The Dreamer

by E. J. Mellow

  The bathroom floor’s cold tiles press up against my back as salty tears run down my cheeks. Completely distraught, I can do nothing but lie still and tell myself to breathe. After some time, my heart slows to a normal pace, and the hypersensitivity of my skin subsides to the typical ache that accompanies a hangover. I can tell it’s early morning by the mild light filtering through my open bathroom door.

  I blink at the ceiling, remembering everything—remembering Dev, meeting him in the field, being in the city, on the roof, walking with him barefoot in the grass, the giant ravine, feeling him push me over the ledge.

  He pushed me over the ledge!

  My throat tightens at the memory that violently forced me awake. I scream in outrage, banging my heels and fists on the floor like an irate child, ignoring the wave of nausea caused by the sudden movement. I’m filled with anger, which quickly shifts to betrayal and resigned sadness.

  What the fuck is going on?!

  It all felt so real, but…I’m not dead, which means it couldn’t have been. Yesterday, I blamed my weird dreams on the Chinese—today, could I blame nearly dying in them on the alcohol?

  It’s just that I see everything so clearly in my mind. The door that normally locks these memories away is ajar, and I’m able to coalesce some of the puzzle pieces. I remember the giant field and the shooting stars, the brightly lit metropolis with people all in black, and sapphire eyes that rest inside a rough and gorgeous face. I swallow back the confusing feeling of desire that last image produces.

  Pushing myself up, I lean on my sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Wearing the same clothes from last night, I look exactly how I feel—like I was put through the spin cycle mentally and physically. Grabbing my toothbrush, I quickly attempt to rid myself of the acidic layer that envelops my tumultuous morning.

  These are just dreams, Molly, just dreams.

  I wonder if the more times I say it, I’ll eventually bring myself to believe it.

  Drying my hair with a towel, I step out of the shower feeling like a new person. The pounding of my head softly dispersed with each second I stood under the kneading, warm water, washing away any residual anger I still held clenched in my fists.

  My phone chirps with a new text from Becca, and I quickly call her.

  “Would you call me crazy if I told you I’m in love?” She picks up on the first ring.

  I smile at her ridiculousness and sit on the edge of my bed. “I already call you crazy, so I don’t see how this would make a difference.”

  “Well, Rae is the most perfect specimen of man I have ever come across.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I say, amused.

  “We stayed out so late, talking and laughing. I have no idea what time I actually made it back to my apartment.”

  “Well, I’m glad you made it back and didn’t just dive straight into his.”

  She tsks into the phone. “He is not a one-nighter. I knew that as soon as I saw that he could still tower over me in my heels.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, he’s mad tall. I didn’t know how to give him a nonawkward hug good-bye.”

  She giggles. “And he was such a gentleman. We didn’t do anything more than kiss. But trust me, I ran through every excruciating alternative in my head. The only thing on my con list is that he’s only in town for work, so I don’t know how long he’ll actually be here.”

  “Oh really? Where’s he from?”

  “California.” She sighs.

  This doesn’t really surprise me, given that he looked like he was specifically made for the sunny Pacific Coast. “Hmm, and what does he do?”

  “He didn’t really give too many details about what he’s doing here, just that he deals with some sort of life insurance. I don’t know. I honestly blacked out at points in our conversation because his yummy face was too distracting!”

  I laugh again. “Oh boy, Bec, you’re in trouble.”

  “I know!” She practically squeals. “And want to know the best part?”

  “What?”

  “We have a date Monday night!”

  “That’s great!” Becca hasn’t been on a proper date in a while. She’s more into the bag-and-tag relationships these days.

  “Yeah! Self-restraint might have something going for it after all.” I’m amused that she just echoed exactly what I was thinking. “So how are you feeling today? You were pretty plastered.”

  That doesn’t even begin to describe how I was last night. “I was an absolute mess this morning—I even got sick.”

  “Gross. Rookie moves. You should eat something greasy. That always does the trick.”

  A bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich does sound finger-licking good right about now. My stomach growls in agreement. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll go get something from the deli.” I pause, wondering whether or not to tell Becca about my crazy dreams, and decide it wouldn’t hurt—I always end up telling her everything anyway. “So you’re probably going to make fun of me for what I’m about to say—”

  “Molly, I never make fun of you!”

  “Yeah, okay, what about that time when my thong was showing above my pants at work and you didn’t tell me until after lunch?” She breaks down in hysteria on the other line. “Yeah, exactly.” I frown.

  “Okay…okay,” she gasps through laughs, “but I was trying to help you out and let people see your sexy side.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Molly! Tell me what you wanted to say. If I laugh, I will put you on mute so you can’t hear.”

  I roll my eyes. “Okay, well…have you ever had dreams that last more than one night? Like you keep dreaming the same dream?”

  “Hmm…like the classic ‘I dreamt I was naked at school’ dream?”

  “No, not exactly—just a dream I guess, but it seems to play out like a TV show, and I’m the main character.”

  “Sounds awesome,” she says. “What’s the dream about?”

  The question catches me unprepared. I don’t really know what it’s about, just that I keep having the same one, in the same place, with the same characters… Well, one character in particular. “I don’t really know, but there’s this guy—”

  “OH! A sex dream!”

