The Dreamer

by E. J. Mellow

  I stare back, waiting for the same thing—my reaction—but I honestly can’t feel anything, and I know it’s because I’m in shock. Could such a place exist? No matter how long I stand here, my brain refuses to let what he said sink in, like he’s trying to tell me that Santa Claus and unicorns are real. It’s just impossible. Isn’t it?

  “Molly, what are you thinking?” he finally asks.

  “So what are you?” I try remaining calm.

  Dev’s shoulders visibly relax, but his eyes stay hesitant. “I am Nocturna. We are Nocturna.” He motions around to the other people in the room dressed in black.

  “Nocturna?” I test the unfamiliar word, remembering Alexander saying it and now getting the answer to my earlier question.

  “Protectors, wardens, watchers of the night, of Dreamers,” he explains, still gauging how I might be feeling. “Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

  I glance back to the slowly moving map by our feet. “I’m thinking that I have a lot more questions.”

  Dev nods. “Come, let’s get out of here.” He laces his fingers with mine, and I hesitate for a second, catching the instant hurt flash across his face. In that moment I decide I’m going to do what I’ve been fighting all along. I’m going to trust him.

  We quickly exit, heading toward the other side of the square where a tall tower stands. I don’t ask questions as Dev leads me into an elevator at its base, my mind still resisting the possibility of truth in his earlier words.

  As we ascend, I study the other figures dressed in black. They look like humans: two eyes, two ears, a nose, and mouth. How can they possibly be a strange, otherworldly race that monitors my subconscious? Better yet, how can such a race exist? If they looked different than the average human, I might be more ready to believe in this make-believe land that Dev described, but these people look no different than any other person I’ve seen when I’m awake.

  We are silent the whole ride up, and I tuck my hair behind my ear more than once before Dev gently grabs my hand and squeezes. He flashes an understanding smile before the doors open and we are shuffled out of the car.

  We wait in a short line as the attendant manning the zipline enters numbers into the keypad, to shift around lines, I suppose, sending groups off to their various destinations. I’m unaware it’s our turn to go—still in a daze of incomprehension—when Dev asks, “You ready?” He places his hand on my back. “If you’re not up to this, we can travel another way, but this is the fastest.”

  I turn and blink up to him. “No, no, I’m fine. Do you need to hook me into you?”

  He fights a grin. “I thought you could try zipping by yourself again. You seemed like you were enjoying it before.” He gently pushes an Arcus into my hands.

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “Good,” Dev says. “I’m going to go first so I can catch you on the other side. We can talk about landing techniques later.” His spirit seems to be livened by the activity. “See you on the other side, midnight!” he says with a mischievous smile and a wink before jumping onto the line, zooming out of sight.

  I stand blinking at the empty space Dev had just filled. What the… Midnight?

  “Excuse me, miss. You’re up,” a teenage boy says by my side. Forgetting where I am for a second, I notice the crowd of people waiting for me to traverse the line.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “Just press that blue button you see next to your foot,” the boy instructs. He must know I’m new at this and need to use the sissy way of getting onto the line. I press the button and wait for the platform to rise to the zipline where I connect in. My body begins to thrum with anticipation, and I tell myself to stay calm right before I run and push off the platform.

  —∞—

  I make it through the city to join up with Dev, who’s standing on a platform on top of the wall at the edge of the city. Even though each of these landing pads looks identical, I’m pretty sure this is the same one that Aveline and I took when I first got here. Dev catches me around my waist, helping me stop.

  “You’re a quick learner.” He beams as he hesitantly removes his hands. I try to ignore the dancing feeling I get in my stomach every time he touches me.

  “Thanks.” I remove my Arcus from the line, my head much clearer from the ride.

  “Here, you don’t need that anymore.” He takes my Arcus and, punching out, retracts the ends, transforming it into the innocent-looking baton once again.

