The Dream Thief

by Leann M Rettell

  “I apologize for my interruption. We don’t usually have many guests in this part of the building.” She spoke with confidence and an utter frankness.

  “That is a shame. I am hoping to rectify that.” Malcolm released her hand.

  Without missing a beat, she shifted her position and crossed her arms. “Charles. Really Nicholas?”

  “Not everyone can graduate head of their class at Brown. I have told you; Charles DeLanney is a brilliant scientist. Perhaps, if you let some of the others help more often, they wouldn’t have to figure out what you are doing when you have to be out of the office.”

  Dharma stiffened, lips pressed in a thin line. She spoke with cold disdain. “I didn’t ask for my home to be broken into and my husband assaulted.”

  “Of course not, Dharma. That’s not what I was implying at all. Things happen. No one blames you for needing time off. But during those times, if you had a partner, then your research could be kept on track. You never know what can happen. I still think you have come back too soon. What about Wu Sun and Tobias Miller?”

  The name sparked something in Malcolm’s memory. Fire flooded his veins as the realization hit him. Wu Sun had been Caelieus’s last target before transportation to Cos in his condition. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

  Dharma shook her head. “No. Miller and I had been sharing research, discussing if we could combine our efforts. I thought we were really close to finishing negotiations, but he backed out saying that his inspiration for the project vanished overnight, especially after Sun no longer wanted to give the WHO a donation to further our research.”

  Dr. Cole put an arm around her, steering her away from them. He shot Malcolm an apologetic glance and held up one finger. The universal give me a minute sign.

  After the two whispered together for about three minutes, Omar glanced at his watch then stepped closer to Malcolm. “Did you get what you needed?”

  Malcolm nodded, unable to take his eyes of Dharma. The passion for her work rolled off her in spades. She had to have good intentions. For Christ’s sake, the world would think her brilliant and award her with the Nobel Prize. She couldn’t know what the outcome would be. Omar cleared his throat.

  Malcolm startled. “What? Oh yes. How much do you think my companies would need to be invested in order for Avient to allow us to hire someone to work here? Like a personal assistant?”

  Omar raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure. We can fish for it. Why?”

  Malcolm opened his mouth to answer, but Omar raised a hand, shaking his head, whispering, “No. Not the real reason. What reason would the investors have? Their motivations?”

  The answer popped out of his mouth, easy and simple. But could she be trusted? “We could say that one of the main investors has a daughter. A recently unemployed one that needs a job. She has a degree in business finance and a minor in biology.”

  Betraying nothing, Omar narrowed his eyes. “I assume we are talking about Miss Anderson. You think that…wise? Isn’t there someone else? I have a few in mind that would suit your purposes quite nicely, and they would be impartial.”

  “How do you know my purposes?”

  “In my line of work, you get good at reading people. I’m sure with your,” he paused, moving a hand in circles, trying to find the right word, “experiences that you are as well. So let’s not play games with each other, shall we?”

  Dr. Cole returned. Dharma disappeared down a hallway to the right. Pushing his glasses further up his nose again, he waved the two of them forward. “Right this way gentleman, I’ll show you around.”

  “Excellent!” Malcolm feigned more excitement than was necessary, “Are we going to see Dr. Knight’s lab? Genetic research is the wave of tomorrow.”

  “We will, but I suggest we keep it brief. As you heard, her home was broken into recently. It scared her to death, her husband was attacked, and her two-year-old has been having nightmares. It’s her first day back, so I don’t want too much excitement.”

  “Oh, how awful. I hope her husband will be okay.”

  Dr. Cole moved forward, Omar and Malcolm following as they talked. “Yes, it’s only a slight concussion and bruising. He’ll be fine. It’s been hard for her to deal with something like that, losing your sense of safety. Anyway, here we have…”

  Malcolm didn’t pay much attention as they went from lab to lab shaking hands and listening as scientists did their best to explain their research. Malcolm didn’t take much of it in. He’d spent a good portion of his very long life learning new skills and trade, but in the last century, the advancements and technology had leapt. He doubted he could master them all since there weren’t any signs of humanity slowing their progress.

