Dream Riders

by Taylor Kole

  Corey and Marci had started their morning with a visit to Janey, then to a lawyer, a little research, dinner (where they resisted a return to Lisa’s), and then they discussed Corey’s current idea. Being so busy left him little time to consider the possibility he had swung his soul enough to the good to earn a visitor. He almost giggled at the prospect.

  “Since this is happening,” Marci said with a yawn. “And I’m tired, I’ll need a suggestion for what you’d like to dream about while Corey interrogates the inner you.”

  Justin nodded. “I guess I’d like to dream something uplifting. Peace on Earth, an end to hate.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to dream about being a mermaid?” Marci said.

  When Justin looked at Corey, he shook his head: don’t ask. “I think that’s her dream wish.”

  “Half woman, half fish. What a fun dream,” Marci said. Before Justin could agree out of politeness, she added, “Another time. Tonight, I’ll give you an uplifting dream, no problem.”

  “It’ll be something to do,” Justin said. “While Corey makes history.”

  For Corey, Dream Riding functioned at the surface of understanding.

  Marci had the option of viewing them the same as him, as a passenger, albeit with the benefit of suggesting turns. She could also weave herself into the adventure as a guide, taking clients where she wanted. The flexibility sounded appealing, but the present set-up suited Corey fine.

  Unless the dream held his interest, he would lapse into a trance. Part of him held the dream together, the other part was disinterested. This allowed time to pass in a manner similar to time passing in normal sleep.

  Marci stood before an open grill topped with hot dogs and hamburgers.

  A beat later, Justin and a dream manifested Madelin Collins appeared in a large back yard under a bright sun. They lounged on a red and white checkered blanket across a green hillside, overlooking a lush valley.

  Their son Chevy pumped his feet in and out as he propelled himself on a rope swing. Justin’s other children—the son and daughter from his first marriage—sat cross-legged near their half-brother, playing checkers.

  The emotional winds and family scene soothed so completely, the goal of communicating with a sentient being living in an alternate reality slipped Corey’s mind. The, the dream’s emotions surged in kindness, goodwill, and empathy, causing him to scrutinize his balcony (which was basically a front porch at the top of a hill) in expectation of a visitor.

  The blue Being manifested in a fashion like stepping between stage curtains. Instead of maintaining its distance, like their previous encounter, the Being moved closer.

  Corey interpreted excitement in the bursts of glitter traveling across the blue flesh. A second look showed a lighter shade of blue, slimmer stature, and smaller eyes differentiated this Being from the visitor in his dream.

  Knowing their time together could be limited, he concentrated his thoughts and packed his previous nights’ dream together like a snowball.

  At the completion, a computer tablet burst to life between them.

  The Being inspected the device, tilted its head curiously, extended a slender hand, and gripped it. The touch siphoned the majority of its essence away, leaving a transparent body, frozen down to the stationary sparkles.

  Corey hoped the destruction of humanity, and witnessing the Jinni’s desire to possess the last woman on Earth and rule a soulless planet, would create an ally.

  As he turned to check on Justin’s dream, a pucker of emotion tainted the air, drawing his attention to the Being, whose body filled to its natural color and regained movement.

  Locking eyes with Corey, it radiated puzzlement—whether from the shared content or the experience of receiving a message from a human—he couldn’t tell. Just as quickly, the emotions passed, leaving the air empty.

  Seconds ticked by with them squaring off. Panic surfaced in Corey at perceived indifference from the Being.

  Possibly detecting Corey’s concern, the Being lifted its index finger and pointed at the scene below. Justin play-wrestled with a teen-aged Chevy.

  Corey knew this action held a message, and that it applied to Corey’s confusion at the Being’s potential dismissal. He only saw a father enjoying time with his son, amplified by the fantasy of a perfect interaction.

  A tickle of understanding formed as the dream skipped to Justin and Madelin ballroom dancing. Full comprehension—at least of what his counterpart meant—settled minutes later as the Collin’s family white-water rafted with five supreme smiles: dreams could be innocuous, simple tools of entertainment, mediums for outlining desire.

