Dream Riders

by Taylor Kole

  It reached for Corey, presumably to nudge him from his stupor. The long digits ending in claws collided with an invisible barrier, perhaps a foot away from Corey. The contact bent the fingers awkwardly.

  The beast shook its hand, inspected it, and then inspected Corey.

  Corey had been so surprised by the gesture, then the barrier, he hadn’t reacted.

  Presented with evidence some force protected him bolstered his resolve to face this menace.

  The Jinni tested Corey’s shield with a reach for his shoulder, his elbow, his chest, all with the same result—contact with an inert barrier. On his final attempt at Corey’s hand, Corey returned the gesture and met a resistance from his end. He pushed forward with all of his might and gained centimeters, at the cost of an increased vibration.

  Boundaries defined, man and creature stood eye to eye. The Jinni shared its first facial expression by dropping its jaw half an inch, stretching its taught flesh. It then extended its hand. It wiggled its fingers and thumb at eye level like a Sith Lord trying a mind trick.

  Corey tilted his head and sensed rising frustration.

  The Jinni lowered its hand and mirrored Corey by tilting its head, straightening it as Corey did. Another ineffective wave of its fingers, and the Jinni turned its body toward the stage.

  Corey joined him in inspecting the dream. The Jinni adjusted to face Walt, then glanced at Corey as if making sure he was paying attention.

  Walt rode bareback on a black stallion across a green field of grass. Blood spattered his chest, a large sword jutted from behind his back.

  The Jinni extended its hand toward the setting and wiggled its digits in the same fashion as he had before Corey.

  Corey sensed a source leave its hand. Smelled a source would be more accurate, a fetid scent like rotten fish boiled in urine.

  A second later, Walt tugged the reigns until the horse stopped. He then leaned his chest against the horse’s mane, wrapped his muscular arms around the animal’s neck and squeezed.

  The animal neighed and bucked. Walt squeezed tighter as a gleeful anticipation joined the air—whether from Walt or the Jinni, Corey didn’t know. The steed went to its front knees, Walt held his grip until the animal dropped to its side. With his feet on the earth, Walt wrenched his body violently. A loud snap echoed through the dream. The horse went limp.

  The Jinni continued holding out its arm, focused on Walt, who climbed to his feet, panting with excitement. He pulled the sword from its scabbard.

  The dream jumped.

  With the intuition that existed in their small world, Corey knew Marci had swapped the scenery, and that the override stunned the Jinni. Its head dipped over the edge for a better view.

  Walt waited at the counter of a modern library. Horse forgotten, he eyed the female librarian—an overweight woman in her late forties—with a sexual hunger.

  The Beast next to Corey pushed its hand out with more urgency. The stink of rotten fish oozed from its palm.

  At Corey’s next glance, the wealthy man had the willing librarian bent over the counter, pumping her from behind.

  Satisfied, perhaps exhausted, the Jinni lowered its hand and studied Marci. Corey sensed rage, enmity, and poison.

  Corey considered collapsing the dream, but with evidence the creature couldn’t touch him and some that Marci could override its influence on Walt, curiosity ruled.

  After a few minutes, where the Jinni stayed so still Corey wondered if it had left its body, it swiveled to Corey.

  Seconds ticked by.

  Corey shuffled his feet and glanced at the stage.

  Marci had steered Walt to a more agreeable setting. He remained in the library, at the head of a desk. His hair was now wavy and streaked with gray. He wore rectangular frames. Using smiles, he captivated a roomful of fans eager to have him autograph his latest tell-all best-seller.

  Movement in Corey’s peripheral drew his attention back to the Jinni.

  Instead of an ornate treasure chest, a sheet of paper folded in half and tinted with the glowing orange of a setting sun hovered between them.

  Corey knew this offering of information would be more palatable than the previous item. It held an experience where he’d retain his sanity.

  The colorful page acted as an outstretched lemon meringue pie, an introduction between neighbors.

  Corey glanced down to Marci and found her busy with the Ride. She seemed to be willfully ignoring the ongoings of his balcony. Something huge was progressing up here, yet he sensed her dismissal.

