Oneirophobia
Sarah Ryerson straightened Lionel Penn's tie as the two doctors stood in the lobby of the Essex Country Club amidst a crowd of the psychiatrist's aging former classmates.
"There!" she said, standing back to look at her handiwork. "You clean up well, Dr. Penn."
Lionel grimaced. He had never been one for formalwear or formal occasions, for that matter. The ruggedly handsome psychiatrist would have preferred being aboard his boat or in a quiet restaurant enjoying a mouthwatering lobster.
"I wish this night were over," he grumbled.
"Don't be silly!" Sarah exclaimed. "This is your twentieth high school reunion. Surely, you want to see how much everyone has changed."
"Not really. Most of the people I went to school with still live here in Puritan Falls. I know who got married, who is divorced, who gained weight, who had a facelift."
"What about classmates that don't live here? Aren't you the least bit curious about them?"
"Not really, besides when I went to my tenth reunion, only the locals showed up."
"If nothing else, you'll get a good meal. After all, what you love most after your boat is food."
"That's true," Lionel agreed with an endearing lopsided smile. "The chef here does make a delicious chateaubriand."
The psychiatrist's smile quickly faded when he walked into the banquet room and saw the little cardboard name cards on each table.
"Oh, great! Assigned seats. I was planning on sitting next to Shawn and Penny McMurtry. At least we would have been in good company then."
Sarah read more than two dozen names before finding theirs. She then looked at the cards to see who would be sitting next to them.
"This isn't too bad," she said. "I've got Josiah Barnard sitting to my right. And you've got ...."
She reached for the card and read it, but the name was an unfamiliar one.
"Who is Sherry Paget? Did she go to school with you?"
"Sherry?" Lionel echoed with surprise. "She's here? The last I heard she was living in London."
"That's a long way to travel for a high school reunion."
"Sherry and I were good friends when we were kids. She lived only three doors down from my parents' house. We even went out a few times in our senior year. It was nothing serious, but we did go to the prom together."
"Did you stay in touch?"
"At first, but then she moved to England when I entered medical school. I always wanted to go visit her, but—you known how it is. Some people take forefront in our lives while others fade to the back."
When Sarah saw Josiah Barnard and wife enter the room, she and Lionel joined them at the bar. Josiah was one of the high school classmates that the psychiatrist saw on a regular basis. A single man, Dr. Penn often ate out, and Barnard's Son's of Liberty Tavern was one of the best restaurants in Puritan Falls, if not the entire state of Massachusetts.
"Did you know Sherry Paget was coming tonight?" Lionel asked Josiah.
"I wasn't even sure I was coming," the restaurant owner said sotto voce. "My wife talked me into it. Frankly, she loves any occasion when she can buy a new pair of shoes. Besides, you were much closer to Sherry than I was."
"I haven't seen her since the summer we graduated high school."
"Twenty years ago already," Josiah observed. "It doesn't seem possible."
"I know what you mean. I feel like ...."
The psychiatrist fell silent when he saw a familiar face enter the banquet room. Twenty years had passed since he had last seen her, but Lionel knew her immediately.
Sherry eagerly scanned the faces in the crowd, looking for one in particular. She smiled when she spied the psychiatrist across the room. The two old friends met each other in the middle and exchanged an affectionate hug.
"I can't believe it's you!" Lionel exclaimed. "You came here all the way from London?"
"Good heavens, no," Sherry laughed. "I'm living in Boston now."
Lionel was momentarily hurt by the fact that his former friend had not tried to get in touch with him when she was half an hour's drive away. But when he saw the look on Sherry's face, his disappointment turned to concern.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
"Actually, I didn't come here for the reunion. I came specifically to talk to you. I want to see you professionally."
Lionel took his wallet from his jacket pocket, removed a business card and handed it to his friend.
"Call my office. Judy, my assistant, will set you up with an appointment. Meanwhile, let's get a drink and catch up on what we've both been up to for the past twenty years."
* * *
"So you never got married?" Sherry asked with surprise.
"Not yet," Lionel replied truthfully. "I'm hoping I'll be what my mother called one of those late bloomers. What about you?"
"I was married for fifteen years, but I'm divorced now. My husband decided to trade me in for a newer model."
"Any children?"
