The Dream Awakened

by Leann M Rettell

  Malcolm stared out the window, fighting the happiness at her words. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Please Romeo, I can smell your pleasure, but to answer your side-stepping questions, she gave me a skirt that goes to her ankles, so it should end up around my knees.” Malcolm let his eyes drift from her metal-spiked boots, up the tight, dark blue skinny jeans to the loose-fitting red blouse. He’d guess a skirt that ran to Debbie’s knees would still end up like a miniskirt on Makir. Perhaps they could use that as an advantage? “We need to stop somewhere, get changed, and freshen up. I also need to get access to a computer. We have to research this company before we waltz in pretending to want to hire them as our new stockbroker company. It’d be suspicious if we know nothing about them.”

  Makir made a loud scoffing sound, not trying in the least to hide it. “Do you think I’m an amateur? We’re headed to a safe house to get changed. Halek has already forwarded us information on the company. We can study when we get there.”

  “Safe house? I thought we only had a few in the country. Florida wasn’t one of them.”

  Makir maneuvered the SUV down a nondescript road and flung an arm out. “Sometimes I forget how much you’ve excluded yourself from the rest of us the last few years.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Makir made yet another move onto what Malcolm wouldn’t call a road; the side bushes had taken over more than two-thirds of the path. The SUV bounced along the dirt lane at a snail’s pace. “You’ve been living your life running your little bookstores, doing your targets, and only reporting in after a target. The rest of us check in regularly and realized as humanity’s technology advanced, our ability to remain hidden grew less and less with each passing year. Halek has devoted himself to becoming an expert in every facet of computer technology. Nimue’s focused on science first to see if there were any biological weapons they could use against us and, more recently, if any biological markers could identify us, and a bunch of us have been setting up a broadened network of safe houses and places where we can disappear if our cover is ever broken. Aelia worked on making a backup of our records with some database expert named Felix, and Lother helped her with plans on relocating Cos.”

  Shock flood through Malcolm. Had he let himself fall out of the loop? None of that had ever occurred to him. He’d thought with all the technology and means of travel it’d been easier to survive. The superstitions of the days of old had gone. The world no longer believed in monsters and fairy tales. If anyone suggested the possibility of the existence of dream thieves, Malcolm would’ve bet all the money in his considerable bank account that the humans would laugh it off. Hell, if they were caught in the act or videoed, he’d assumed the world would chalk it up to a hoax. Perhaps his considerable lack of insight was one reason he’d never been chosen as Librarian.

  “I had no idea,” was all he could think to say.

  The long, foliage-covered road opened up to a small cabin. She pulled the SUV to the front, put it in park, and turned off the engine. As the engine popped and cooled, her chin dipped to her chest. “You left the dream thieves long before you ever changed.”

  24

  The outside of the safe house left a lot to be desired. The ancient wooden cabin’s logs had long ago been washed gray with age. Overgrown grass swarmed the rickety porch. Rusting gas cans and a single abandoned muddy black boot lay on the corner beside the covered porch, completing the pitiful state of the shack. Malcolm doubted the safety of the building, feeling they’d be more likely to be injured from the floor or ceiling collapsing than anything from the outside world.

  The two steps up to the porch were firm beneath his tennis shoes despite their unevenness. He strode along the misshapen lumber and had to shove his shoulder into the warped door to wrestle the thing open despite Makir’s ease getting inside and slamming it shut a few moments before. Then again, she remained a full-fledged dream thief and was a lot stronger than he was now.

  The building’s interior told a completely different story than the outside. Neutral paint accented the paintings lining the walls, which Malcolm recognized as Heris’s early work. An impressive flat-screen TV covered much of one wall with built-ins on either side boasting an overflowing display of DVDs, CDs, and books. A modern fireplace sat ready and waiting underneath the TV.

