The Dream Awakened

by Leann M Rettell

  A hot, insistent hand gripped his arctic shoulder, yanking him both physically and mentally backward. He reeled back as he flailed, landing hard on his backside, disoriented and unable to recognize the sterile, impersonal stainless-steel room, or why a torrent of hot, sticky fluid poured from his nostrils. A sandy-haired man in a white lab coat towered over at him, shouting, but the words rang inside his skull, not connecting into anything meaningful. A dark-haired woman squatted beside him. Her arm was hooked through his, and concern etched every line of her face. Debbie!

  “Answer me!” the man shouted, crossing his arms across his chest, waiting. His chest huffed up and down as he turned his glare from Malcolm to Debbie and back to Malcolm.

  Malcolm struggled to get to his feet, a pounding already forming behind his eyes. He saw flashes of white as the images sought to right themselves. The sensation was so similar to stealing a dream, yet so very, very different. “I’m sorry.”

  “You damned well better be. How unprofessional! Are you a real private investigator?”

  “Look,” Malcolm held out his hands, palm forward in surrender. “You don’t have any reason to trust me, but please, please do something for me.”

  The doctor ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up on the side. “You have some damn nerve asking me for a favor after coming into my morgue and interfering with her remains.”

  “Please, hear me out.”

  The glare he gave Malcolm would turn lesser men’s bowels to water. “I don’t think she drowned in the river. Is there some way you can check the water in her lungs? See where it came from?”

  Suspicion darkened Iverson’s eyes. “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “What do you mean?” Debbie asked, gesturing toward the still uncovered body of Tara Booth. “Shouldn’t the water still be there?”

  Iverson sighed, recovering the poor girl tenderly, and closed the freezer door. “No, despite what you might think, the inside of the lungs is a relatively small space. When someone drowns, their lungs swell and secrete a small amount of fluid called surfactant. This becomes soapy when mixed with water. That’s how we can determine if someone has died by drowning, but we don’t and can’t test the fluid in the lungs.”

  The headache swarmed like a mob of angry bees, causing the light breakfast to churn and sour in Malcolm’s stomach. It wouldn’t do him any good to vomit in here. He pushed down on the sensation, trying to shove away the images, and took several long, steadying breaths. “What could you do if you suspected someone didn’t drown in the place they were found?”

  “What’s this all about?”

  Malcolm searched for a reasonable explanation as to what he saw, but Debbie found the answer as if she’d snatched it from the air. “Listen, my partner is a medium. We know the scientific community doesn’t hold much stock with that, but he’s got a great track record. He can pick up on things.”

  Iverson rolled his eyes, spinning away, muttering about calling security.

  “Please just give us the benefit of the doubt. What have you got to lose?” Debbie jogged after Iverson, touching his shoulder. “If he’s wrong, then nothing will happen, but if he’s right, a murderer will go free.”

  Iverson, jaw set, halted at the doorway, staring at Debbie’s pleading face. Malcolm shifted, trying not to bring attention to himself, and snatched two tissues from a side table, pinching the bridge of his nose. The blood had already stained the front of his blue shirt.

  Iverson crossed his arms again. Tapping his fingers, he faced Malcolm. “What makes you think she didn’t drown in the river?”

  “I saw her…being held down in a bathtub.” The words sounded odd because of his pinched nose.

  Debbie’s face paled.

  Iverson strolled over to the freezer, reopened the door, and pulled Tara’s body out. He slipped a pair of blue gloves on his hands and rolled the sheet down, exposing Tara fully. A large Robinson-shaped incision crossed her chest. He grabbed her wrist and lifted it up to show Malcolm. “Look, there aren’t any defensive wounds. If she’d been assaulted, she would’ve fought back. And look here,” he eased her arm back into place, rigor mortis gone, and pointed around her neck. “If someone held her down in a bathtub, she’d have bruising around her neck. There isn’t any on the back of her neck or the top of the head. These wounds are antepartum but could’ve happened as she was dragged away downriver.” He waved a hand over various scrapes and bruises.

  “She wasn’t conscious when they put her in the bathtub. Wouldn’t that explain why there wasn’t any bruising?”

