A Dream of Destiny -- Part Two

George wouldn't allow himself to believe that Kristen's statement was anything more than congeniality. He had deceived himself too often in the past. He waited until she was underway, although incidences of violence were rare at the school, which was one of the most peaceful in Brooklyn. He considered himself fortunate to have been transferred here. The severe beating he had suffered at his former school, which had initiated his reassignment, seemed almost to have been worth it.
As he turned onto a street over which elevated train tracks ran, he noticed the young woman's car at the side of the road, its trunk open. His heartbeat accelerated. "Oh, gosh," he choked as he, against his better judgment, pulled beside her. She was beneath the hood, pouring anti-freeze into the radiator. He prayed she wouldn't ask his help.
"I have a little leak," she smiled as he rolled down the passenger window. "I have to feed it all the time. Someday I'll be able to afford a decent car. Thanks for stopping. You're sweet."
He noted the diamond engagement ring. Although he wasn't surprised, he wanted to berate her for having treated him so warmly. Another man might have been misled. She was so naive she wasn't even aware of where she had parked - in the shadow of a housing project. He told her where to go should she need to stop in the future. A left turn would have led her to safety, even at the distance of only one block.
He placed a hand over his eyes and squeezed at his temples as she returned the container to the trunk. She smiled as she waved goodbye. He mocked her. Terrifying images of what might have been flashed through his mind. He became angrier and angrier as he drove. Although exhaust fumes were leaking into the interior, he would not open the window even a crack, as he preferred the odor to the cold.
At home, he sprawled onto the couch, which opened into his bed, and watched television. He pulled an afghan over himself, cursing the landlord for not providing adequate heat. He was awakened by a scream, the dream more vivid than ever. This time the corpse had a face - that of Kristen Coten. He ground his teeth together and clutched at his chest. On the screen before him, a man was placing the body of a woman into the trunk of a car. He had seen the episode before. Was it the story that horrified him - or did it arouse something buried in his subconscious mind? Or had the murder occurred in another lifetime? He was no longer skeptical of reincarnation. His dreams and the extraordinary instances of dejá vu he experienced had him leaning toward belief in successive existences. The thought that he may have been a murderer was profoundly disturbing, however. He was able to imagine himself as a caveman man killing for survival, but not simply for the sake of it, as the dream suggested. Were his years of devotion to his mother and his profession merely penance for past crimes?
He realized the murder would have had to have been recent had it occurred in a prior lifetime, as automobiles were only a century old. He was certain the trunk wasn't part of a stagecoach or train. He wondered if he were clairvoyant, envisioning a crime perpetrated by the car's previous owner, whom he did not know; he had purchased the car from a dealer.
The next day, he stopped at a supermarket after school. It was extremely crowded and noisy. He hated such confusion. He lacked items he would not do without, chiefly coffee and cigarettes. He could get by on a single meal a day, but coffee was his passion. He had at least two pots a day.
The express line was long and moved slowly. The cashier worked methodically, apparently in fear of error. George steamed as darkness began to fall, prematurely, the sky heavily overcast. He imagined his hands around the dark-haired girl's throat. He shuddered, realizing the extent of his anger. He contemplated returning the items to the shelves, putting the bag of coffee in his pocket, and leaving. "You're not a thief," he told himself; he was uncertain, however, if he were a murderer.
Another girl approached with a cash drawer. The first closed the register, to the chagrin of the patrons. George, gazing out the window, cursed himself for not having gone to a convenience store, for having chosen to save himself a few dollars. It was twilight by the time he exited. Headlights were flashing on throughout the huge lot. As he hurried to his car, which was parked a considerable distance away, trunk after trunk was opened by a woman. His head pounded as he broke into a sprint. He was nearly run down at an intersection, tires screeching menacingly. A woman honked and cursed him. His lungs were burning, aching for breath as he reached the shelter of his sedan. "That's it," he said, resolving to seek professional help; the expense was no longer a deterrent.
The doctor listened quietly. George opened up immediately, relieved at the opportunity to unburden himself. He had few friends. He had been working since the age of 14, helping his family - all of whom were immigrants, except himself. His spare time had been spent in study. He graduated with honors. His brothers, both older than he, put in 18-hour days at the restaurant they owned in midtown. Now that his mother was dead, he saw them only during holidays. The school where he had taught for ten years had been troubled, the staff hardened and eager to escape after dismissal. The faculty at his current school was warm, but he had yet to make any real friends. He feared his reticence would isolate him, if it hadn't already.
"I'm afraid I'm going to hurt someone," he said, seated at the edge of the couch, too tense to lay back. "It's so frustrating, always the same length. I wish it would go on so I'd have a clue to its meaning, even though it scares me so much. Maybe I've already killed someone and my subconscious is blocking it out."
"I'll tell you what," said the doctor. "I'll have someone look over the unsolved murder files to see if there's anything in there resembling your dream. It may make you feel better initially to know there isn't, but the root of the dream is what's really troubling you. As I get to know you better, I'll be able to help you analyze it."
"I know it's crazy, but I'm starting to believe it's my destiny to fulfill the dream - if I haven't already."
"I'll write my beeper number on the back of my card. Call me if you need to talk - any time."