Shaman - The Awakening

A Dream Within A Dream-1

A Dream Within A DreamIt was the beginning of winter in D.C. The snow and the cold came early this year. The talk in the city was that Global Warming had everything screwed up. Apparently Washingtonians had become accustomed to mild winters lately, and the inclement winter weather didn't really appear until the middle of January, or even late February. That year the cold weather started in early November, and there was snow on the ground by Thanksgiving.

There was even a nor'easter dumping its bitter snows on the city and the rest of the Northeast in early December. This weather was actually average for this time of year in this region. If anything, we should have been happy it wasn't warm! That's the true sign of Global Warming and the melting of the Polar Caps.

I owned a nice condo in Foggy Bottom, just west of Georgetown. It was an old apartment building which had been renovated. I had two floors, a fireplace and a balcony. I had to have a fireplace and hardwood floors wherever I lived. I enjoyed everything about a nice fireplace; the warmth, the crackling sound, the smell and the look of a fire burning, just as much as I enjoyed winter.

I didn't have a lot of furniture in my place, but I did have several instruments. I had a baby grand piano in the living room, a guitar, a stand up acoustic bass and a cello. I used to teach music before I became involved with law enforcement. The piano was in the middle of the hardwood floor and the acoustic bass with the bow beside it was standing up in the corner of the living room under a track light. The cello, which I loved and played often, was in the middle of the wall with its track light pointed at it. Then there was my vintage Les Paul guitar, which accented the other corner of my music wall, standing up within the glow of its lighting. The living room almost looked like a museum. I had spent a lot of money on my instruments. They were original works of art in themselves.

The rest of the living room consisted of one leather sofa, an accompanying leather chair, and a coffee table on a circular rug in front of the fireplace. I had a bookcase to the right of the mantle with several books. The stereo case was opposite the music wall. It contained a Bose stereo surround sound system with a CD player and a turntable for the vintage vinyl records I collected.

I didn't have any paintings or sculptures. I loved art and visiting the museums, but I could never decide on what artist, period or genre to place on the wall. I liked so many different styles of art, but I did lean towards Impressionism with its abstract and indistinct lines. All of my doctors agreed it was my subconscious mind that influenced this. I almost felt like Jekyll and Hyde the way they spoke of my dream state or subconscious, as if it were completely separate from me.

I loved the solace of winter. There were fewer people on the streets and fewer crimes committed. The snow was serine and pure. Snow could make any hellhole or ghetto appear pure, even the hardened streets of D.C. It covered up a lot of deficiencies and made the city look better, at least for a little while. Everything seemed so peaceful in the winter.

Perhaps my introverted personality also played a small part in my outlook when it came to winter. I really had become a bit of a recluse - always felt self-conscious, like I was being judged. Besides, the less contact I had with people the fewer dreams I had to worry about or manage. Sometimes my dream focus would stray if I became extremely tired. I was getting at least four solid hours of sleep per night, when I wasn't working complex cases. I shut myself off from the external world during that time.

I didn't watch any television or listen to talk radio. I preferred to listen to my jazz records, play chess, read poetry and play the piano or the cello. The music helped me to relax. Whenever I worked cases, I would go for days without proper sleep. You would think my dream state would be considered resting, but it wasn't. A part of my brain was working overtime while my physiology, nervous system and muscles, reacted to everything my mind was experiencing. It's like when you kick, punch or talk in your sleep, but more intense.

When I was younger, I used to sleepwalk while in these dream trances. My mother had to use double key-locked doors to prevent me from leaving while I slept. I've learned to control all that now.

I didn't have any friends; just associates from work, the team. I liked it that way because it was less complicated and weird. The team members would call and check up on me now and then. Sometimes the SAC (Special Agent in Charge), Steven Weiss, would visit the condo. I also heard from Dianna Samboro often. She liked me more than the other team members. Under different circumstances I could have seen us having a relationship, but it would have been too awkward while working together and her knowing what she does about me. She didn't seem to mind or treat me as though I were weird; neither was she indifferent to me, but you never know what lies beneath a person's psyche until you really dig deep. You don't need special abilities to figure that one out!

I was spending a normal evening at home, cooking and listening to jazz, when the telephone rang. I was expecting Weiss to be calling me in, since I really didn't have any friends. It was Dianna on the phone.

“Hello, Chris, are you busy?” she asked

“No, just cooking dinner,” I replied.

“Hey, I was in the neighborhood and wondered if I could stop by?”

“Yeah, sure. Come on over,” I urged.

She arrived about 15 minutes later.

“You really were in the hood,” I stated when I opened the door.

“Yeah, I was doing some last minute shopping in Georgetown. Did you complete your shopping already?” she inquired.

“Yes, what little I had.”

“Well, I'm a simple girl. I hope you didn't get me anything too expensive,” she replied with a smile as I took her black pea coat.

“Wow, you look totally different without your Clark Kent glasses on, Chris. You should show those beautiful green eyes of yours more often from,” she said, staring me in the eyes. I hadn't really thought about it, but she was used to seeing me with my black rimmed glasses on while at work. I hardly ever wore them when I'm at home.

