by Glen Krisch
Cool air rose from the damp grass as he cut across the lawn to the garage. He tried the side door and found it unlocked. He quickly entered and closed the door, leaving the lights off.
The garage smelled of motor oil and ancient saw dust. His grandpa's old workbench sat along the far wall, his woodworking tools hung on pegs and resting on shelves, held in place by a decade's worth of dust and disuse. Kevin never knew his grandpa. His mom carried a wallet-sized photo of her father holding Kevin at the hospital after he was born, but even in the picture, with his drawn, tallow skin and sunken eyes, it was obvious he wouldn't hold off his diabetes much longer. Even without ever having met his grandpa, Kevin didn't need to see the picture to remember what he looked like. Seeing the picture only a single time would have left an indelible image in his mind.
He slung his backpack onto a high-backed workshop chair. The workbench had been left untouched, and inarticulate scraps of pine from his grandpa's projects littered the bench like a tumbled over city. He unzipped a pocket of his backpack and pulled out a room temperature Coke. When he opened it, the psst-sound made him jump. The warm soda stung his throat, but focused his sleepy mind.
He hefted a sizable wood plain, and wondered if his fingerprints were now meshed with his grandpa's. Pushing aside tools and scraping away piles of sawdust with a triangle of pine, Kevin started piecing together a mound of wood, and it soon took shape. The front wall was a little off, slightly too big, but the whirling brown knots in the wood looked like windows. He took out short, pin-like finishing nails from a cardboard box, and tapped on an overhanging roof--a bit too wide, but who's to know? He built the garage off to the left, a solid brick of wood. When he was finished, Kevin stood back. He could imagine his old house if he squinted enough. He could barely hold off sleep and sipped from his Coke to stay awake.
He was searching the workbench for paint, something in a light shade of green to match his old house, when a garbage can tipped over outside the garage. He just about jumped out of his skin, but after a moment, he figured it was just a tomcat in search of an easy meal. His mom and grandma, even if they heard the noise, would probably think the same.
But then the long bar locking the garage door folded into its open position. Whatever was outside, it wasn't a tomcat. Kevin resigned himself to being caught outside in the middle of the night. While his mind raced for a good explanation to tell his mom, the garage door creaked open.
The first thing he saw were the polished black oxford dress shoes. Then the solid crease of the freshly ironed dress pants. Kevin could see his dad's black leather belt then his white office work shirt then his warm, shaven face. He was standing just outside the door with his arms folded, as if he had been waiting for Kevin to open the door for him.
Kevin dropped the half-empty Coke to the dusty floor, while his heart pounded like it was a sick, mistreated animal. He wanted to jump into his dad's arms.
"Hi, Kev. I missed you," his dad said casually, moving his hands to his hips and looking down at him with that dad-smile of his, that smile that said he was proud of him and that he honestly and truly missed him.
The thought was in the back of Kevin's mind, drifting like smoke. He tried focusing it, but every time he grasped at the thought, it pushed through his mental grip. He couldn't move; he just stood looking up at his dad, wanting more than anything to jump into his arms and smell his aftershave and cigarette smell. But the thought suddenly crystallized.
His dad was dead.
When the thought solidified in Kevin's mind, his dad's expression changed. He looked upset, as if he had somehow hurt Kevin.
"Kevin, I'm sorry I had to go, but I had an important mission."
"Really?" Kevin imagined his dad going away on a mission for the government, wearing his black suit and having one of those earpieces with the wire disappearing into his coat.
"No, Kevin, it was nothing like that," his dad said, reading his mind. "I'll tell you more about it later. But the real reason I'm here is for your help. I need your help with my mission. I could think of no one more qualified to help than you. So here I am."
Kevin gave his dad a puzzled look. "But, you're…" Kevin said and the animal in his chest bucketed as if hammered with a rusty nail.
"Yes, I'm dead. But I'm still here. In your dreams. Protecting you," his dad said, extending his arms to Kevin.
Kevin shook his head, trying to clear the fogginess. A dream. If all of this was only a dream, then maybe his dad was alive for real. Maybe he was alive and sleeping in his bed back at their house in Warren Cove. Maybe Kevin was asleep in his own bed, and none of these crazy changes had taken place. His dad was alive, they had never moved, he wouldn't have to go to a new school. Kevin jumped into the air and his dad caught him before he could touch the ground again. He could smell the cigarettes and aftershave, but there was also an underbelly odor. Like old garbage. No, not quite. And no, his Dad could never smell so bad; maybe the stink leached over from the tipped over garbage can outside the garage.