  In retaliation, he reached for the glimmering missive.

  Contact skipped a beat of time, after which he occupied an omni-present point of view overlooking a new scene. Possibly one of the Jinni’s memories? Thousands of creatures similar in size and shape to his Jinni stood side by side in innumerable rows under a darkened sky. Bolts of red lightning crackled. Green flesh seemed the norm, though shades ranged from a light green near the color of a tennis ball, to a rare midnight black.

  The mucous-green of Walt’s visitor placed it in the darker third, which he considered significant, as if evil literally darkened mass.

  The field of Jinn waited with hardly more than a shuffling of the feet. There was a slight murmur as well. Corey sensed them communicating telepathically, passing along stories of human atrocities committed by their host, sharing techniques on what dreams had the greatest influence, and praising tales of terror encouraged by their nudging.

  A light appeared in the chest of a watermelon-green Jinni. It burned red, growing brighter until it engulfed the creature in flame, at which point its body shifted to smoke and zipped skyward.

  On the third such vapor departure, Corey understood they were going off to inhabit a person who had leaned enough toward selfishness, hate, or apathy to allow one of these Jinni to live in their dreams.

  As Corey concentrated, or the vision continued to focus, he detected a greater Force beneath it all. He believed it produced the slight susurration of bass he felt. Unidentifiable in size or location, it’s presence suffused every atom. It chanted over the army of Jinni. Though undecipherable, the mantra clearly encouraged the end of civility, the destruction of man, the end to all life, an end to them; end them, end them.

  Corey slimmed and retracted. He once again occupied the balcony.

  Marci’s concern plastered him. A second later her worry splashed to relief, followed by her asking if he was okay.

  Corey had peered into an adobe of Hell. New horizons of danger were cresting in him. If such a battlefield existed, what else populated reality?

  Sensing his concern in the current, yet busy guiding the dream, Marci sent her appreciation at his health, and returned her attention to Walt.

  Walt was perched halfway up a tree, clutching a spear, scanning a dense jungle for prey.

  Corey wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he opened the note, but he imagined his glimpse of wicked had progressed in real time.

  Peering to his left, he found the Jinni waited. A new sheet of plain lined paper, clearly blank, hung before him. He knew touching it would open a conduit to himself, allowing him to imprint an equal amount of information pertaining to his world for the Jinni to consume.

  Perhaps simply wanting to avoid offending, or hoping he would receive another vision once he shared, he considered what he would share. Something personal, something about the history of Earth, some current event?

  As he reached for the page—assuming he would make the final decision once he understood the mechanics of the quid pro quo—Marci shouted, “Stop.”

  Her interruption surprised him. Mainly because he had imagined her engrossed with Walt, but as his hand crept closer (almost of its own will) her pleading increased. Her communication acted as a slap to the face. Peeking at the Jinni reinforced her demand.

  The Jinni’s features remained stoic. With his clear mind, Corey detected its eagerness. It wanted Corey to make contact, maybe more than it had ever wanted anything in it
s ageless existence.

  Assuming its reasons nefarious, yet finding his hand creeping toward the paper even as he ordered it to withdraw, he hit his eject button, relinquished his hold on the dream, and spiraled them out of the current nightmare.

  FOURTEEN

  They used the hour and forty-five minutes between exiting the dream and Walt stirring to compose themselves. Corey spent the time trying to settle his mind. He kept looking at Marci, intent on talking about the Jinni, but she kept her head in the phone.

  His stomach knotted at the sight of Walt waking. He had this image of Walt sitting up, addressing Corey, but it would be the Jinni’s voice. Since Corey was determined to finish the final step so they could cash their check, he pushed those thoughts aside and wished Walt a good morning when he woke.

  They gathered around the small table to go over Walt’s version of his dream.

  Marci played the role of interested counselor, Corey the doting assistant. He smiled, nodded, and inserted simple one-word retorts.