  After what felt like hours, they finally approached Dharma Knight’s lab. They opened the glass doors and several techs were taking samples and looking in microscopes, but one was scrolling through his phone. As soon as he noticed Dr. Cole, the guy shoved his phone in his pocket and spun back to his laptop. Dr. Knight bent over stacks of notebooks, shoulders hunched, a scowl plastered on her face, trying to decipher the words written there. She didn’t look up when Dr. Cole coughed beside her. “Yes,” she snapped.

  “Dr. Knight, I thought you could take a few minutes to discuss your work with Mr. Hart and Mr. Bilal here.”

  Malcolm didn’t know it was possible, but her shoulders tensed farther. She spun around in the computer chair and looked up with a fake smile and gritted teeth. “Of course.” On her feet, she flitted from work station to work station, much faster and with less embellishment than any of her co-workers had done. “Our main work is looking at the genetics of different plants to see how and where we can enhance their natural functions while also giving them survivable traits.”

  “Like taking Darwinism in your own hands?” Malcolm asked, not comfortable with her research. There was no time like the present to put the seed of doubt in her plan.

  “Something like that. For instance, here we have potato plants. A high fiber, medium carb, low-fat food. Clearly used daily. We are working to see if we can alter their DNA in order for them to grow in various environments while also breeding in them a natural pesticide defense. We want to increase their odds of being able to grow in all types of soil. It’s not my main work at the moment but next in line.”

  “What about the consequences?”

  “Consequences?” She didn't pause but directed them to the next set of plants.

  “Yes, consequences. What do their new enhancements do to the animals and people who eat them?”

  Even though her back was to him, he sensed her eyes rolling, “We will obviously do research before testing it on humans, but at the end of the day, our body will break them down into their most fundamental structures: glucose, amino acids, and fatty acids. They might be genetically modified plants, but they’re still plants. All we are doing here is putting into the genes what we want instead of spending countless of plant generations to make the mutations we need.”

  This was going to be harder than he thought. “Yes, but we break them down and then absorb it into our body. How do you know what changes that will make?”

  She spun on him, white lab coattails flying. “We’re not that far yet. We have to find out if we can make the experiments work. This is why it is called science.”

  “Yes, but just because you can do something doesn’t always mean you should.”

  “Uh huh, like Fleming had mold accidentally fly through an open window and land on his plate of bacteria. He could have thrown it away, but instead decided to look at it under a microscope and discovered penicillin. He should’ve tossed out the contaminated experiment, but he didn’t. He saved thousands upon thousands of lives. I guess it’s a good thing he didn't follow protocol.”

  He remembered that very well. In fact, Heris had visited Alexander Fleming’s grandfather. He couldn’t remember the details of the dream, but it would have meant penicillin not being discovered for another thirty years. “Touché, Dr.
Knight.”

  “Fleming. I thought that was Pasteur,” Omar said, making Malcolm want to cringe.

  “He helped with vaccines and the germ theory of disease.” Malcolm supplied the information with a smile.

  Ignoring their conversation, eyes slit to thin lines, Dharma crossed her arms across her chest. “Mr. Hart. Here we have similar experiments with corn, wheat, rice, and sugar cane. Do you need to hear about them all or are we done here?”

  Malcolm stared her down, refusing to be the first to look away. She finally caved, shooting a hateful glance at Dr. Cole.

  Malcolm shook his head, angling away from Dharma in clear dismissal as Dr. Cole’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, I think that is enough for today. I’m looking forward to working with you, Doctor Knight.”

  Her eyebrows rose at the same time her mouth popped open. She had been so sure she had scared him off. “Wait. What?”