  A plush tan and red couch dominated the rest of the living area, looking wide enough to seat four adults with ample room in between. An expansive coffee table loomed in front of the couch. Someone, Lysander, no doubt, had created the exquisite table from a cross-sectional ring of an oak at least several hundred years old. Each circular ring of the tree told a story. More lounge chairs littered around the coffee table, and Malcolm felt as if he could grab a book and lose himself for hours or days in this sanctuary, a dream thief’s paradise.

  The slamming of cabinets and the rattle of bottles from an adjacent room spoiled the serenity of the living space. Malcolm maneuvered around the furniture to the basic kitchen just beyond an archway. Natural wood countertops ran the length of the room. An espresso maker dominated the main counter and glasses and a few pots were displayed from the glass cabinet doors. An expensive refrigerator with a wooden door completed the look. The dream thieves only bothered including a stove in order to make the simple syrup they all drank. Makir slammed down a pot in the sink, flipping on the tap to fill it with water. She jerked open a door at the end, filled from top to bottom with bags of sugar, coffee, teas, and several bottles of very good wine.

  She snatched a bag of sugar and dumped a hearty amount into the pot, turned off the water, and set the pot back on the stove to boil.

  “Guessing whoever was here last didn’t leave any spare syrup.”

  “No!” She pressed her lips into a thin line. At least she couldn’t blame him for that.

  “You all did a nice job here. How can you be off the grid with running water, TV, electricity?”

  Makir rolled her eyes. “Solar panels, a well.”

  “Commode?”

  Makir raised an eyebrow. Right, dream thieves didn’t use the bathroom. “You at least have a shower?”

  “Of course, we’re not savages.” Makir tapped her fingernails on the wooden counter. “There are three bedrooms. You should grab a shower and change. The clothes are in the back of the SUV, and when you’re done, we can review the files.”

  Malcolm retrieved his clothes, taking the liberty of relieving himself behind a tree, and returned to the cabin before going through a separate door leading down a small hallway. There were three roughly equal-sized bedrooms with two full beds in each room, more of Heris’s artwork on the walls, decorative lamps, and plush blankets. A fourth door revealed a moderately sized bathroom with a stand-up shower, large jacuzzi tub, and double vanity sink. As expected, the toilet had been left out of this bathroom’s equation. He pulled back the cloth shower curtain displaying an aerial view of Rome and turned on the shower. The little reminder of Cos and the place they could all call home surprised Malcolm. He wondered whose little sentimental idea that had been. As he washed off the dried blood and sweat of the day, he could only marvel that this was only one of many new safe houses his fellow dream thieves had set up. He really had distanced himself from the others and hadn’t done it on purpose. Perhaps, like everything else, maybe whatever ruled them had sway in that too. Did they have any free will at all?

  He dried off, ran a brush through his wavy dark brown hair, splashed on some aftershave, and donned the Calvin Klein suit with diamond cufflinks. He slipped on his shining alligator skin shoes and returned to the kitchen. Makir slid him a steaming cup of dark espresso. “Sorry, no food.”

  “It’s okay.” He vowed he’d be more agreeable in the future. She passed him a laptop showing an email. “Internet?”

  “Mobile hot spot. Halek’s figured a way to piggyback on known connections to make it untraceable.” Makir shrugged. “Read. I’m going to get dressed.”

  He delved into the email. The
Schneider Corporation began in 1979 as one of the earliest Investment Broker Companies. There were some CIA files from 1991 where their investigation hinted into links to the black market and international criminal organizations, but the case turned cold after the lead investigator died with a massive heart attack at age forty-five with no known heart history prior. The autopsy files had been lost in a fire a year later. Since then, the company remained squeaky clean, generating millions of dollars per year for their clients. The meeting today would be with the current CEO, Jeffery Wallace. What in the world could Barnaby Hart hope to sway in a company that rich?

  “Oh, well. That’s not really the point. It’s just a way to get in the door of course,” Makir said from the hallway.

  He hadn’t been aware he’d spoken out loud. He wanted to discuss the matter further when his thoughts drifted away. Dark eyeliner set off Makir’s eyes, making the chocolaty brown swirl like liquid smoke. The maroon lipstick extenuated her luscious lips, but none of that held a candle to the navy-blue skirt that clung to her curves or the black silk blouse that made her olive skin shimmer like gold. The black pumps added another three inches to her already impressive height. Malcolm’s jaw hung slack as he took her in.

