Tell Me Your Dreams by Sidney Sheldon

“They don’t dance?”

“You know what I mean.”

He was holding her close, and both of them felt the urgency of the moment.

“That could be very dangerous for both of you, Gilbert. .. .”

Chapter Twenty-five

I know what the bloody hell you’re trying to do, Dockie. You’re trying to make Ashley think you’re her friend.”

“I am her friend, Toni, and yours.”

“No, you’re not. You think she’s great, and I’m nothing.”

“You’re wrong. I respect you and Alette as much as I respect Ashley. You’re all equally important to me.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes. Toni, when I told you that you had a beautiful singing voice, I meant it. Do you play an instrument?”

“Piano.”

“If I could arrange for you to use the piano in the recreation hall so you can play and sing, would you be interested?”

“I might be.” She sounded excited.

Dr. Keller smiled. “Then I’ll be happy to do it. It will be there for you to use.”

“Thanks.”

Dr. Keller arranged for Toni to have private access to the recreation room for one hour every afternoon. In the beginning, the doors were closed, but as other inmates heard the piano music and the singing from inside, they opened the door to listen. Soon, Toni was entertaining dozens of patients.

Dr. Keller was looking over his notes with Dr. Lewison.

Dr. Lewison said, “What about the other one—Alette?”

“I’ve set it up for her to paint in the garden every afternoon. She’ll be watched, of course. I think it’s going to be good therapy.”

But Alette refused. In a session with her, Dr. Keller said, “You don’t use the paints I gave you, Alette. It’s a shame to let them go to waste. You’re so talented.”

How would you know?

“Don’t you enjoy painting?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t you do it?”

“Because I’m no good.” Stop pestering me.

“Who told you that?”

“My—my mother.”

“We haven’t talked about your mother. Do you want to tell me about her?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“She died in an accident, didn’t she?”

There was a long pause. “Yes. She died in an accident.”

The following day, Alette started to paint. She enjoyed being in the garden with her canvas and brushes. When she painted, she was able to forget everything else. Some of the patients would gather around her and watch. They talked in multicolored voices.

“Your paintings should be in a gallery.” Black.

“You’re really good.” Yellow.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Black.

“Can you paint a picture of me sometime?” Orange.

“I wish I knew how to do that.” Black.

She was always sorry when her time was up and she had to go back into the big building.

“I want you to meet someone, Ashley. This is Lisa Garrett.” She was a woman in her fifties, small and wraithlike. “Lisa is going home today.”

The woman beamed. “Isn’t that wonderful? And I owe it all to Dr. Keller.”

Gilbert Keller looked at Ashley and said, “Lisa suffered from MPD and had thirty alters.”

“That’s right, dear. And they’re all gone.”

Dr. Keller said pointedly, “She’s the third MPD patient leaving us this year.”

And Ashley felt a surge of hope.

Alette said, “Dr. Keller is sympathetic. He really seems to like us.”

“You’re bloody stupid,” Toni scoffed. “Don’t you see what’s happening? I told you once. He’s pretending to like us so we’ll do what he wants us to do. And do you know what that is? He wants to bring us all together, luv, and then convince Ashley that she doesn’t need us. And do you know what happens then? You and I die. Is that what you want? I don’t.”

“Well, no,” Alette said hesitantly.

“Then listen to me. We go along with the doctor. We make him believe that we’re really trying to help him. We string him along. We’re in no hurry. And I promise you that one day I’ll get us out of here.”

“Whatever you say, Toni.”

“Good. So we’ll let old Dockie think he’s doing just great.”

A letter arrived from David. In the envelope was a photograph of a small boy. The letter read: