“Do you think that he also has memory gaps about that summer of. . . when was it?”

“1960.”

“Do you think that he has the same gaps?”

“No. I don’t know. I doubt it. He just doesn’t like talking about it.”

“All right. Back to the dream itself. How do you feel when you lose this. . . tug of war. . . and your younger brother disappears?”

“Scared. Angry. And. . .”

“Go on.”

“Relieved, I guess. That the hands had grabbed Lawrence instead of me, I think. Dr. Hall, what the hell does this mean?”

“We discussed the fact that dreams don’t have to mean anything, Dale. But there almost certainly is a reason for having them. It sounds like a straightforward anxiety dream to me. Do you feel anxiety about the months ahead?”

“Sure I do. But why this dream?”

“Why do you think anxiety shows itself through this dream?”

“I have no idea. It couldn’t be a repressed memory?”

“You think that you have an actual memory of white hands dragging your little brother under the bed?”

“Well. . . or something like that.”

“We discussed repressed memories. Despite all the movies and TV talk about them, they are actually very, very rare. And a repressed memory would deal with a real event, such as physical or sexual abuse, not a fantasy nightmare. What is it? I can tell by your face that you’re disturbed.”

“Well, it wasn’t the recurring nightmare that woke me up last night.”

“What was it?”

“A sound. A scrabbling noise. Under my bed. Is our time up?”

“Just about. I do have one final question.”

“Shoot,” said Dale.