Night Terrors

by Tim Waggoner

  I still felt queasy and weak, but now that we were actually here and working, I was starting to feel a little better. Maybe I had experienced some kind of physical reaction to the Incursion, I told myself. After all, I normally found passing through Doors disorienting, right? How much more would such an unprecedentedly strong Incursion – one that occurred during the daytime and was capable of distorting a couple blocks’ worth of reality – affect me? That’s all it was, I told myself.

  A few moments later an elevator door next to the receptionist’s desk opened with a ding, and who should emerge but the man from the video? He came walking briskly toward us, a used-car-salesman grin on his face.

  “Parker Schulte,” he said. “I’m the PR guy around here.” He spoke just as fast as he did on the video, and his volume was almost as loud.

  Like the receptionist, he wore one of the ugly closed-eye pins on his lapel. He looked exactly like his video self, even down to his suit. It was almost as if he’d stepped off the screen to greet us. His white hair was cut short, and his full beard was nearly trimmed, but despite his age, he moved with the energy and vigor of a younger man.

  “And you are… ?” he prompted.

  “Emmett Kelly,” Jinx said. It was his usual cover name, taken from the famous circus performer.

  “Audra Hawthorne.” I couldn’t give Schulte a false name, not if I wanted Dr Kauffman to recognize me.

  “Delighted to meet you both.” He shook our hands, mine first, then Jinx’s, his grip so firm, it verged on painful.

  “Sorry for the confusion,” he said. “I must’ve forgotten to make a note of our appointment time. No worries, though. I’m more than happy to devote the rest of my afternoon to you both.”

  “Please accept our apologies for arriving so late in the day,” Jinx said. “We had several… unexpected delays.”

  “No problem,” Schulte said. “As you might imagine, since our mission is treating sleep disorders, we keep flexible hours around here.” His smile increased by a few watts. “So, where would you like to start? With a tour, maybe?”

  Jinx and I exchanged glances. The freelance writer bit works every time.

  I smiled. “A tour would be lovely.”

  Perchance to Dream was an impressive operation. They had facilities for conducting sleep studies – a dozen rooms in all – where people suffering everything from sleep apnea, insomnia, and narcolepsy to interrupted sleep patterns and restless leg syndrome could be examined and eventually treated. The company had physicians on staff, of course, but they also had dieticians and physical trainers to help patients with their overall health, along with chiropractors and massage therapists.

  “We totally believe in the mind-body connection,” Schulte explained.

  There was an onsite pharmaceutical research facility as well as what Schulte referred to as their Mental Wellness division. It was this department that Jinx and I were most interested in, of course, as that’s where Dr Kauffman worked.

  Jinx had grabbed a camera when he stopped at our place to change clothes, and as Schulte squired us around, Jinx took pictures from time to time to keep up the illusion that we were freelance writers. And I’d brought a small notebook that I pretended to write in. Masters of espionage, that’s us.

  At one point, Jinx asked, “So what’s new at Perchance to Dream? Anything you folks are especially excited about?”

  “We’re always working on new innovations in sleep therapy,” Schulte said. “But one of the things that we’re currently researching – that we feel is very promising – is a new sleep aid called Torporian. It’s highly effective, non-narcotic, and non-habit-forming. It works in concert with a person’s natural body chemistry to produce unparalleled results at a minimal cost with virtually no side effects.”

  It was the virtually part that bothered me. There was probably a long list of “potential” side effects, starting with gastrointestinal discomfort and ending with the usual Big Three: heart attack, stroke, or – in rare cases – death.

  “Torporian isn’t on the market yet,” Schulte said, “but the drug has performed well during clinical trials, and we expect the FDA to approve it any day.”

  We continued the tour, Schulte maintaining a brisk pace along with a rapid-fire spiel that was, quite frankly, exhausting. At one point we passed by a closed metal door with a keycard lock. A loud, low thrumming noise came from inside, so strong it made my teeth vibrate. When I asked Schulte what was in there, he said that was where they kept the main computer servers. I wasn’t aware of any computers that made sounds like that, not outside of old-time science fiction movies, anyway, but Schulte kept going before I could ask him any more about it.

