Jillian Spectre & the Dream Weaver

by Nic Tatano

  Two days later we're not sure what to think. Cruise is out of the hospital and hasn't retaliated, though the tabloids had a field day with her leather outfit, as Fuzzball's contact snapped a photo when she was being treated in the emergency room. Roxanne may or may not have canceled her powers as a dream weaver, or the Senator may be plotting something. But at least her days as a siren are definitely over. And her credibility with voters has taken a serious shot with the photo that went viral and became a hanging curve ball for late night comedians. Her days in politics are definitely numbered, if nothing else.

  Meanwhile, news reports on the Senator that are not focused on her after hours hobby as a dominatrix center on her "unexplained loss of hearing and speech" which has the best doctors in the country baffled. Her vocal chords have completely atrophied and cannot be restored. Cruise is soldiering on, communicating through her computer and press secretary. It's obvious she's not going away, but she's lost a serious amount of clout in Congress, especially with the men.

  The rest of the news is dominated by what we know to be the effect of the ID cards. Crime is up, people are quitting their jobs in droves, the have-nots are stealing from the haves. The economic playing field is being leveled, and not in a good way. About the only growth industries are security systems and guns.

  And we still haven't figured out how the word "football" figures into the whole thing. Nothing in the computer files I stole mentions it, so Sebastien's plan is to get a mind reader into Cruise's head to figure it out. There's no way to get Ryan close enough and so far The Council hasn't been able to get anyone in a one-on-one situation with her. We may have to use my abilities as an amplifier to do it from a distance, but right now she's basically in hiding.

  "Jillian! Get down here!" Mom's voice cuts through my deep thoughts and I bound down the stairs.

  "What?"

  She points at the television.

  My eyes widen as I read the graphic across the bottom of the screen.

  Senator Cruise dead

  "What the hell happened?" I ask.

  "She was crossing the street, a car ran the red light and since she couldn't hear she didn't know it was coming. It ran her over and killed her instantly."

  My jaw drops as I plop down onto the couch and watch the video which shows a body covered by a white sheet in the middle of a Manhattan street.

  Mom wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulls me close and kisses the side of my head. "The dream weaver's dead, Jillian. She can't hurt my little girl anymore. The bitch is gone forever."

  Yeah.

  And so is the information about how to turn off the ID card.

  A few hours later the ring of my cell phone jolts me out of a deep sleep. I crack one eye open and the screen tells me it's Fuzzball. The clock tells me it's two in the morning.

  I lean up on one elbow and grab the phone. "Hello?" My voice is filled with gravel.

  "Sorry to wake you, Jillian, but this is important."

  "It's okay. You need me to save someone?"

  "More like the whole planet. Wake up your Mom and get a pot of coffee going."

  I sit up and stretch my eyes open. "Why, what's going on?"

  "I figured out what the football is. And you need to go back to Cruise's house to find out if I'm right."

  "Now? In the middle of the night?"

  "As soon as possible. This might be our only chance."

  Mom pours the detective a cup of coffee as he enters the kitchen while I work on my second cup. A quick hot shower and the java have me sufficiently in my body. Of course, I'll shortly be out of my body. Quite the caffeine paradox, if you ask me.

  "So, don't keep me in suspense," I say. "What is it?"

  "It's a briefcase. Or a computer. Or a computer built into a briefcase. I projected myself into her home and saw what I think it might be."

  "You think? I thought you said you knew what it was?"

  Fuzzball nods. "I'm almost sure. I was up late last night watching one of those history channels, and this show was talking about Air Force One and how the President always has access to nuclear launch codes and the ability to fire missiles when he's away from the White House. Because of a portable device that controls everything. Anyway, it turns out there's always one designated Secret Service guy with the President who carries a briefcase called the football. Inside the case is the computer that gives the President the ability to fire nukes. Or to fire them and then disarm them. The point is, the football is the key."

  "That doesn't mean Cruise's football is the same thing," says Mom.

