by Taylor Kole
“Good advice.” Corey rose without any strange tracers, color bursts, or arms reaching out from the shadows.
Once standing, he sought out Janey’s last location, and found an empty spot on the pool’s edge.
Moving in front of Justin for a better view, he peered along the edge of the pool, but didn’t see her. He checked the steps. Scanned the deep end. The children near the snacks. Janey was gone.
Behind him, her inflated arm floaties remained under the chair. He returned his attention to the water, and paced closer. In the middle of the pool, the outlines of a small body quivered at its bottom; the arms and legs were open as if reaching up for help.
Hoping the image would clarify, or pass, Corey stepped to the rim. Strands of hair he knew to be strawberry blond billowed out in all directions.
“I need help over here!” Corey yelled and then dove into the pool.
Pumping out four strokes underwater with his eyes open brought him near the area. He saw nothing but clean tiles. Spinning wildly, he found a pool drain, a pair of forgotten goggles, heard multiple filtered splashes as adults entered the pool. He saw legs converging on him, but he couldn’t find Janey.
Running short on oxygen, he paddled frantically in a circle, almost bumping into a hairy belly. Strong arms pulled him to the surface.
Squinting out the chlorine, dragging in hot breaths, he pushed against his bailiffs, and searched the perimeters for adults providing CPR to a child.
“Janey!” he yelled.
He attempted to dip back under, but the men held him.
“Let me go. My daughter’s drowning.”
Pastor K crashed into the water.
“Where is she?” Justin said from his right, where he held Corey.
No boys splashed. No kids ran. Silence had taken over. Everyone watched him.
“Corey, what’s going on?” Pastor K said.
Corey scanned the clear water for a shadow laying at the bottom. “I saw a little girl underwater.” Had he?
“There’s no one there,” Justin said.
“Janey!” Corey called.
Everyone scanned their surroundings.
“There,” Justin said.
Janey stood on the top step of the pool. The majority of her hair was dry. Her face was calm as if awaiting Corey’s explanation.
“She’s right there,” Justin said..
“She was… she was drowning,” Corey said.
“Everything is okay,” Pastor K announced to the room.
“I saw a little girl under the surface,” Corey whispered as Justin squeezed his shoulder and guided him toward Janey.
“Janey’s safe. There is no girl. It’s okay.” Justin led them toward the steps. “The lights can play tricks when reflected off the water. It’s happened to me.”
Despite the inquisitive looks, Corey looked back one more time and searched the water.
“Everything is okay,” a woman called out. “Go back to playing.”
A boy yelled for his friend to pass the ball. A splash followed. Within seconds, the party resumed.
“What is it, daddy?”
Corey scooped Janey up without replying.
“Come on,” Justin said. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
“I’ll watch Chevy while you’re gone,” Pastor K said from behind them.
A minute later, the trio moved toward the exit. Janey’s head rested on Corey’s shoulder. Looking about, he noticed every set of adult eyes watched him, presumably trying to interpret his mindset.
From a place of rest on Corey’s shoulder, Janey whispered. “The little men in the shadows tricked you, huh, Daddy?”
EIGHTEEN
Slipping the key into the lock must have stirred Marci, because as Corey and Janey entered the living room, she sat up from lying on the couch, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She glanced at the wall clock and said, “You’re home early. Is everything okay?”
Corey wanted to say, I’m far from okay, and tell her all about it, but Janey was right there. Plus, a conversation like the one he wanted to have would need Marci to be in a decent mood. Understanding her question was mainly about their immediate health, he said, “I need to sleep, that’s all.”
“How did you get home?”
“Justin.”
She watched him, and then glanced at Janey, who stood close to Corey. “But everything is okay?”
“I’m just tired. After I sleep, we can talk.”
“Okay.” Marci slumped onto the couch. Sitting forward she activated the monitor with a shake of the wireless mouse.
From the kitchen, Smokey meowed loudly. Janey hurried to feed him.
