by M. Kircher
"So, how does it work?"
I shrug. "I don't exactly know all the scientific principles. But it's been done before, my mom told me. She used to take Dad in with her sometimes. They were always careful to rig an alarm so they wouldn't stay inside her dreams for too long."
Gabe swallows and sits back. I can tell he's considering the ridiculous thing I've just proposed. I'm actually kind of surprised he's taking this so well. I mean, I've just told him I'm a total genetic abnormality who can sleep forever and walk through dreams. You'd think he would be a bit more freaked out. I know Dad didn't care when Mom told him what she was, but he'd been madly in love with her then. He wouldn't have cared if she had been an alien or something.
"What do I have to do, to go with you?"
"Simple," I tell him and lay back onto the carpet, stretching out my feet and legs in front of me. I'm in no way convinced this is a good idea — in fact it's probably an extremely bad idea — but it seems a little too late to turn back now. Besides, I admit to myself, Gabe is smoking hot. I pat the white carpet beside me.
"Lie down," I command him, and then I close my eyes.
Chapter Ten
When I don't hear Gabe moving, I peek one eye open, and see that his face has gone a startling shade of crimson. I push myself up on my elbows and shoot him an exasperated look.
"I'm not trying to seduce you, for crying out loud," I tell him. "Can you sleep standing up? 'Cause I can't."
"Oh. Yeah." He coughs, and his flaming face fades slightly. "I know that."
Gabe clears his throat, and I scoot over so I'm positioned with my head right next to Mom's bed. My fingers clamp onto her lifeless hand, and then I hold my free palm out to Gabe.
"Lie down and grab on."
"This is all we have to do?" he asks, as he strips off his leather jacket and settles himself on the carpet next to me. He's wearing some kind of cologne that smells so good, it makes my head swim. I take a deep breath to steady my pounding heart. Focus, Em. Focus.
"Yep, holding hands. That's it," I answer him and hope my palms aren't too sweaty. "Touch is powerful," I explain. "There's something about skin touching skin that connects us." When I realize I've just said the words 'skin touching skin', to the most attractive boy I've ever met, it's my turn to blush. The two of us must make one crazy, red-faced pair.
"Okay, yeah. That makes sense," Gabe agrees. "But people touch all the time when they're asleep, and I've never heard of anyone jumping into someone else's dreams before."
I sigh. "Like I explained before, Mom and I are different. So," I continue, holding out my hand, "do you want to try this or not?"
Gabe lies back on the carpet and angles his head toward me, our noses only inches apart. "I do. It's just that holding hands seems a little too easy, don't you think?"
I ignore him and grab his hand. As soon as our fingers touch, lightning fast shivers run up my arm, and I immediately let go.
Crap. Did he feel the same thing? I open my eyes, and Gabe's staring at me, an unreadable expression in his brown eyes. My throat convulses nervously, and without a word I take his hand again. The tingles are still there when we touch, but this time I'm prepared. I do my best to ignore them. "Close your eyes. I need to concentrate."
Gabe closes his eyes, and I close mine. I feel his rough palm warm around my own and Mom's unmoving fingers in my other hand.
Here goes nothing.
I find the rhythm of my heart and then I force it to slow down, until I'm aware of both Mom's pulse and Gabe's. I feel the three of us connect, our breathing sync, and our hearts beating as one. I relax, and feel my consciousness slide away like the afternoon tide.
And then, suddenly, my eyes are open, and Gabe and I are standing in a huge field, high up in a tumble of rolling hills. Purple wildflowers brush our ankles, and a soft breeze tickles our skin, running its curious fingers through our hair. The warm glow from an orange sky overhead warms my shoulders, and despite the circumstances, I smile sadly.
We're in Italy.
I've been here once before, right after Dad died. Mom brought me into this dream with her so I could see him again. He'd died far away, in a place I can't pronounce. The bomb that killed him didn't leave much to bury, so this dream is where the three of us were together for the last time. I said my goodbyes that day.
Mom didn't. She comes back to this dream all the time to see him.
I peer over at Gabe to see how he's absorbing all this, and it's about as well as I imagined. I chuckle softly. His long arms dangle loose at his sides, and his mouth hangs open in shock.
I grin. "Kinda pretty, isn't it?"
He doesn't look at me. The tall guy can't seem to pry his gaze away from the splendor surrounding us. It's a memory dream, so everything appears like it would in the real world, except it's all sort of enhanced. The colors are brighter, the smells more intense, and the sounds are like music.
"Where are we?" he whispers.
"Basso Monferrato," I tell him matter-of-factly, and shove my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. I grin as he gazes around with incredulous eyes. We're surrounded by a sea of lavender, and there are dozens of small hills rolling beneath us in waves. The air is warm and fragrant. So warm, in fact, that I take off my hoodie and tie it around my waist. There is no sun, but the sky glows orange, as though it's being hugged by a sunset. If I peer down to the bottom of the hills, I can see twisting dirt roads and tiny houses with deep red terracotta roofs dotting the countryside. The echoing sounds of laughter and the soft tinkle of cowbells float up past our ears.