"No," she replied with obvious regret on her still attractive face. "I wanted them; however, I never was able to get pregnant. I even thought about adoption, but then my marriage started to go south. I didn't want to bring a child into a broken home."
"What brought you back to America?"
"After the divorce I decided to start over. I got a job in Boston and bought one of those gorgeous old brownstones in the Beacon Hill area."
"Beacon Hill? You must have had the better lawyer in your divorce."
"You chauvinist! I'll have you know I made more money than my husband did."
"I'm not surprised. You always excelled at everything. I still haven't gotten over the fact that you beat me out as class valedictorian. Do you know how traumatic being named salutatorian was for me? I didn't even get credit for it in the school yearbook."
After the laughter died down, Sherry asked, "Your Dr. Ryerson seems very nice. Is she the one who will cause you to finally bloom?"
"Perhaps," Lionel replied. "She's a wonderful woman. We see a lot of each other, but being an emergency room physician can be quite demanding. I don't think she has the time for marriage right now."
"If she has time to attend a high school reunion with you, then she has time to ...."
Sherry's sentence was cut off by the announcement of dinner over the public address system.
Lionel, who was perpetually hungry, put down his glass and declared, "Great! I'm starving."
"Some things never change!" his old friend said with a sentimental smile.
* * *
Judy Stanfield critically eyed the attractive woman when she entered the psychiatrist's office. She had heard through the grapevine that Sherry Paget was an old flame of Lionel's and was prepared to dislike her on sight. Judy was firmly convinced that her employer's best chance for happiness rested with Sarah Ryerson, and she did not want an old girlfriend getting in the way of any developing romance between the two.
"May I help you?" the assistant asked in a crisp, professional voice.
"Yes, I'm here to see Lion. My name is Sherry Paget. I have an appointment."
There were immediately two strikes against the woman on Judy's mental tally sheet: one, Sherry referred to the psychiatrist by his nickname, which the assistant thought inappropriate in a doctor-patient relationship, and, two, she spoke with a pronounced English accent.
She was born and raised right here in Puritan Falls. She ought to be dropping her R's like a good New Englander, not putting on airs like she was Kate Middleton.
Judy was about to ask Sherry to have a seat—and make her wait like everyone else—when Lionel opened the door to his private office.
"Ah, Sherry!" he exclaimed. "Come on in. Judy, can you get us both some coffee?"
"Are you sure your patient wouldn't prefer a cup of tea?"
"No. Coffee will be fine," Sherry told her.
The assistant frowned at having to play waitress to her boss's old girlfriend, but she obliged nonetheless. After all, she routinely got coffee for Lionel whether he wanted any or not.
"So, what seems to be the problem?" Lionel asked, trying to think of Sherry as a patient and not as an old high school friend.
"I've been having some pretty disturbing dreams."
"How long has this been going on?"
"It began shortly after I moved to Boston."
"And what is it that's so upsetting about them?"
"At first, nothing. In fact, they were quite ... pleasant."
Sherry blushed deeply and turned her head away.
"I dreamt about Ace Waldmire."
"The captain of our high school football team?"
"Yes. I don't know why. I haven't thought about him in years."
"I don't recall that you were ever friends with him."
Even when Lionel went to high school, the athletes did not mix with the "brainy" kids. They hung out with other jocks and, of course, cheerleaders.
"Since you're my therapist, I'll be honest with you. Like most girls in school, I had a major crush on Ace. Let's face it. He was gorgeous! But he was also the most popular boy in school. I never even considered that he and I ...."
"Besides," Lionel pointed out somewhat defensively, "you were dating me, the not-so-popular or gorgeous guy."
"Don't be like that, Lion! You might not have been as popular as Ace Waldmire, but you were just as good-looking. In fact, you're still one of the handsomest men I know."
His male ego soothed, the psychiatrist instructed his patient to continue.
"The dream begins innocently enough. I come home, and Ace is sitting at my dining room table. He's cooked a delicious meal, and we have a romantic candlelit dinner for two."
Lionel had a difficult time picturing the former quarterback preparing a ham sandwich much less an entire dinner. As he remembered, Ace Waldmire was the type of person who liked to drink six packs of beer and light his farts on fire.
"We would then dance to slow music on my stereo. The first few dreams ended there, but eventually they progressed. Ace kissed me, and, well, the dreams became more intimate. I don't have to go into detail, do I?"