“One scoop,” Marci called, “You don’t want him to grow fat or get bad cholesterol.”
“Okay,” Janey replied. She had recently been given the authority to fill Smokey’s bowl with one scoop of food, twice a day. For Smokey’s benefit, she would dig out the biggest scoop possible, and with the skill of a champion Jenga player, pile kernels of dry food onto the scooper until gravity rebuffed further attempts.
“I was thinking we could go out for dinner as a family after you sleep,” Marci said. She clicked on their Dreamriders’ icon and opened the site’s email. “We have no clients for a couple of nights, my two interpretations are done, and we achieved true legitimacy today.”
By his standard, they had reached legitimacy when Marci finished her final day as an employee of the state. The intrigue however, pushed aside much of his embarrassment from the water park, and of endangering their child. “What happened?”
“A bonafide physician emailed us, it included a collaborative attachment from a psychiatrist.”
Corey whipped his ponytail over his right shoulder, and snatched the end. “What do they want?”
“They have a patient, a seven-year-old boy they claim suffers from chronic nightmares.” She opened the email and scrolled down. The text was massive, pages and pages of transcribed interviews. “His nightmares go from men with knives, evil creature, bodiless fangs, and many other oddities a child’s mind might conceive.” All of that frightened Corey, but so did the idea of a Jinn haunting a child.
“They want to know if we can cure him.”
“Absolutely,” Corey said.
Marci frowned. “Cure him?”
“It’s worth a shot.”
“Well, I already told him it was doubtful. I’m waiting to see how they counter.”
“Counter?”
“I read the message twice. It didn’t mention a payment.”
Corey glanced toward the kitchen, hoping Janey hadn’t heard her mother’s callousness.
“Plus, they live in some po-dunk town in Georgia. If they offer payment, we’ll have to negotiate for transportation, and travel time. I’ve never considered our service as medical. I wonder if we can accept money from insurance companies?”
“You can’t be serious?”
“I know you’re not grasping it, but in a few hours, or days, after you sift through the hopeful sentiment, you’ll see reason. We can’t go around curing children of nightmares. Almost every child under the age of ten reports one to two nightmares a week. This might be some hypochondriac mother rushing her kid off to specialists, twisting the son’s mind by over-reacting every time he has a bad dream, which for all we know, is the natural process for growing into a healthy adult.”
“I mean if they covered our expenses, we could do this one pro bono; see if we can add real value with our gift.”
“Not yet.” Marci returned to the site’s main messages. “Not when we don’t have any savings and we’re sharing a phone and a car, but we’ll see how the negotiations go. I’m not ruling it out. We simply need payment.”
With resignation, he admitted they couldn’t soothe every child in America, but one didn’t seem unreasonable. If the boy really suffered, Corey would fight to help him.
Just then, a ripple of color washed over his vision, distorting the Dreamriders.com homepage. The hieroglyph
ic designs twirled and expanded as if trying to escape its digital prison. He placed his palms against his eyes.
“Are you okay?” Marci asked.
“I need sleep, Marci. I’m seeing things.”
“If you’re tired, take a nap.”
“That’s just it, I don’t feel tired.”
“I know what you mean, but if you lay still long enough and calm your thoughts, sleep will come. If not, take a whiff of our sedative.”
Corey winced at the idea of being drugged. He studied her a beat before asking, “Have you felt any side effects from Dream Rides?”
“Like what?” She tilted her head.
“Like, just now, when I looked at the screen, it moved.”
Marci thought for a moment, and then pursed her lips together and shook her head.
“No optical tricks, strange colors, amorphous shadows hiding little creatures?”
Marci’s eyes shot to the carpet. Her frown deepened. She then took both of Corey’s hands in hers and pulled him onto the couch, then closer. “You know I have stayed neutral on your church thing. If you or Janey can convince yourselves everything is for the greater good, that a path of love and harmony is outlined for each of us, and all we have to do is locate and follow it, more power to you. I wish I could believe that, but I think it’s time for you to take a break.”