"It's in Italy," I continue. "One of the most important wine districts. My dad loved wine. My parents came here on their honeymoon. They sat on a log on the edge of this hill, drinking wine and watching the sunset. Mom told me once it was her favorite memory, so she dreams about it a lot."
When Gabe doesn't say anything, I give him a gentle poke with my finger. "You okay?"
Gabe gulps and gapes up at the orange sky. "I'm in a dream," he mutters to himself. "This can't be real."
"Well, I mean, technically it's not real," I tell him, slightly amused by his awestruck expression. "It's a picture, a memory, that Mom's brain has stored, and that her subconscious mind projects while she's sleeping. Everything feels real when you're inside a dream, but it's all just your imagination drawing on memory and then making up the rest."
"There's no sun."
"There's no sun because Mom remembers this moment, and in this moment the sun had just set behind those hills over there. So that's how everything appears in this dream. Orange sky, no sun." I wonder if I'm making any sense.
Gabe nods as if he's getting it.
"Hey," I prod, and he finally tears his eyes away from the hillside and turns his head toward me. "I can't keep us in here for long, because time doesn't work the same way. A minute in a dream could be like two seconds in the real world, or it could be two hours. I have no way of knowing for sure."
"Can't we stay for just a little bit though, Em?" Gabe asks. "This is beyond awesome."
"Yeah, all right," I give in. "But just until I find Mom. I need to make sure she's okay." I know I'll probably see Dad too, but I try to ignore the twist in my stomach when I think about it. He's not my real dad, I remind myself, just an echo of who he was, blowing around in Mom's memories.
"Okay," Gabe agrees and takes my hand. I glance down, startled.
"I'm not taking the chance you'll wake up and leave me in here," he explains and winks at me.
"Yes. Right. Good idea," I sputter awkwardly. The tingling feeling is making its way up my arm again. "Come on. Let's go," I tell Gabe, and I tug him toward the dirt path I know we'll find on the other side of this field. The lavender flowers part around our legs as we wade through them, and the most amazing smell invades my nostrils. I breathe it in. "They should be just over this hill on a large white log. It'll only take a minute to get there."
But when we shuffle down the hill and around the bend, I freeze.
"Em, what is it? What's wrong?" Gabe asks, and I can hear the concern in his voice.
I don't answer, just stare in front of us in shock. The lookout point is there. The log is there. The beautiful Italian landscape is there. There's even a half-empty bottle of wine discarded in the grass.
Everything is just as it should be, except for my parents.
"They're not here," I gasp, my heart thudding in my chest. "They're always right here." I point at the log.
Gabe examines the empty log and then his eyes meet mine. "So maybe they went somewhere else," he suggests and puts a hand on my shoulder. I don't know if it's supposed to be a reassuring gesture, but if it is, it's not working.
I whirl around. "No! You don't get it! Mom couldn't dream about Dad — that's why she woke up yesterday, when you and Evan showed up at my house. She was frantic after you left, trying to figure out why. We got into a big fight about it." I try to keep the tremor out of my voice. This is bad. How can I make him understand? "Dreams from memories are always the same," I try to explain. "They don't change, like processing dreams or fantasy dreams. Your memories don't change, so the same thing happens every time. Which means both my parents should be sitting right here, drinking wine, and laughing because they've gotten too tipsy!" I gesture frantically at the empty log.
"Something's wrong, Gabe, something's definitely wrong. Where are they?" I can feel the panic rise up in my chest, and then the worst thing happens. I start to cry.
Gabe puts his hands on both my shoulders and spins me around so that I face him — so that I'm gazing up into his dark eyes instead of at the empty log.
"It's gonna be fine, Em," he comforts me as another ridiculous tear slips down my cheek. I hate to cry, especially in front of other people, and especially now, in front of Gabe. But I'm afraid. I've lost Mom in the real world. What if I lose her in the world of her dreams too? She might never wake up.
I sniff and wipe away the tear, embarrassed for Gabe to see me so emotional. "You're right," I breathe, and I try to calm myself down. There has to be a reason for all this. They have to be somewhere else in the dream. Maybe it changed after all, even though Mom told me this one was always the same. But before I can come back and figure out where they've gone, I have to ditch Gabe. I don't want him involved in all of this, plus I can't risk his safety by keeping him inside a dream for too long. We could be in here for days — or weeks, even — and I can't be responsible for the possibility of his death.
The current problem is that we have to get to the end of this dream so I can wake us up. And this dream ends with Mom and Dad holding hands and strolling off into the sunset. If there's no Mom and Dad, then there's no ending. Can I even wake us up? Everything I know about how all this works has suddenly been flipped upside down. The best I can do now is try.