  During the nearly two hours of dream discussions, Corey’s mind continued to wander to the upcoming Sunday morning. Specifically to seeing Justin again. Corey wouldn’t tell Marci, but he was going to tell Justin the truth about Dream Riding and about the evil Jinni that lived inside Walt.

  As the couple rode the elevator down in silence, Corey remembered Pastor K mentioning an early-bird sermon at Hope’s Corner every Saturday. Corey promised Marci he would be home as soon as it finished, and summoned a ride. If, for whatever reason, the flannel-wearing man didn’t attend that morning’s sermon, Corey would consider that a sign and keep his and Marci’s secret.

  Arriving fifteen minutes early, he searched the parking lot but didn’t see Justin’s truck. Corey made small talk with Pastor K and some of the regulars while brewing pots of coffee, disinfecting the pews, and hanging near the front entrance in case Justin showed up.

  Halfway through the early bird sermon, he forgot about Justin and lost himself in the story of Cain and Abel. After mass, while being driven home by an older patron, Corey wondered if Cain had been the first person possessed by a Jinni. And was that Jinni, due to Cain’s notoriety, famous for that accomplishment?

  Corey lamented the gnawing inside of him that whispered that the eon’s-old battle discussed in a hundred religions still waged. He worried someone, or some force, might be attempting to draft him into the fight. A grand mistake on their part, since Corey was positive that if given a DNA test, he’d learn he lacked the brutal warrior gene.

  Stopping in front of the home he shared with a perfect scrapper, he sighed. Marci would cut him off at word two if he preached any religious angles about Jinni. Perhaps with good reason; who could say?

  Noticing Lisa’s Ford Fiat in the driveway helped. She would act as a buffer to him getting overly excited. Perhaps her presence signified sign number three of the morning about keeping their gift a secret.

  He exited the car, and collected his thoughts under the early sun.

  A minute later, he pushed through the door.

  Marci rose from the sofa and waited for Corey to speak.

  “Where’s Janey?”

  “Out back. She was awake shortly after I got home. Lisa woke up around eight and just stuck around. I think they’re filling the kid pool. We were waiting for you to have breakfast.”

  Corey checked the right corner of the monitor for the time: nine twenty-seven. He should wait to bring up the Dream Ride. Zinging from immense thoughts and a little caffeine, he scanned the area for prying ears, found none, and said; “So, do we have a minute to talk about last night?”

  Marci rested her pen on a notepad, crossed her arms, and searched his face. After a beat, she said, “It was a strange series of events, and there’s no doubt Walt has issues, but…” She looked off in the distance for a moment, then met Corey’s gaze. “...we’re going to be exposed to people’s true minds, we’ll probably witness many disturbing dreams.”

  “I’m not interested in his dreams. I’m talking about the demon that’s haunting him.”

  “Oh, Corey. Please. Don’t go off the deep end again. Not now.”

  The verbal slap deflated his intended line of reasoning. He lowered himself onto the end of the coffee table and relaxed his shoulders. One of them was surely acting irrational. Was it him?

  Marci sighed, sat on the couch across from him, and took his hand in hers. “I understand how you could draw that conclusion, but I can feel things through Walt that you can’t. That conjured image is an extension of him; a manifestation of his subconscious.”

  “You seemed pretty concerned about me interacting with it.”

  “I was worried that you might mess with his mind or something.”

  He could entertain that notion, if he didn’t remember seeing a field of Jinn periodically glowing to hot red vapor and warping off, presumably to invade a willing host. To avoid an argument, he cut to the end. “I’m not going back there.”

  “We’re going to run into people with dark sides. Probably a lot more than we want to admit.”

  Rather than shout, ‘It wasn’t a God damn dark side,’ he enunciated clearly, “I’m not giving Walton Zimbardo another Ride, ever.”

  She released his hand, “Change the ‘never’ to ‘not anytime soon’ and we can drop it.”

  “No. Not anytime soon. Never.”

  “Don’t try and ruin this morning for me.”

  “This isn’t about you.”

  “That’s where you better hope you’re wrong. As long as we’re married, what you do affects me.”