  I take in our surroundings. The endless field extends on the other side of the wall like an untouched world, my solitary elm tree the only element interrupting the gentle hills that roll away into the horizon. The sight of it makes me smile. It’s quickly becoming my security here in this unknown place—the one thing that stays consistent and plain.

  I turn to see Dev dangling from his Arcus that’s connected to the hook at the top of the pole. His arms are taut with his strength, and he watches me with a funny expression.

  “What?”

  “I like seeing you here,” he says, tilting his head to the side. Warmth from his words quickly spreads to my cheeks, and he smiles, beckoning me forward. “We’re going to drop down together.”

  I frown and walk toward him, hating that he can unnerve me so easily. “Aveline taught me how to do this. We don’t need to do it together.”

  “Need has nothing to do with it, Molly.” Dev reaches out, pulling me into his arms and off the landing. I yip in fright and then hold on for dear life, seeing as we are dangling dangerously high from the ground. “It’s all about the want,” he says in my ear, and the words slide over my body, making the hairs at the nape of my neck stand.

  His grip tightens as we lower, and I can’t help wrapping my legs around his torso for more security. His breath is hot on my neck, and his chest rises and falls into mine. As soon as he places his feet on the ground, I quickly untangle myself and step away. He stays motionless—one hand still gripping the Arcus attached to the hook, while the other hangs by his side as his intense blue eyes latch on to mine. The overall effect is primal and possessive, and I know I must turn away or I might do something I’ll regret…or worse, enjoy.

  I start toward the tree, knowing that’s why he brought me here—so that I can be somewhere comfortable after everything new I just experienced. The idea that he understands this sets aglow a place deep in my chest despite my greater efforts to remain impassive.

  I hear the grappling hook retract and his quiet steps behind me. He lets me walk alone in front of him, gathering and digesting my thoughts. I realize how calm I am. Or at least appear. Somewhere deep inside I know I must be freaking out and running in circles looking for the emergency exit, but a larger part of me is accepting all this knowledge and slowly fitting it into that strange hollow mass that I’ve been trying to fill for years.

  I grow distraught, realizing that I’ve finally found what I’m looking for in a place that is made up in my mind. Because I know I must be dreaming. Nothing like this could exist. And maybe that’s why I’m not spastic, because I actually believe this isn’t real, like an addict on a crazy trip, aware that it’s only a hallucination.

  We settle ourselves by the base of the tree and gaze out at the glowing city. “You said you had more questions?” Dev asks after a few moments of contemplative silence.

  I study his face blanketed in apprehension and try to choose my most important questions first. “So what is this place? Does it have a name?”

  “It’s called Terra Somniorum. Translated, it means Land of Dreams.” He watches me closely.

  “Terra Somniorum. It’s a pretty name,” I admit.

  He smiles. “It is.”

  “And you said that meeting was about what we saw at the canyon?”

  “Yes.” His brows pinch in with concern. “The red glow you saw was a horde of Metus.” That word is vaguely familiar, and I try remembering where I’ve heard it before. “The Metus are parasitic, fear-inducing creatures,” Dev explains after seeing my face scrunched
in confusion. “At times, they can work their way into someone’s dreams and create nightmares. We don’t know how long they’ve been here, probably since the beginning of fear itself. We can only trace them as far back as our most ancient history books allow. We’ve learned that they’re created from the most evil of thoughts and despair in a Dreamer. Demons that haunt a Dreamer in their subconscious are created here, and these demons try to terrorize other sleeping minds so that more of them can spawn. It’s a disgusting cycle of evil and fear.” He pauses, allowing this all to sink in, while constantly twirling something in his hand. “The meeting was called to discuss some things…concerning the horde, but also concerning you.” His eyes shift to me.

  “Me? What about me?” How could I be in any way involved in this crazy place?

  He doesn’t answer for a long time, just keeps twisting the object between his hands. I can’t quite make out what it is. “Molly, you’re so much more than you think you are,” he says almost angrily, and his words send a cold shiver down my spine. How much I want to believe him.

