Chapter Three

Plan of Action

Dani

On both Saturday and Sunday nights, the nightmares grew more intense. I was exhausted Monday morning when I got to my nine o’clock communication class. Like a zombie, I walked through the halls with mud colored circles under my eyes, watering and burning from lack of sleep. The strands of my normally shiny and styled, dark hair lay limp on top of my head. I looked and felt like hell.

After my class, I met with my counselor, Mr. Beatty.

“So what can I do for you, Danielle? You look like shit. Have you been pulling too many all-nighters?”

I shook my head. “I’ve been pulling all-nighters, but not by choice. I’m having horrific nightmares every night. Do you happen to know anybody who could tell me why and how to stop them?”

The teasing smile left Mr. Beatty’s face. “When did these start?”

“A little over two weeks ago. I’m physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. Before you ask, nothing has happened to cause them. Nothing traumatic. Nothing tragic. Nothing at all.”

“Hmm.” He puckered his lips and tapped his finger on his desk. “Did you ever have anything like them previously?”

“No, never. The last time I had a nightmare I can remember was when I was eight years old, and little, green men came through my bedroom window to eat me. That was one, single nightmare. It never repeated itself. These keep going on and on, getting worse every night.”

Mr. Beatty leaned back in his chair. “I know someone who might be able to help you. She’s a psychiatrist in Orlando. Her name is Dr. Grace DeMarco. She’s dealt with issues like yours before. Let me give her a call.” Mr. Beatty called Dr. DeMarco and made an appointment for three that afternoon.

I went to the coffee shop for some caffeine to keep me awake. I had my communications book with me to study. My stomach was doing flip-flops from the caffeine, so I bought a turkey sandwich, hoping it would help the nausea and keep me awake. As hard as I tried to keep my eyes open, they kept drifting shut. Finally, I gave up and moved to a back table. Laying my arms on the table and resting my head on my arms, I dozed off until a nightmare caused me to bolt upright, sending my textbook crashing to the floor and half the coffeehouse staring at me. Embarrassed, I picked up my book and scurried out of the shop.

****

At Dr. DeMarco’s office, I filled out the new patient paperwork and then opened my communications book, pretending to read. Letting my eyes gently close, I dozed for about ten minutes until my name was called. I was led to a small room where an attractive woman stood behind a polished wooden desk against a huge window looking out at several tall buildings. Dressed in a gray suit with a silk, magenta blouse, she wore her auburn, shoulder-length hair in a very flattering style.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Reynolds. I’m Dr. Grace DeMarco. Please have a seat. Mr. Beatty briefed me about your problem. However, I’d like to hear your version.”

I told her about the nightmares, told her I didn’t know why I was having them, no stressful events in my life, no sexual abuse, and no other traumatic events, nothing that might cause them. I talked for a solid twenty minutes without interruption. When I stopped, I took a deep breath and waited for her response.

She folded her delicate hands on her desk. “If you agree, I’d like to hypnotize you. Something in your psyche has alarmed you and won’t release itself. We need to find out exactly what it is and why it has suddenly become an issue. Recurring nightmares oftentimes can be explained once we determine what your mind is harboring. It could be something you’ve buried in your mind, and we simply need it to resurface. Perhaps it’s an experience you had as a child too horrific or embarrassing to remember, and the nightmares are trying to push it into the present. These nightmares can also become dangerous and lead to accidents because of insufficient sleep. Some doctors say nightmares can cause epilepsy. You probably have already experienced the lack of focus, motivation, and concentration. I can’t guarantee hypnosis will be the answer, but it’s the first step we should take.”

Dr. DeMarco moved forward and rested her elbows on her desk. “What do you think, Danielle?”

I’d never been hypnotized before. One time in my psychology class, we had a guest professor who hypnotized volunteers. They’d do foolish things when they were under hypnosis. The professor told one student he’d wake up and be Justin Bieber. The entire class laughed when he awakened and sang Bieber’s Boyfriend. He sounded more like a beaver than Justin Bieber. I felt sorry for him, making an ass of himself. I surely didn’t want that happening to me.

