by Paul Ruoitis
Opening the door and letting in a bit of the uncharacteristically cold summer night air, Isabel started to leave
when she heard Kyle mumble, «You want me to come along?»
For a moment, she thought he was talking to her, but his eyes were most definitely closed, and his breathing beginning to get shallow. Isabel knew enough from past science classes that it usually took people a while to start dreaming once they fell asleep. She recalled learning that the dreams usually came somewhere around ninety minutes into the sleep cycle. The statistic had stuck in her mind because she had heard it about the same time she had developed a keen interest in learning about anything that was related to sleep, because of her ability to dreamwalk. From that point, she'd tried to learn as much as she could about dreaming and dreamers so that she could be better skilled at the exercise. The fact that Kyle was able to fall into his dreams the moment his eyes closed concerned her a great deal.
As she stared at her sleeping friend, Isabel noticed that Kyle was not only mumbling, but the fingers of his right hand were tapping on the pillow in the same repetitive pattern she had seen before. He was clearly locked into another loop of his nightmare images. She felt horribly for him, but there was nothing she could do about it. Her powers just didn't work that way. It was too dangerous.
Closing the door to the Valenti home, Isabel made her way back to her own house through the chilly night air with those last few thoughts running through her head. They eventually were joined by a renewed sense of guilt over the fact that she and her brother unintentionally had stolen part of Kyle's father from him. Realizing that Kyle's dad was the only parent he really had, it made her feel
even worse. Then she thought about all the times that knowing their secret had put Kyle's life in danger, and all the normal things he and his father had given up for them, including the sheriff's job.
And, finally, she thought about Alex.
It didn't take long for Isabel to get home. By the time she had reached the front walk, she knew exactly what she had to do. She tried not to wake her parents as she silently made her way into the house, since she knew they would be getting up in only two hours so they could start their early morning trek to Santa Fe.
Her mother had left the living room light on for her, as she always did, so that Isabel would not have to stumble around in the dark. Turning off the light, she carefully continued through the dimly lit hallway into her bedroom.
With the door gently closed behind her, she turned on her small desk lamp instead of her brighter lamps so there wouldn't be too much light in the room to distract her. Grabbing her yearbook from the shelf, she paused a moment, looking for another book as well. Tucked in between a collection of Shakespeare's sonnets and a largely unused dictionary, she found a book on dream analysis she had bought a while back.
The book had been purchased during the time when she was researching as much as she could about dream images after she'd realized she could visit other people in their nighttime imaginings. For a short time she'd even made a hobby out of analyzing the dreams of some of her friends at school, which often proved to be an entertaining pastime, to say the least. Of course, that was before she'd
realized how dangerous it could have been to abuse her powers on recreational activities.
She placed the dream analysis book down on her desk so that she could consult it later, and sat down on her bed with the most recent copy of the West Roswell High School Yearbook. Flipping to the photos of the previous year's junior class, she turned to the Vs and found Kyle's photo. On the page, he looked so happy with his frozen smile. The photo had been taken much earlier in the school year- months before Alex's death and Tess's departure.
I'm only going to look around, she thought, justifying her own actions to her conscience. I just want to get an idea of what's going on in his head, so I can figure out what to do. There's nothing dangerous in that. I do it all the time.
And yet, her own subconscious was practically screaming out to her that this was not a good idea. You should wait for your brother to get back, the intense voice said to her.
Ignoring the inner voices, Isabel placed her right index finger on the photo of Kyle, concentrating on her subject. Closing her eyes, she willed herself into her friend's dreams. Her body relaxed as she could feel her mind leaving on its journey. Slumping down into the bed, the yearbook slipped out of her hands and fell onto the floor.
9
Isabel stood alone in the desert. She didn't recognize the location, but that was not odd, since the miles and miles of dirt surrounding Roswell had a tendency to look the same. Immediately, she wondered if this patch of wasteland was a reflection of a real place from Kyle's past or if it was entirely imagined. Then, she naturally questioned what it could possibly mean. Could be loneliness, she thought, or death. Possibly emptiness or loss or a hundred other things. Maybe 111 just wait to consult the dream analysis book when I wake up.
Looking over the flat, barren land, she could see for miles, and it was obvious that she was entirely alone. This was strange because, being Kyle's dream, she had expected to see him as soon as she had popped into it. Usually when she dreamwalked, the dreamer was the first person she would see. At the very least, she expected him to arrive shortly after she did. Being alone in the middle of the desert with nowhere to go, all she could do was wait.
«Kyle!» she called out after some time had passed, but received no answer. What is going on?
A screech from above directed her attention to the sky. Looking up, Isabel saw what appeared to be a vulture circling ahead-or it could have been a buzzard; she was never really sure what the difference was between the two. One single, solitary bird of prey was waiting just like she was. Another screech came from its beak, letting out a sound that was both strange and familiar to Isabel. It did not make the noise of a bird, but, somehow, it sounded slightly like the high-pitched cry of a woman.