  He gave a curt nod, shifting his attention to Dr. Cole. “Thank you for your time. This, I hope, will be the first of many visits. If you could page Mrs. Jagger to show us out.”

  Dr. Cole’s head bobbed up and down in utter disbelief that his department might still have an investor after this exchange. “Of course, sir. It was a pleasure meeting you, and we’ll be looking forward to our next encounter.”

  Back outside, Malcolm bid farewell to Omar, smiling and feeling positive for the first time in the last two weeks. He had a plan. Now all he had to do was convince Debbie not to call the looney bin again.

  15

  Malcolm had done all that he could at the moment. The pieces were primed in his chess board, and now he waited for the other players to make their move. On a whim, he decided to treat it like a vacation. He got a massage, watched a movie, visited an art gallery, binged watched shows on Netflix, worked out at his hotel’s gym, and swam laps in the pool. Discovering a new vineyard, he bought a few bottles of their finest wines. The hum of the internal alarm kept going, but by this time, it had turned into background noise, and Malcolm ignored it without much effort. He also made good on the riding lessons and gaming console for Juan’s kids.

  He missed the late-night drives in his cars, and he particularly wanted his Cayman, or perhaps the Viper. Malcolm would have to go back to Eye of the Beholder soon to clean out the garage. He’d taken care of all the important things during his hasty retreat, but the rest could be handled by Omar’s moving company. Speaking of the devil, Omar had called this morning informing him the sale of his bookstore from his current alias to another had been finalized. Another five grand disappeared in closing costs. He’d have preferred to give the funds to charity, but Debbie forced his hand.

  His cell rang at a little after two o’clock in the afternoon. Debbie’s name blazed on the screen. He knew he’d imagined it, but the ring sounded accusatory. Gleeful, he answered her call. “Good afternoon Miss Anderson. What can I do for you?”

  “Don’t give me that crap, Malcolm!”

  “Malcolm? What happened to boss man?”

  He imagined her back stiffening, nostrils flaring, smoke rising from her ears. “When you fired me, that’s what!”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I sold Eye of the Beholder this morning, in fact. I take it you’ve heard, and apparently, the new owners have decided not to keep you on. Not all that surprising when you throw around wild accusations and ruined your last employer’s reputation to the point that he had to sell the place and leave town.”

  “That’s not fair and you know it. You told me you’re an immortal being who disappears and reappears in people’s bedroom and steals their dreams to prevent the world from ending, and you pretended to stab yourself in the arm to prove you have rapid healing. All I saw was a crazed man with no food in his entire apartment, nothing but alcohol and coffee!”

  “Then you apologized, Miss Anderson, and told me that you believed me. Have you changed your mind again?”

  There was a long, pregnant pause. “You didn’t have to sell the store. You could have come home, talked to me.” Home. That word cut through the enjoyment of aggravating her and slammed him back into reality.

  The guilt wiggled in his belly, but he pushed it down. He had been stupid to tell her, and this crazy plan of his wasn’t any better. It was a lie he’d told himself. He could’ve gotten help from his others, but he’d chosen this path of pulling Debbie further into his life and telling himself that the Cos and the other dream thieves were busy finding Caelieus and shouldn’t be bothered.

  Sure, one could argue his half-missed target was a bigger priority than finding a missing agent, but they did have time, since none of it would come to pass for many years. Why Stephanie had decided to be so pushy about it, he couldn’t say.

  He could’ve asked Omar. The lawyer knew Malcolm had been passed down as a client through the centuries, but he didn’t know exactly what or who Malcolm was, and as long as the money came in, he didn’t care. Juan had his family relying on him. He wouldn’t risk his friend, but Debbie didn’t have family. Her mom passed a long time ago, and her father resided in a nursing home, suffering from dementia. As the only child of a couple nearing their forties when she was born, Debbie had no one. He probably shouldn’t trust her, but he did, stupid or not.