  I follow his gaze to the round object he holds, and I’m not sure what comes over me, but I quickly try to grab it. His hand jerks away as he regards me with alarm. I narrow my eyes and don’t back down, knowing this is what he was hiding from me the last time I was here. I jump up, draping myself over his shoulders, trying to bring his outstretched arm back in.

  “Come on—what’s so important that you have to hide it?”

  He grunts under me and then is suddenly twirling me to lie on the ground beneath him, pinning my arms above my head. I squirm, trying to get out of his stronghold while acutely aware of his heavy body above mine. The weight of him sends a panic through my senses, but not because I don’t want him there.

  His body stills, his breathing coming out in ragged breaths, and his blue eyes dilate with a fever that makes my body go limp. I know I’m breathing just as fast as he is. My heart pumps in my ears, my stomach a ball of twisted, aching desire as I stare at his unbelievably gorgeous face inches from mine. His lips part, and I find myself involuntarily moving toward them.

  In the blink of an eye, I’m lying there alone, a cold breeze filling the space where Dev was just pressed warmly against me.

  Looking up in bewilderment, I find Dev standing at the base of the tree. How did he move so fast? “This isn’t a good idea,” he says gruffly, the warmth in his eyes iced over.

  I gather myself up, feeling hurt and humiliated and definitely confused. What the… Could I possibly have been reading his signals wrong? Embarrassment from his rejection quickly turns to anger, and as lame as it is, I’ve always been the asshat who cries when those two emotions mix. Fortunately, I manage to hold the tears at bay as I ask, “Why?”

  “It’s just…it’s simpler if it didn’t.”

  I turn away, unable to look him in the eye.

  “Molly, let me—”

  “It’s fine,” I cut in.

  “No, let me explain.” He tries again, stepping closer.

  “Don’t.” I snatch my hand away as he is reaching out to touch it. Could he really not see how he was leading me on? God, I just want to be alone. I want to leave before the emotions I have trapped below the surface escape.

  As if someone hears my plea, there’s a familiar pull of my body drifting away, and I let out a breath of relief. The soft touch of cotton brushes against my cheek, and I swallow the sadness, instead feeling grateful to be waking up to a reprieve from this man.

  — 14 —

  LYING MOTIONLESS IN my bed, I stare at my ceiling. I can’t ignore the ache in my chest and the tears that gather in my eyes. I go back and forth between being irate at Dev to being depressed that I’m no longer next to him. Then my thoughts come back around to the fact that I’m absolutely without a doubt losing my friggin’ mind, feeling sad for a man who obviously doesn’t exist! Anxiety attacks me.

  Could any of what Dev said be real? Is he even real? Is it wrong to want it all to be?

  I slap my hands over my face and begin to cry. Frustration and confusion wrack through me with each sob as I lie there, soaking my pillow.

  My body eventually loses its energy to act on my sadness, and I sag with exhaustion. This is the first time I’ve actually cried unabashedly since the accident, and it’s a relief to finally let it all out. After a moment more of staring out like a zombie and knowing I need to get up at some point, I shuffle out of bed.

  Walking to my bathroom, I open the medicine cabinet to grab the toothpaste.

  My hand stills.

  The word Nocterin flashes out at me. The box of sleeping pills my agency represents sits on a shelf, laughing at me. Is this where I thought up the name for the people in my dreams? Nocturna…they are similar. Maybe my mind did some of its own creative naming in my sleep. But the more I convince myself that it wasn’t real, the sadder I feel inside.

  Frustrated, I slam my medicine cabinet closed. I don’t even know why I took that free sample of pills from work anyway. I’ve never had issues sleeping. I laugh out loud as I brush my teeth, making some of the paste drip down my chin. I can’t miss the irony. Here I am, in that exact position—having sleeping problems. I rinse out my mouth and stare at myself in the mirror, thinking of all the mornings I’ve woken up unrested or in a panic…

  No.

  I push the thought from my mind. That is not a road I need to go down. I’m fine.