  Corey’s dream had been serious, the opposite of dribble. Before he formed a legitimate response, however, a scroll appeared.

  Touching it, Corey absorbed a knowledge without traveling to a destination. The Jinni could not have hijacked the woman from his dream. To inhabit a human, it must fully disclose that she would be tossed aside yet remain a slave in her mind. A Jinni would need years of intense persuasion against a compromised source. The source would have to be desperate beyond description. Even spent, deranged, and lacking a motive to continue living, the Being believed a human would never relinquish its body for debasement.

  Corey appreciated the clarification, but thick gunk hardened in his chest at the possibility the Being might not help after all. Sensing no urgency or worry from his target, he sought a method to involve his blue comrade. Believing an emotional investment would spike the odds, he compiled memories formed on the trust he had for Marci, her competency, loyalty, and strength. Corey thought about Janey’s intelligence, her inquisitive nature, her love of animals and life. He encapsulated his feelings of love and the synergy of their family unit.

  His tablet appeared. The Being connected, thinned, and returned.

  Hoping to sense the effect of his efforts, Corey opened himself to the emotional current.

  The air never fluctuated. The Being only faced him.

  A beat later, the glittery scroll materialized.

  Despite the dull response, Corey expected sympathy. Snatching the parchment zipped him to an area without boundaries, nearly identical to the field Walt’s Jinni had shared. Beings with caring black eyes and skin variations ranging from navy blue to a near whiteness tinted with blue lined rows. A singular white cloud, pulled smooth as taut silk, dominated the sky. Yellowish orbs formed daytime stars across the expanse. Corey watched as a yellow dot rattled and fell into an awaiting Volse, the Jinni counterpart. It glowed to the luminosity of a bright sun, and rocketed the Volse away to “aid a source.”

  The vision ended by panning the crowd, the skyline, and the borders. Corey understood that the Volse was explaining they and the Jinni lived parallel inside these social fields, or briefly in a source.

  A flash and Corey stood on his balcony.

  He appreciated the Volse sharing the information, and its opinions, but did they add value? The Volse’s argument of sources being impenetrable due to needing permission to be possessed seemed shallow to Corey. Humans lent permission to all sorts of demons: abusive drugs, abusive men, manipulative women, high-risk activities.

  If humans could invade dreams, demons could coerce the right person to give up their vessel.

  Being shown the Volse’s “family” rather than supporting what Corey faced, and risked, brought a frustration bordering on a need to evacuate. But other answers surfaced, and he considered them. It seemed a “conversation,” as Corey understood it, lay out of reach. He couldn’t simply ask, “Is there a Heaven?” From what he knew, his communication must contain memories from his life, knowing all replies would mirror sent content.

  Receiving no advice or strategy lent evidence his dream’s subtext—that instructions waited for him—had been garbled nonsense. Having to accept that brought other doubts. Were any of his budding theories relevant, or was Marci correct and he had aggrandized things from the start?

  Were Walton Zimbardo and Hittin’ Licks instruments
in an evil plan, or just men with tastes leaning toward the savage? Did they create alter-egos to embrace their desires? Should they be monitored? Could they be saved?

  In search of an answer, he concentrated intently on specific memories of the two men, attempting to flavor each with his curiosities and concerns. A tablet appeared.

  During his concentration, the Volse had strolled away and shifted its attention to the scene below.

  Corey approached, forcing the centered tablet closer.

  The Volse peered at the offering and back to Justin. Moments later, the tablet crackled and faded.

  Corey watched the stage. Justin led a standing ovation to a speech his oldest son (now a grown man) had finished orating.

  Identifying no other course, Corey drifted into a haze. He returned to find the Volse with its hands up, influencing the dream further. Why wouldn’t it talk to him? Corey had come here for answers. It couldn’t be every day a human appeared on the balcony wanting to chat, yet the Volse preferred sticking to a simpleton regiment.

