Erika, p.1
Erika, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
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Erika
To the one person in my life I cannot do without. My wife, June
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
There was a long pause before Dr. Tyler answered. “Very well, Hawkins. Be at my office by 9:30.”
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
About the Author
Hawkins O’ Brien has a problem that must be solved before it possesses him forever.
One could say that Hawkins O’Brien is a most unusual person. For seven years his dreams have been saturated with his love for Erika. Just who is Erika? Hawk can’t remember. Is she real, or just a dream? What will happen to change Hawk and everything in his life when he finds out?
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Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Erika
Copyright © 2013 Wayne Greenough
ISBN: 978-1-77111-532-2
Cover art by Scott Carpenter
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by eXtasy Books
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Erika
By
Wayne Greenough
To the one person in my life I cannot do without. My wife, June
Chapter One
“Hawkins, I want you to start probing as deeply as you can into your last dream. Try to remember every detail. Now close your eyes. Tell me when you see or hear anything.”
“I hear music.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you describe it?”
“No. No, I can’t.”
“Hawkins, try to tell me about the music. Did you see anything with it?”
“Oh all right, all right. It’s a tinkle sound, like wind chimes. It’s inside a dark enclosed area.”
“Was there anything else?”
“Yes, I smell perfume.”
“What kind?”
“It’s indescribable.”
“Have you smelled it before?”
“Yes, whenever I have the dream.”
“Go on. Tell me more.”
“I hear a voice.”
“Do you hear words?”
“I heard love.”
“Love for a person?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who?”
“Me.”
“Are you sure?
“Yes.”
“Can you see who’s talking?”
“No.
“The voice you hear, does it sound familiar?”
“I don’t think so. I’m not sure.”
“Could it be Shanna Mason’s?”
“No! No!”
“All right, calm down. Easy now, take some deep breaths. Can you tell me what the voice means to you?”
“It means ultimate love.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“In my dreams I feel love.”
“Who do you love, Hawkins? Tell me who.”
“I don’t know! I don’t know! I…don’t…know…A name…I want to know a name…Help me…”
“I will help you, Hawkins. Calm down. Take deep breaths. Relax. Are you able to tell me more about your dream?”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, take a breather for a few minutes, relax.”
“Nuts to that. It’s your line of dialogue, Doc.”
“What would you have me say?”
“You’re the one who is being paid for all this, so say something brilliant.”
“You’re being hostile.”
“Can you name a day I’m not?”
“No, but then I don’t see you every minute of the day and night. Do you know why you have such an abrasive attitude when you are here?”
“No.”
“It’s because you don’t like being questioned. Let’s talk about your girlfriend, Shanna Mason. Do you love her?”
“No. How could I? She’s just a convenience for me to use.”
“I see. Have you told her so?”
“Why would I?”
“If there is no love between Shanna and you, do you have a lady friend you feel love for?”
“I told you in other sessions I know only Shanna. Love somebody else besides my dream person? Why would you ask?”
“Because I suspect you might. It’s not unusual for a person your age to be acquainted with more than one member of the opposite sex. Surely you’re not attempting to hide from the human race. Or are you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I try to avoid most friendships.”
“Why? Do you feel superior to everybody?”
“Perhaps I feel inferior. You tell me, Doc.”
“Do you have sexual problems with Shanna?”
“Now why would you ask?”
“Your dreams contain sexual content. Has Shanna helped you sexually?”
“My sex life is none of your business. Yes, I’m horny and I’ve read Sigmund Freud several times.”
“And you argue extremely well and circle around my questions.”
“Right, I know something about everything. Would you like to discuss weapons? I’m an expert shot with rifle and pistol.”
“No discussion, thank you. Your father presented me with a thick folder about your passion for weapons.”
“Oh? Just what did my know all, hear all, and see all father say about my passion?”
“He’s quite concerned as to how you might someday use those weapons. We’ll delve into the matter in a future session. Tell me why you enjoy guilt.”
“I don’t think I do.”
“There’s an indication otherwise. More often than not you openly refuse to cooperate with me. Such an attitude informs me you like your problems and don’t want them to be solved. What do you think?”
“I think you talk nonsense.”
“Do I? I knew you would disagree. It seems to be an inborn reflex with you.
How do you feel today?”
“I feel all right.”
“Well enough to discuss a very personal subject?”
“Like what and who?”