Uncomfortable standing beneath the circling predator, Isabel started walking in the direction she was facing, for lack of any better plan. From her past, limited studies of dreams, she tried again to remember if she had ever read anything that related to what she was seeing, but she was certainly no expert in the field. Instead, she took mental pictures of everything around her so she could look it up in her dream book in the morning. If she didn't find anything there, she was sure there were hundreds more books on the subject. Maybe Jesse won't mind part of our day together being spent in the library.
Even though it was only a dream, Isabel could feel the desert heat beginning to rise, but she never felt uncomfortable. No matter how much the heat increased, her skin did not feel like it was burning, and she never even broke a sweat. Out of habit more than anything, she took shelter in the shade of a rock formation. As soon as the sun was blocked and the cool darkness enveloped her, she found herself transported to the Roswell Police Station.
The place was bustling with deputies moving in every direction. It was far busier than she had ever remembered seeing it before, largely with faces of people she didn't
recognize, although one or two seemed vaguely familiar. She doubted there was a time in Roswell history that that many police had been on the force at the same time. It was just too crowded for their little town.
Turning a corner, she nearly ran right into Deputy Blackwood. She immediately recognized the Native American who had unintentionally led her and her friends to the Mesaliko reservation two years ago, where they had ultimately found the first real clues to their past. Since he was the first familiar image she had seen, Isabel followed the deputy, hoping he would lead her to Kyle.
«Deputy Blackwood?» she called after him.
«Wait right here," he replied without looking at her.
Isabel wondered if he had actually been speaking to her, since he hardly noticed that she was there. He was busy talking with another deputy behind the front desk and seemed to be ignoring her entirely. While she watched the two police officers carrying out their conver
sation, Isabel noticed that Deputy Blackwood looked considerably younger than he did the last time she had seen him. She wondered if that was some kind of clue, or if it was just that Kyle remembered the man differently in his dreams. Remember these are just images, she thought. Don't expect it all to be true to life.
Soon, Isabel grew tired of waiting. «Deputy Blackwood?»
He continued his conversation as if she wasn't there.
«Deputy Blackwood?» she tried again, but still received no answer. She wondered if he even saw her there in the first place. «Great.»
Feeling the need to move on, Isabel continued her search
for Kyle in the lobby of the police station. Unable to find her friend, she decided to broaden her search area. Being where she was, she naturally looked for a dream image of Sheriff Valenti as well, but she could not find him, either.
Making her way through the station, she did her best to stay out of the way of the many, many officers tending to their affairs. It did not seem to Isabel that they were in any rush or in an emergency. They all seemed to be going on about their daily business.
In Kyle's dream, the police station was much larger than it was in real life, with winding and twisting halls that simply did not exist. She knew this for a fact, since she was at the Roswell Police Station far more times than any girl her age should have been. Making her way to where she felt was the most logical place to go, Isabel walked a circuitous route to the sheriffs office.
Once she finally reached the office, she found the door closed. As she placed her hand upon the knob, she could hear from within the sounds of a man sobbing. Carefully turning the knob, Isabel pushed the door open and walked right into the Valenti living room.
The crying had stopped.
The room was empty.
Back in the place she had left a short time ago in reality, she found the house looked pretty much the same as when she had been there. There were some notable differences, however. For one, daylight now shone through the windows, making the place much brighter than it had been. Naturally, Kyle was no longer on the couch, where she had left him, although it was made up to look like a bed. Then, she remembered that for the last several months of the
school year, the couch had been Kyle's bed. His actual room had been taken over by someone else. A feeling of trepidation came over her as she realized this part of the dream was taking place in the not so distant past.
Again, Isabel checked around for Kyle, but he wasn't in the room. This is really odd, she thought. Where is Kyle?
Voices.
Coming from Kyle's bedroom.
The voices were familiar and they sounded very angry. Isabel knew exactly what was going on behind the closed door to Kyle's room, but she did not want to see it. At the same time, however, she was drawn to the room. Whether it was because of the dreamwalk or her own curiosity, Isabel could not be sure. But suddenly, the door was open, and she was standing at the threshold about to witness an event that she had her own nightmares about.
It was Alex. Her Alex. The Alex she had tried to ignore for so long, until it was too late. He was in pain, talking about Las Cruces and mindwarps. He could barely stand. His face was twisted in what Isabel could only imagine to be excruciating pain.
Tess was there too. Alex was leaning on her, holding on to her as if he did not have the power to stand on his own. She looked frightened and trapped. There wasn't a trace of the anger Isabel had expected to see, only fear. It had been so much easier to think that Tess had acted out of anger. It made hating her all the more effortless.
Tess turned, looking directly at Isabel. «Kyle, get out!» she yelled, with anger finally creeping into her voice as if Kyle had done something wrong simply by walking into his own bedroom.
But Kyle wasn't standing there, Isabel was.
It was the first time she had seen Tess since she'd found out the truth behind Alex's death. The evil alien had left Earth before Isabel had had a chance to confront her and make her either explain why or suffer for what she had done. And even though Isabel knew that the image standing before her was only a dream, she still wanted to lash out… to hurt her… to kill her.