"No, I can imagine where they were leading. What I don't understand is why you wanted to see me about them. Having such dreams is perfectly normal."
"If they had ended there, I wouldn't have minded. But over time, the dreams took a more disturbing turn. One night while Ace and I were in a passionate embrace, he suddenly changed."
"What do you by 'changed'?"
"He became a monster," Sherry explained with a shudder of revulsion. "Oh, it was hideous! He looked like a demon right out of a Hollywood horror movie."
"You had a nightmare."
"You make it sound so trivial. I'm not talking about one nightmare. I've had dozens, night after night after night. And they're still getting worse. This thing swears that it owns my soul and that it won't ever let me go. Afterward, I wake up breathless, shaking and sweating excessively. My mouth is dry. I feel nauseous. I even have heart palpitations on occasion. I've been taking sleeping pills to knock me out at night so that I won't dream."
"Do they help?"
"Sometimes, but they leave me tired in the morning. Also, I'm frightened that I might become dependent on them. I can't help believing there's some deep-rooted reason for these nightmares, and if I can only determine what it is, the dreams will go away."
"It might be that you're suffering from a form of oneirophobia, a fear of dreams."
"Can you help me, Lion?"
"I can try, but I have to warn you that it may take some time."
"Thank you," Sherry said, relief washing over her face. "I knew I could count on you, my old friend."
* * *
For the next several visits, Dr. Penn tried to discover what triggered Sherry's dreams. He hypnotized her but learned nothing of any use.
Oddly enough, as time passed, the patient became less interested in finding a cure. She was growing accustomed to the dreams. Like a person experiencing the Stockholm syndrome, she seemed to be gaining empathy for the Ace Waldmire monster.
"He's not wicked," she argued in his defense. "He can't help the way he looks, can he? Inside, he's gentle and kind."
"You're not talking about a real person," Lionel said, suddenly fearful that his friend's problem might be more serious than a simple phobia. "This monster is just a figment of your imagination."
"He seems real enough to me."
After three more visits, the psychiatrist developed a theory.
"I believe these dreams were brought about by your divorce," he posed.
"That's ridiculous!" she objected.
"Your husband left you for another woman. In your dreams Ace Waldmire swears he will never let you go. Your subconscious mind has manufactured a man who won't desert you like your husband did. That's probably why he is so monstrous to look at, so that no other woman will steal him from you."
"I don't buy it," she said, stubbornly denying his explanation.
"Furthermore, I'm beginning to think you don't want to get rid of these dreams."
"And why should I?" the patient cried. "My relationship with Ace has been far more satisfying than any I've ever had with an actual man."
"Do you hear what you're saying?" Lionel asked, his voice filled with sadness. "You need help, Sherry."
"Maybe I do, but I don't know if you're the one who can give it to me."
* * *
One sunny Wednesday morning, Lionel Penn walked into his office with two Starbucks coffees, one for him and the other for his assistant.
"Good morning, Judy. Happy Hump Day."
"Good morning, Lionel."
She thanked him for the coffee and then relayed his messages.
"Oh, and your friend called, that Ms. Paget."
"Sherry? What did she want?"
"To cancel her appointment."
"Did she give a reason why?"
"No, and I didn't feel it was my place to ask."
"Did she reschedule?"
"I asked her if she wanted me to pencil her in for next Wednesday, but she said she'd call back for a new appointment when she had the time."
When three weeks went by without a word from his former prom date, Lionel asked his assistant to give her a call.
"There was no answer," Judy informed him later that morning. "I left a message, but she hasn't called back yet."
"Keep trying, will you? I'm worried about her."
Judy would do as the doctor requested, but secretly she hoped they had seen the last of Sherry Paget.
"By the way, how's Sarah been? I haven't seen her lately."
Lionel, who could read Judy like a book, smiled.
"She's fine. In case you're wondering—which I'm sure you are—my interest in Sherry is only that of a doctor and a patient, and an old friend. I assure you there are no lingering romantic feelings from my high school days. In fact, we weren't all that serious back then either."
Reassured that her employer was not about to be snatched away from Dr. Ryerson by the old flame from London, Judy went back to her work with a smile on her face.
* * *
Two months passed, and there was still no word from Sherry Paget. She did not answer her calls, and never bothered to reply to Judy's messages. Finally, one Saturday afternoon, rather than take his boat out for one last trip up the coast before winter weather set in, Lionel got into his MG and drove to Boston.
