Dream Riders

by Taylor Kole

Bart dropped his head.

  Laughing, Walt strolled to a hidden door, which opened to a narrow hall leading to recessed rooms used by staff. He knocked, and when Lashinda peeked out, he told her to have Cooper deliver his breakfast to his office.

  “You’ll find strychnine in one of the lower pantries,” Florence yelled as the door closed. “Feel free to add ample amounts,” she added in a normal voice and then even lower, “do us all a favor.”

  His son hid himself in his thousand-dollar cell phone that could do everything except show him the real world, where weaklings were eaten for lunch.

  Pride at thickening his son’s skin carried him to the office. Bart would thank him when the sky fell and he could deal with pain and rejection. You had to be brutal to expand profits, and shrug off criticism because it rarely mattered.

  Kendra waited at her desk, adjacent to his. Her tablet rested before her, and though she heard him enter, she continued to read. Minutes later, Cooper brought Walt’s breakfast. After a few bites, he said, “Tell us all the juicy details.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Cooper said.

  Following his proof of loyalty in Nevada, the big man seemed bigger; his shoulders wider; his red hair stoked from Hellfire.

  “Come now,” Walt said. Checking with Kendra, he found her equally interested. “For the sake of us rookies, tell us how the crime went down; what you were feeling as you sneaked around, as you tossed a stone through the glass, the sound shattering the night.”

  Cooper licked his lips. “I scouted during the light of day, napped, and returned just before three in the morning. I dressed in all black. Gloves and boots too, but no mask, just a baseball hat to hide the hair.” He pointed to it. “I crept around the back, hopped the wall and pitched it with all my might.”

  “Boom-Pwish!” Walt exclaimed in his best imitation of glass shattering and collapsing.

  “Yeah, it was loud,” Cooper grinned. “The glass seemed to tinkle down for ten seconds.”

  The hint of a smile on Cooper’s face planted one on Walt’s. He appreciated that. He wanted this to be fun for all of them.

  “I climbed over the wall and jogged into the desert. Message sent.”

  “I’m going to come with you next time,” Walt said.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Kendra said. “As much fun as it sounds, we’ve done a good job of distancing you from this whole affair.” She tapped her finger on the tablet. “I’ve been reading the emails Marci sent. With them focused on you, we will file a dozen suits, make her look certifiable if she tries any legal actions.”

  “Also,” Cooper added, “We already talked about upping the stakes significantly. You won’t want to tag along for that ride.”

  Silence passed as each person presumably reflected on the seriousness of that statement.

  A heavy exhale, and Walt declared. “Well, I need to do something. I want to vandalize a home or building, at least.”

  “I think you should weigh the risk versus reward here, Walt,” Kendra said. “We’re still planning on changing the world, right?”

  Walt waved her off. “Once people get a whiff of Dream Riding, they won’t care if I pay bums to play Russian roulette for my dinner guests.”

  Cooper chuckled. “That’s a banquet I’d RSVP for.”

  “Ya see,” Walt beamed. “Besides, you said it’ll be weeks after we break the Padeskys until our dream experts are acquainted with the basics of Dream Riding.”

  “Maybe we could key some cars,” Cooper suggested. “That’s low risk.”

  “Key some cars,” Walt said as if tasting the idea.

  “You hold out a key, or better yet, a sturdy pocket knife and stroll past a car while holding the blade out like this,” Cooper pivoted his wrist near his waist. “Scratch lines in the paint job. That really pisses people off.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Walt said. “We’ll key some vehicles later tonight, but not nice ones.” He scrunched his face and thought for a moment. “I don’t want to upset the lives of good people. Let’s go to the north side and scratch some clunkers.”

  Cooper shrugged. “Not sure they’d care. What’s another scratch or two?”

  Walt considered that a moment and said, “You’re right, we’ll search for newer cars or fresh paint jobs in that area. Deface something a moron can’t afford to repair.”

  “That’ll work,” Cooper said.

  “Um,” Kendra said. “We are still planning on building your dream company, right? The goal you’ve had since childhood, making a name for yourself.”