  "I know, but it makes sense and it's worth checking out," he says. "If I'm right and there's a device that will disarm the whole ID card system, we could simply turn it off. Anyway, Jillian needs to get in her house tonight before everyone descends on it tomorrow for funeral plans and the usual vultures start circling for valuables. If I'm right, we've only got one chance to do this, and it's tonight. If there is a version of the President's football in her home, we need to find it before one of her minions does. I'm sure she's not the only one who knows about it. There's got to be her second in command or someone with the ability to use the thing."

  The detective has a gleam in his eye that I recognize as one he wears after a big arrest. "You're really pretty sure about this, aren't you?"

  Fuzzball reaches across the table and takes my hands. "Look, Jillian, your father's background was in technology and everything he and his followers have done has technology as a central component. It would make sense that Cruise has some sort of master control device either in her Senate office or at home. I've been to the Senate office and didn't see anything that fits. It's got to be what I saw in her house. And since I couldn't open it, you have to."

  "So what's the plan?"

  "We're going to drive over there and you'll project yourself from my car."

  "And when I get in, what then?"

  "Open it up. See what's inside. If it looks like some sort of electronic on and off switch, walk it out of there and we'll drive it over to The Council."

  It's three in the morning when we pull up to Cruise's home. It's dark and hopefully no one's inside like the last time. The streets are quiet and shiny from a brief shower a few hours ago. A full moon provides plenty of light on what is now a crystal clear night.

  Fuzzball kills the car engine and turns to face me. "Okay, it's in her office. There should be enough light from the streetlight and the moon so you can see it. It's a silver box about the size of a briefcase. Slide the chair back from the desk and you'll see it under the desk."

  I nod, keeping a close eye on the windows of the home to see if there's any movement. There is none. "Okay, then what?"

  "Then open it. If it looks like what I described or some sort of master control device, we'll need to get it out of the house. And if it's locked and you can't open it, we still need it."

  "How can I just walk out of there? Surely she has an alarm system."

  "You are correct, young lady. And just as surely, I have the code to turn it off as I saw her use it the last time I was there spying on her. Seventeen seventy six."

  "My, how appropriate."

  "Well, it is a revolution. Though I'm sure our founding fathers would not approve of her objective."

  Fuzzball takes another look at the home. It's still dark. "Okay, off you go. Remember, don't turn on the lights and be as quiet as possible just in case."

  "Copy that, detective." I nod and close my eyes, focusing on the office I've visited before.

  And then I'm there.

  There's enough light pouring through the window to see. But what I hear stops me dead in my tracks.

  The sound of loud snoring coming from the bedroom on the first floor.

  I'm not alone.

  My pulse spikes and I consider heading back to my own body but I'm this close, and hopefully I'm not too late. I tiptoe across the office behind the desk. Thankfully the desk chair is on rubber casters, so I gently pull it back. It rolls silently ac
ross the hardwood floor.

  A glint of silver underneath the desk reflects the light from outside.

  The snoring is still strong and steady.

  I take a deep breath in an effort to slow my heartbeat, but it doesn't work.

  I sit in the chair, lean down, grab the case by the handle and gently lay it flat on top of the desk. There are two snaps holding it closed, same as any standard briefcase. Is it locked? I gently slide one release button while holding the snap with my thumb.

  It opens.

  I slowly let the first snap spring back so that it doesn't make a sound, then do the same with the other side. I listen carefully for any change in the snoring. There is none.

  I gently open the case.

  What I see makes my eyes grow wide.

  It's Fuzzball's football, all right, with two large buttons. One green marked "enable" and one red marked "disable."

  The green button is lit.

  But the scary part is the digital counter above the buttons.

  It reads more than seventy million and the numbers are heading higher at a fast rate.

  It obviously represents the number of people who are connected by the ID cards.

