The Stuff of Dreams

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  “Is there anything else we can do?” the old woman asked as she rocked.

  “We won’t know until we try,” the director said, reaching for his machine.

  DAYS THAT WILL NEVER COME AGAIN

  CHAPTER 6

  .

  I

  .

  When D entered the hospital, he was greeted by the stark emptiness of the hallways and the white lighting that made it look as still as the bottom of a lake.

  “Welcome,” someone said from behind him.

  Turning, the Hunter found a nurse standing there.

  “Director Allen is waiting for you. Allow me to show you the way.” Giving a slight bow, she walked ahead. D followed after her. “You know, I had a dream about you, too,” the nurse said.

  D didn’t respond. The nurse probably hated him as well. D was the enemy of all who wanted to continue living in this world. Even here in a world where they’d once been fond of the Nobility, there was no place for him.

  The two of them got in the elevator. In no time, they arrived at the bottom floor. A hallway devoid of life seemed to continue on without end under the harsh white lights. The nurse’s footsteps were the only sound that rang through the stagnant air. Just as the sound of them stopped, the scene around D grew distorted. It was full of light . . . natural light. What kind of power did one need to turn a subterranean passageway at night into a field in the daylight?

  The world was covered with a green so lush it seemed to saturate his eyes. A young man and young lady raced across the plains, apparently headed toward the forest. The sunlight and green grass bestowed their blessings on the couple. The magnanimous will of nature seemed to bid all the joyful things in the world to serve the youthful lovers. The young lady turned. It was Sybille. The boy turned as well. Strong traces of the sheriff’s face were visible. Laughter could be heard. Anyone would love to have such a dream.

  D was standing in the forest. A bittersweet odor invaded his nose, and the trees were awash with crimson. It was late autumn. Ripe apples rolled by his feet. Chasing after them, Sybille dashed right at D, passing through his body like a ghost. The sweet product of life drooped from the branches of every tree, sparkling red in the light borne on the wind. Farmers with baskets on their backs smiled as they watched Sybille, and then walked away. Tonight, there’d surely be fat slices of apple pie on the dinner table.

  Once again, the scene changed. The distant ringing of a bell shook the falling snowflakes; figures in black overcoats, grouped in twos and threes, lined up and filed into the mere skeleton of a building. It appeared to be the frame for a community hall. Inside were Sheriff Krutz and Sybille. Dr. Allen was there, too, and off to the side stood Ai-Ling and Old Mrs. Sheldon. Snow struck their faces and dyed their overcoats white. The pale lace patterns it left weren’t quick to melt. All present exhaled white plumes as they listened with gleaming eyes to speeches by the mayor and the principal, then prayed for the future of their village.

  Gradually the village grew larger. Old folks died, children grew up, clouds rolled by, old houses were rebuilt. Damage due to malfunctioning weather controllers was close to nonexistent here; very few people perished from accidents. On evenings in the spring, little girls changed into white dresses, children ran with fireworks in hand and left a rainbow of sparks in their wake like some fantasy. Everyone hastened down the main street to the site of the dance party being held at the vacant lot. Oddly enough, Sybille didn’t dance even once, but sat enviously watching the men and women cavorting with their partners in the moonlight. The young sheriff danced with Ai-Ling, but as they danced he looked at Sybille. Ai-Ling sadly pressed her cheek to the lawman’s chest. The village was peaceful.

  D was in the cemetery. White gravestones in orderly rows paid respect to those now gone. There were also a number of moss-covered marble tombs among them, and as twilight drew near, the children visited and called out the names of those interred there. When a bit more time had passed and the last remnants of the day vanished, deep blue shadows rose from under the gravestones. And then the shadows joined hands with the children to form a big circle and recounted with pleasure tales of the Nobles’ world, showing the villagers graceful dances quite unlike their own and teaching them how to make apple pies. From time to time, one of them would be pained with thirst, so one of the villagers would cut their wrist without any reluctance at all, catching the crimson fluid in an empty milk bottle and delivering it while it was still fresh. Here, consideration and coexistence and sympathy ruled the scene. An ideal had become reality. It was a dream, however, a dream where the dreamer mustn’t awaken.