When he rang the bell of the Beacon Street brownstone, it was several minutes before its owner answered the door. It is difficult to determine who was more surprised by their meeting. Sherry was stunned at the psychiatrist's uninvited and unannounced visit to her home. Meanwhile, Lionel was shocked by his old friend's disarray. All the years he had known her, she took great pride in her appearance. Every hair on her head had always been in place, her makeup skillfully applied, her clothing clean and wrinkle-free. Yet here she was looking like a bag lady.
"May I come in?" Lionel asked after standing on the stoop without an invitation.
"I suppose so, but only for a few minutes. I have to go out in a little while."
"Forgive me for being blunt, but you don't look well."
"I've been under the weather lately."
"Have you seen a doctor?"
Ignoring his question, Sherry announced, "I wasn't expecting you."
"I'm sorry to just show up here out of the blue, but I've been concerned for your welfare. Judy has made numerous attempts to contact you, and ...."
She immediately cut him short.
"Look, I didn't want to talk to Judy because I won't be coming back to you as a patient."
"Fine. Maybe I shouldn't have agreed to be your doctor in the first place, given our history."
"This isn't about you. It's about me. I don't need a psychiatrist. There's nothing wrong with me."
"Are you still having those dreams?"
"It turns out they're not dreams after all. On the advice of one of my neighbors, I contacted a group of paranormal investigators. They discovered that I have an incubus in my house."
"What?" he asked with astonishment.
Despite his previous brushes with the supernatural, he found her contention hard to believe.
"An incubus. It's a male spirit that is capable of engaging in sexual activity with a woman while she's asleep."
"I'm familiar with the term. I just can't fathom that you believe such ... nonsense!"
Sherry's eyes flashed with anger.
"It's no worse than your ridiculous theory that my mind created these dreams because my husband left me for another woman!"
"I'm advising you as a doctor, not as your old friend, that you need psychiatric help, not a team of ghost busters."
"I think it's time for you to go, Lion."
"I'm sorry. I'm trying my best to remain objective, but I care about you. I've known you since we were children. Let me help you."
"Goodbye, Dr. Penn."
"I can recommend a good psychiatrist right here in Boston."
"Goodbye!"
Sherry gave him a none-too-gentle push in the direction of the front door, and Lionel reluctantly left.
* * *
Five months later, on a warm, spring afternoon, Sarah Ryerson and Lionel Penn were eating lunch at the Top of the Hub on the fifty-second floor of the Prudential building, admiring the panoramic view of Boston beneath them.
"I can't remember the last time the two of us had a day off together," Sarah said between sips from her cup of coffee.
"Ah, yes. The medical profession does have its disadvantages."
"And its advantages," she added, reminding the psychiatrist that it was a patient who had given her two tickets to the Red Sox season opener.
"The game doesn't start for another three hours. What do you want to do in the meantime?" Lionel asked.
"We could go shopping," she teased, knowing the suggestion would bring a frown to his handsome face. "Or we could go to the public gardens."
"Either one," he replied, feeling magnanimous at the moment. "Do you mind if I take a little detour to Beacon Hill first?"
"Your friend Sherry lives there, doesn't she? How's she doing?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen her since November. She stopped coming to me for therapy, and she won't answer my calls. I stopped by her brownstone one day, and she literally threw me out. That was the last time I saw her."
"What did you do or say to make her so angry?"
"I didn't believe her when she told me she had an incubus haunting her home."
"An incubus in Boston?" Sarah asked with a laugh. "Salem I could understand, but Boston?"
"She really believed it. I think she needs help. While we're in the area, I'd just like to stop and make sure she's okay."
An hour later the two doctors were standing on the brownstone's front stoop. Lionel leaned forward and rang the bell.
"Yes, can I help you?"
The woman who answered the door was a stranger to him.
"I'm looking for Sherry Paget. Is she home?"
"Mrs. Paget moved three weeks ago. I'm renting the place from her."
"You wouldn't happen to know where she went, would you?"
"Some small, rural place in Maine, about as far from civilization as you can get. I told her not to go. A woman in her condition ought to be near people. You never know if something could go wrong."
"What do you mean by 'in her condition'?"
"Mrs. Paget is seven months pregnant."
