years. She assisted Dr. Norton, a first rate hypnotist whose roster of clients equaled that of the top plastic surgeons in San Francisco. Her bitten facial expression and frosty demeanor lent her an air of impartiality and protected her from having to show any empathy for a fellow human being. David felt sorry for her. He couldn’t imagine any of the patients liking her. But Doctor Norton didn’t seem to have a problem with her, obviously, or she wouldn’t still be there. David entered the designated examination room. It was so dimly lit that he didn’t notice his friend waiting inside. The room hummed with quiet, as though all the sound had been vacuumed out until there was nothing left but a thick silence. Like all the others who had crossed the threshold before him, he took a deep breath and felt a sense of relaxation and lightness come over him as though a burden had dropped to the floor. Then he noticed the outline of his friend, light against the dark. Hey, old man, how the heck are you? Robert Norton greeted him as one old friend to another, which they were. Are you absolutely sure you want me to treat you? As I recall, you used to have a not so high opinion of my abilities! In fact, didn’t you once suggest I should become a professional playboy? Of course, in those days, I was the better-looking one, so I think it was just jealousy talking.

Yeah, right. I was jealous of you, Robert.

They laughed and gave one another a hug and a good-natured clap on the back.

You have to admit, Robert, we did share the same exquisite taste when it came to women. Except I never got more than a smile because you always beat me to it! But, I forgive you. I’m glad we met up again. You know, I’ve probably spent more time with you, my friend, than I have with any woman. That makes you the longest relationship I’ve ever had! I know you like I know the inside of my own trouser pocket. And yes, it’s true; I did say you should become a playboy. So, did you?

Robert just grinned, snapped on his desktop light and waved a photograph of his wife and kids under his friend’s nose.

Be honest, David! Does this look like the playboy lifestyle to you? Nope, I met and married the love of my life. I now have a seven-year-old son, Frank and a little girl, Melissa, who just turned three. His thumb traced their outlines under the glass.

And I can tell you I wouldn’t mind having another. It’s gotten so we can’t imagine our lives without them. You should come for a visit sometime. Promise you’ll come?

David took the photograph and contemplated his friend’s children. His eyes lingered on their mother. Do I know your wife? he asked.

Don’t think so, David. She was my Spanish teacher way back when, from El Salvador. She’s still teaching me stuff today.

She’s way too pretty for you. And look at your kids. I wish I had a family. David felt the prick of envy. It seemed to him he had never been lucky in love. Robert took the photograph back and placed it squarely on his desk."

So, what about you, David? he asked, checking out his friend’s ring finger. How’s your love life going? Anyone special? I bet she’s into music."

Nah, it’s always the same story. Women start off chasing me then they turn around and run away. It’s costing me a fortune in restaurants and flowers, he sighed.

Maybe you’re using the wrong approach. I could give you a few pointers on how to make a better impression on the ladies, my friend.

What good would that do? My work schedule isn’t exactly conducive to marriage, you know. I’m hardly ever home. I spend most of my time on airplanes. Hell, I must know every flight attendant from here to Hong Kong! There are mornings when I have to buy a newspaper just to find out the name of the city I went to bed in. I have never been on two consecutive dates with the same woman. Except for one, Robert, the girl of my dreams. The one I’ve come to talk to you about.

David hesitated as though he were afraid his friend would hate him for it. Robert seemed not to notice and took it as a joke instead.

Ha. Ha. So, you said you work for a bank?

Uh huh. No complaints when it comes to money. But work is not the be all and end all in the grand scheme of things. I would love to have a family. Really, I would. My cat is the only one waiting for me when I walk through the door and the only one to share my bed at night, he said, his voice loud with loneliness.

Well, I guess it’s better then nothing, mused Robert. Look, I understand you hate your job, but do you really believe it’s the only thing preventing you from having a relationship? Can you really blame your job for your crap luck with women? There are loads of people who have careers that aren’t exactly conducive to marriage and family: pilots, musicians, actors, doctors, nurses, taxi drivers, locomotive drivers… Need I go on? No, there’s something else going on here. There’s more to it than that. Whatever it is, I can help you with it. There’s no hocus pocus involved, the treatment is quite straightforward. Say, weren’t you going to be a pianist? Hope you didn’t let that outstanding talent of yours go to waste. Robert picked up a notepad and wrote the date at the top of the page. So, tell me about this dream of yours so I can get a handle on it. Who knows, it may even shed some light on your current situation. Sit back and relax. It works best if you place your hands at your sides.

