Dream Job (The Dreamwalker Chronicles Book 1)

by Pettit, Gregory

  As I said, I was screwed. I woke up an indeterminate time later, but I still couldn’t see anything. As I tried to move, I quickly found that I seemed to be handcuffed to a metal bed, and I was as thirsty as I’d ever been in my entire life.

  “Hello?” I croaked out, the sound barely escaping my parched lips. For long moments, there was no reply. Where was I? I thought I could hear something in the background, but the ringing in my head left me unsure. Had the gladius been a hallucination, the final desperate act of a collapsing consciousness? Had Phil overpowered me and taken me somewhere? Panic started to rise, and I clumsily lurched up into a sitting position, feeling a cheap mattress sliding around underneath me.

  “Hello!” I repeated, this time managing to get a reasonable yell out. Sitting up made my head spin a little, but I reached out and gripped a pair of metal rails alongside the bed and steadied myself. Breathing slowly, I focused once again on trying to hear something, and I thought that perhaps I could detect the sound of footsteps moving a few feet away. There was still no answer, and as I continued to sit in the dark, I realized that I had woken up without having passed through a dream first.

  It was definitely a testament to the damage that my brain had taken that I hadn’t realized immediately that I had woken up without dreaming. Thinking back to my first memories, to the days when I woke up screaming every night, I couldn’t remember a time when that had happened. Something about the mental process of putting those thoughts in order seemed to reengage the analytical part of my brain, as the evidence of my senses suddenly added up to inform me that I was handcuffed to a hospital bed. The slight tang of bleach in the air hinted at my being in an actual hospital, so I began to hunt for some form of buzzer with my free hand.

  After a minute, I located a button and pressed it.

  “Goddamnit,” I muttered as the bed started to tilt upward. I let go of the button and hunted again. This time, when I pressed it, I detected a slight buzzing noise. A few seconds later, a female voice penetrated through to me. “Mr. Adler, do you know why you’re here?”

  I considered a smart-ass remark about only using handcuffs on my birthday, but given that I’d already been beaten to a pulp once today (was it still the same day?), I decided that discretion was the better part of valor and kept my mouth shut.

  “Mr. Adler, do you know what day it is?”

  My jaw must have actually dropped at that, because the alto voice continued with, “Mr. Adler, it’s the thirty-first of July; you’ve been in a coma for almost two days.”

  I’d been unconscious for almost two days without seeing a single dream. I tried to rationalize this by telling myself that the lack of dreaming was due to being knocked out as opposed to properly asleep. I wasn’t sure if I’d convinced myself when the voice continued.

  “I’ll assume from your reaction that you understand me. I’m nurse Gloria, and you are in Saint Mary’s Hospital. You have suffered a severe concussion as well as multiple contusions. We initially worried that you might have suffered an orbital fracture, but once the swelling went down, it became clear that you simply had further severe contusions in that area.”

  I tried to speak but was once again unable to get anything out on the first try. After clearing my throat, I rasped out, “Handcuffs?”

  “Mr. Adler, I shouldn’t be telling you this without the Met in the room, but you’re being held on suspicion of grievous bodily harm. I don’t know the details, but apparently they believe that you stabbed someone,” Gloria’s clinically detached voice said from somewhere slightly to my left. I heard a few steps, and then she continued, “I’ll be removing your bandages now. The blinds are drawn, but I think that you might still find it bright, so you’ll want to be closing your eyes.”

  I obediently held my eyelids shut while realizing with a thrill of horror and amazement that I hadn’t imagined attacking Phil with a sword just before passing out. As nurse Gloria removed the bandages, I considered the consequences of being under arrest, and the repercussions weren’t small. At the worst, I could imagine spending time in prison, but I imagined that with Anne’s testimony, I could probably avoid that fate. However, being a foreigner, it seemed more than slightly likely that I’d end up with my visa getting revoked. The Home Office tended to take a dim view of foreigners who stabbed British subjects.