  “No. There isn’t any evidence on her body or at the scene.”

  Debbie stepped closer, one hand covering her mouth, the other pointing to bruises on the girl’s upper arms. “Could those straight-ish bruises be from her being tied up? Like maybe they didn’t want any bruising on her wrists, so they tied her to a chair?” As soon as the words left her mouth, the images of waking up, a rope tied around Tara’s chest, a gag in her mouth popped into Malcolm’s head. That was exactly what they’d done to the poor girl before knocking her unconscious and slipping her into a bathtub. She awoke, underwater, with several bricks piled on her chest holding her down.

  The doctor examined the bruises and shrugged his shoulders. “It isn’t enough to warrant further police investigation.”

  “Isn’t there something you can do or check?” Debbie refused to break eye contact or back down.

  Iverson prodded the gash in the girl’s temple and hairline. “In theory, I could send off the fluid in her stomach. People tend to choke and swallow water while they’re drowning. She didn’t have dirt or debris like you’d find in a river, but that’s not definitive, in and of itself.”

  Debbie asked, “What would you look for? Like soap or oils?”

  The doctor shook his head. “No, I’m going to have send a test off for fluoride. That’s added to tap water, but I can’t say how long that could take to get back. I’d have to send it out to the state lab.”

  “Will you?” Malcolm wiped the rest of the staunched blood from his face and tossed the used tissue in the trash.

  “Fine. I’ll have to stall the funeral home. Leave your card with the front. I’ll call you when I hear something.” Iverson rolled his eyes, recovering the girl, and pulling off the gloves. “I trust you two can show yourselves out?”

  They took the dismissal in stride and made their way back to the car. As soon as the car doors slammed shut, Debbie turned to him. “You’re still not human, are you?”

  Malcolm leaned his head back on the seat, shivering from the chill of the grave still coursing through his veins, and grabbed his temples as the headache expanded like a balloon. “I don’t think so.”

  11

  The headache roared for hours afterward, not letting up after a handful of both acetaminophen and ibuprofen. Debbie forced Malcolm into the shower to warm him, before ushering him into bed with a moist towel around his neck and closed the curtains tight, descending him in almost complete darkness. He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, where occasional flashes of a grinding pain floated to the surface of his unconsciousness, reminding him of a construction site.

  Malcolm snapped awake as if someone had rebooted his entire system. He yanked the scratchy sheets from his body as his bare feet hit the thin carpet and headed for the bathroom. Debbie had left a text on his phone telling him where she would be if he awoke. He showered and dressed in record time, and he grabbed his phone, keycard, and wallet. He left the room, taking the stairs to the lobby. Outside, he retrieved his cell from his pocket and dialed Halek on FaceTime.

  He answered after only three rings. “Lo.”

  “Halek?” His blond hair had grown to just below his ears, making the sun-kissed skin shimmer against his bright green eyes.

  “Gab! Is that you?” Zari waved from behind Halek’s head.

  “Hey, Z, glad you made it to California!”

  “Thanks, I love it here. I’m headed out to get my hair d
one. Bye!”

  Malcolm strolled to his car, noting the purplish hues of the setting sun reflected in the windshield. The humidity wrapped around him as the melodic sounds of crickets filled the early evening air. Once he’d made sure Zari had gone, he said, “Halek, I’ve got a problem.”

  Halek cut him off. “Let me guess. You’ve figured out you haven’t turned into a full-fledged human after all.”

  Icy fingers crawled down his spine at the words. He paused with his hand pressed against the rental car’s doorknob. “How did you know?”

  Halek cracked a knowing grin. “Obadiah called me. I told him there’s no way you weren’t still at least part dream thief, even if you can eat and fuck now.” He raised his eyebrows several times in mock teasing.

  The guilt seared his nerves as he slid inside the car and turned it on, clicking the AC on full blast to fight against the overwhelming heat inside. “What makes you think I’m still part dream thief?”

  Halek laughed with a shake of the head; the classic surfer move could’ve been plucked from a Bill and Ted movie. The subtle sounds of the ocean lolling somewhere behind Halek lent to the surfer persona. “You mean besides you calling me? Because Obadiah said you could still log into our dream thief network.”