  A faint voice reached D’s ears. This particular voice always sounded so sad. Why have you come? it asked. But not with words. Just with a question. Why have you come here? This is a peaceful village. Isn’t this what you always had in mind?

  D didn’t reply. He stood like a beautiful and intricately worked statue.

  Eyes beyond numbering stared at him: the sheriff, the hospital director, Old Mrs. Sheldon, the hotel manager, countless other men, women, and children, and those with pale skin and ivory fangs. And Sybille, too.

  Remain here, the pale ones said. Live here in peace. No one will shun you here. This is the world he made.

  “That’s right,” D said, responding at last. “It was made by drinking the blood of a girl. What about her?”

  That can’t be helped. This is a beautiful village. And that was her dream.

  “Perhaps it was his dream. The girl called me here. She hasn’t told me what my job entails yet.”

  And do you intend to take it?

  “I don’t know.”

  You are a Vampire Hunter. Don’t concern yourself with this.

  A mysterious spark resided in D’s eyes. “You’re right, I am,” he said.

  Perhaps some deeper emotion lay behind those words. The intent gazes of the villagers that were trained on him accusingly suddenly froze . . . then glittered brighter than ever.

  A heartbeat later, his surroundings were masked by pitch darkness. All that was left was D—and one other person, the hospital nurse.

  “Would you lead the way?” D said to her softly.

  The nurse turned around. She had Sybille’s face. “Leave, D. Just leave the village,” she said. “Everything will be fine then.”

  “Which Sybille are you?”

  “I am myself. Please. If you do anything, I’ll cease to exist in this world. Don’t say anything or do anything. Just leave.”

  D began to walk slowly.

  “D.” Sybille’s expression changed.

  D walked away again.

  .

  Dammit, he’s here. Your brain manipulations don’t seem to be doing the trick, and things are starting to get hairy,” Old Mrs. Sheldon said.

  “What’ll we do?” asked Ai-Ling.

  “We’ll just leave it all to this world,” Dr. Allen replied.

  “But this all originally sprang from Sybille’s dreams. Can it break free of her?”

  “I don’t know,” the director said. “After all, Sybille is putting up an awful lot of resistance.”

  The crystal shards that made up part of the machine gave off pale purple beams of light.

  .

  As D calmly walked away, the nurse swung at his back with

  her right hand. A knife she’d produced from somewhere glittered there. Before her blade had moved more than a few inches, a flash of silver slashed through her svelte torso. The nurse faded away, too. Even D couldn’t tell whether she was a product of this world or a phantasm conjured up by someone manipulating Sybille’s brain.

  Once more the hallway stretched on forever. D halted. A number of doors were lined up on a wall that shouldn’t have had any. He opened the closest one.

  The image of Sybille floated in the darkness. “Leave our village,” she said.

  D closed the door without saying a word. He then opened the next door. His surroundings were masked by a thick white fog that clung to his ski
n. “Watch yourself now,” his left hand said. “I can’t quite analyze the components of this stuff. There are dream enzymes mixed in it.”

  D looked over his shoulder. The hallway was fading into the mist, too. Direction was ceasing to exist. D advanced toward where the door had been.

  There was a slight creaking sound. Quickly enough, he remembered that familiar sound as Old Mrs. Sheldon rocking back and forth in her favorite chair. As she came into view, he saw she had a gray blanket on her lap, a tray with a teapot and steaming cups balancing on top of it. D noticed that the steam they gave off took the color of the sky as it rose in the air. This was all probably an illusion, too.

  D’s left hand was a blur of action. A needle of unfinished wood seemed to sprout from the left side of the old woman’s chest. It’d been thrown by D. With the tiniest sound, she collapsed in her rocking chair. The old woman’s body then disappeared.

  “Seems whoever it is isn’t as powerful as the dreamer,” the Hunter’s extended left hand said. “Still, you can’t let your guard down. If we get taken out, it might mean more than us just vanishing. Here it comes!”

