It was just a dream

It was Just a Dream

John called his psychiatrist, his voice frantic at the thought of what he might have done. He was babbling on so excitedly, and his voice was so pressured that his therapist was unable to understand what he was saying.

“Slow down,” Bob Engle, the psychiatrist said. “I can’t make any sense out of what you’re saying. Take a deep breath, then slowly tell me what’s up, okay?”

“I killed him. I shot him with a pistol,” John said.

“Who? Who did you shoot?”

“I don’t know who he was. He was just a man walking down the street and I shot him. He fell over and there was blood everywhere. I ran away as fast as I could, but I did it. I know I did it.”

“Be reasonable,” Bob said. “Why would you do a thing like that to a man you didn’t even know?”

“I don’t know. I’ve tried to think. Someone told me to but I can’t remember who or when they told me.”

“Are you saying that you’re hearing voices?”

John was crying. His sobs were vibrating through the phone until his words were barely decipherable.

“Are you hearing voices,” Bob asked again.

“I must be…maybe I am. I don’t know, but I think someone ordered me to shoot this man. I didn’t even know the man. Why would someone want me to shoot him?”

“Where did this murder take place?”

“It was on the street. The man came out of an office building and started to walk ahead of me down the street. I followed him and when I got a clear shot, I shot him. He fell onto the sidewalk and was bleeding all over, so I ran away. That’s all I know.”

“Was this on the news?”

“I don’t know,” John wailed. “Please help me.”

“Where is the gun you used?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Was it a pistol or a shotgun? What kind of gun was it?”

“It was a handgun. The man wasn’t far away. He was right in front of me.”

“I need to know where the gun is now. Think about it. Where is the gun?”

“I think someone told me to throw it down a sewer.”

“And did you throw it down a sewer?”

“Yes. I did what I was told to do.”

“Where is the sewer located?”

“On West Fifth Street I think.”

“When did this happen?”

“Last night. I remember going to bed early but I got up and got dressed later, then I went out to walk on the streets. I think I was told to go to one of the restaurants downtown and to find this man and shoot him. I was told he is a bad man and it’s my life or his at stake.”

“Where did you get the gun? Did you already have it?”

“No. Someone said to go look under my bed and that I’d find a gun there. I was to take the gun and use it to defend the city. I was to stop this man who wanted to destroy me and everyone around me, or something like that. The voice said I’d be a hero if I did this and succeeded.”

“So, you went and looked under your bed and found the gun. Was it loaded?”

“Yes, I guess so. It went off later when I pulled the trigger. What am I going to do,” John’s voice rose to an eerie wail pressed by fear and anxiety.

“I suggest that you don’t do anything. What you’re describing to me is only a dream. Forget about it.”

John was quiet for a minute or two, then his voice faintly asked the question, he so desperately wanted answered.

“Do you think it was just a dream for sure? It seemed to be so real. I didn’t find a gun under the bed. I didn’t get up and go out on the streets last night. I didn’t shoot a man down like he was a rabid dog. This is really all just a dream?”

“I’m sure of it,” Bob said. “You have vivid dreams all the time anyway. Remember, you told me about them. Maybe this one is just more vivid than most are. You need to put the memories out of your mind and don’t think about them any longer. It’s just a bad dream.”

“Thank you,” John said. “I’m so glad I called you. I was sure that I’d committed a horrible crime. I’m so glad that I didn’t do anything terrible. It was just an overactive imagination. It was just a bad dream. Thanks for everything doctor Bob.”

Bob hung up the phone and smiled his ruthless smile. He was ecstatic to know that his brilliant plan had worked. Two days ago, he had hypnotized John and told him what he needed to do. He had told him where to find the gun, how to find the man Bob wanted to eliminate, and what to do with the gun.

His experiment had gone beautifully and John had fallen for everything he’d suggested. He hadn’t expected John to remember what he’d done because he’d given him instructions to forget the murder after he’d committed it. John seemed to remember all the highlights of his actions anyway.

“But it doesn’t matter that much. There is nothing to tie the murder to John and nothing to tie the gun to me. I wiped off all the prints. John seems to remember that some voice told him to do the murder, but he has no idea it was me or he wouldn’t have called me for help.”

Meanwhile, John turned to the detective who was sitting beside him and smiled a little. “I guess the plan in his mind is to pretend that everything I remember is just a dream,” he said, “But fortunately, I remembered my instructions in time to call on you and get some help. That poor man wasn’t killed after all.”

“You did the right thing,” the detective said, “I’ll be picking Bob up shortly before he finds another patsy to do his evil bidding.”

The two men shook hands on that agreement.