Haunted by a Dream, Melissa Willingham [psychology books to read .TXT] 📗

In the dream, Chelsea found herself walking along a narrow bridge. Beneath her was a chasm of sandy terrain. She quickened her pace, mindful of the sensation of being watched. Nearing the midway point of the wooden structure, she felt a shove. Her body slammed into the side, causing the fragile bridge to give way.

Suddenly, Chelsea experienced the sensation of falling. Her body sailed through the air in perpetual motion. She felt light as a feather, with a boulder-sized burden atop her shoulders. Faster she dropped, before landing hard upon the ground. A sad whimper escaped her lips, for she knew she was dying.

***

“Honey, wake up!” Randy shouted desperately. “You’re having that same nightmare again.”

Chelsea tossed and turned, moaning from the aftershocks of her tumultuous foray. It had seemed so real. “Huh? What’s happening?” she mumbled.

Her arms flailed about helplessly, searching for a safety net; a life line. Randy quickly enclosed her in the shelter of his embrace. “Shush, it’s going to be okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Slowly, she began to regain her composure. She peered around the room, seeking familiarity, until her eyes reached the loving face of her husband of five years. He stared down at her in concern, clutching her against him.

“I’m all right now. Thank you,” Chelsea whispered. She eased herself out of his warm cocoon and shook her head to clear her thoughts. Glancing at the clock, she realized in about an hour, she’d be getting up for work. So, she decided to get an early start to her day.

Randy followed her into the kitchen, where she started the coffee perking.  They sat down at the table and discussed their next course of action. “We can’t go on like this,” he informed her. “Something must be done about this nightmare of yours.”

“I know, sweetie. But what do you suggest…a shrink?”

“That might not be a bad idea. Maybe then we could get at the root cause of it.”

“I suppose I could make an appointment and see what happens. But I’m not sure I like the idea of a psychiatrist poking around in my head,” Chelsea confessed.

“Why not; are you afraid of what he might find up there?” Randy teased.

“Actually, yes, I am. However, I’m willing to give it a try.”

***

 Dr. Joseph Rudolph sat calmly in his wing chair, observing his new patient, Chelsea Larson. She was safely under hypnosis. He led her through the usual inquiries and finally arrived at the main crux of the session. He asked several questions, jotting down important notes on his pad.

“Tell me more about the recurring dream you keep having,” he requested.

“I’m all alone, just walking, like I always do.”

“Are you carrying anything with you?”

“Yes, I have my white sweater, a golden pen, and a leather-bound poetry book.”

“I see,” Dr. Rudolph commented. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the old wooden bridge off Downey Road. That’s where I always go walking. Everyone knows that.”

“Is there any particular reason why you choose that area?”

“Yes, I love to write poems and I find the area inspiring. The view is amazing!”

“It sounds lovely. Does anyone ever join you there?”

“A young man accompanies me sometimes. He’s trying to court me. But I don’t return his affections.”

“What is the boy’s name?”

“His name is Dale. I can’t remember his last name.”

Dr. Rudolph cleared his throat. “Chelsea, did Dale hurt you?”

The patient paused. “Yes, he did. But I’m not Chelsea. My name is Tessa Travis.”

Rudolph felt momentarily stunned by the admission. “How old are you, Tessa? What is the date?”

“I’m 27 and it is June 15, 1979. This is the day that I died.”

***

Chelsea stood with Randy at the site where the old bridge used to be. It had long since fallen into disrepair and disintegrated. Few remnants of its former glory remained. Based upon information Chelsea and Dr. Rudolph gleaned through their session, a search was being conducted.

The police hoped to uncover evidence of a crime, so they could solve a baffling case from thirty-three years ago. For the past few days, they’d been digging up the area. Interviews with men in the town, fitting the age range and profile, had taken place.

One particular person of interest was flushed out, a Dale Mittman. He admitted that he had been a jealous admirer of Tessa Travis, who it turned out, was Chelsea’s maternal aunt. The young woman had taken a walk one day and just vanished into thin air.

Feeling cornered, Dale confessed that he’d angrily attacked Tessa on the wooden bridge. She’d rejected his advances, so he’d retaliated. She’d stumbled forward, knocking the weak structure off balance and subsequently fallen to her death. He’d dug up a grave and buried her nearby. 

Turning to look at Chelsea, Randy asked thoughtfully, “Why do you think Tessa appeared to you in your dreams?”

“Looking back, it began when mother gave me a locket that once belonged to my aunt. That was a few months ago, on my 27th birthday…the same age Tessa was when she died. The nightmares started around that time.”

Randy nodded. “I seem to recall that now. Do you think the two of you formed a connection?”

“Yes, I believe she wanted me to help solve her murder and seek justice,” Chelsea explained.

Suddenly, one of the men yelled, “Hey, I think I’ve found something!”

Everyone rushed over as he extracted items from a deep hole in the ground. Although the contents were badly degraded, they were clearly a white sweater, gold pen, and leather book. The searcher lifted a skull next and everyone gasped.

Chelsea grasped Randy’s hand and offered him a weary smile. “We’ve found her. Now, maybe she can rest in peace.”

“There’ll be no more sleepless nights for us either, unless we…well, you know what I mean.” He grinned mischievously.

“Yes, I sure do,” she laughed in amusement.

***

Text: Melissa Monroe
Publication Date: 05-27-2012

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