  I hit the disable button. It lights up and the numbers freeze. Now all I need to do is walk it out the front door. I remember the creaky steps from my first visit and know it won't be easy. I might have to actually slide down the banister—

  A loud cough from the first floor makes me jump and hit my knee hard on the underside of the desk.

  I clamp my hand over my mouth as pain shoots up my leg. But that's not what worries me.

  Did the sound travel enough to alert whoever is in the house?

  A light goes on and illuminates the hallway.

  Whoever is in the house heard me.

  "You hear something upstairs?" says a woman.

  I hear the creak of a mattress, then footsteps heading across the hardwood floor. Another light goes on, the hallway is bright now.

  Someone is walking up the steps.

  There's no way for me to get the briefcase out of there. The windows don't open so I can't simply toss it out. And whoever is coming up the stairs can just as easily turn on the enable key.

  The only option is to destroy the computer and this is my only chance. But I can't simply smash it.

  Then I remember what happened to Jake's laptop.

  And what will kill any computer, regardless of how sophisticated it might be.

  The steps get closer.

  I look up at the ceiling and what I need is thankfully there.

  I reach across the desk, grab the State of Liberty cigarette lighter, flick it, move to the far end of the office and set the curtains on fire.

  They go up like a torch with an audible whoosh.

  Flames start leaping up the wall and smoke beings to fill the room.

  The steps get faster. "Fire!"

  I get up on a chair and hold the flame up against the sprinkler head.

  An ear-piercing alarm goes off as the sprinkler system engages and it starts to rain in the office.

  The water hits the laptop, a few sparks shoot out and the screen goes dark.

  I disappear just as the light in the office turns on.

  The words I've longed to hear greet me as I enter the kitchen at two in the afternoon after a long nap.

  "It's over," says Sebastien. He's seated at the kitchen table, sipping a soda while Fuzzball sits across from him with a beer.

  "Really?" I say.

  Sebastien nods. "When you shorted out the main control, the whole ID system went down."

  I move to the fridge and get some orange juice. "You sure it's down for good?"

  "Yes. Our technical staff says the control device was necessary for it to function. The activation system we have at The Summit no longer works."

  Fuzzball gets up and gives me his chair. "My friend from the fire department grabbed the football for me. It was fried and fairly melted but there was enough left for the geek squad to analyze it."

  Sebastien takes a brownie from a plate on the table. "Yes, and now we know how they incorporated your father's engrams into the technology. So if they try that trick again, we'll know how to defeat it."

  "Terrific," I say, taking a sip of juice.

  "I must say, Jillian, that was very quick thinking on your part to set the place on fire," says Sebastien.

  I smile as I sit down. "I remembered Jake spilling a soda on his laptop and shorting it out. I knew I needed liquid and when I saw the place had a sprinkler system I figured setting it off would do the trick. Thank goodness Cruise was a smoker and had that big lighter on her desk." I turn and look up at the detective. "Did you find out who was inside?"

  He shakes his head. "They must have gone out the back door. And they probably won't be back since the place is a total loss. It doesn't really matter. We cut off the head of the snake."

  “Yeah,” I say. “But what worries me is that there are still followers out there.”

  Chapter 18

  Once again, all is right with the universe. And once again, my friends and I have saved the world as we know it.

  But I'm not looking for glory, only a normal life free of threats to take down society.

  It's great that it's over and Ryan and I can go out in public again. No more crazy dreams, no more pod people with eye twitches, no more worrying about a siren killing my best friend. It's freezing cold but I don't care. Just walking down the sidewalk holding his hand, even with gloves on, makes it a perfect day. Just life the way it was meant to be for an average eighteen year old girl.

  And it doesn't hurt that I'm in love and can fully concentrate on my relationship with the right guy. Our strides are in step, just like our lives. He lets go of my hand and wraps one arm around my shoulder, then pulls me close and kisses me. He doesn't have to say anything.

  His look says it all.

  "Hey, Jillian!"

  I turn toward the voice and see Aspen cross the street, waving at me as she heads in our direction.