  Malcolm’s forehead creased while he tried to figure out how that could mean he was still a dream thief. He said as much to Halek.

  Halek’s sighed with a shrug. “How much do you know about computers and the internet?”

  “Honestly, not much.”

  “Okay. You know that everything done on a computer is basically zeroes and ones.”

  “Yes.”

  “Even though it’s only two numbers, there is an infinite amount of numbers in between. Like 0.01, 0.1, 0.001, 0.2 and so on.”

  Debbie emerged from the hotel, lips set in a thin line, hurrying toward him. He raised a hand in greeting, realizing he’d forgotten to call her when he’d left. She paused, motioned with a finger pointed upward and then to her side, and Malcolm understood that she was going to go up to get her purse. He nodded, and she put one finger in the air, meaning she’d be back in a minute.

  “You there?”

  Malcolm focused on the phone. “Sorry. Yes, I’m here. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Currently, the humans cannot understand the depths to which that infinity can go. The dream thief database exists in that plane. Humans are only just now starting research into this area, this sub-universe, if you will. When we sign in, there is a part of us, some chemical signature, which is transmitted via passwords, or, in my opinion, in our fingerprints, that allow us into the network.”

  “You realize how crazy this makes you sound? What chemical?”

  “Don’t ask me. Nimue is in New Orleans. The last few years she’s immersed herself in theoretical chemistry, physics, and mathematics. They all play together hand-in-hand. She discovered a variation in some of our tissue samples. From what she can tell, it forms a connection to certain things, the biggest one is the database.” Halek scoffed, wiggling his eyebrows. “She called it the talisman factor.” He made air quotes around the absurd term.

  Malcolm waved a hand back and forth. “Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. You’re telling me that you and Nimue think dream thieves have some sort of talisman that connects with our database? That sounds like pure fantasy or science fiction.”

  Halek barked a laugh. “You realize we’re dream thieves, immortals who can teleport and steal unborn ideas before they destroy humanity, and you scoff at the idea of something in our chemistry or our physical nature that interacts with the internet like a talisman?”

  Halek had a point. “Even for us, it’s laughable.”

  “You know what Arthur C. Clarke said, right? ‘Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.’”

  “You’re suggesting the dream thieves are tech?”

  Halek ran a hand through the straw-colored hair as a woman passed and eyed him with a hungry look. “Gab, it’s just a guess. Like all the others we’ve had through the millennia. Perhaps one day we’ll prove it. Regardless, something happened that makes you think you aren’t totally human. What was it?”

  Malcolm gulped and explained the connection to Tara Booth’s body. He explained the connection that should’ve been impossible, yet how the experience felt so familiar to stealing a dream, except he didn’t have to absorb the multitude of futures. For a long moment Halek remained silent, lost in his own thoughts, turning so the ocean became visible behind him. Malcolm now saw a surfboard stuck into the ground beside a black jeep.

  Malcolm jumped as Debbie slipped inside the SUV at the same time Halek said, “I don’t know why you’ve changed or to what extent, but I doubt you’re free from our life. You’re human-esque, but also still one of us.” Debbie’s face fell as the words settled between them, pushing them apart once again. It tore something deep inside him that would never heal.

  Debbie twirled the same bit of pasta on her fork. Despite the exquisite food of the fine Italian restaurant, Debbie had only taken a few bites. Malcolm’s appetite wasn’t faring much better. A white tablecloth covered the small, intimate table that had a fresh rose and soft candle on top that illuminated Debbie’s pale face. Succulent roasted garlic and baking bread filled the air and mingled with the melodic violin playing out over the restaurant’s speakers. Quiet murmurs of conversation accompanied the clink of utensils on plates. He tossed back his second glass of wine and signaled for a third, letting the alcohol calm his nerves. After the waiter topped off their drinks, Malcolm leaned forward, stroking the creamy skin of her slender wrist. “Are we going to talk about this?”

  Debbie stilled, and her glassy eyes met his. “I’ll be okay. It was too good to be true, thinking we’d have a normal life together, but something is better than nothing. I keep telling myself that because of your changes,” a blush reached her cheeks, making her all the more beautiful, “we can have more than any of you have ever had. We should just be grateful and cherish all the time we have.”