“What do you remember about your mother?”
“I have no memory of her.”
“I’m sure you do, Hawkins. She was killed by a drive by shooter on your sixteenth birthday. You were seriously wounded. I believe most of your problems are caused by what happened.”
“So explain the relationship to my dream and my mother being murdered.”
“I really can’t, yet, which is why I need to have you talk about your mother. Then I might have an explanation.”
“I don’t remember her.”
“You’re not being truthful. Your father, when I explained the necessity of my knowing what happened, told me everything he remembered in detail. But I need your version.”
“Please, let’s not discuss my mother.”
Tell me why not, Hawkins.”
“I can’t. The pain, I can’t stand the pain.”
“All right, Hawkins. Relax. Close your eyes.”
Silence, interrupted by Hawk blowing his nose.
“Are you all right now?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, open your eyes. Are you on drugs, prescribed or otherwise?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I’m attempting to determine if you’re hallucinating. If you are on certain drugs you could be.”
“Are you saying my same dream over and over for seven years could be a doper trip? You can’t be serious.”
“What do you think they are?”
“I feel they’re about a real person.”
“Can
“Sometimes my dreams have given me a glimpse of a world I prefer to this one.”
“Is your dream person part of that world?”
“Yes.”
“We all wish for a better world, Hawkins. More money, better relationships, you name it. But you failed to answer my question. Are you on drugs? Certain types can do strange things to the mind. Things you would guarantee were real.”
“I don’t smoke, drink, or use drugs of any kind. I’m confused, not stupid.”
“Would you volunteer to a urine or blood test to prove you’re drug free?”
“Of course, even a hair test. It might surprise you to discover how kind I’ve been to my body.”
“Very well, Hawkins. You’ll have to leave now. It’s time for my next client. I suppose Shanna will drive you home as always.”
“Yes. But first we’re headed for Cannon Beach to visit her racing buddy who lives there. The drive will help iron out the mental kinks your sessions always give me.”
Chapter Two
Cannon Beach was one of Hawk’s favorite places to let his imagination wander. The ocean water was clean. It swirled and rolled with beautiful blue green colors, its smell so fresh and exhilarating it should be bottled and sold. The ocean wind housed ancient sirens and flirtatious sea nymphs who called to you, played with your hair, zipped through your clothes to smell the closeness of your skin. If they loved you they’d touch your entire body, sometimes with cool fingers, other times with icy sharp ones that would spear through to your soul so you’d never forget their caress.
“Hawk, I’m over here.”
Shanna’s voice jerked his brain back to reality. She was about two hundred feet away talking to a man wearing what appeared to be a navy-blue watch cap, gray shorts, and a camera. He was probably the person she wanted him to meet. He shook his head and decided not to join them until later. Right now he would sooner stare at the ocean waves. They were always crashing and roaring with indefatigable strength onto the clean flat sand, bringing with them foam so white it looked as if it could be used as topping on a dessert.
He inhaled deeply, savoring the cool freshness of the air as he walked toward a fog bank rolling in to spellbind him. In it he could see Captain Nemo’s Nautilus, the Flying Dutchman, a lonely, memory-haunted sea captain walking an eternal beach, a faceless woman chanting a love sonnet.
“Hawk, don’t be a standoff. Come over here.”
* * * *
Hawk stared at the man. He was three or four inches taller than six feet, broad shouldered, with narrow hips and slim waist. Gray shorts revealed long, muscular legs. His arms bulged with hardness. Under a navy-blue watch cap, black curly hair stuck out just enough to act as a crown for his gray eyes, his aristocratic nose, a generous mouth, and a strong, square chin.
* * * *
Shanna could tell by Templeton’s unshaven face, his blurry-sleep-laden eyes he’d been thoroughly drunk the night before, perhaps for several days. Nevertheless, her heart still skipped a beat. She was still passionately in love with him. It was a hopeless love, doomed to never be fulfilled unless miracles happened. As she stared at him she realized she was praying for one. “Hawk, I’d like you to meet Templeton Gordon. Templeton’s a private investigator, and once in a while we compete by racing against each other.”
The two men shook hands.
“Follow me. It’s time for coffee and conversation.”
The walk to Templeton’s cabin was only a few minutes long. Soon Shanna and Hawk were curled up in comfortable chairs and enjoying the bitter flavor of strong coffee. Hawk gazed at the writing on the mug.