  “Of course my dear, nothing is stopping that,” Walt said. “But I’ve had this streak of excitement building in me for months. The desert hillbillies’ websites are back online. That, and knowing their home is compromised should keep them busy for a few days. If they haven’t come to their senses by then…” he swallowed, and looked to each of his lieutenants. “We hit them for real.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Corey placed the lid of Chutes and Ladders over its bottom half. Janey sat across from him, between her mother and Lisa.

  Like all board games, providing a medium to connect with loved ones was its greatest benefit. In this case, three adults were able to show Janey her importance by taking time out from their hectic lives to live in that moment, and share her enthusiasm.

  With Janey’s alertness to manipulation (i.e. letting her win), everyone competed. Adhering to that principle handed out additional ethical lessons and made Janey’s victories more pleasing. Today however, Lisa’s pink-pant-wearing, pig-tail adorned, board-piece character reached the winner square first, two games in a row.

  “So Justin just left it on the counter,” Marci said. “Like we would entertain that psychopath’s business offer after he attacked our money and home.”

  “Um no.” Lisa scrunched her features. Finding Corey rising with the game in hand, she addressed him, “What did you tell your friend?”

  “Oh,” Marci replied. “He told his wonderfully useful buddy thank you for putting in our new slider and installing motion-censored lights, but his wife handles Walt strategy.”

  “And what do you say?” Lisa asked with a smirk.

  “I say nope, not gonna happen. This morning, I bundled that packet in half and marched it to the road-side garbage.”

  “With the other refuse,” Lisa added.

  “What’s refuse?” Janey asked.

  “It’s just a fancy way of saying trash,” Corey said. “Your mother and her friend are super fancy.”

  Marci stuck out her tongue, and Janey giggled.

  “You ready, pumpkin?” Lisa asked Janey.

  “Yep.” She gathered two napkins from the dining room table. “Let me just take care of this refuse.” She walked the garbage, tossed it in, and wiped her hands dramatically.

  To Marci, Lisa said, “Cookies N Crème flurry.” Then to Corey, “and you want a Heath bar flurry topped with cinnamon almonds.”

  “Exactly,” Marci said.

  “We’ll be back in thirty minutes.” Lisa accepted Janey’s outstretched hand.

  They left, and Corey moved to the back closet. While stacking the game on the others and returning, he thought about how, socially, their lives were rebounding. The five year age gap between Corey and Marci never presented any issues, but Justin being two years older than him and Lisa being three years younger than Marci offered them a good range of council.

  It was wrong of him to share the true details about Dream Riding with Justin. He should have consulted Marci. Still, he was glad he had another partner in this fight.

  “What are you thinking about?” Marci said.

  “I was just thinking how much I appreciate your growing friendship with Lisa.”

  “She is respectable. Once she accepts she can date before finishing school, she’s going to add a great man to her life, and find happiness in the life of a family, just like I did.” She stepped closer, kissed Corey, and placed her arms around his hips.

  “
That sounds like you trust her, with all types of information.”

  Breaking apart, Marci stepped back and studied him. “Are you asking if I trust her enough to share our secret?”

  Corey scratched behind his ear. “You guys seem really close. I only want you to remember how we could get snatched up by X-file people, electro-shock therapy, that you swore not to tell anyone.”

  “Oh,” Marci grinned. “I told her alright, how we dip into people’s dreams, how we are magical creatures.”

  Corey dropped his jaw. “How could you do that?”

  She shrugged. “I’m over it.” She returned to the kitchen.

  Trailing her, he pictured Lisa taking to Twitter and telling her Sorority sisters—if she was in a sorority—all about the mutant couple she worked for.

  “Don’t stress, darling. She understands the dangers we face.”

  Feeling interest of a more personal concern, Corey said, “So… you guys talked in-depth, for a long time?”

  “Yes, and now that you know, we won’t have to sneak around anymore.” Smiling, she pointed to Lisa’s bag. “With the zeal of a college student, she stayed up until four in the morning gathering pages from the internet and she checked out a book on dream telepathy.”