  “What the fuck are you looking at?”

  Her words broke the spell. “I thought I was looking at a stunning, beautiful woman who could command the world, but no, it’s just you.”

  Makir’s lips curled in a smile. “Oh, my darling brother, I am a stunning, beautiful woman who can command the world, and I won’t take shit from anyone.”

  She really could. Things always ran like clockwork during her stents as Librarian, despite being less than nice to any of them. She wasn’t a creature meant to be caged.

  “You ready to go?”

  Malcolm finished the rest of his coffee, gave it a quick wash in the sink, along with the other dishes from her syrup, and joined her in the SUV. “Did you read the part about the CIA investigation?”

  Makir gripped the steering wheel with sparkling red lacquered nails. “My guess is they haven’t gotten out of the game, just learned to be better players.”

  “They’d have to be if our mission was to make sure the Mayer Company took them over. My guess is their claim to fame is to fund the criminal underground.”

  Makir reentered onto the main road. Twenty-five minutes later, Makir turned into the parking lot of several unremarkable brick buildings. She parked in front of the correct numbered building.

  “Why are all these places so nondescript?”

  Makir raised an eyebrow at his question. Malcolm lifted his shoulders. “Sorry. My nerves are on edge.”

  “Get your shit together, we have a job to do. If it makes you feel better, Halek is ‘totally’ hacking the shit out of this company. If they got dirt, he’ll find it.”

  Her perfect imitation of Halek’s surfer-dude attitude let the tension in his neck ease. He opened the door, retrieved a briefcase, buttoned the front of his jacket—ignoring the Florida heat and humidity—and strolled into what he suspected to be a snake pit.

  25

  Mr. Hart.”

  Malcolm looked up from the Forbes magazine he’d been pretending to read while they waited. He nodded at the supermodel secretary and placed the magazine back on the coffee table. He leaned forward and drank the rest of the chilled water she’d offered earlier, in a real glass, as if the Schneider Corporation had to show off its prestige by avoiding plastic bottles. Against his typical nature, he returned the glass to the custom-made coaster and left it there. As a multi-millionaire, such things as cleaning up after himself would be beneath him. He brushed off the need to prickle at the audacity of rich bastards, snatched his case from the floor beside him, and stood from the leather sofa, Makir on his heels.

  The secretary kept her beautiful face in a blank mask. Only a slight rise of her eyebrows when she’d first glimpsed Makir gave away any sign of intimidation. She plastered a smile on her shining red lipstick and met them by the door. She stood in the center of the doorway. “Sir, I have Mr. Barnaby Hart and his assistant.” He only caught a murmur from behind the door, but Makir would pick up every word with her superb hearing.

  The woman swept an arm forward, giving them better access. “Go right in.”

  Malcolm entered into the office. A large wooden desk sat in the center of the room showcasing a floor-to-ceiling window that made up the back wall. The glare from the window left CEO Wallace a blurry mess, making one have to squint. Yet another power tactic. This place reeked of scandal underneath its polished façade. Malcolm refused to squint or cover his eyes, walking straight to the desk and reaching out a hand. CEO Wallace stood from the desk. A strong jaw jutted from a square face. Cold, calculating, gray eyes stared at Malcolm with a fake smile on the man’s face. “You must be Barnaby Hart. Jeff Wallace. I’m so happy you’ve decided to come and speak with us today.”

  “Thank you. This is my assistant, Brittney Godard.”

  Wallace nodded in Makir’s direction, never offering a hand or looking away from Malcolm. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

  Malcolm took the seat opposite Wallace. He never broke eye contact, even when returning to his own seat. Malcolm tired of this small battle of testosterone but refused to be the first one to break. Wallace leaned back in his chair, interlaced his fingers, and rested his arms on his flat abdomen. “I have to say I’m surprised to hear you asked for this meeting. The companies you represent are so vast and multi-faceted. We’d love to have you join us. I do believe, representatives from our company have reached out on several occasions. We’ve always been assured you were more than happy with Shultz and Feinstein. What made you change your mind?”

