Murder Dream

Patrick Jorden was sitting on his shrinks Doctor Sheila Cody’s couch as he told her about the nightmare he’s had for the past three days. He dug his fingernails into the arm of the couch as he told her every gory detail. Doctor Cody is about 53 years old, brown hair, green eyes, and a few wrinkles but she’s still attractive Patrick thought. She was typing notes on her laptop, and she looked up at him every so often. She saw he was nervous.

“Do you want to take a break? I see this is hard on you.” Doctor Cody asked.

“No, I’d rather get this over with.” Patrick answered taking a deep breath.

“Ok, keep going.”

“I’m in the interrogation room, it must have been hours, the cops are drilling me and I’m exhausted. I know on shows and movies people just give in and say they did it, but I was innocent and wasn’t going to do that.”

“You have no alibi; you had the knife in your hand, and you were covered in blood. How did that happen if you didn’t do it? Stop playing with us! We’re going to stay in here until you tell us the truth.” The officer said as he banged the table with his open hand.

The small interrogation room started spinning by now. Patrick was so tired, It felt like sweat dripping from every pore in his body.

“I I’m not lying. I didn’t do this. I don’t remember what happened after I left the bar. I must have been drugged.”

“You know how many times we heard that story? Hundreds.”

“So, take my blood do a test and we’ll see if I’m right. All I know is I went to have drinks with my friend Lee after work, then blank.”

“That’s the most I get of the dream. It seems every night I see a little more, but I just want it to end.” Patrick said holding back tears.

“There is a new therapy a colleague is working on, which is going through trials. The therapy is for people who have PTSD and it’s supposed to delete traumatic memories. It might work with you; I’ll have to ask him. Until then here is a prescription for triomax, it has helped people who have recurring nightmares. Take one at night before you go to bed and if it doesn’t work give me a call. Go to the pharmacy downstairs and they’ll fill it for you.”

“Thanks Doc.” Patrick said shaking the doctor’s hand. He walked out the door and pushed the button for the elevator.

***

Patrick was getting ready for bed, he took the pill and laid down and put on the television. He put on Takoma FD, a comedy, hoping that something funny would take his mind off the bad dream for a bit, in the middle of the second episode he was out.

***

The next morning Patrick woke up feeling rested. The pill actually worked; he took a deep breath then took a shower. His phone rang.

“Hello.” He said

“Hi Dad, how are you doing?”

It was his daughter Jennifer; he was so happy to hear her voice. She was at college at UCLA, she called as often as she could. Since her mother died, they’ve been there for each other. She felt bad for leaving him in Washington while she went to school in LA, but her father reminded her of what she promised her mother. He was so proud of her; she was going to be a doctor and she was in one of the best schools in the country.

“I’m doing fine sweetie, just getting ready to hit the grindstone.”

“How is work?”

Patrick worked as an architect, he loved his job, he worked on the plans for a couple of really nice buildings. Now he was working on the Columbia River Bridge, the last storm, a lightning strike hit it damaging it. It’s been closed for more than two months, over one-hundred-thousand cars drove over it every day, now traffic is being routed through the I-5 corridor and traffic was really bad.

“Keeping busy, the bridge had a few problems, but they’re sorted out now. Hopefully, we’ll be done with it soon though. How are your classes? How as your bio test?”

“Classes are good, got an A on the test. Hey, we’re having a break in a couple of months, why don’t I come to visit?”

“I’d love that, let me know when you’re coming down and I’ll get your room ready.”

“Ok dad. I have to go to class; we’ll chat soon, and we’ll have a longer chat.”

“Alright sweetheart, have a good day.”

They hung up and he had the first smile on his face in days. He was so proud of his little girl.

The next few days were really good, he hadn’t had the dream since taking the pills, he felt like his old self again.

His phone rang “Hello?”

“Patrick its doctor Cody. I have some good news, you’re in the trial, Doctor Brighten said he was interested in trying it on someone who didn’t have PTSD and that he could get you in on Thursday.”

“That’s great, so two days from now, I’ll put it in my calendar.”

“Great, I’m interested in seeing how it works, I’ll be there too. See you Thursday. Oh, until then you can’t take the medication. I know you’ll have the dream, but the machine won’t work with meds that block your dream, I’m sorry.”

“I’ll do what I have to do, thanks again Doc.”

The rest of the week went by slowly; he couldn’t wait to hopefully never have a bad dream like that again. That night he went out with his friends Janet and her husband Rick; they had a few drinks and ate. She was wearing her work clothes, a blue pants suit, and short red hair. Rick was wearing slacks; he was Japanese with black hair and the whitest smile he’d ever seen. They were so in love, he missed that feeling. His wife Rose died from cancer two years ago and he missed her every day. Jennifer wanted to stay home, but her mother before she died made her promise to go to school and make her dream come true, so she did.

That night Patrick was dreading sleep. He didn’t want to have that dream again, but he had to. He laid down in bed and put on the TV, this time watching Brooklyn Nine Nine, he thought maybe if he watched a comedy about cops maybe the dream would be funny. He gave a little chuckle and tried to enjoy the show. Before the episode ended, he fell asleep and not long after that the dream started.

“Hey Ben, I’m glad we could get together, with this project it’s been difficult.”

“I’m glad too, well let’s not talk about work. How’s Jennifer doing?”

“She’s doing great, getting A’s, she enjoys her professors, things are good with her. Oh, she’s going to visit on her break, you should bring Connie and Tom and we should do dinner.”