  "Hi, Aspen." We stop walking, waiting for her to arrive. She smiles at me, then Ryan, and I realize they've never been introduced. "Ryan, this is Aspen. Aspen, my boyfriend Ryan."

  She shakes his hand. "Nice to finally meet you, Ryan. I've heard so much about you."

  "Likewise," he says.

  "You've got a great girl there." She turns back to me. "Hey, Jillian can you spare five minutes?"

  "Why, what's up?"

  "Well…Trip's taking me on a Caribbean cruise during the Christmas holidays. I can only pack one formal outfit and can't decide. I want to wear something that will knock his socks off. Would you mind coming up to my place and help me choose?"

  Ryan rolls his eyes and she notices. She gently touches his forearm. "Don't worry, Ryan, there are only two outfits so it really will only take five minutes. This won't be an all day affair."

  "Okay," he says. "I was afraid this might turn into a review of an entire closet."

  "I live right up the street," she says. "Two blocks. C'mon."

  She leads us for a couple of blocks to an impressive townhouse. We climb the stairs as I realize she must be rich. "Nice place."

  "Luckily my parents are never here," she says, as she puts a key in the door and leads us inside. "It beats the hell out of living in a dorm."

  Trip is sitting at a desk working on a laptop. He gets up to greet us. "Ah, you must be Ryan," he says, smiling as he extends a hand. He's shirtless in a pair of jeans. Kind of an unusual choice for December, but Aspen obviously picks out his wardrobe. Or lack thereof. "I've heard so much about you from Jillian."

  His comments strike me as odd since they've met before, though under very uncomfortable circumstances. Maybe Trip is trying for a fresh start. I know Ryan isn't wild about this and seeing Trip's incredible physique will make him feel inadequate all over again. But he puts on a brave face, sticks his hand out to shake. Instead Trip bends down, wraps his arms around Ryan's and lifts h
im up into a bear hug.

  My jaw drops. "What the hell?" I start to move toward them but Aspen grabs me from behind and yanks my arms behind my back. Ryan grimaces as Trip begins to squeeze him. "What are you doing? Stop it! Let him go!"

  "No," says Aspen, who has a tight grip on my arms and pulls me back. "You need to see what it's like when someone you care about gets hurt."

  Trip has Ryan's arms pinned against his sides and tightens the grip around his chest. Ryan starts to yell in pain. His legs kick as he tries to escape but they find nothing but air as he's a foot off the floor.

  I'm in anguish watching Ryan being hurt while trying to process why he's being attacked. "Why are you doing this?"

  But I already know there's only one logical answer.

  They work for Cruise.

  I twist my body, desperately try to get away from Aspen, but she's so much taller and stronger I can't get free. "Let me go!"

  "Stop fidgeting. You're not going anywhere. Crank it up, Trip."

  Trip squeezes Ryan harder and his scream goes right through my heart. "Trip, stop it, you're hurting him!"

  "That's the idea," says Aspen. She leans forward and speaks directly into my ear. "Now watch."

  "I'm teaching him a lesson," says Trip, shooting me a sinister grin. His shoulder muscles twitch as he crushes my boyfriend. Ryan groans, his face twists in pain.

  And I can't do a thing to help him.

  "Can't…breathe," Ryan says, his voice barely audible. He's quickly getting weaker and is powerless to break free. Trip is smiling at him, obviously enjoying himself as he effortlessly dominates Ryan without even breaking a sweat. He has such a huge size advantage that Ryan doesn't have a chance. His eyes begin to droop as his leg kicks are now slow, without any force behind them. Ryan's chest is swallowed up by Trip's massive arms.

  The realization of what's happening brings a flood of tears. "That's enough! Let him go! Trip, I'm begging you! Please let him go!" I start to sob as I see Ryan gasping for air. "Please…"

  "Wrap it up, Trip, she's getting hysterical," says Aspen. "And you're just toying with him."