“World’s Greatest Teacher.” He looked at Templeton.
Templeton smiled as he sat on the fireplace ledge. “Your face tells me Shanna hasn’t told you a great deal about me. I taught school for three years. Then I decided to associate with a better class of people so I became an officer of the law for a brief time. Finally I became what I am now. Why aren’t you drinking your coffee?”
Hawk wrinkled his nose. “It smells.”
“It’s merely a little whiskey and quite a cheap brand at that.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.”
“And well you shouldn’t. But you’re shivering, so drink it.”
Hawk took a sip and gagged.
“That’s fine. Take another sip.”
“I have only coffee,” said Shanna. “Where’s my whiskey?”
“You’re not shivering,” Templeton said with a smile.
“I could pretend. Maybe next time.” Her brown eyes met Templeton’s. “There will be a next time, won’t there?” she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear and Hawk to ignore while sipping his coffee.
She saw Templeton’s smoldering passion flame into a blazing fire as his gray eyes looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup. “One can never say what the fates have in store for us,” he replied before glancing at Hawk. “So tell me something about yourself.”
Shanna didn’t hear their further conversation which seemed to dull down to an incomprehensible mumble. She wanted desperately to scream, I love you, Templeton. Why did you call off our romance shortly after it started? What terrible thing came between us? You even told me to never come to see you at Cannon Beach. Well, I brought Hawk here to break off dating with him and to show him the guy I really love. I love you, Templeton. I can’t stop loving you, ever.
In an effort to calm herself she looked at the cabin furnishings. They seemed to be mostly composed of nondescript chairs and a table in dark wood. There was a fireplace. It appeared to be unused most of the time. The sink contained a few dirty dishes, probably from breakfast. Templeton couldn’t possibly own the cabin, not on a private investigator’s uncertain income. Or could he? There was some evidence he did. At the end of a short hallway was a closed door. Was it a bedroom, where he slept between cool sheets all alone? On the right wall was an enormous photograph of him in his racing Corvette.
“Shanna, look at this!”
She snapped back to their conversation upon hearing Hawk’s excited voice. He was holding a handgun. Templeton was talking.
“A Thompson Contender is a smashing good weapon even though it’s only a single shot.”
He took it from Hawk, squeezed the trigger guard, breaking open the action and noting the empty barrel. “It doesn’t hurt to check them twice to see they’re unloaded,” he said, closing the action and handing the Contender back to Hawk. “You have to pull the hammer back before the trigger can be squeezed and then just the slightest touch will fire the weapon. I can acquire almost any caliber I wish simply by purchasing another barrel. The one mounted on the gun is a .22 Hornet. I also have a .357 Magnum barrel.”
“It’s a superb weapon,” Hawk declared. “I’ll have to buy one.”
“Perhaps you would like to shoot with me, someday.”
“Name the day and the time and I’ll be there. I’d love to shoot in competition against a private investigator.”
“Not without me,” said Shanna. “I dislike all weapons but I would like to see who wins the shootout.”
Gray eyes met brown eyes. Templeton’s voice was husky with emotion as he spoke. “Of course you may come. But I would have thought your unicorn paintings might keep you too busy to accompany us.”
Shanna felt her face expressing her surprise. “How do you know about my paintings when I’ve never mentioned them to you?”
She loved Templeton’s facial expression. Was it devilish or secretive? “I do have my methods. You have them hanging in four Portland galleries.”
“That’s right, but how do you know?” She stopped and looked at Templeton’s camera. He had removed it from his neck and put it on a nearby table. It was an older brand, a Mamiya 2-1/4. Its pictures could be blown up to a large size and still be perfect. “Do you know a professional photographer named Templar?”
Templeton nodded. “Probably not as well as I should. I do, however, see him when I’m ambitious enough to shave.”
Shanna’s smiled. “All the years I’ve known you, yet you’ve never once mentioned your photography. You’re a very talented shutterbug. I’ve seen your photography being purchased for quite a price. I almost bought some on several occasions. I should have. I’m sorry.”
Templeton laughed. “And well you should be. I receive sixty per cent of every sale. But it’s not too late for you to do that. Two days ago I delivered a new bunch to five different galleries.”
All this time during their conversation Hawk had been fondling the Thompson Contender. Templeton noticed and shouted, “Bang!”