“We’d love that.” Ben answered.

The night was good, they laughed, drank, and ate, by the end of the night they were both full. Patrick didn’t think about the dream or work, just having a good conversation with his best friend. Walking home he felt a little dizzy.

“I don’t think I drank that much.” He thought

He got to his car, sat down, and thought he’d just rest a bit. When he woke up, he was next to a dead woman, he didn’t know who she was or where he was. Patrick had a bloody knife in his hand and blood all over him, he was in shock. He did the only thing he could, he called 911 not even thinking what they would say but it was the right thing. The police got there and looked at Patrick, then took out their guns.

“Put the knife down and put your hands on your head.” One officer said.

“I didn’t do this, I swear.”

“We’ll get this all settled at the station, just walk towards us and try not to step in the blood.” The second officer said

He dropped the knife and did what the officers said. They turned him around and put cuffs on him. On their way out they told him his rights. As they walked to the car, forensics techs with booties, thin pants and hoodies walked into the house, they came in with a case full of equipment without saying a word. The police put him in their car and drove off.

At the station they took mugshots and fingerprints then they led him to a small beige room with a small table and a mirror which he guessed was a one-way window. He’s only seen interrogations on TV, and he always wondered how real they portrayed it, but he didn’t want to find out this way.

“I’m officer Monroe, how did you know the victim?”

“I didn’t, I never met her.”

“So, you just saw her, and followed her?”

“No, I went to have drinks with a friend, felt dizzy, sat in my car and when I woke up, I was here.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard similar answers like that before. You’re not getting away with an insanity plea.”

“Officer, I don’t know what happened, I left the bar at 9:45pm and woke up at 7:20am with no memory of what happened in the time between.”

They continued the same questions but worded differently in the hope he’d made a mistake, it must have been hours, the cops drilled him and he was exhausted. I know on shows and movies people just give in and say they did it, but knew he was innocent and wasn’t going to do that.

“You have no alibi; you had the knife in your hand, and you were covered in blood. How did that happen if you didn’t do it? Stop playing with us! We’re going to stay in here until you tell us the truth.” The detective said banging on the table.

The small interrogation room started spinning by now. Patrick was so tired, It felt like sweat dripping from every pore in his body.

“I I’m not lying. I didn’t do this. I don’t remember what happened after I left the bar. I must have been drugged.”

“You know how many times we heard that story? Hundreds.”

“So, take my blood do a test and we’ll see if I’m right. All I know is I went to have drinks with my friend Lee after work, then blank.”

“We have enough evidence to put you away now, the knife, the blood.”

“I’m not going to say I’m guilty for something I did not do. Did you check the restaurant video? I was right in sight of the camera; I know that because I waved to Tommy the night manager in the office and he came and said hello to me. It won’t hurt anything, stick me in a cell for a couple of hours just look at it.”

There was a knock at the door, it was his captain, they walked outside. He asked if he checked out the video and the officer said no. The captain told him to go, check it out. The officer went back in the room with a uniformed cop and ordered him to take Mr. Jordan into holding.

Patrick’s alarm beeped which woke him up.

“Fuck!” Is all he said before he took a shower.

***

It was finally Thursday; it was only two days but it seemed like more. After work Patrick went to the doctor’s office and was greeted by Doctor Barry Wilks. He was tall, about 6’4”, thin, African American, he wore glasses that made him look nerdy, but they fit him well. They shook hands and talked a bit until Doctor Cody got there. When she did, Doctor Wilks took them into the room with the machine. It was a reclined chair and a weird looking headset. He wondered what it did but then again maybe not. If it works maybe, he’ll ask.

First, he asked Patrick to roll up his sleeve. Then he gave him a shot.

“This is to help you sleep.”

The doctor had Patrick sit down in the chair and just be calm.

Patrick gave a nervous grin.

Then he put the funny hat on his head. He felt really tired and started to drift off.

He goes out to dinner with Ben.

He feels dizzy so he sits in his car.

Wakes up next to the dead body.

The police take him in and interrogate him.

While he’s dreaming the doctor worked on finding the part of his brain the dream was coming from.

“This is faster and clearer than an MRI, look at his brain light up.” Doctor Sheila Cody excitedly said.

“Yes. It worked! This is the region of the brain the dream is coming from.”

Next, he took we use these little babies.

Looking up at the screen Sheila Cody said. “Nano bots? You made nanobots? This could be a game changer for many, many things.”

On the screen they could see the fibers go up his brain and to the spot where the dream came from. Then he let out the bots which the doctor controlled; on a touch screen he was able to send each bot to exactly where he wanted them to go. Sheila Cody was watching with wide eyes almost not blinking.

“Now I’ll have them put the serum I made in these spots and then we wait for him to wake up.”

Suddenly, the dream stopped, just faded away. They let him sleep. He woke up about two hours later and slowly opened his eyes.

“The dream just all of a sudden vanished, whatever you did was amazing, thank you!” He said smiling. He was so happy he gave Doctor Wilks a big hug. “Thank you!” He said once again.

“Well, we have to keep an eye on you to make sure there aren’t any side effects, so I’d like to call you every day to check on you for a bit.”

“No problem, Doc.”

They all said their goodbyes and Patrick went home.

A month later, still no dream or side effects, he was so happy. He never told Jennifer about the dream; he didn’t want to bother her with it. She came out to visit, the two made a little memorial dinner for Janet, had a little cry but laughed at the good times. Life was getting better.