  Light pierced my still-closed eyelids, and I tried to cover them with both hands reflexively, causing my arms to jerk painfully against the restraints. I was relieved to find after a few seconds of adjustment that I could see out of both eyes, though the blurry vision told me that at some point I’d either lost my contact lenses or had them removed.

  “Can I see my family?” I asked; concern at the prospect of being separated from them made me reflexively yearn for their presence.

  “You aren’t allowed any visitors. Now that I can see you’re awake without any apparent permanent injury, I’ll call in the Met to have a talk with you.” With that, she signed a form, hung a chart from the end of the bed, and strode out of the room.

  Less than a minute later, a short, fat white guy in a (very stylish) trench coat slouched into the room. He had a slightly moleish look, which wasn’t detracted from by the large, horn-rimmed glasses that perched on his stub of a nose. That make of glasses was in style just now, but one look at inspector mole-man reminded me that some people were only ever going to be fashion victims. Considering that I had found myself dressed nightly in the same trench coat, I wondered how I managed to pull it off so well.

  “I am Detective Inspector James Badger,” the copper started before I burst into wheezing laughter that caused splinters of agony to bloom in my injured side, which forced me to shut up (good to know that something actually will). Staring coldly down at me as I subsided into weak coughing, the DI continued in the well-educated received English that you only heard from those who had spent time at a military academy, “As I was saying, Mr. Adler, I am Detective Inspector James Badger, and you’re being detained on suspicion of grievous bodily harm and possession of an offensive weapon in a public place contrary to Section 1 of the Prevention of Crime Act 1953,” He said, and then read me my rights, but I didn’t pay much attention, instead picking up on the first part of his statement.

  “You said suspicion?” I blurted out unthinkingly. Head wound and all that.

  “Mr. Phil Buckley is currently in intensive care with a laceration to his kidney and extensive blood loss. You were clearly engaged in a physical altercation with Mr. Buckley, witnessed by multiple dependable individuals. However, several of them have gone on record to say that you had been pummeled almost into unconsciousness when you somehow seriously injured Mr. Buckley just as they entered the room. The wounds are consistent with a flat-bladed stabbing implement, although no such weapon was found at the scene of the crime.”

  “So you have a man, whom multiple witnesses agree was being beaten to a pulp, handcuffed to a bed because you’ve invented some kind of story about a mysterious, disappearing knife?” I shot back acerbically. My head hurt, and the fact that the Met was trying something on had me properly annoyed.

  “The wound was certainly not caused by anything that I would describe as a knife. It had to be something more like a short sword,” Badger volleyed back testily.

  “You have no proof that I’ve done anything but defend myself. I expect these handcuffs off immediately unless you want to press charges,” I hammered back, hoping that the aggressive negotiation style that I’d built up over years of hard-fought procurement work would be effective in this situation. “Do I need to call a lawyer?” I finished.

  “Mr. Adler, I don’t know how you managed to hide that sword, but I will find it. When I do, you’ll have more than a pair of handcuffs to worry about…” The DCI trailed off, trying to sound menacing. He hadn’t lived through a software audit, so he didn’t know real menace.

  “Just take the cuffs off and leave me alone,” I ground out through clenched teeth; my head was really starting to pound a
gain.

  “Mr. Adler, I will be removing the handcuffs, but be advised that this is on condition that you neither leave the country nor have further contact, unless otherwise authorized, with Mr. Buckley.” With that, Detective Inspector Badger took off the cuffs, turned on his heel with a squeaking noise, and slouched out of the room.

  I was stunned and didn’t say a word as the policeman exited the room. There was something truly weird going on here. I vowed that I’d figure out what it was and clear my name. I almost added, “If it’s the last thing I ever do,” but I wasn’t quite that worked up.

  While lying in the hospital room, recovering from my initial shock, I considered the series of events leading up to this moment. First, I had been given the conferencing center assignment, and then there had been the meetings with the suppliers, the bizarre dream that night, the uncharacteristic behavior from my teammates, and finally the attack back in the office.