  Malcolm couldn’t imagine loving her more. “I think that’s true for every couple.”

  A tiny tear gathered at her lashes, and she wiped it away. “We don’t know the extent of your changes. We’ll take it day by day. I love you, Malcolm. No matter what.”

  “And I love you.”

  They squeezed each other’s hands like a silent promise. Debbie took in a long, shuddering breath. “Tell me, what did you see today? When you connected with…her?”

  The warmth of the moment vanished as the girl’s dying memories flooded his system along with her fear and pain. Malcolm leaned back, breathing through his mouth, lest the garlicky pasta worsen the nausea. “I saw and felt so much. She went to the cabin of her own volition, but two men were waiting for her. They bound her and tortured her for information.”

  Debbie leaned back, covering a hand over her mouth. “Questioned her about what?”

  “Details about her dream. I’d stolen it, so she couldn’t tell them anything. When they realized she couldn’t help them, they knocked her out and drowned her in the bathtub. Afterward, they changed her into a bathing suit and tossed her body into the river.”

  “You’re certain?”

  Malcolm focused on Tara’s memories, and those men’s faces swam up in his mind’s eye. Their cold black eyes, jet black hair, and unremorseful expressions contrasted with expensive tailored suits and shiny black shoes. They had to be professionals, but why would Aelia go to such lengths? Had she truly gone insane?

  “Yes.” Tara’s other memories bubbled to the surface, reminding Malcolm uncomfortably of her last breaths. “She was very much in love with the professor, Jim Fischer. She called him James, though his actual legal name is Jim. Since she became a senior this year, they wouldn’t have to hide their relationship for much longer. She’d planned to ask him to meet her parents.”

  Debbie crinkled her eyebrows, taking a sip of her wine, avoiding his eyes.


  “What?”

  “It’s cliché, that’s all. Young female college student and her older professor.”

  Tara’s memories mingled with his own. “Actually, Jim Fischer is only twenty-six. Tara was twenty-one. They met on campus, but she never took one of his classes. She’d been the one to pursue him, and they both agreed to keep their relationship a secret to not destroy his career.”

  “Oh, well, that’s better. I suppose. How sad for them. She was so young.”

  Malcolm nodded, disliking the new and unwelcomed intimate connection he had with her death. Not only had he stolen her dream, keeping Jim and Tara together, but he’d also become the only innocent witness to her murder. Of all the thoughts and memories he’d stolen, these were one of the worst.

  “Tell me about the dream again.”

  Malcolm bit down on the warm, steaming piece of garlic bread, drudging up not just the recollection from the Cos file, but the dream itself. He swallowed, expanded his mind, and searched deep inside for the singularity he’d thought lost. Now instead of a small, pulsating beat, the singularity had transformed into a black, motionless sea. He called to it and images floated from the depths, murky at first before bursting through the surface. Speaking at almost a whisper, he described what he saw.

  “Tara stood alone in the middle of a crowded place. Stars shined across a black velvet sky. The scent of popcorn and deep-fried batter filled her nose. The crowd parted, and she followed the opening. Children’s laughter echoed and,” he paused, tilting his head as she did, struggling to recognize a sound in the distance, “music from a carousel. Ahead on the right, a huge Ferris wheel loomed in the distance, filled with couples embracing as the wheel moved them around and around. She sensed James ahead, and she picked up her speed, hurrying toward her lover. She turned a corner, expecting to see James, but instead huge yellow eyes stared back at her. She yelped and stumbled back. Her heart raced as she took in the bars separating her from the long white fangs, a thick coat of straw-colored hair bursting from around the lion’s head. It paced back and forth in its cage before sitting down and biting the tip of its tail off. It chewed, swallowed, and went for another bite. Tara rushed toward it, wanting it to stop. At the edge of the cage, the lion locked its eyes on hers. The beast’s great mouth widened and spit out a mangled arm with a sparkling ring on the third finger. Tara lifted her own arms, discovering her left arm missing. She screamed and looked up, finding the lion missing, and herself in the cage while the crowd stares at her.”