My situation was different. I wouldn’t be hypnotized for entertainment, and I’d have no audience to ridicule me. So I agreed and scheduled an appointment for nine the next morning.

When I arrived home, Dad was still at work. I removed pasta sauce and meatballs from the freezer. I put them on the burner to defrost and water on the stove to boil the pasta. Turning on the television and sitting on the couch, I thought I’d watch something mindless until the water boiled and the sauce warmed. I must’ve drifted off to sleep because I was again in the heavily overgrown area of an orange grove with the old man approaching me, crying tears of blood. He grabbed my arm and pulled me behind him. “Come, Danielle. Follow me.”

As I stumbled through the weeds and fallen tree branches, he kept supporting me. This time he led me to a magnificently tailored yard with a cobblestone path leading to a gorgeous, white house with gables and turrets. When he turned to look at me, he appeared so sad I no longer was afraid. Instead of him pulling me, I walked beside him to the mansion. I let him open the ornate, heavy door, and I followed him inside. Then the terror began.

As soon as the door closed, I heard piercing wails from every corner of the house. The walls, the floors, the ceilings were splattered with blood. The smell was so obnoxious I covered my mouth and nose with my arm. The man led me into a room filled with bludgeoned bodies in unnatural positions. As the bodies reached for me, I felt someone shaking me. “Dani! Dani. Wake up.”

Dad was shouting at me. “You left the food on the stove and fell asleep. The water has almost evaporated, and the sauce is boiling over.”

I jumped up, sweat dripping down my brow, not completely awake, and glared at Dad.

He scowled at me. “You can’t let this happen. You could’ve burned down the house.”

Now aware of my surroundings, I apologized, “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have sat down. I should’ve known I’d doze off.”

Dad’s voice became more sympathetic. “Well, I took the water and sauce off the burners. It’s no emergency anymore, but this has got to stop.”

“It will. It will. I saw a psychiatrist today. She wants to hypnotize me to find out why I’m having the nightmares. I have an appointment tomorrow morning. She said it could be dangerous if I don’t get answers. I guess this was a perfect example.”

After discussing my quandary, Dad agreed to accompany me to see Dr. DeMarco.

Frankie got home from his friend Dylan’s, and we ate dinner. I cleared the table and started the dishwasher. After a long, hot shower, I went directly to bed, hoping to sleep. As suspected, I was in the dilapidated house again trying to escape bloody, mutilated children coming toward me. Walking backward and unaware I was at the top of a staircase, I lost my footing and fell, toppling down the stairs. I felt the sensation of plummeting in space, but before I hit the bottom of the stairs, I woke up sweating and screaming. Gripped with fear, I looked around the room, unaware of where I was. Both Dad and Frankie rushed into the room. Dad embraced me, holding me against his strong body while I sobbed. Poor Frankie. He stood at the bottom of the bed, not knowing what to do or say.

“Dad, what can I do? Every time I close my eyes, the nightmares start.”

He held me close. “We’ll find an answer. If this hypnosis thing doesn’t work, we’ll try something else. We’ll ask that psychiatrist for sleeping pills. I still have some pills from when I dislocated my elbow. Let me give you one for tonight.”

When Dad went to get the pill, Frankie timidly came closer. “Are you okay?”

I didn’t want to burden the poor kid with my issues. “Yeah, I just need sleep. I’ve been having some bad dreams. Remember when you dreamt those monster trucks on your bookshelf came to life and attacked you? My dreams are similar, only they keep coming back. It’s like seeing a scary movie over and over again, but each time seems like the first time, and you’re just as frightened. Dad’s pill will help.”

Unsure if I was telling him the truth, he continued to stare.

I fell asleep not long after taking the pill. It worked to some degree. I had flashbacks instead of outright nightmares. I’d wake up, realize where I was, then fall back to sleep.