Sidney Sheldon - Tell me your dreams

"Are you going?"

"Certainly not." It came out stronger than Ashley had intended.

Shane Miller looked at her curiously. "Why not? Those things can be fun."

Would Jim Cleary be there? Would he have a wife and children? What would he say to her? "Sorry I wasn't able to meet you at the train station. Sorry I lied to you about marrying you?"

"I'm not going."

But Ashley was unable to get the invitation out of her mind. It would be nice to see some of my old classmates, she thought. There were a few she had been close to. One in particular was Florence Schiffer. I wonder what's become of her? And she wondered whether the town of Bedford had changed.

Ashley Patterson had grown up in Bedford, Pennsylvania, a small town two hours east of Pittsburgh, deep in the Allegheny Mountains. Her father had been head of the Memorial Hospital of Bedford County, one of the top one hundred hospitals in the country.

Bedford had been a wonderful town to grow up in. There were parks for picnics, rivers to fish in and social events that-went on all year. Ashley enjoyed visiting Big

Valley, where there was an Amish colony. It was a common sight to see horses pulling Amish buggies with different colored tops, colors that depended on the degree of orthodoxy of the owners.

There were Mystery Village evenings and live theater and the Great Pumpkin Festival. Ashley smiled at the thought of the good times she had had there. Maybe I will go back, she thought. Jim Cleary won't have the nerve to show up.

Ashley told Shane Miller of her decision. "It's a week I from Friday," she said. "I'll be back Sunday night."

"Great. Let me know what time you're getting back. I'll pick you up at the airport."

"Thank you, Shane."

When Ashley returned from lunch, she walked into her work cubicle and turned her computer on. To her surprise, a sudden hail of pixels began rolling down the screen, creating an image. She stared at it, bewildered. The dots were forming a picture of her. As Ashley watched, horrified, a hand holding a butcher knife appeared at the top of the screen. The hand was racing toward her image, ready to plunge the knife into her chest.

Ashley screamed, "No!"

She snapped off the monitor and jumped to her feet. Shane Miller had hurried to her side. "Ashley! What is it?"

She was trembling. "On the... the screen—"

Shane turned on the computer. A picture of a kitten chasing a ball of yarn across a green lawn appeared.

Shane turned to look at Ashley, bewildered. What—?"

"It's—it's gone," she whispered.

"What's gone?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I—I've been under a of stress lately, Shane. I'm sorry."

"Why don't you go have a talk with Dr. Speakman?", Ashley had seen Dr. Speakman before. He was the company psychologist hired to counsel stressed-out computer whizzes. He was not a medical doctor, but he is intelligent and understanding, and it was helpful to be able to talk to someone.

"I'll go," Ashley said.

Dr. Ben Speakman was in his fifties, a patriarch at the fountain of youth. His office was a quiet oasis at the far end of the building, relaxed and comfortable.

"I had a terrible dream last night," Ashley said. She closed her eyes, reliving it. "I was running. I was in a huge garden filled with flowers… They had weird, ugly faces... They were screaming at me... I couldn't hear what they were saying. I just kept running toward something… I don't know what...." She stopped and opened her eyes.

"Could you have been running away from something? Was something chasing you?"

"I don't know. I—I think I'm being followed. Dr. Speakman. It sounds crazy, but—I think someone wants to kill me."

He studied her a moment. "Who would want to kill you?"

"I—I have no idea."

"Have you seen anyone following you?"

"No."

"You live alone, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Are you seeing anyone? I mean romantically?"

"No. Not right now."

"So it's been a while since you—I mean sometimes when a woman doesn't have a man in her life—well, a kind of physical tension can build up...."

What he's trying to tell me is that I need a good— She could not bring herself to say the word. She could hear her father yelling at her, "Don't ever say that word again. People will think you're a little slut. Nice people don't say flick. Where do you pick up that kind of language?"

"I think you've just been working too hard, Ashley. I don't believe you have anything to worry about. It's probably just tension. Take it a little easier for a while. Get more rest."

"I'll try."

Shane Miller was waiting for her. "What did Dr. Speakman say?"

Ashley managed a smile. "He says I'm fine. I've just been working too hard."

"Well, we'll have to do something about that," Shane said. "For openers, why don't you take the rest of the day off?" His voice was filled with concern.

"Thanks." She looked at him and smiled. He was a dear man. A good friend. He can't be the one, Ashley thought. He can't.

During the following week, Ashley could think of nothing but the reunion. I wonder if my going is a mistake? What if Jim Cleary does show up? Does he have any a how much he hurt me? Does he care? Will he even remember me?

The night before Ashley was to leave for Bedford, she was unable to sleep. She was tempted to cancel her flight. I'm being silly, she thought. The past is the past.

When Ashley picked up her ticket at the airport, she examined it and said, "I'm afraid there's been some mistake. I'm flying tourist. This is a first-class ticket."

"Yes. You changed it."

She stared at the clerk. "I what?"

"You telephoned and said to change it to a first-class ticket." He showed Ashley a slip of paper. "Is this your 'Credit card number?"

She looked at it and said slowly, "Yes..."

She had not made that phone call.

Ashley arrived in Bedford early and checked in at the Bedford Springs Resort. The reunion festivities did not start until six o'clock that evening, so she decided to explore the town. She hailed a taxi in front of the hotel.

"Where to, miss?"

"Let's just drive around."

Hometowns were supposed to look smaller when a native returned years later, but to Ashley, Bedford looked larger than she had remembered. The taxi drove up and down familiar streets, passing the offices of the Bedford Gazette and television station WKYE and a dozen familiar restaurants and art galleries. The Baker's Loaf of Bedford was still there and Clara's Place, the Fort Bedford Museum and Old Bedford Village. They passed the Memorial Hospital, a graceful three-story brick building with a portico. It was there that her father had become famous.

She recalled again the terrible, screaming fights between her mother and father. They had always been about the same thing. About what? She could not remember.

At five o'clock, Ashley returned to her hotel room. She changed clothes three times before finally deciding on what she was going to wear. She settled on a simple, flattering black dress.

When Ashley entered the festively decorated gymnasium of Bedford Area High School, she found herself surrounded by 120 vaguely familiar-looking strangers. Some of her former classmates were completely unrecognizable, others had changed little. Ashley was looking for one person: Jim Cleary. Would he have changed much? Would he have his wife with him? People were approaching Ashley.

"Ashley, it's Trent Waterson. You look great!"

"Thanks. So do you, Trent."

"I want you to meet my wife...."

"Ashley, it is you, isn't it?"

"Yes. Er—"

"Art. Art Davies. Remember me?"

"Of course." He was badly dressed and looked ill at ease.

"How is everything going, Art?"

"Well, you know I wanted to become an engineer, but it didn't work out."