  By “it,” the voice meant the bluish smoke spreading through the air that was heading for them. No sooner had D held his breath than the smoke dropped, like it had real weight, and crushed around his upper body.

  A flash of silver shot out. Two silvery slashes formed a cross that quartered the blue smoke, but it quickly fused together again and rushed through the air in pursuit of D as he leapt away. Trying to leap again, D found his feet stuck to the ground. Old Mrs. Sheldon lay on the floor, and she had a grip on the Hunter’s ankles. D’s upper body turned blue. He could feel the smoke seeping in through his skin.

  The wind howled as the blue smoke became a single stream that was sucked into D’s left hand. In less than a second, the world of white had returned. His left hand coughed. On the surface of his palm, a human face swiftly formed. “Shit . . .” it gasped. “Damn smoke . . . Probably shouldn’t have swallowed that.”

  “It works by osmosis,” D said, not seeming the least bit upset.

  “I’m analyzing it now, so keep your pants on. Gonna have to try breaking the dream down to the elementary particle level.” Just then, the voice gagged, and the tiny mouth disgorged blue smoke. It almost looked like he was blowing out a long drag from a cigarette.

  Mingling with the white fog, the smoke soon vanished.

  “I’ve got it! This stuff is—?!”

  Suddenly, the cries of D’s left hand were interrupted by a bizarre chill enveloping the Hunter’s frame. With a sickeningly loud tearing sound, furry tentacles burst out all over his body. A monster within him—created, perhaps, by the combination of the smoke and the blue petal tea the old woman had given him before—was being born. Wriggling tentacles ruptured D’s chest, stomach, and face. The back of his head flew off and something that looked like a cross between a spider and a scorpion peered out.

  D’s left hand grabbed the creature by the neck. It was like a vision of hell. With just one hand, D yanked out the creature that’d formed in his body. Flesh ripped and bones snapped. As the creature plopped to the ground, D’s longsword split its brain in two. D stood there impassively.

  “Well, I must say, I’m downright amazed at your power today,” someone said with admiration. “If you weren’t fully aware this world is no more than a dream, I fancy you’d be in a body bag right about now.”

  D turned around completely. There was no trace of the old woman, but D perceived her presence, despite the fact that she couldn’t be seen.

  Not at all ruffled, D began to walk. Even as he made his way through the fog, he maintained his impressive good looks. After taking a few steps, he halted. Ai-Ling stood before him.

  “D,” she said.

  He couldn’t tell if she’d shouted it or whispered it. Nevertheless, D continued walking once more.

  “Wait! I’m the same Ai-Ling you met before!” Hers was a sorrowful cry. Surely it was painful that she even had to say this. Living with a husband who’d fallen for her best friend, stoically defending her home and family even though she knew her husband still loved the other girl—what had become of this woman’s true nature? Was this just a role she played?

  “Step aside,” D said softly. “I have to go see Sybille.”

  “Stay here in the village, or forget about seeing her and just leave.”

  “Tell Sybille to let me,” the Hunter replied.

  “If you’ll stay here in our village . . . in our world . . . I’ll always—”

  D kept walking. Ai-Ling didn’t move. Putting his hand to her shoulder, D pushed her out of the way. It was a gentle nudge that wasn’t like the young man. There was a door behind him.

  “D . . .” Ai-Ling mumbled behind him. “Kill me . . .”

  D grabbed hold of the doorknob. Behind him, the air stirred violently, and he went into action.

  Ai-Ling had a knife in her right hand and had tried to stick the Hunter with it, but D grabbed her wrist with his left hand.

  “I’m begging you, D,” she said. “Please, just kill me . . . I can’t die on my own, you see. This world just brings me back to life. But if you were to cut me down . . .”

  D—the bringer of death—made a motion with his black-gloved hand and Ai-Ling fell to the floor. By the time low sobs spilled from her, the young man in black had disappeared through the door. He hadn’t so much as glanced at the hysterical woman.