  Corey reached for the Volse’s shoulder, met the barrier, and pushed against it.

  The additional effect yielded greater resistance, sending a tingling sensation up his arm.

  The Volse continued aiding its source, as if Corey wasn’t there.

  Corey waved his hand near him and emoted various emotions, all to no avail.

  Losing interest, Corey huffed and watched the dream.

  As if sensing his disappointment, the Volse dropped its outstretched hands and inspected him. The Volse stared for numerous seconds, each of which promised to bring a memory sharing scroll. Instead, it lifted its hand and twisted the palm as if to read its own lifeline. It rotated its hand until the open palm faced Corey. The Volse arced the appendage to the right, brought it back to the center, and dipped it to the left.

  On the second revolution, Corey understood the gesture: a good-bye wave.

  It seemed Corey and his loved ones were on their own.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Corey finished the dream vacillating between Justin’s enjoyable setting, and a compulsion to drag more out of the fourth member of the Ride.

  In their dimly-lit bedroom, he pictured Marci’s upcoming “I told you so.” Instead, she laid a hand on his shoulder as she passed him. Minutes later, he smelled coffee brewing. He found Marci on the couch, using the tablet to review the night’s website activity.

  From a dining room chair, he reviewed his conversation with the Volse, taking stock of the numerous emotions. Disappointment, for one. Yet in the thirty-minute interlude before Justin joined them, his mind continually drifted back to one point: the Volse had been there, proof that angels and demons haunted certain people.

  Theoretically, he could have fabricated it all, but he didn’t believe that.

  Marci shared a greeting with Justin and after a filling of mugs, they gathered around the table, sipping hot coffee until Justin said:

  “Did it work? Was my angel there?”

  Corey explained the events of the previous night in detail while Marci baked croissants. From her responses and subtle body language, she had been less aware of the communication between Corey and the Volse than the last time. She might have paid less attention out of respect for his privacy. More likely, it was a general disinterest. She had detected the emotional exchanges, never noticed either of them go thin, and remembered grinning as the Volse waved in what she interpreted as a congenial good-bye.

  Justin asked questions for the next ten minutes: describe the Volse again, was it the Volse or Marci who influenced his love-inspired night?

  During this time, warm croissants were served with butter or garlic hummus as spreads. Marci took big bites and chewed slowly, allowing Corey to answer most of the questions.

  Corey was convinced, when absent a Being, Marci influenced the dream near exclusively. She read the desires and interests of clients and expanded them. He also knew the Being was able to add its influence.

  Finished with their snack, Marci cleared the area and returned with their phone pressed to her ear.

  “Janey, Lisa, maybe two or three other families are coming by for a pool party after the service,” Justin said. “Will you guys be able to make it?”

  He pictured a backyard full of playful children, savory dishes, and decent folks. He then remembered they couldn’t attend because a threat followed them. He shook his head. “We’re meeting an attorney.”

  “You’re going to want to listen to this,” Marci said, and offered the phone to Corey.

  Before he accepted, she pressed a button to replay the voicemail.

  A brief recording, “Time received: three a.m..” Then the message, spoken slowly, clearly, in a digital voice, “Twelve hours.”

  Corey pressed ‘7’, listened to the two-word message again and passed it to Justin as he addressed Marci. “Who left that?”

  “Unknown number.”

  “Twelve hours?” Justin said with puzzlement.

  “We can guess the area code,” Marci said.

  “Chicago,” Corey said.

  “Before we lock that in,” Justin said. “Can you think of anyone other than Walt? Could it mean anything innocent?”

  Marci shook her head. “It’s from Walt. It means we have until three this afternoon to sign the papers, or else.” She made air quotes around the last two words.

  Justin watched Corey, hoping his friend would suggest an alternative.

  “It’s Walt, and I’m worried for you guys,” Justin said.

  “There’s not much more he can do to us without leaving evidence we can use against him,” Marci said

  Corey appreciated her conviction, but she hadn’t stared at a masked Cooper and felt her blood turn to ice while waiting for him to decide whether to charge through the glass, or flee.