  “What’s her opinion on the Jinni and… whatever resides in Justin?”

  “I didn’t want to scare her off with mentions of little angels or demons, not yet.”

  Corey snorted. The Beings warranted actual discussion. Perhaps Lisa would help him convince Marci of their true origins.

  Marci furrowed her brow. “Telling her is not something I’m proud of, but once I slipped, I couldn’t stop.”

  “I can’t believe you told someone we hardly know. You jeopardized—”

  “I am sorry, Corey, but it’s out now, so unless you want to kill her…”

  He took a step back. Even sarcastically, saying something like was crossing the line. He daydreamed about the world voting to never hurt anyone again, and thought of Lisa as a gentle woman with a kind heart.

  “Look at me,” Marci waited for eye contact. “Are you telling me you haven’t told brother Justin about Dream Riding?”

  As if slapped, Corey’s eyes bulged, his mouth formed a small “O”. Realizing his muscular mistakes, he relaxed his features. Too late. Marci laughed.

  “I knew it. You’re so predictable; such a hypocrite.”

  “Well, two wrongs don’t make it better and at least my—”

  “Let’s just stop.” She waved it off. “So we both gossiped. It’s human nature.” She went to the refrigerator, opened a single-serve chocolate milk, shook it, drank half, and then passed the remainder to Corey. “We do need to be more careful from here out.”

  He drained the rest and put the argument behind him.

  “It was reckless,” Corey admitted. “But maybe we each needed a safe outlet.”

  “Let’s make a pact to tell no one else without deciding together.”

  They locked pinky fingers in the manner Janey showed them. After a tug, he said, “What we need to do is unwind, take a week off and—”

  “No!” Marci snapped. “We are at war, Corey. After some research, Lisa and I are convinced the law can be wielded for any purpose, and that unless a person keeps their bellies to the sand, everyone is doing something illegal. Civil suits, defamation, slander, we are looking for something—or a string of things—to file and give Walt a headache big enough to leave us alone.” She rushed into the living room and brought up Dreamriders.com.

  So far, the original comments had been replaced by a handful of pitiful replacements. Their absences felt like someone had broken into their lives and stolen Janey’s baby pictures.

  “We have to strike back, show him we won’t be intimidated.”

  Someone rang the doorbell.

  Imagining Lisa balancing armloads of ice-cream treats, specifically a Heath bar flurry with cinnamon almonds. Corey hurried to the door and swung it open.

  A man in his late twenties with pudgy red cheeks and a Las Vegas Raiders hat spoke, “Good afternoon. You must be Mr. Corey Padesky.”

  “I am.”

  The young man dropped his smile. His features hardened as he reached to the small of his back.

  Corey couldn’t be sure the man was reaching for a gun. If he was, would he shoot Corey right here. Would he come inside and murder Marci? What about Janey?

  The visitor’s hand returned holding a roll of papers.

  “You’ve been officially served. Have a pleasant day.”

  Marci’s hand darted out and intercepted the packet.

  Pivoting, she moved into the living room, rifling through the pages as she sat.

  Corey watched the server leave. He took a moment to reflect that he now worried about being assassinated at his front door in the middle of the day.

  “It’s a Personal Protection Order, from Walt, against us,” Marci said.

  Corey closed the door and turned to her.

  “He used my emails to argue I’m a threat.” She flipped another page, snorted in frustration, and read as if quoting the line, “I’m going to make you sorry you messed with us.” She looked at him with a wince. “I probably wrote that.”

  “Can he prove you sent them?”

  Ignoring his question, she scoffed. “He’s claiming he’s in fear for his life.” Flipping another page, she read a moment and exhaled.

  “Breach of contract.” She flipped a page. “Intellectual infringement.”

  “There’s no contract to breech?”

  Marci read more, then said, “This jerk is good. He’s starting his own paper trail.” Displaying the pages, she said, “you see what’s happening here?”

  He did.

  “He’s putting us on the defensive. We need a plan.”