David acquiesced and closed his eyes. Okay. I’ve been having this dream since I was eight years old. It occurs with some regularity and it’s always the same subject matter, setting, and sequence of events every time. And even though the dream started long before I ever moved to San Francisco, I recognize the street in it as the one I live on now.

Robert dimmed the lights a little more. In his experience darkness often helped to illuminate hidden details and allow memories to surface one by one in a non-threatening environment. David was so relaxed he seemed to melt into the couch, his dream no longer the enemy. Robert watched his body language as he listened to him tell the story.

It’s a beautiful day, he began. "I’m going for my usual jog on the same side of the street as my apartment. I can see a woman walking her dog on the other side of the street and another one coming out of a store. Nothing unusual going on. Then, bang! A loud noise, like an explosion, slams me to the ground. Chunks of cement, pieces of furniture—whole balconies even—are blasted into the air then drop like bombs onto the street and sidewalks! There’s dust everywhere, so thick I can’t see a thing. It’s like an atomic bomb went off! People around me start screaming their heads off then fall strangely silent. Debris just keeps falling out of the sky and landing on top of me. I feel like I’m being buried alive! I… I can hear the air being pummeled out of people’s bodies with every chunk that lands on them. But I can’t see them. It’s horrible. I’m lying in a tomb of rubble where it’s black as pitch and there’s no air, a pressure chamber with all the oxygen squeezed out. God, there’s so much pressure. I cannot move an inch. I start thinking maybe one more thing will fall on top of me and that’ll be it: I’ll be paralyzed for life! I can’t breathe with the panic and I pass out. But even though I’m unconscious, it’s like I can still see everything going on around me. Even so, I feel claustrophobic. It’s the exact same feeling as when my seatbelt is done up too tight on an airplane. At any rate, I’m pinned, stuck for God knows how long under a mountain of rubble. At a certain point I hear voices. Not individual ones, more like a steady drone. I realize they’re looking for survivors and unless I speak up now, I may never come out of this alive. I feel confused and don’t know where I am anymore, if I’m in a plane crash or buried under a house somewhere. I start thinking about my mother, you know, and I stop panicking. I’ve had the dream so many times that I know at this point, it’s just a matter of time before I am discovered and rescued. It’s like I know how it’ll all unfold before I’ve even gotten there in the dream. The voices are coming closer and I can hear them calling instructions back and forth to one another. There’s talk of a gas line explosion and that there may be up to thirty people buried in the rubble. I hear a woman’s voice and it’s like she’s steeling herself in advance. Finally someone discovers my hand, grey with dust and wedged in concrete and they tell me that if I can hear them, I should move a finger. I do and I hear all these voices rejoicing around me.

‘Hey, there’s someone alive over here! Come quick! Look! He just moved his finger.’

I can feel slabs of cement and steel being lifted off my body and fresh air swishing in and suddenly, I am free! Hands lift me from the rubble. My whole body hurts and I can hardly bear to be touched. Someone gently, carefully, brushes the dust and grit from my eyes and I can tell, without opening them, that it is a woman’s hand. They lift me onto a stretcher and hook me up to an IV. I feel cold. Someone places a soft blanket over me and I am bundled into an ambulance where it’s even colder still. My whole body starts to tremble and shake. But the woman, she stays with me. She appears to be a nurse.

‘Does it hurt anywhere?’ she asks as she takes my hand and turns it over in hers to gauge my pulse. ‘We’ll be at the hospital any minute now. Just hang in there and take a deep breath. Everything’s going to be alright.’ She doesn’t let go of my hand. It’s always the same woman’s voice. She uses the exact same words every time and they always have the same wonderful effect. I open my eyes a crack and all I can see is this lovely face. She has short hair and when I finally focus on her lips, she offers me her name. Lisa. That’s when I fall asleep. I never, ever, make it to the hospital. I always wake up soaked in sweat—not dust—and realize it was just a dream."

David looked worn out. The strain of reliving the dream was evident.

Robert, please believe me when I tell you that my dream is as real to me now as it was the first time I had it. Even though I am in a deep sleep, I live every moment as though it is happening in real life. I’m usually exhausted the morning after. I have problems concentrating, which I’m sure has not gone unnoticed by my clients. I don’t have time for this kind of crap. I need to be on top of my game. Every day I deal with industrial giants who entrust me with millions and millions of dollars worth of investments. Do you understand?