  “No, no! Nothing like that,” I respond quickly. “Never mind—it’s probably because of the accident, or maybe something I keep eating.”

  “Mhmm, well, my diagnosis is that you’re probably sexually frustrated and should bone Jared already. I mean, how long has it even been? Two weeks? Trust me, that will take care of everything, you’ll see.”

  I chuckle at her precision-focused mind. “Thank you, Practitioner Becca. I’ll take that under advisement.”

  “Good. Send the check for this session to my receptionist,” Becca quips. “So you’re still out tomorrow, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Though I’m tempted to come in. I’m just so bored during the day.”

  Becca sucks in air. “Molly, if I see an inch of you at work, I will personally knock you out and drag you back to your apartment. No one expects you back for another week or two. You are surprisingly resilient after getting hit by friggin’ lightning.”

  I know what she’s saying is true. I researched other survivors online and realized how extremely messed up I could have been from my accident. I have no idea why I am able to walk away with so few casualties. “I know you’re right.”

  “Duh I’m right. Work on how to relax or something. You gotta take the days off when you can.”

  —∞—

  I’m midway up my stairs, on my way back from Sunday afternoon grocery shopping, when my phone rings in my satchel. I scramble to my door so I can set my bags down and answer.

  “Hey,” I say breathlessly.

  “Hey, you okay?” Jared asks.

  “Yeah, I was just getting back from food shopping.”

  “Oh.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask as I begin to empty the bags.

  “I wanted to see how you were. You didn’t return m
y text last night, so I was getting a little worried.”

  Crap. “Ah, yeah, sorry about that. I went out drinking with Becca and passed out before I saw it. I was kind of a mess this morning and forgot about it.” A little white lie never hurts.

  “Oh—well, that’s okay.” I can’t mistake the slight hurt in his tone.

  “Yeah, I’m really, really sorry. It’s purely an airhead move on my part.”

  “No, I understand. Don’t worry about it, just glad to know you’re okay.”

  I smile at his concern. “I can always make it up to you…” I say suggestively as I reach into a bag and take out the bushel of bananas. How appropriate.

  “Hmm, what do you have in mind?”

  “Well, I could do some extreme forms of ‘making it up to you’ on Monday night.”

  He laughs lightly. “I think I can be into that plan.”

  “Good, then it’s a date.” I spread out on my bed, feeling the effects of a bad night’s sleep. “So what did you do last night?”

  “Nothing crazy. Met up with some of the guys and watched the baseball game. Then I had to finish up some paperwork for a company we’re meeting with this week.”

  I yawn. “Man, sounds like you had a better night than me.”

  “Yeah, it was an insane time.” He chuckles through the phone. “Okay, Mols, just wanted to say hi and see if you were alive. I have to grab a bite with my boss. He wants to review what I worked on last night.” He sighs.

  “A guy can’t catch a break.”

  After we hang up, I whip up a quick dinner and watch some news. The anchorman goes on and on about a horrible gang brawl that happened in Kansas. Two groups from opposing towns played out the West Side Story last night, sans synchronized finger snapping. What could possibly be so important to make people hate like that? Picking up the remote, I click off the TV.

  With my body aching for some much-needed sleep, I clean up and pull out my pajamas. For some reason the idea of going to bed is starting to make me nervous. I think it’s because I’m scared of what I might or might not find when I close my eyes, and whether or not a certain someone will make his star appearance again. Now that I’m beginning to remember my dreams, my mind is tied in a knot of anxiety—partially because remembering my dreams is a new experience, but also because they don’t feel like dreams at all but more like another life I’m living.

  This thought in particular is what has me worried that I might be losing it. And at twenty-four, no less. If only I was eighty, when becoming senile was the next stage, and I could wear my Depends in comfort knowing this was merely nature’s way.

  Crawling into bed, I stretch out my still-achy limbs before scrunching into a fetal ball of comfort and hugging my pillow. As soon as I close my eyes, my mind instantly shuts off from this world and drifts into another.

  —∞—

  My body is weightless for a few moments before gravity wraps its inevitable arms around me, and I open my eyes to a dark, grassy landscape. Once aware of my surroundings, the details of all I’ve experienced here pour into my memory. Like a matchstick catching fire, my mind prickles as I remember the very last thing that happened. Dev pushed me off a cliff.

  That son of a bitch.

  Rapidly I sit up, searching for the one person I’m ready to explode on. Where is he?! I’m going to kill him for what he did. I might have had a day to calm down, but now that I’m back. My vengefulness erupts like a weed escaping cement.

  I spin in a quick circle, preparing myself for Dev to pop up out of nowhere, but after scanning my surroundings, I stop dead upon seeing another form leaning against the tree. My heart hiccups in fear.

  “Who’s there?” I call out to the thin, lanky figure standing completely in shadow.

  “Calm down, Molly,” a familiar feminine voice chimes.

  Instantly I relax as the individual moves into the soft light. Her waist-long blonde hair moves in the breeze, and her skin radiates like porcelain in the darkness. “Aveline?” I can’t hide my shock. “What are you doing here?”