  When we finally reached Mental Wellness – which was located on the third floor – I interrupted his monologue.

  “I have to confess that I have an ulterior motive for doing this story,” I said.

  “Oh?” Schulte’s ever-present smile didn’t leave his face, but I saw something shift in his eyes, as if he were performing a quick mental recalculation.

  I laughed. “I didn’t mean that to sound as ominous as it came out. I had severe problems sleeping when I was a child – that’s what got me interested in doing an article on your company in the first place. When I was conducting background research on Perchance to Dream, I was surprised to discover the psychiatrist who treated me when I was a child is the director of your Mental Wellness department: Dr Cecelia Kauffman.”

  My stomach gave a cold twist as I spoke her name, but I managed to keep smiling.

  Jinx glanced at me, most likely to check how I was doing, but I ignored him. I didn’t want to make Schulte suspicious.

  “It’s true what they say; it really is a small world,” Schulte said. “Well, I’m sure Dr Kauffman would love to see you. I don’t know her schedule off the top of my head, so she might be with a client right now, but let’s go see.” His smile widened a fraction. “I’d love to arrange a reunion between the two of you.”

  There was nothing special about the Mental Wellness department. It was nothing more than bland hallways with closed, windowless office doors. Some had signs indicating the office’s purpose or occupant, but some were blank, giving no indication of who or what lay inside. Dr Kauffman’s office was located at the far end of the hall. The sign on the door read simply:

  Cecelia Kauffman, PhD.

  Director, Mental Wellness.

  Now that we were here, I started to feel ill again, like I was going to throw up everything I’d eaten for the last week. I couldn’t understand why I was so nervous. I mean, sure, I associated Dr Kauffman with the most painful time of my life, but it wasn’t the thought of reliving memories of that time that bothered me. Right now I was afraid of her, and I didn’t know why. She hadn’t been the warmest person, but she hadn’t done anything to traumatize me.

  That had been Jinx’s doing – and my parents’, since they refused to believe that I was being terrorized by a living clown that had somehow left my dream and entered the real world. But if I hadn’t needed to learn the name of the boy who I was certain became Nocturne, I’d have turned and fled down the hallway, shrieking at the top of my lungs. I tried to tell myself that I just needed rest, needed to cut back on the pharmaceutical assistance I relied on from time to time to get through the day. It was all catching up to me, resulting in what seemed to be panic attacks but were really just my system being completely out of whack.

  That’s what I tried to tell myself, but I didn’t believe it.

  Jinx must’ve sensed what I was feeling – as strong as my anxiety was at that moment, I doubted I was managing to conceal it very well – and he stepped closer and put his hand on the small of my back. The contact made me jump at first, but when I realized what Jinx was doing, I was grateful for his support. The contact didn’t make me feel less scared, but it did make me feel less alone, and that was a big help.

  Schulte knocked softly on Dr Kauffman’s door, then waited. Several moments passed, and I be
gan to hope that either she wasn’t in or she was with a patient and was ignoring us. I was about to suggest that we move on when the door opened.

  I know my heart didn’t stop. That’s not possible, right? But that’s what it felt like when I saw Dr Kauffman open her office door and step out into the hall.

  She was tall and thin, with straight blond hair that fell to her shoulders. Glasses highlighted her startlingly green eyes, and her makeup was so subtle, you couldn’t tell she was wearing any unless you looked closely. She wore a white lab coat over a light green blouse and a dark green skirt. A pair of black flats completed her outfit, and strangely enough, it was those shoes that I remembered most. Maybe because I’d spent so much time with my eyes trained on the floor whenever I’d been in her presence. Like the other employees we’d seen, she wore the company logo pinned to her coat.

  The more I saw these miniature company logos, the stranger they seemed to me. What was their purpose? They were too small and generic to serve as ID badges, and they were too cumbersome to swipe through electronic locks like key cards. I supposed it was some sort of rah-rah corporate team-building thing. Working for the Shadow Watch – and babysitting Jinx – can be frustrating at times, but at least I don’t have to slave away in a cube farm day after day.

  She looked at Jinx and me. A shudder went through me as we locked gazes, and I was sure she was going to recognize me. But then she turned to face Schulte, and I knew she hadn’t.

  “Yes, Parker?”

  Her tone was reserved and professional, but there was a cold undercurrent that said she hoped Schulte had a good reason for disturbing her. A very good reason.

  Schulte’s PR smile didn’t falter. “This is Mr Kelly and Ms Hawthorne. They’re freelance writers doing an article on the Dream Factory.” He looked at us. “My little nickname for the place,” he explained. He faced Kauffman once more. “And you might well recognize one of them.”

  Kauffman frowned and turned to scrutinize our faces. After a couple seconds, her eyes widened. “My God! You’re Audra, aren’t you?”

  She gave me a smile which had the effect of making her seem less intimidating and more human. A bit, anyway. It was that smile more than anything that helped calm me. I began to feel my fear draining away. I took a deep breath – just as Dr Kauffman had taught me so long ago – and stuck out my hand for her to shake.

  “It’s good to see you again,” I said, hoping I sounded like I meant it.

  Instead of taking my hand, she stepped forward and enfolded me in a hug. I stiffened at first, surprised and unsure how to react. But then my body relaxed, and I was able to hug her back, although with less enthusiasm. When she stepped back, she kept her hands on my shoulders and looked me up and down.

  “You’ve grown into quite a lovely woman, Audra,” she said. “And you’re a writer, too. That’s wonderful! I remember how much you enjoyed keeping a journal.”

  She looked at Jinx then and released her hold on me to reach out and shake his hand.

  “Nice to you meet you, Mr Kelly.”

  Jinx gave her a bland smile as he shook her hand. It might’ve been my imagination, but I thought he seemed jealous. Kauffman gave him a long look, as if she was trying to see into his mind with her psychiatrist ESP, and then she turned back to me.

  “It’s been how long, Audra? Fifteen years, maybe? I remember it so well, but you were young. You probably don’t recall much about that time.”

  I saw my opportunity – thank the First Dreamer – and I decided to go for it.

  “Actually, I remember a lot,” I said. “I remember when my parents first brought me to see you, I remember having sessions alone with you, and I remember group sessions, too. Especially with this one boy, Russell…”

  “Pelfrey,” Dr Kauffman said. “Yes, you and he had a special connection, as I recall.”

  Pelfrey! That was it!

  I gave Jinx a quick look, and he smiled and gave me a slight nod, as if to say, Well done.

  “Well, this has been a wonderful surprise, Audra! But I wish the timing was better. I have a patient coming in shortly, and I really need to prepare for our session. I’d love to talk with you, though – to catch up and to help you with your article. Let me get you one of my cards.”

  She went back into her office. I stepped forward and glanced inside. It looked basically the same as the office she’d had when I was a kid. Antique desk and chair, brown leather couch, neutral color walls and carpet, file cabinet, paintings of landscapes… In fact, it could’ve been the exact same office, down to the smallest detail. It was more than a little creepy.

  Kauffman took a business card from a plastic holder on her desk and brought it to me. It was a Perchance to Dream card, one I assumed all the employees got. It had a bluish-black background with stars sprinkled across it. The silver closed-eye logo was in the upper left corner, and Dr Kauffman’s contact information was spelled out in white letters and numbers on the lower right-hand side.

  “Call me,” she said. “Maybe we can get together for lunch sometime and talk.” She gave Jinx a sideways glance. “Your writing partner is welcome too, of course.”

  Jinx acknowledged her invitation with a less-than-enthusiastic nod.

  “I’ll call,” I said.

  She gave me a last smile, told Schulte that she’d be busy for the next couple hours – a clear message that she didn’t want him bothering her anymore today. Then she went back into her office and closed the door.

  I turned to Schulte. “Thanks for taking the time to show us around, Mr Schulte – especially so late in the day.”

  He smiled. “It was very much my pleasure. I hope you got enough material for your article.”

  I assured him we did, and he offered to show us out. I almost told him he didn’t have to bother – like Jinx and I couldn’t find the front door on our own? – but I didn’t want to blow our cover. So instead, I smiled sweetly and thanked him.

  He continued yakking as we made our way back to the lobby, further extolling the virtues of the company, as if it were a favored child he loved more than life itself – instead of just a place he worked. The man was an inexhaustible source of words, and I decided he’d been born to work in public relations.

  When we reached the lobby, I saw the receptionist was still behind her desk, facing her monitor and typing on her keyboard, even though it was after five by now. Schulte had said they kept odd hours around here. I wondered if they had someone working the desk around the clock. Since they had patients come in for sleep studies and stay overnight, they probably needed someone in the lobby all the time, I decided.

  Schulte escorted us all the way to the lobby doors, thanked us for our interest in Perchance to Dream, and asked us to let him know when the article was published so he could buy a copy. He handed me one of his cards in case we had any more questions, and I tucked it into my jacket pocket with Dr Kauffman’s. Then he said goodbye – finally! – and headed for the elevator.

  Jinx and I went outside before Schulte could think of some last vital piece of information he’d forgotten to tell us and turned to catch us before we left. Dusk was approaching, but a couple hours remained before full nightfall, and I was confident we’d be able to get downtown before Jinx changed. The attention he draws in the city is nothing compared to the reaction he gets in the suburbs. So, the sooner we were back in the heart of the city, the better.

  During the time Jinx and I had been inside the building, the parking lot had emptied by two thirds. I didn’t want to use my wisper to call for a ride, not so close to the building, so Jinx and I started walking toward the street.

  “Can we get a regular cab this time?” he asked. “Please?”

  I was about to say sure, even opened my mouth to speak the word, but nothing came out. My vision blurred and my body went numb. I felt my knees buckle, and I started falling to the ground. Jinx caught me before I could hit, though, and he helped me stay on my feet. Whatever hit me passed as quickly as it came, and a few se
conds later, I could stand on my own again, although I still felt shaky and weak.

  “I…” I didn’t have any explanation for what had happened, so I finished by saying, “Sorry.”

  “I’m sure it was hard for you to see Dr Kauffman after so long,” Jinx said. “I imagine it brought forth all kinds of unpleasant memories and emotions. And after experiencing two backsteps today – not to mention not getting the rest you need – something like this was only to be expected.”

  I knew he was trying to be sympathetic, but it sounded as if he was nagging me again, and I became angry. Partially to spite him, but mostly because I really needed it, I pulled my rev inhaler out of my jacket pocket, and started to take a hit of it. But just as I started to depress the button to deliver the drug into my lungs, Jinx grabbed my wrist and yanked my hand away from my mouth. I pushed the inhaler’s button out of reflex, and rev misted the air, the dose wasted.

  My anger blossomed into full-fledged fury, and the adrenaline surge wiped away my weakness. I felt energized and beyond pissed.

  “Let go!” I said, voice low, jaw muscles tight.

  Jinx’s expression was stern, and his eyes glittered with an anger that matched mine.

  “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Audra. It’s not only damaging your health, it’s damaging your effectiveness as an officer.”

  The blaze of fury within me went arctic-cold. “Are you saying that it’s my fault Quietus escaped?”

  Jinx blinked a couple times, and his expression faltered.

  “No. I only meant to make a general comment about your overreliance on stimulants.” He paused then, and his mouth formed a cruel smile. “But now that you mention it…”

  He still had hold of my wrist. I tried to pull free of his grip, but even though he’s not as strong during the day as he is during the night, he’s strong enough, and I couldn’t free myself. As the time draws closer for Jinx to change Aspects, he starts to display traits of his other self, and I was definitely seeing signs of Night Jinx now.