Lionel was unusually quiet on the drive to Fenway Park. He didn't even complain when he was forced to wait for a parking space.
"Penny for your thoughts," Sarah said, hoping to break the silence.
"I think they're worth a lot more than that," he answered with an affectionate smile.
"Let me guess. You're wondering who fathered Sherry's child."
"If that's a subtle way of asking if I'm the father, the answer is no."
"That wasn't my intention, but thank you for clarifying the matter. Do you know who it could be?"
"I haven't the slightest idea. Her ex-husband has been out of the picture for several years, so we can rule him out. I think if she had met someone, she would have told me about him during our therapy sessions."
"You said she was sorry she never had children. It's possible she was artificially inseminated."
"It does seem to be the only logical answer. Either that or she was raped and her mind manufactured the monster scenario as a coping mechanism."
He preferred a rational explanation to the sneaking suspicion that had begun to taunt him.
* * *
Although Lionel's favorite season was autumn with its cool temperatures and brilliant foliage, he also had a fondness for summer. It was during those warmer months that he was able to enjoy cruising up or down the North Atlantic coast. One weekend in late July, while Sarah was working extra hours to fill in for vacationing colleagues, he decided to take a few days and head north.
After mooring his boat in Ogunquit Harbor, he set his sights for Shore Road where he had a number of excellent dining options. Not for the first time in his life, the doctor daydreamed of giving up his practice to become a food critic. He could picture himself traveling the globe like Anthony Bourdain, seeking out fine restaurants, quaint pubs and good, old-fashioned diners.
What shall it be today? he thought as he made his way through the Maine vacationers. Do I want steak or seafood?
The psychiatrist had finally decided on a New York strip steak when he spotted a familiar face in the crowd.
"Sherry?" he called.
His old friend turned at the sound of her name. When the moment of surprise passed, a look of fear came over her face.
"I heard you were living in Maine," Lionel said, quickly narrowing the distance between the two of them. "I stopped by your brownstone last spring, and your tenant told me you'd moved. She also told me you were ...."
It was then Lionel saw the baby carriage.
"I see congratulations are in order."
"Yes, I had a child."
"Boy or girl?"
"A boy."
Before the anxious mother could prevent him, he leaned forward and peeked into the English style pram. He was about to ask her about the child's father, but when he saw the baby's features, his worst fears were confirmed.
Sherry saw the look of horror on the psychiatrist's face and knew it was pointless to deny the obvious.
"I told you my incubus was real, that he wasn't just a dream. Here's the proof."
The child, although obviously human, had inherited many of its father's characteristics: the pale, nearly white skin; the glassy black eyes; the pointed, fang-like teeth.
"How do you ...?"
For one of the few times in his life, Lionel was at a loss for words.
"I tell everyone he suffers from multiple birth defects. What else can I do? Announce that I've given birth to Rosemary's Baby?"
"You must have suspected such a pregnancy had its risks. Surely, there were options available to you."
"Sure, I could have had an abortion, but I desperately wanted a child. And God—or whatever—gave one to me."
"But think of the boy. What kind of life will he have?"
"I have thought of him. Once he's a little older, I'm going to move back to Puritan Falls. You have to admit, things in our hometown have always been a little ... bizarre. I think his best chance of being accepted will be there."
Even as Sherry spoke of her child's future, Lionel found himself becoming accustomed to the boy's face. It was as though the residents of Puritan Falls had two sets of eyelids. The outer ones functioned normally, protecting the eye from foreign matter. The inner lid, however, one not visible to the naked eye, closed whenever a person was faced with inexplicable proof of the paranormal. Its purpose was to protect the brain from having to come to terms with a disturbing truth.
"You know who he reminds me of?" Lionel asked after looking at the child's face several minutes longer. "The quarterback of our high school football team. The good-looking guy that all the girls were crazy about. What was his name?"
"Ace Waldmire. You see the resemblance, too? I thought it was only me."
"Yeah. I'll tell you what. Give me a call when you move back to town," the psychiatrist said with a warm smile. "You, Sarah and I will go out to dinner."
As he walked away, in the direction of the restaurant, Lionel's mind focused on his succulent steak, completely forgetting about Sherry Paget's nightmares, her demon lover and the half-human/half-incubus child that would soon call Puritan Falls home.
I don't need therapy to understand my worst nightmare: a world overrun with Salems!