  She gracefully continues toward me and throws a bundle at my feet. “Change into these.” Her tone is clipped, revealing a no-nonsense attitude.

  “Why? What is it?” I pick up the black mass and untie the string that’s around it. Black combat boots fall to the ground in a heavy thud and I catch the black T-shirt and pants. “Oh,” I say after comprehension sets in. “Um, okay.”

  No one seems to be around for miles, but I still hide under the tree’s dark canopy to change. I’d rather show a little civility in front of Aveline whenever possible. She doesn’t say anything as I change, merely picks nonexistent lint from her black T-shirt and faces away. These clothes are much more comfortable than the previous ones I borrowed from her. The pants are made from similar material, and while still snug, they don’t leave me feeling like I’m wearing a leotard. The T-shirt fits exactly like one I would buy.

  “Why are the clothes always black?” I walk to Aveline.

  “They just are,” she answers with boredom.

  I suppress an eye roll in response to her haughty demeanor. “Well, thanks for bringing me a change of clothes.” I push for killing with kindness. She starts to walk fast in the direction of the city, and I quicken my pace to catch up to her.

  “If Dev wasn’t like a brother to me, I wouldn’t be bringing you anything.”

  On the other hand, I might have to kill her with something else. “Where are we going?” I try for another topic.

  “You’ll see” is her only reply as she sets off at a jog.

  — 13 —

  WE STOP AT the base of the giant wall that acts as a fortification to the city. I tip my head up, studying its impressive reflective surface. It stands at least seven stories high and appears to be made out of one solid piece of metal.

  Looking up, Aveline walks its length and I follow. When she finds what she’s searching for, she reaches behind her to the opening of the quiver that’s tightly strapped to her back. A black baton shoots out in a puff of air and she grabs it, fluidly bringing it down to her side. She repeats the motion, and a second baton flies out.

  “Here.” She hands me the newly acquired baton. “You’re going to have to be a quick learner, because I’m no teacher and I hate repeating myself.” I can only nod, as the anticipation for what I’m about to experience has dried my mouth shut. “Take the collapsed Arcus in your dominant hand like this.” She extends her arm out and holds the baton parallel to the ground. I do the same. “Now, bring your hand out like you’re punching someone in the face, and squeeze as you do so.” She demonstrates as she gives me these instructions. Two semiarched attachments fly out from either side of the baton, creating the same sleek Arcus that Dev showed me on the roof.

  With my arm in the proper position, I take a breath and quickly punch my hand out, not forgetting to squeeze. The effect is like activating a switchblade. I grin wide in triumph.

  Aveline nods—her only sign of congratulation. “Okay, there’s a lot of things the Arcus can do, but you don’t need to know everything. Right now there’s only two things I need you to do. First, we are going to grapple onto that zipline platform.” She points to a black platform that sits a little over the edge of the wall. A long pole extends skyward, exactly like the pole I saw on their apartment roof, and at the top is a small hook that I can barely make out from this distance.

  Aveline beckons for me to come closer, and she turns her Arcus over, indicating two buttons that sit on either side of the groove in the middle that straddles the zipline cord. “See these two buttons?” She points back and forth to them. I nod. “You need to press the right one to aim and the left one to shoot. The end of the grapple is extremely magnetic, so if you’re marginally close to your target, your Arcus will find it. You’re going to aim by holding and lifting up like this.” She wraps her hands around the instrument and spreads her fingers over the length of the Arcus so that her thumbs rest perfectly above each button. She holds the d
evice up toward the platform.

  “When I push the button on the right, you’ll see a laser target shoot out so that I can accurately pinpoint where my grapple hook will go.” She pushes the button and a red beam extends out, resting its concentrated dot on the hook atop the pole. It reminds me of something from a hi-tech spy movie. “You with me so far?” she asks, still aiming her Arcus up.

  “Yeah.” I nod.

  “Good. Okay, so now this left button”—she lifts her left thumb, showing it to me—“it’s going to shoot out the grapple and attach to that hook.” She pushes it, and a whooshing sound snakes out as the grappling cord flies from inside the Arcus toward its destination. It quickly lands true, and her line becomes taut.

  “Now, when I push both the left and right buttons at once, it’s going to retract the cord and carry me up to the platform. Make sure you have a good hold, or you’ll be left where you’re standing, and your Arcus will fly off without you.” She gives me a serious face, expecting me to tell her I understand, which I do. “Good, then I’ll see you at the top.” She presses both buttons and quickly ascends to the platform, easily placing her foot on the lip and walking out of view.

  I take in a breath. I can’t believe I’m about to do this.

  “Your turn,” Aveline calls down.

  Moving to where she was standing, I mimic how Aveline instructed me to hold and aim the Arcus. I press the first button, and a thrill goes through me as the red laser pointer shoots out. I aim so that it rests on the hook…hopefully. Taking a deep breath, I push the left button. My arms give a little as the grapple shoots out and sticks to where I aimed.

  “Yes!” I hiss in excitement. One less reason for Aveline to detest me.

  “Good job,” she calls down, and my eyes go wide at a nonsarcastic compliment coming from her. And no one’s even here to witness it. Pity.