Of course. It makes perfect sense. Living the dream in your mind can take a physical toll on your body. It’s like your body reacts accordingly: your blood pressure rises, you’re in full-on fight or flight mode, flush with adrenalin. You can hear, feel and smell everything. In effect, you are experiencing your dream the way you would real life. Unfortunately, the analysis of dreams is not an exact science. We can only surmise their meaning, regardless of what Freud had to say about it.

Robert was deeply affected by David’s telling of the dream and wanted to do everything in his power to help his friend make sense of it all. He could almost feel how draining it must be for him to relive the same sequence of events over and over again. Leave it with me for a few days, David. I need to think on it a little so I can come up with a plan.

David sat up. Just knowing Robert was there to help made him feel better already.

No problem. I’ll be in touch with Doris. Robert and David stood to embrace one another before leaving. On his way out, he made it a point to wave and send Doris a little smile. Probably just what she needs, he thought as he left the office. David felt he had gained a measure of hope. He had every confidence in his friend’s ability to help. They had been best friends and had once shared an apartment and all the bills and housework that had come along with it. They had even shared the same taste in girls, often falling for the same ones. Many a rained out evening and weekend had been spent jamming, Robert on guitar and David on piano. Jazz was the name of the game back then. But, as it so often happens, they lost touch with one another the moment their studies were completed. David began to spend his free time on the weekends studying piano under his mother, Effi King. She was a wonderful teacher, never strict, always loving, and wanted nothing more than to see her son follow in her footsteps. She, herself, was an internationally renowned pianist and David dreamed that one day he too, might be discovered by someone like Herbert von Karajan, who had worked with and directed his mother during her own career. Music had played such a large role in her life and by extension, in his too. He and his sister had been swept along wherever the music had taken her, from city to city and country to country. Then one day, almost overnight really, David lost interest in the piano and every thought began to blossom around a new love. She liked to play too—only tennis, not piano. It was natural then, that David felt the need to switch career mid-stream. The piano was locked, abandoned and replaced with the clatter of a half dozen tennis racquets, much to his mother’s chagrin. But this new passion was short-lived. His efforts got him nothing but blisters and a very sore elbow and the woman he so worshipped soon traded him up for a more fit player. Not surprisingly, the racquets ended up in a pile at the flea market. David was so embarrassed he left his mother and sister and moved back to the United States, to San Francisco. A job search led to an apprenticeship in finance where his good looks, manners and natural ability with numbers stood him in good stead. His first position was in a bank, but it wasn’t long before he was given an office in admin. And from there, it was only a matter of time before he was hand-picked and groomed to travel the world and reel in the big fish, the industrial giants. It was his job to manage their investment portfolios. Meanwhile, his friend, Robert, had been busy building a family. It was only at a chance meeting three months ago that their paths had crossed again. That was how David learned Robert had put his psychology degree to good use and had opened a practice specializing in hypnosis. David told him a little of his dream and his friend had made him promise to come round soon for treatment.

Chapter 2

A little more than a month later, David woke up once again sweaty and in distress.

Oh God, this has just got to stop. He thought immediately of Doris and decided to call after breakfast for an appointment that very same day. Doris seemed friendlier this time.

We’ve had a cancellation. Do you think you can get here by eleven? No problem, I’ll be there."

Once seated in the examination room, Robert began the session by asking him a question.

Is there anything different in the version of the dream you have now compared to when you were younger? Like, were the cars different back then or did it take place in a different time period?

I’ve never really noticed. But, it’s always the same street, the same dog, and the same houses. Even the voices are the same.

So you’re saying the sequence of events is always the same.

Exactly.

Why did you never tell me about this dream before? Especially since you knew my major was in Psychology?

Because at that time you were my friend, not my therapist. Besides, I didn’t take the dream as seriously back then. It didn’t affect me then the way it does now. Most of the time I’d forget it shortly after I woke up. I can’t even explain it. When I’m in the dream, I don’t know if I am a child or an adult. I just know I’m there. The first time I feel any kind of self-awareness is when the explosion happens and I’m thrown to the ground. Has it always been that way, you ask? I don’t know. I can’t remember. What I do know is that I never make it to the hospital. I wake up at the exact same spot every time. At the very latest, it’s when that nurse, Lisa, gently brushes the dust from the lids of my eyes. It feels so good I no longer fear going blind. Yeah, that’s when I usually wake up.

"Tell you what. If I