  Corey furrowed his brow. Was she talking about leaving him? He looked at her. Maybe he was pushing her to her limits.

  “So, to keep this a good morning, I’ll ask you to change ‘never’ to ‘not any time soon.’”

  “Not for a long while.”

  “Good, because the check has been deposited. I’ve been waiting to tell you our monthly car payment is a thing of the past.”

  Hearing that lightened Corey’s chest. There were so many times he would see a little cushion in the bank and think about buying something: a new laptop, a doll house, or even roses for Marci, and then he would remember the forthcoming car payment.

  Marci shared a smile and then moved to the kitchen, drank half of an iced coffee, and offered the rest to Corey. “Dealing with Walt wasn’t pleasant, but we’re okay and, it was worth it.”

  Corey stared into her brown eyes. With tens of thousands of hours together, they had a synchronicity of thought, and in the following silence—after he agreed the compensation had been sufficient—he contemplated how close they came to a real danger: him touching the final Jinni offering. He wondered what crossing that line could have meant, if anything. Death, insanity, perpetual angst? He imagined Marci had run through a series of similar thoughts, just her concerns might have been for how the interaction affected their client.

  “As far as going into business with Walt,” Corey said. “We’re going to have to ignore him for the next couple of weeks until he gets the message.”

  “It won’t be that easy. I’ve never seen a happier man? It was like he was…” she caught herself.

  “Possessed?” He sipped the iced coffee. “He’ll get the hint eventually.”

  Marci shrugged, “Either way, ignoring him will be a good negotiating tactic.”

  Tactic? Corey let it drop. Marci had possibly hinted at divorce, he wasn’t going to push her any farther than he had to. And, he still had more to say. “I would like to talk a little more about what happened in there.”

  She crossed her arms.

  “Rational talk. I was freaked-”

  “I was freaked out, too.”

  “You were?” Corey asked. “Good. I mean, good that we can agree it was disturbing.”

  “Yeah, when you lost substance I almost screamed.”

  “Lost substance?” The notion that he, or a part of him, had traveled somewhere hadn’t occurred to him.

  “Yeah
. You know how our feelings tell us as much as our eyes in there. Well, I’m dealing with Walt’s almost comical delusions of grandeur, when I feel this sense of retreat coming from your balcony. I looked, and you were frozen with your hand out, connected to an orange sheet of paper floating between you and Walt’s subconscious. You were transparent, almost as if you were cast in a glossy acrylic with a hollow inside.”

  Her words brought back images of an army standing at attention. “It wasn’t Walt’s subconscious. It’s called a Jinni. There are thousands, maybe tens of thousands of them. They only care about corruption. That’s where I went, Marci, to see their base.” Setting down the glass, he covered his mouth as if to keep down the disturbing words, or halt speaking any further less some unseen deity hear them.

  “It’s still fresh,” Marci said. “I should have waited to bring it up. We’ll have more rational debates in a few days.”

  “Hordes of Jinn, invading susceptible minds and encouraging evil,” Corey blurted. “I wonder if they are behind mass shooting, senseless violence, and political hostility.”

  “A Jinni?” Marci exhaled. “Like rub a bottle and get three wishes?”

  “You have a hunch it’s Walt’s subconscious. I’ve seen proof it is not.”

  “Please, listen to me. That human-shaped thing was part of Walt. They are connected. Walt has a darker side he keeps from himself, and it manifests inside his mind. You have to trust me.”

  Corey wanted to. What she said sounded plausible. She was the most intelligent person he had ever known, but picturing fields of Jinn waiting for a human to darken their souls enough to invite them in countered his wishful thinking.

  Since arguing seemed futile, he moved to the couch, pulled the wireless keyboard on his lap, and typed “Jinni” into the search, and pressed enter.

  Marci stared up at him

  He clicked the sixth URL, titled, “Jinn, Minion of the Devil”

  He read to himself. “Born by searing fire, the Jinn is a lower class of demon skilled in trickery, ruse, and deceit, all employed to tempt man into sin.”