And then I notice a butterfly flutter past Gabe's right ear. The insect is bright red, with long glittering wings and a black, silky body. But the butterfly's beautiful colors aren't what catch my eye; it's how slowly the butterfly's wings beat through the air. Luck, apparently, is on our side. The dream is slowing down, which means it's about to end. It's a nifty little quirk I've learned over the years. A normal human being would never notice it, but if you've hung out in dreams a lot like me, you start to take stock of the little things. Like the fact that before a dream shifts from one thread of consciousness to another, everything in the dream slows down, just a fraction of a second. This is the small window of time I have to wake us up, before Mom's mind goes down another distorted bunny trail.
"Come on. I'll take you back." I grab Gabe's hand and close my eyes. Before he can protest, I breathe in deeply, once, and everything goes black.
* * * *
I feel my mind reconnect with my body and settle back into the physical world. I take a breath and open my eyes. The orange glowing sky is gone, replaced by the stark, white ceiling of Mom's bedroom. I sigh with relief. It worked.
Beside me, I feel Gabe stir. I angle my head to the side so I can see him and realize he has his hands over his eyes. He's methodically grinding his palms into his eyelids and softly groaning.
"For crying out loud," he gripes.
I chuckle. I know how he feels. "Yeah, it takes some getting used to," I agree and push myself off the carpet. Mom is still fast asleep in her bed. I bend over to check her breathing and am reassured it's still deep and steady. I have to get rid of Gabe now, so I can go back into her dreams and figure out what in the blazes is happening to her.
But then I freeze. Behind me, over by the doorway to Mom's room, I've heard the tiniest little cough. Gabe hears it too, and slowly we both twist our heads around toward the sound.
We are not alone.
Standing in the doorway, a keycard clutched in one hand and a briefcase in the other, is none other than Evan Baxter. And he's staring at the three of us as though he's just witnessed a murder.
"What on earth are you doing?" Evan demands in an angry whisper. He steps into the room and lets his briefcase fall down onto the carpet.
I sink my head into my hands. Could this day get any worse?
Chapter Eleven
Evan gapes at Gabe, and then at me, and then he stares over at Mom, still gently sleeping in her giant, white bed. "What were you two doing?" he whispers again, and behind me I hear Gabe scramble to his feet.
I try make my voice sound as innocent as possible. "Evan, um, it's not what you think," I plead and step towards the interfering book editor. Gabe comes to stand beside me, and I shoot him a look that asks "What do we do now?" Gabe just shrugs. Great, thanks for your help, I think to myself.
"I don't even know what I think," Evan snaps, still whispering so he doesn't wake up my mother.
I'm terrified right now, and in my head, I'm scrambling for something to help explain this situation away.
But then I get angry. This man is trespassing in my house. He's in my mother's bedroom. I quirk my finger at Gabe, pointing out of the room, and he nods in response. We need to get Evan away from Mom.
Together we push him out of the bedroom, and I slide the door shut. As soon as the panel closes behind me, I grab the keycard Evan's still clutching in his right hand.
"How did you get in?" I demand, my voice hard and threatening. "Did you use this?"
Evan gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat. Gabe reaches over and snatches something out of Evan's shirt pocket. I notice the man is wearing another plaid shirt. Does he not realize how completely awful they are?
"I know what this is," Gabe declares accusingly, holding up a metal device. "It's a code calculator." He puts the gadget into my palm, along with the keycard I'm already holding. I turn it over in my hands. It's small and silver, with a thin rectangular screen and a circle of black on the back. "This is how he got in," Gabe explains. "It'll crack any security code, and then you transfer the code onto a keycard. I read about them." His eyes narrow. "But how did you get one? You're just a book editor, and this is the kind of thing they only give to government officials."
Evan sets his briefcase on the carpet and rubs the back of his neck with his hand. I can see where the collar of his shirt has been stained yellow. He's nervous now, no longer demanding answers.
"I uh," Evan stutters, and then miraculously, he seems to gather himself together. His spine straightens, and his eyes focus. He plucks the code calculator back out of my hand and shoves it into his pocket. "The Agency gave it to me," he shoots back haughtily. "They needed to know what was going on with your mother. They have an investment. And Lily has been avoiding them. So they sent me to get to the bottom of things." Evan's eyes dart back and forth between Gabe and me. "I was told to use whatever means necessary to make sure Lily Dal Monte is alive and well…and working."
I scowl at the skinny, interfering man. "Even if it means disobeying the law? I'm pretty sure breaking and entering is still considered a criminal offense."
Evan seems affronted by my accusation. He points a finger at my chest,
and Gabe swipes it away angrily.
"Hey, don't touch her." Gabe takes a step towards Evan, wedging himself between the editor and me.
I'm surprised. Nobody's stuck up for me before. Well, not since my dad was alive.
"I don't have to explain anything to a couple of suspicious minors," Evan asserts, peering around Gabe's wide shoulders. "What were the two of you doing in there? What did you do to Lily, drug her? Is this some kind of new cult you kids are into?" He jabs a bony finger at me again. "You better start explaining, or I'm going to call the police. They won't care how I got in here, but I think they'll care quite a bit about the two of you harming a famous and extremely important individual."