  Malcolm crossed one leg over the other, set his arm on the rest, and propped his chin up with his hand, mimicking Wallace’s relaxed body language. “Yes, we’ve been quite happy with Shultz and Feinstein.” In fact, the company had ties to the dream thieves’ massive connections to lawyers like Omar and other power alliances, but Wallace didn’t need to know that. “But a smart businessman always keeps his options open.”

  Halek spoke from the intercom in his ear, nearly making Malcolm jump. He’d forgotten about the listening device. “Tell him you know all about what happened to Nate Black.” Malcolm repeated the words, wondering if Halek would bother explaining who in the hell Nate Black was.

  Wallace lifted an eyebrow. “Yes.” His lips raised in a real smile. “I see you’ve also done your research. With all due respect, you have to pick the best man for the job, despite what the world expects you to do.”

  “Ha, I knew that’d get the bastard,” Halek said.

  Still in the dark, Malcolm dipped his head and let the extensive basketball memorabilia littered throughout the horrible man’s office guide his words. “Exactly. In the past, Shultz and Feinstein have been the best, but one doesn’t get slack just because they have last year’s MVP. You never know when a new rookie will outshine him.”

  Wallace nodded, gesturing a hand to the large bear head framed on the side wall. “A true hunter, like myself. I believe we may be able to help each other.”

  “Indeed.”

  Wallace leaned forward and flashed a hungry glance at Makir while she uncrossed her legs and re-crossed them, Sharon Stone style, while pulling out a notepad to take notes. Malcolm’s skin crawled with the possessive flash in Wallace’s eyes.

  “Shall we get down to business?” Malcolm asked.

  The meeting passed by in a volley of words batted back and forth. Halek coached Malcolm, so he at least sounded like a rich businessman who understood the stock market like the back of his hand. Before they parted, Malcolm agreed to be in touch after he discussed what he’d learned with the fictitious board of directors of his fake companies.

  Wallace’s runway secretary knocked on his door.

  “Yes?” Wallace glared.

  The woman peaked inside. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir. Mr. Tremblay is on the phone to speak with you ab
out the security detail.”

  “Very well. Tell him I’m finishing up a meeting and will call him within the next five minutes.”

  The secretary dipped her head, stepped out, and closed the door.

  Malcolm slid to his feet. “Thank you for your time.”

  Wallace stood, walked around his massive desk, and extended his hand. “I hope to hear from you soon. I assure you the Schneider Corporation will do you well, sir.”

  Malcolm grasped the man’s hand and felt the singularity inside himself jolt. In an instant, he fell into the man’s memories. A flash of an olive-skinned man with black eyes and hair stared back at him from across a table with half-empty plates. Fear jolted through Malcolm as he recognized the face as one of the men who’d beaten and killed Tara. His was the last face she had seen before being submerged in the blurry water as her consciousness faded. The name pulled from Wallace’s memory: Tremblay. Images flashed of the two men on golf outings, sharing meals, and meeting down dark alleys. The final images showed Wallace standing behind a naked woman on her hands and knees. He rocked back and forth, while Tremblay stood on the other side, gripping the woman’s blond hair as her head dipped up and down. Malcolm jerked back from the memory, leaving Wallace with a blank stare on his face, and tore out of the office without another glance. Malcolm stormed passed the secretary, hit the elevator button, and all but ran from the building with Makir on his heels.

  The SUV beeped as Makir unlocked the door. He slid inside and took several deep breaths to avoid dry heaving. Makir slipped the briefcase in the backseat. He hadn’t remembered to grab it in his haste to leave the office. She closed the door, turned on the engine, and peeled out of the parking lot. She pulled onto the street before she finally asked, “Want to tell me what that was about?”

  Malcolm’s hand trembled as he shoved Tara’s fear deep down inside himself. “I stole some of his memories.”