  “Maybe it’s time to go back to a motel room?” Justin said. “You could register it under my name.”

  Corey warmed at the gesture. He’d been arguing as much for two days. Marci, however, wanted to reduce their expenses. Corey worried she might, with Janey safe at Lisa’s, consider an assault on them a victory. A hospital visit would force the authorities to act and strengthen a future claim of ‘pain and suffering’.

  “Maybe we’ll get a place for tonight,” Marci said. “But part of me wants to establish cameras around the house and see what they try.”

  “What if they’re not threatening you?” Justin said. “What if it’s aimed against Lisa or Janey, or another family member, maybe some kind of legal action?”

  Marci planted her hands on the table and searched his eyes.

  Corey flinched at the possibility Walt would target their daughter, or his Wheel-of-Fortune watching parents. Attacking innocents seemed too wicked, even for Walt.

  As if picking up on their outrage, Justin added, “I didn’t mean to scare you. Further.” Failed on that front, thought Corey.

  “He better hope it’s sabotage or framing or litigation,” Marci said. “If he so much as breathes in Janey’s direction, I’ll take his balls.”

  “And I’ll hold him down for you,” Justin said.

  “We could give him what he wants,” Corey said. Tasting the words for the first time aloud, he wondered if that was the answer. Excluding the financial benefits—and the exploratory revelations, what would they actually lose?

  The dream interpretations equaled Marci’s previous income. After all of his personal growth, he could go back to work, in any field and with a renewed vigor.

  “We fight him until our wheels fall off,” Marci said with finality. “The thought of appeasing that man after what he’s put us through makes me sick.”

  “What about contacting him, by three?” Corey looked to Justin for support.

  Their guest leaned forward, volleyed his eyes from Corey to Marci, “Let’s include the Jinn and Volse story here. Even if there are a part of our personalities, these ‘parts’ don’t ‘arrive’ until we’ve leaned heavily to doing good or bad. Rig
ht? So, you arrange a meeting and show him the truth. Perhaps he’ll do a one-eighty and seek help? We treat him with dignity and involve him in kind acts to skew him away from the dark. Meanwhile, we will try and exorcise his demon.”

  Corey sat up straighter. “With his negative influence gone, he might be a reasonable human.”

  “You convert him,” Justin said with more confidence. “Use Dream Riding to do good for others, carve out helpful dreams, fix sick people. Bring a once demon-inflicted man back into the light.”

  “Expose our greatest weakness to a venomous, untrustworthy psycho? I don’t think so.” Marci said.

  “I want to fight him too,” Justin said. With a smirk, he added “Since all this Beings-in-my-dreams stuff, I’ve felt like a knight. But this guy is getting more daring by the day, by the hour. I mean, home invasion with a deadly weapon could put a person in prison for a long stretch. Work with him, and you can tame the beast. Save his soul.”

  “We have a ride tonight with our first off-the-books client,” Marci said. “We fly to Chicago tomorrow afternoon. We’ll dig around his backyard a day or two and then share the advice of our attorney. Maybe we’ll be forced to do what you’re suggesting, who knows.”

  “What about the three PM deadline?” Corey asked.

  “We’re knights.” She grinned at Justin, “And this guy is the sadistic prince looking to overthrow the king. We don’t help him. We fight no matter the odds.”

  Corey inhaled deeply.

  “We’ll get a hotel for the night,” Marci said, “put Lisa on alert, and figure things out face to face.”

  “I really like Justin’s plan of converting him,” Corey said.

  “If we have to submit a little to him, then we have to, but let’s meet on our terms,” Marci said.

  Facing Justin, Corey said, “We should call him before three, say something.”

  With a grin, the burly man strummed his fingers on the table. “She kind of energized me with that, ‘we’re knights, he’s a villainous prince’ thing.”

  “We let him sweat,” Marci said. “Call once we have leverage, or at least a direction.”