Through her own boiling anger, Isabel heard Alex say that he might as well be dead.
«No!» Isabel yelled as if the strength of her voice could stop past events. «Don't say that! Don't wish that!» she screamed, trying to tear him away from Tess, but something held her firmly in her spot. She could not move. She could not stop what was happening.
She could only watch as Tess grabbed Alex's hands and closed her eyes performing the mindwarp… the last mindwarp… the fatal mindwarp.
«No!» Isabel screamed in unison with Alex.
Still locked in place, Isabel watched Alex crying out in pain, trying to pull away, then falling… to the floor… to his death.
Isabel broke loose a torrent of sobs. Not even her most horrific dream had prepared her for witnessing the events as they had played out. She had never even imagined the feeling of helplessness Kyle must have experienced watching the scenario unfold and not knowing what was going on, ultimately realizing there was nothing he could have done. An intense feeling of guilt washed over her worse than she had ever felt before.
A moment later, Isabel was dragging a duffel bag. She
was confused by what was going on. Where is Alex? Did it really happen? Did I really see what I saw? The bag was heavy, and the weight was unevenly distributed. It didn't feel right to her.
Tess followed as Isabel dragged the bag out of the Valenti house. There was a forced smile on Tess's face, and Isabel knew that she should hate the girl, but couldn't figure out why. She carelessly deposited the bag into the car, stuffing it into the front seat.
Suddenly, realization struck Isabel. It hit with the force of a train. There was no duffel bag. Alex was the thing she had loaded into the car. He was the thing slumped in the passenger seat… broken… dead.
«You want me to come along?» she asked Tess without knowing why.
«No," Tess replied in a hollow voice. «Go in the house. I'll take care of everything from here.»
Although she wanted to stay, Isabel was drawn back into the house. She did not even stop to look at Alex for a final few seconds as Tess pulled away. She heard the car engine start as, crying, she made her way back through the Valenti home.
I didn't want to see this. I didn't want to live through this.
The pain was unimaginable.
She was back in Kyle's bedroom. Echoes of Tess and Alex resonated through her head. The fight played over in her thoughts… His final words… his final scream of pain.
Isabel collapsed onto the floor on the spot where Alex had died, weeping uncontrollably.
Why?
The bedroom door slammed behind her, drawing Isabel's attention away from the empty spot on the floor.
With tears in her eyes and streaming down her face, she looked at the closed door, but there was no one there.
Then she felt his presence in the room before she saw him.
Still on the floor, she wiped the tears from her eyes and looked up at the bed beside her. A small boy was sitting on the edge, with his legs gently swinging back and forth. He was looking down at her, both sad for her and frightened of her at the same time. «It's all my fault," he said in a hollow voice.
Jim Valenti crept silently through his house taking extra care not to wake up his son, who had crashed on the couch. He was used to the hushed puttering around because Kyle used to sleep there regularly while Tess had been staying with them.
Valenti cringed when he thought of his former house-guest. He had taken the seemingly helpless girl into his home and let her live with him and his son as a part of their family and all the while she was using one of their friends and ultimately wound up killing him. Valenti had always prided himself on his detective skills, and still had not managed to get over the fact that he had lived for weeks with a murderer under his own roof.
Pushing the useless
regrets out of his head, Valenti took a moment to observe his slumbering son. When Kyle was a child, Valenti used to make a practice out of peering into the boy's room when he would come home late from work, to make sure his son was sleeping soundly. He especially made a habit of it after his wife, Michelle, had left them for parts unknown.
Sitting for a moment on the piano bench, he remembered
back to the time when music had filled the house. He and his former wife would take turns singing their son to sleep on the nights he had come home from work on time. He had forgotten how much he missed the music until recently. The memorial for Alex had been a powerful reminder.
Kyle was tossing on the unmade couch and mumbling slightly. Valenti worried that his son might be having a bad dream, because the way his face was scrunched as if in pain. He remembered back to a time when, as a child, Kyle always looked like a cherub lying under the covers-one of heaven's youngest angels. Valenti chuckled to himself as he thought, Kyle would love me to describe him that way in front of his friends. Ill have to remember to do that someday.
Still in silence, Valenti finished up his morning rituals planning for the long day ahead of him, in which he had much to do. Writing a note to his son, he tried to explain what he was up to, but decided on a simple, «Gone out. Be back later," because the full explanation was more than one sheet of paper off the notepad could manage to fit. Valenti left the note on the coffee table, taking one last look at his sleeping son. Then he threw on a light jacket and made his way out the front door, humming as he carefully closed the door behind him.
The slight click of the lock was enough to rouse Kyle from his somewhat troubled sleep. Morning came for him much more slowly than it had in the past few days. Light was streaming through the window warming his face and brightening the darkness behind his eyes. The dreams had not gone away, but somehow they had seemed more manageable, more tolerable. For the first time in weeks, he felt somewhat rested.