  Corey couldn’t say what he wanted without making Marci mad, but they were in way over the head, and a storm was coming.

  THIRTY

  Justin Collins backed his Ford F-150 into the most recessed space at Hope’s Corner. With the empty asphalt parking lot, he was able to park near the front door. Killing the ignition, he sipped his coffee and waited.

  A Subaru slowed and entered. Pastor K parked in his spot closest to the main door.

  Inside, they brewed coffee and lined the serving trays with two-dozen pastries for the reduced Tuesday morning congregation. The adults would split into groups for self-ran Bible study—small clusters that attempted to mix-match individuals each week. It mainly acted as gossip hour, but they gossiped positively on things they saw in members and situations. Hours spent complimenting other people and events made for a great morning.

  Having a topic to discuss prior to that, Justin positioned two chairs and invited Pastor K to sit across from him. Pastor K took his cue, crossed his legs, and bit into a long john. The bob of his head told Justin he was prepared to talk about whatever brought Justin here an hour before the earliest members would arrive.

  “Do you believe in visions, Pastor?”

  Swallowing, Pastor K answered, “I might have a stronger opinion after this conversation.”

  Justin smirked. “I appreciate that.”

  “Well, I have confidence in you. You’re always willing to admit when you’re wrong, you’re objective, and open to change.” He stuffed another portion of the long john into his mouth.

  “I have been going over something I experienced, a dream; and the harder I think, the more I’m convinced I’ve had a vision.”

  Pastor K leaned in closer, and peered at Justin as he chewed.

  Justin described his dream in exquisite detail, neglecting Corey and Marci’s unusual talent and the presence of a Heavenly servant. He included his theories about dreams being a plane between two worlds where God, and His adversary could influence primed humans.

  After finishing a cup of coffee, Pastor K said. “That’s a compelling way to look at it. After Joseph, I’d venture that the most famous dream vision involved Abraham Lincoln.”

&nbs
p; “I’m not familiar with that one.”

  “The night before his assassination, Lincoln dreamed he was shot in the head while perched in a silk-upholstered rocking chair.”

  Impacted with further implications—that dreams could foretell events—he mumbled, “Is that so? Well, if God handed out visions, or guidance, dreams would be a good way. And, we all dream.”

  “Under your theory, some benevolent force could have been attempting to warn Old Abe.”

  “Particularly since he was in the midst of a virtuous battle.”

  “Absolutely. Very interesting, Justin.”

  “And nightmares,” Justin said. “What if nightmares are forewarnings of the punishments sins will bring? You do an evil act, or refuse to assist good, and that night or week, have a nightmare—a taste of Hell given as a jolt to steer you back on your correct path?”

  Wiping his hands, Pastor K said, “This is an amusing discussion.”

  Justin tilted his head at Pastor K’s choice of “amusing,” but he brushed it aside. “We are philosophizing.”

  “Is that so?” Pastor K paced to the thermos, refilled his coffee and on the return said, “You know who would love this story?”

  Justin repositioned himself on the seat at Pastor K’s use of “story,” but his probable person of reference was the true rebuff. “You mean your father?”

  “That’s right, the demonologist himself: Reverend Korzeniewski. He would rant this material for the rest of his life.” Pastor K slapped his thigh and added, “His whole flock would have the woods of Oregon strumming with the conspiracy of it.”

  Justin cleared his throat. “So you don’t put much worth behind my dream?”

  Pastor K softened. “I’m not saying that. I think it sounds spectacular. There’s simply more plausible explanations for your dream, and for the reasons people act out in general, but what you’re saying isn’t impossible.”

  “You said it’s something for your father, and you think he’s a borderline wacko.”

  Easing into the chair, Pastor K took a moment to collect his thoughts. “My father believes people with detrimental mental illnesses—paranoia, schizophrenia, delusions of grandeur—are possessed by demons. He thinks every person who doesn’t accept Jesus, repent daily, and comply with pious rules is going to burn in Hellfire for eternity. I’d say that’s a bit zealous.”