  We’d been using one of the two firms to source our property for years, but OMG was a new factor. I began to develop a suspicion that somehow all of this strangeness was related to the redheaded knockout that I’d met with a few days previously. I continued to think about how OMG could be behind the recent weirdness while trying—and failing—to ignore the impact that this was going to have on my personal life: I didn’t know if I’d be able to go on the vacation that I’d just paid for, I didn’t know if I had a job anymore, and I didn’t know how this would affect my already strained marriage. Shit.

  CHAPTER 11 1000–1100, Friday, July 31, 2015

  ***Kelly***

  “Ena, as I’ve been saying for the last three days, this whole situation is your fault! You touched the chain and disrupted the ritual. He must not have been fully under our control because of that, and now the whole situation is screwed!” Kelly yelled shrilly across the room, relying on the expensive soundproofing in the partners’ office to ensure that nobody but Tara could overhear this argument. Kelly had known that the curvier woman thought that she had managed to cover up her slip, but Kelly’s photographic memory had logged the action and faithfully filed it away. She’d put that memory to good use when she’d had to come up with some kind of excuse to explain away the inefficacy of her attempt to land the pharmaceutical company’s conference center deal.

  Kelly had reentered the office on Wednesday afternoon and immediately laid out her theory that one of the other women had disrupted the ceremony. She’d backed that assertion up with the irrefutable logic that their secret weapon had never failed them before, hoping that the other two wouldn’t consider the other option: that Kelly had made a mistake. Kelly’s attention snapped back to the present as Ena shot back a hot retort.

  “Yes, I made one tiny slip during the ceremony. Yes, you remember everything, but no, that doesn’t mean that touching the chain had anything to do with the ceremony not working. I know that we used to rely on your memory during uni, but after all this time, can we be sure that you’ve still got it? Either you’re forgetting something or you’re ‘forgetting’ something, Kelly. It’s been two days, and I think it’s about time that you admitted whatever you’re hiding.”

  “You just can’t admit that the perfect Ena O’Brian could slip up. This has all gone to hell in a hand basket, and I think it’s time that you clean this up, Fatty,” Kelly said. She had decided two days ago that she had to stay on the offensive no matter how uncomfortable it made her, and she cringed inside as she recalled Ena breaking down and admitting her slip-up when confronted a few days earlier.

  Ena’s creamy skin flushed, coloring from the curve of her ample cleavage to the top of her forehead, and it appeared that she was just about to launch a stinging retort when the sound of shattering glass caused the heads of both arguing women to snap around. All attention focused on Tara as she clutched the base of a shattered wineglass, shards of which glittered against the charcoal fabric of the pencil skirt covering her shapely, well-toned legs.

  “Ladies,” she bit out into the silence. “Ladies, we did not build this business from scratch, we did not make the sacrifices that we’ve made, simply to implode the first time that we encounter a problem that we aren’t able to literally magic away,” Tara continued, her accent more noticeable than usual as she visibly fought to hold her temper in check.

  “Tara—” Ena started before being interrupted by Tara slamming her hand on the desk. The lawyer’s brown eyes flashed in the midafternoon sunlight.

  “No, Ena! It’s time to get this into the open. We’ve been playing stupid kiddie games with Kelly for too long,” Tara sniped and turned to Kelly, locking gazes with the green-eyed IT director before carrying on in a calmer, almost embarrassed tone: “Kelly, we’ve been unhappy with your performance for quite a while, as we made clear during our discussions on Tuesday night after the ritual. What you don’t know is that this was whole conference center situation was very much set up as a test for you.”

  Ena wore a shocked expression. “Tara, we discussed that confi—” The lawyer cut Ena off again with a chopping motion.

  “We thought that if we pushed you, it would either get you reengaged or we’d have an excuse to start pushing you out. Honestly, though, it’s not doing any good. Instead, we’ve had nothing but arguments in here for the last three days, one of our potential clients is in the hospital, and it’s clear that the ritual went badly wrong somehow. I wanted to get this into the open so that we can move on. It’s time to put our heads together, quit arguing, and sort this mess out!” Tara finished speaking on a high note, conveying a practiced tone of energized resolve that always resonated with clients.