“So, I'm in time for dinner,” she further stated, engaging me with a smile. Dianna was very forthcoming and out front. She wasn't shy at all.

“Yes. I'm cooking some pasta with lobster and sauce.”

“Can I help,” she inquired with excitedly? “Sure,” I replied.

I had a huge, modern kitchen, with an island range and hood. The kitchen was large enough to eat in. I had two bar stools and a small, upright table that I usually ate on. I didn't really have guests over for dinner, so it was all I needed.

“What a coincidence? You're fixing Italian cuisine and having an Italian girl over for dinner,” she said, laughing, as I escorted her to the kitchen.

Dianna was a beautiful and vibrant woman. She had killer curves and a dynamite smile. Her hair was shoulder length and curly, like a lot of women of Italian descent. She was of darker complexion like the Sicilians. As she was a comfortable 5'7 and weighed about 140 pounds, she was in perfect shape. She had on jeans which appeared like a second skin, the way they hugged and accentuated her curvy, voluptuous body, and a white blouse buttoned down to the point where I could see just enough cleavage; not slutty, but sexy. There is a fine line between the two. She had on the sexiest black boots that came almost up to her knees. Dianna was fine from head to toe, with or without clothes.

She assisted me in the kitchen. She turned it into a sensual experience. There were several moments shared in the kitchen when we were close. She was flirting the whole time and I was enjoying every minute of it! She was fun to be around. We opened a bottle of wine and enjoyed our dinner with light conversation. She was like a schoolgirl, asking questions about me and my abilities.

“So, what if someone was dreaming about you; could you tell,” she inquired? I started to smile. “Are you laughing at me,” she asked with a small giggle? “No, it's just refreshing. Most people feel uncomfortable talking about it with me.”

“Oh, so you're the boogey man now, huh?” she said, teasing me and smiling.

“No, from what I hear, I'm Freddy Krueger,” I replied while making a gesture with both my fork and pasta spoon. We both had a good laugh at that one.

“But really, can you tell if someone dreams about you?” she insisted at last.

“No. It would have to be what the doctors and I call 'Invasive Dreamscape'. That person would have to have the ability also,” I replied.

“So you can invade others' dreams without them invading yours?” she asked.

“No. When I'm in Dreamscape, I share the dream with them. They know and experience everything I do, but to really answer the question; I don't know. If I feel a strong enough connection with the person, I guess anything is possible. I mean, who would've thought any of this is possible,” I replied.

She smiled and continued eating.

I wondered if she had been dreaming about me, or was going to dream about me. I never really gave it much thought since we worked together. I promised Steve that I would never invade the dreams of team members unless it was under critical circumstances and their life was in jeopardy. Thus far I had kept my promise and respected the boundaries and privacy of my team on a professional level. Perhaps Dianna was just testing me to see if I was invading her dreams, or those of the other team members.

After dinner we took our glasses and the bottle of wine into the living room. She viewed the books of poetry I had on the mantle and requested a reading. I just knew she was going to ask me to play something on the piano or one of my stringed instruments, but once again, she proved herself unpredictable. I read Poe to her in front of the fireplace. Since the theme of our evening conversation was centered on my Dreamscape, I followed in kind by reading her “A Dream,” “A Dream within a Dream” and my favorite, “Dreams”. She stated that she understood and could see why “Dreams” was my favorite.

She asked that I read more of my favorites, which I obliged until she fell asleep. It was a hypnotic trick I learned from Dr. Banks; how to set external moods. I wasn't trying to manipulate her, but I could tell she needed the sleep. It was obvious by the way she nestled in the glow and warmth of the fireplace. I let her rest on the sofa and placed a blanket over her. I sat on the floor beside her, thinking about what to do with my newly acquired friend.

Dianna was vibrant and full of life. She was an extrovert, the complete opposite of me. She had lots of friends and stayed active. That's why it wasn't really a stretch of the imagination to find her in the neighborhood. Although sometimes she over-exerted herself, being so active. This was one of those times. It was the holiday season and she had been out all day, visiting and shopping. I still didn't understand her interest in me. Although she had made it quite clear that she was attracted to me. She was a flirt at heart and a very attractive woman, but there was no mistaking her attraction towards me for mere teasing friendliness.

I fell asleep on the floor beside Dianna, and when I woke up she was gone. There was a note on the sofa which read, “Hey Chris; thanks for a lovely evening. Next time it's on me. See you in my dreams. Dianna.” She had left the door open for another dinner date, although this one had been spur of the moment. Or had it?

It was midnight when I woke up. The stereo was still playing jazz and the fire in the hearth had subsided to barely glowing embers. I poked them and placed some more wood on top. I wasn't sleepy, so I cleaned the kitchen and washed the dishes. While cleaning, I thought about her note, especially the last part of it. I wondered if she was making a joke, or if she was soliciting an audition for a demonstration. I dismissed such thoughts and went back to the living room. It wouldn't be appropriate to engage in such activities with a colleague.