  After a quick shower, I dress and try to decide what to do today. I’ll go out of my mind with boredom if I stay in my apartment one more second. Meeting with Dr. Marshall tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. Hopefully he can give me the go-ahead to return to the office on Wednesday. Dragging my hand down my face, I let out a moan. I can’t believe I actually miss work. Becca would die laughing if she knew.

  Putting on a light coat, I make my way downstairs, deciding a walk is exactly what I need. It’s early afternoon, so most people are on their second coffee run or starting their lunch break. I randomly walk the West Village, seeking new side streets that I normally never go down. My mind continues wandering back to my dreams. How could the Nocturna be something I imagined—something purely in my head? Dev did say that he was a protector of Dreamers, and isn’t that just what I am? A Dreamer? At least now I’m dreaming, unlike before when I never remembered a single one. Could there really be a place that exists between the conscious and the subconscious that guides our lives, our decisions? The endless stream of questions wreaks havoc on my brain, and I rub my temple against the small throb that’s beginning to grow.

  I know next to nothing about the mind and what it can possess, let alone the significance of a dream. Dev’s words about me being much more than I think I am keep replaying, and I scoff. Is my life so pathetic that I need to manufacture my importance in a fake one?

  And despite my best efforts, my body can’t help recalling the feel of Dev on top of me and his sudden rejection. I ball my hands into fists, my stomach clenching in a strange, misplaced anger. How can I be mad at a figment of my imagination? I just want to scream!

  I’m so lost in my psychiatric ward-worthy thoughts that I almost trip over a sign on the sidewalk. I grab hold of it to steady myself.

  The Village Portal, a Bookstore for the Spirit. Today! 30% Off Everything read the words written in chalk, and I glance up to a small, tucked-away hippie bookstore. Plants hang on either side of the door—which is painted a tacky purple—and dream catchers fill the window while a tabby cat lies curled up in the sill next to a random mixture of health and spiritual books on display.

  I’ve never noticed this store before, but given its contents, it’s not a place that would normally draw my attention. Looking around, I wonder what street I’m on as an idea grabs me. This place might have some crazy books on dreams. I study the entrance, deliberating if what I’m about to do falls into the category of normal curiosity or obsession, when I feel a strange heat in my gut. Something in the furthest recesses of my brain is telling me to go in, and be
fore I can stop myself, I’m climbing the steps and pushing open the door.

  A tiny bell rings, announcing my entrance, and the scent of incense coats me like an unwanted hug from a stranger. The store is modest in size with floor-to-ceiling books covering its walls and small freestanding shelves in the middle. A kid with dark clothes and more than a dozen piercings in his face sits at the register reading, ignoring the fact that a new patron has walked in.

  There are a few other people inside, all stereotypes of the shoppers who would visit here: a little old lady with what appears to be an outfit knitted entirely by hand, a middle-aged man with a beret and a T-shirt that he has probably never taken off, and a younger-looking couple with yoga mats tucked under their arms.

  Walking by each section, I look for something that could possibly tell me about my dreams. I read signs that say Metaphysical, Homeopathic, Meditation, and Spiritual. I worry my bottom lip, starting to feel a little foolish for walking in here and am about to make my way out when a sign that says Symbols above a little alcove catches my eye. It’s dimly lit in this area save for a single light above the section, giving it an eerie presence. I wonder if they do it on purpose to set the ambiance for the reader. I skim the shelves, immediately seeing dozens of books with the word Dreams in the title.

  I grab a few off the shelf and read their descriptions. They all look a little ridiculous to me, and the pictures of the authors become my deciding factor for which titles I should probably put back. After a good amount of time perusing certain writings and theories, I begin to feel the ever-present panic in my body dull. The amount of people who have written about dreams and their importance makes me think that my experience might not be that crazy after all…and probably has a logical explanation.

  “Molly?” asks a deep voice. I look up to Rae standing at the entrance to this section. The brighter part of the store is behind him, so he’s almost completely silhouetted. I can make him out by his unmistakable height and halo-like, illuminated blond hair.