  Kelly looked around the table and silently admitted to herself that her partners were right to be fed up with her performance. She’d been happy to reap the rewards of the rapidly growing business, but she had been at the sharp end of closing deals less and less frequently. Thinking of her long friendship with the other women, the current bitterness between them, and the need to work together in the future, she swallowed and said, “Tara, Ena, I may not have been entirely honest with you…”

  Over the next ten minutes, Kelly recounted, with clarity that would have been astonishing to anyone who didn’t know her, all of the events leading up to and including the botched attempt to mark Julian. She then skipped to the calls she’d subsequently received, including the brief but shocking communication from Richard in the potential customer’s finance department informing her that the RFP was on hold while the police investigated a serious matter involving physical violence among members of the project team.

  When Kelly finally finished a few minutes later, Ena displayed a clear look of vindication, while Tara’s brow furrowed. For her part, Kelly felt mentally drained by the admission that she’d just made.

  “So, I was right. You were holding back part of the story!” Ena exclaimed, obviously delighted to be proven right.

  “What I understand is that the real problem is that you didn’t mark Julian, that Richard guy wasn’t there to begin with, and Phil wasn’t the right bloke anyhow. That explains why we weren’t able to seal the deal, but it doesn’t get even close to explaining why the customer’s team went off the deep end and got all stabby,” Tara shot out into the room with unassailable logic, twisting her face up with distaste. She turned to the other women and continued, “We need to understand what went wrong and try to close out this bid at the same time. I suggest that we work together to implement an old-fashioned charm offensive and schedule a meeting with the full bid team, with all partners in attendance,” she finished decisively.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to close this, lads,” Kelly replied enthusiastically. She fought to keep her hands at her side, determined not to wipe at the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

  Ena looked at the other women and grinned broadly before speaking. “Let’s go finish our planning over supper, and maybe…a glass of wine or two.” After a moment of thinking, the businesswoman added, “And I propose that we make a toast to the profitab
le closure of this venture and the success of the firm: with all three partners.”

  “Aye!” Both of the other women replied before turning to the door and walking together toward the exit.

  Ena moved to join them, but as she felt her thighs rub together slightly on the first step, she recalled her nightmare of ending up like her obese mother and the scorn that she secretly felt toward her two “friends.” She shivered.

  CHAPTER 12 0700–0800, Saturday, August 1, 2015

  ***Julian***

  I opened my eyes. I was in a dark forest where howls reverberated off every tree trunk as a full moon glided through cloudless skies. I opened my senses to the night, tasting the wind, seeing the currents of fear floating on the aether until I had the nightmare pegged. It was one that I had categorized years before as the “I’m being chased” type (I categorized these as a kid, sue me). I knew how to handle this kind of dream, so without another thought, I started to put my plan into motion.

  First, I concentrated on my favorite memory of a sunny day. As a child, this had been a day out fishing with my dad on the Mississippi River, but as a father, it had changed to the first day that I’d taken my daughter to the park. I closed my eyes and envisioned the sun beating down on green, green grass under cobalt-blue skies, and my daughter Olivia pounding unsteadily across a small field, in her little white dress, giggling and yelling, “Dada!” When I opened my eyes, the dark and ominous wood wasn’t nearly so dark anymore; the sun burned brightly above the western horizon. I sighed in relief, releasing the intense concentration. That kind of change wasn’t easy and could be almost impossible if the darkness were an indivisible part of the dream, like during a vampire attack.

  As difficult as it was, it was important to start off by banishing the darkness. Almost all human fear stems from fear of the unknown, and the power of darkness to take away our ability to discern and recognize threats is primal and nearly absolute. Breaking that hold on the dreamer and allowing them to see their surroundings is probably the most potent strategic maneuver in my arsenal. Half the fight in defeating a nightmare is to get the dreamer to stop being afraid. If I can do that, then the resulting confrontation is usually a piece of cake.