He almost laughed, but the sincerity in Marci’s eyes helped him contain the impulse. Church helped him make his first friend in years. He enjoyed giving back to the less fortunate, and with Janey’s help, he had started to ponder that seemingly innocent signs pointed to the theological proof humans were more than biological eventualities.
“I can take Janey to Sunday school and play nice with your new friends, but if you step back and examine it from the outside, you’re doing things similar to what you did before your episode in California.”
He started to correct her—this was so much different. They teleported into people’s dreams, and discovered demonic life. Hearing the sincerity in her voice helped him process things from her perspective.
“I’m not saying abandoning our plans and your life-long pursuit ruined us. We got through it, maybe we are stronger than ever, and look at what we can do because of our course correction. The previous signs were nominal at the time, but with reflection, stress was mounting on us. You were closing in on a career, a husband, a father. We just powered through each day without addressing our feelings, then came the snap.
“Depression, along with some rough months, followed your decision to quit studying, but we stuck together and survived. Now, we’ve settled in a new part of the country, started a business, involving us both in new careers. Moving, career change, and new relationships are the three most stress-inducing things in life. I love and support you. We are going to grow old together, but your actions, your words, are sending up red flags.”
Corey considered the parallels between his previous retreat to the current situation. He didn’t see anything irrational in his behavior—he processed observations as they occurred, but neither could he dismiss Marci’s fears.
“We witnessed the ugly side of a troubled mind and you ascribed paranormal and then religious undertones to it. Now you’re hallucinating, and confabulating fantasies.”
He stayed quiet and mulled over her position.
“I’m suggesting you take a few weeks away from church to ground yourself.”
Janey exited the kitchen looking down and behind her. Smokey followed and they moved to her room where a bevy of new toys filled a milk crate in her closet. Corey saw a faint pink spiral cord connecting Janey with the cat. He shut his eyes.
Marci squeezed his hands. “Listen, take a nap. Wake refreshed. We’ll enjoy a nice meal, buy Janey some exotic veggie burgers; indulge in a glass of wine or two, be romantic after we tuck her in. Tomorrow, I’ll take her to church and we’ll talk about it again in a few days.”
Corey almost agreed—it would be good for her to attend—but then he imagined the questions that would bombard Marci about his well-being. They’d tell her about him yelling ‘I need help over here’ and jumping into the pool.
“No,” he said. “I’m going tomorrow. It’s my turn to set-up and pass around the collection plate, and even if you’re right—which you could be—the break will have to start next week. I have too many obligations tomorrow.” Like finding out how bad I embarrassed myself.
Marci exhaled long and slow, and then returned her attention to the messages. “Since you haven’t mentioned it, I’m assuming your buddy Justin didn’t share any news with you?”
“Share any news?” Over the past two months, he had shared lots: about his ex-wife, his past life of selfishness, his slow road to God, the peace he now carried in his heart. Things of no interest to Marci.
“He purchased a Dream Ride for Tuesday night. It’s booked and paid for. He asked if we wanted to meet at his house or ours, which saves us on a hotel room.” She opened the email Justin sent.
Why wouldn’t Justin ask me directly? Perhaps he had intended to tell Corey at the party, but watching him dive into water to save a phantom shape pushed the conversation to a later date.
“Take your nap, we’ll enjoy ourselves later.” She leaned over, turned his face, and kissed him. “Tuesday we add a new customer that lives close by.” Marci closed Dreamriders.com and opened her interpretation requests. She had jacked up the price to twenty-four ninety-nine, which slowed the requests. Still, she had received a paying customer in the hours since checking. “Get some rest,” she patted his knee. “Let me work.”
Corey rose, his gaze lingered on the shadow running along the four-inch overhang from cabinet to floor. The joint seemed to allow enough dark for little men to watch, and eavesdrop on their every word.