  He was in the feeble darkness of the hospital room. Next to the bed sat a device, and next to that stood the hospital director.

  “Here at last,” Dr. Allen said happily. He wasn’t talking about the Hunter.

  D turned around.

  Two figures appeared on the far side of the room—a huge man sitting on a horse and a little man lying on the back of a black panther. Though the room was small, there was more than enough space between them and the Hunter.

  “D, I take it? We’ve heard talk about you,” the man on the horse said. The ring of fear in his voice was probably due to his believing the talk they’d heard. “I’m Harold B., the senior Bio Brother. That there’s my kid brother.”

  “Duncan B. is the name.” The eyes of the little man and the panther brimmed with unearthly hostility as they looked up at D.

  “We meet at last. We don’t mind if we get destroyed,” Harold said from over by the window. “Of course, if you take us down here, it looks like we’ll be brought right back to life anyway. I don’t suppose you’re gonna turn around after all this and say you’ll just settle down all peaceful-like in the village, now will you?” Harold brought his left hand to the breast pocket of his coat, pulled out something shiny, and tossed it at D’s feet. It was a silver star.

  In a heartbeat, the entire room froze. The director, the brothers, and even the black panther all saw something there so terrifying that it made their hair stand on end. D’s eyes gave off a blood light. The instant it faded, the panther leapt without making a sound.

  Bisecting the animal with the silvery flash that shot up from below, D held his longsword at the ready again. Just now, the panther’s body had offered no more resistance than cutting through thin air. Instantly, the black panther was over by the wall again, its eyes wildly ablaze with a lust for killing. A moment later, the two halves of its bisected torso were connected again. Both the man on the horse and the one on the panther smirked. When the front half of the panther thudded to the floor, however, Harold’s eyes filled with the first real look of fear.

  “You . . . You sonuvabitch . . .” moaned the little man who’d tied his own life, or at least his upper body, to that of his beloved beast.

  Not even bothering to look at the little man, D leveled his longsword at the man on the horse. “One on one won’t be easy for you,” the Hunter said in a low voice.

  Harold gave a little nod. “Yep, we must’ve been out of our minds, I suppose, to throw down with Vampire Hunter D, of all people.”

  “Hold on, there.
It still ain’t over yet . . .” Duncan groaned from the floor. Copious amounts of dark red blood gushing from his wound, he dragged himself toward D. The sword the little man held in his right hand was proof enough he hadn’t given up the fight yet.

  D advanced smoothly. Not toward Harold, but rather toward Duncan. Though his foe could do no more than crawl, the Hunter’s cruel blade came down at an angle, decapitating not only Duncan, but his black panther as well. Without a moment’s delay, D leapt into the air and thrust his gore-stained blade right through Harold’s chest. As the huge man dropped helplessly, the Hunter lopped off his head. The geysers of blood didn’t erupt from the wounds until a second after D landed again.

  Intensely silent, D turned to the hospital director.

  “So, that finishes it, then?” said Dr. Allen. “You are one fearsome character, to be sure. Exactly what we’d expect from the one chosen to save our princess from her eternal slumber.”

  “I can’t wake her up,” D told him flatly. “All I want to know is what I’m supposed to do. Give this Sybille back her dream.”

  “If I refuse, will you cut me down?”

  The Hunter didn’t reply.

  The hospital director soon nodded. His hair was standing on end. “This may be a dream, but still,” Dr. Allen said, “I’m afraid to die.”

  The Hunter watched as the man reached for the machine with both hands. A second later a burning hot blade ran into D’s back and out through his chest. Turning, he met Harold’s face, which was plastered with a hideous grin.

  “Too bad, eh?” Harold said with a wink. “And, you know, I ain’t the only one still kicking. My kid brother’s fit as you please, too.”

  The panther head on the floor bared its fangs, and the two halves of its torso balanced uneasily on two legs each. Of course, part of Duncan remained on top of all three pieces.

  “The two of us are the product of some science from thousands of years ago—what they called biotechnology,” the older brother explained. “See, we were made to be different, right down at the cellular level, namely, like this.”