  “I couldn’t come back. Even though you took back your involuntary commitment, all of our neighbors, my tenets, everyone would always look at me differently deep down. Wonder if I was crazy.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “I’ll be coming by the store. I have some personal items that need packing up.” Wait, what? He had planned on having Omar’s moving people do all of that, and now he backed himself into another corner. “When I’m there, pay attention to how the others look at me.”

  “They won’t treat you any different. I promise.” Her voice had taken on a sad note. He searched for the right word: melancholy.

  “There hadn’t better be any cops or asylum carts.” His anger flared, white hot at the thought.

  “There won’t be.”

  “Did the new owners really fire you?” Malcolm, of course, knew the stipulations of the transaction, but he wanted to see if she would be honest with him. He needed her help and trust was of the utmost importance, from both of them.

  “Not exactly. They are opening the position for applicants. I can apply and will have to interview like everyone else.” Score one for honesty. He wondered who would be doing the interviewing.

  He sighed, preparing himself to take a leap of utmost stupidity. “Listen, I have a delicate project I have to do in town, and I need help. When I come to the loft, can we talk?”

  “Yes.” Her words came out breathless.

  “Do you promise no more straitjackets?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even if you think I’m crazy when I’m done, you will walk away, never tell anyone what I’ve shared with you, and go on with your life?”

  A long pause. “Yes, absolutely.”

  He made a mental note to have Omar draft up a non-disclosure agreement, including any past, present, or future knowledge of his personal or professional life. Not that he’d ever act on it. He couldn’t sue her if she violated it, but he hoped it might be enough to give her pause. “Okay, I’ll be there this evening, around closing time.”

  “Okay. Thank you.” She breathed the words like a prayer.

  The line disconnected. His immortal body betrayed him by quivering in excitement at being able to see Debbie again and at the mystery of what she would do.

  He ran on the treadmill to get off some excess energy. After he showered, he dressed in soft faded jeans that dropped low on his hips and a soft black leather jacket full of his supplies. He sprayed on the cologne Debbie had picked up for him last Christmas. He had just enough time to drive back to Lincoln Square, stop at a UPS store, print the non-disclosure agreement Omar had emailed him, and pick up some packing boxes. He arrived at Eye of the Beholder at seven p.m., right at closing time.

  He inched past the stor
e, gazing through the windows. He spotted Debbie in the back, moving the broom back and forth. He missed the easy way they had worked together; they were always in sync while doing the daily work. Shaking off the sudden wave of sadness, he pulled around the back and into the underground garage. He took the private elevator to his apartment, having to hit a secret code. Even with the loft rented out, no one should be able to figure out how to access the lower levels. Besides, the contents would be moved by him one piece at a time to a privately-owned, top-notch security company. He’d used them before, along with several others all over the world. The beauties stored here represented only a minuscule amount of the vast collection of cars and art he had acquired over the years.

  The loft had remained untouched. He laid the boxes on the table and decided to move the personal stuff first. He would leave the place furnished like the rest of his current residences. He’d have to pack the wine, and, of course, the glorious espresso machine, but besides those personal belongings, he’d leave the rest intact. Perhaps he’d rent the place out. It’d be a shame to have it empty.

  As soon as this mess was over, he’d probably move to Rome to live at the Cos with Stephanie until she finished her term as Librarian, whenever that would be. A change of power had never taken this long. He hadn’t liked the way she’d sounded the last time they spoke. They had all battled madness at one time or another, but the Librarians were the most at risk. Living forever wasn’t easy. The times and ways of humanity changed all the time, and when stationed as the Librarian, the agents couldn’t leave or see the world. They truly became cemented in whatever era they had been in when made Librarian. Everything changes: empires rise and fall, religions falter, and thousands live and die while they remained the same. The Librarian can do nothing but sit back, record, and watch. Guilt wriggled in his belly like a snake and oozed bitterness at never having been chosen as Librarian. The rest had all served their time, and he’d been free. Whoever controlled them hadn’t chosen him, as if he wasn’t worthy.