NINETEEN
Prior to Dream Riding, both Corey and Marci were lucid dreamers. Lucid dreamers possessed an awareness when dreaming; boasted limited control over setting and detail, and had the ability to think on two planes. That’s how Corey knew he was dreaming.
He crinkled his toes. He was barefoot. Warm grass wedged between his toes. Although he had never been to New York City, he knew he stood in Central Park on a beautiful summer day. Shapeless people strolled the paths, read books from their phones on benches, and shared picnic blankets on the great lawn.
Following an urge, he wished for a Golden Retriever—a desired pet since childhood. Instead, a Calico cat appeared. The cat dropped a pancake-sized Frisbee at his feet. When the cat looked up, Marci's face was on the feline. Corey scratched behind its ears. When he stood, the cat wound between his legs without moving its back paws. Its body elongated and overlapped and climbed until he found himself shackled by fur.
The dream skipped locations. The Jhabvala vineyard during a grape harvest. His uncle Val had been the foreman. Val always wore a hat and kept his Grizzly Adam's beard trimmed with ninety degree edges—giving it the appearance of an inverted top hat. Though his father worked their as well, Corey always remembered Val..
When Corey dreamed of this place, he always arrived at whatever his current age was, instead of the twelve-years-old he had been. Walking along the vines, with a field pouch over his shoulder, Corey loved that every plucked grape was the size of a gumball and felt as valuable as a polished ruby. Per Val's instruction, he popped every third grape into his mouth. Val claimed if the youngest man on the crew didn't find the grapes so irresistible he pilfered at least thirty-three percent, the Jhabvala family would raze the entire field and start anew.
Corey never tasted a grape succulent as those from his first job, but being mesmerized by the entire process, he didn't imagine future grapes stood much of a chance.
He especially liked the juicing process. Metallic ladles twirled inside steel vats, stirring the grapes into a dark soup. In the evenings, Val would cut the motor, invite Corey to strap on waders, and grind the grapes by stomping against the slippery and slanted bottom.
As the adult Corey mashed grap
es with child-like glee, the hum of the ladle motor kicked on, frightening both men. A steel bar met Val's leg and snapped it, then dragged the screaming man under.
The dream skipped locations.
Corey stood at the head of the vineyard. His heart thumped from the previous horror of a snapping leg and his uncle being sucked into an auger.
A familiar unease entered the air. Corey sniffed, fearing a Jinni approached.
Simply thinking of the beast while in its world brought Corey to a panic great enough to wake him. Using his lucid ability, he reminded himself he was safe, in his dream, and that despite the repulsive scenery and the sickening feel, he controlled this world.
Sensing a door to the right, which would lead to a room with a roaring fire, he turned.
The Jinni was there.
Corey stumbled backward. The ivory eyes didn’t move. He watched whorls of pulsating red travel up the sinewy neck
As the horror settled, Corey turned to run. The Jinni clamped a hand on his clavicle and turned him. Its hand had grown to a grotesque size. The claw on the thumb impaled the lower part of his chest, and each of the four digits bolted into the undercarriage of his opposite shoulder blade.
The flesh was more snot-green. The chalk white orb seemed dusty, or smoking; perhaps from hatred.
The Jinni had been shocked by Corey's presence during the first encounter, and curious with optimism at the second meeting.
This Jinni was pissed off. Impropriety boosted the insult. On a base level, Corey knew a person witnessing a Jinni was a great violation, and that a source knowing they existed was unthinkable.
At least this was Corey's dream, which meant he manifested the visitor before him.
As if to counter his assessment, the featureless face stretched forward. It's large eyes narrowed and colored until Walt's blue eyes looked back at him. An “ear” sprouted on the left side of the Jinni’s head and grew into a small human head. The head seethed, chomped at the air, and howled silently. Closer inspection showed Kendra's face. The right “ear” struggled with identical passions. Cooper's red hair wiggled atop the miniature tirade.