"Are you ready to help me?"
"Sure I am!" Kevin said and wrapped his hands around his dad's neck.
"Okay. Good. What I need from you, Kevin--and this is critically important--what I need is for you to never forget what happened in the bus station bathroom." The whispered words fell to Kevin's ears as if floating on a slight summer breeze.
Kevin looked at his dad at arm's length, as if he had misunderstood. His dad had also changed somehow. The skin of his face had cracks along the lines of his deep dimples, and there was a hint of something unpleasant beneath.
"You watched me die, Kevin."
The wind died to nothing and the smell hit Kevin again. Seafood rotting in a month-old diaper pale--that came close to the smell, but not really. And it was coming from his dad.
Kevin strained his elbows into a locked position, holding his dad as far away as possible.
"Every time you blink, I want you to see me gushing blood. With every sound you hear, I want you to hear an echo that is actually my internal juices gurgling through my lungs. Can you do that for me, Kevin? Be a good son and remember how your old man was murdered."
Kevin was struggling now, trying to get out of his grip, a grip that held him fast and cut off his circulation. His arms grew cold and started tingling from lack of blood. This stranger's skin--because there was no way this could actually be his dad--had disintegrated and was now falling in pulpy clumps to the floor, like oatmeal gruel on a winter morning. Somehow, the whites of his eyeballs were peeling like a snake losing its skin.
"Let me down," Kevin cried, kicking his legs out against the stranger.
"Can't do that, boy. But oh how I can tell you how much I care! I want us to become friends, you and I. I want you to open your heart to me. Let me feel your pain, your fear. Let me see the mutilated remains of that gruesome day at the bus station painted in your every expression," the stranger mouthed through his melting lips.
Kevin was kicking the man as hard as he could, but it didn't seem to matter. He simply spread his lips in a ragged-toothed smile.
"So that's your mission, my boy. Listen. Listen closely and hear your precious dad's last heartbeat. Take a deep breath and smell his spilled blood staining the bathroom floor."
Enough of the stranger's outer shell had crumbled away that Kevin could see what was hidden beneath. Pale blue skin pulled taut by ridged muscle, tattoos littering his chest and arms like a tortured artist's spoiled canvas. His dad's pants still encircled this monster's legs, but from the waist up it was Mr. Freakshow staring back at Kevin.
Kevin lunged at Mr. Freakshow and took hold of the wooden splinter piercing his left nipple. He tightened his grip and pulled down hard, initially meeting resistance. But then came the sickening sound of tearing flesh. Mr. Freakshow screamed and Kevin was able to slip through his captor's hands, his shoes hitting the driveway gravel. He stomped on the monster's foot and backed away until he was in the murkiness of the garage.
"You're not
my dad!"
"I never said I was."
Kevin looked around, but he had no other way out. He ran for his backpack and fumbled out his pocketknife. He flipped the blade open and waved it in front of him. Mr. Freakshow was not impressed and laughed quietly as he entered the garage. He held one thickly clawed hand against his chest, grimy brown blood spouting from between his fingers. Kevin was seeing him now for what seemed like the first time. Purple veined wings twitched at his sides, stirring up small tornados of dust near the workbench. The shackles hanging from his wrists and neck jangled as he walked.
"Leave me alone!" Kevin screamed.
"No. That's not how this relationship of ours is going to work. I'm in control. Every step of the way. I'm the one who started it all. You are simply the chalice holding the precious Eucharist. But soon, very soon, I will drink from the holy chalice. I am fear and rage. I am the dirge of your soul."
Mr. Freakshow's wings flooded with blood and aroused in full splendor at his sides. Nothing was left of the man who had appeared to be his father. He was a beast wearing the shredded remains of a once presentable white-collar uniform. He moved closer to Kevin, blocking out the moonlight. Mr. Freakshow took hold of his shoulders and pulled him into his enveloping wings. Kevin couldn't say another word, but he could still scream…
Long after he woke he still screamed, a sweaty, agonized mess. Every time he closed his eyes he saw his dad dying on the tile of the bus station bathroom. He smelled his father's spreading blood, and heard a faint echo that was the gurgling in his father's lungs. Upon waking, Kevin brought every minute detail of his nightmare with him. He had woken dripping with sweat, his coherence drowned out by fear. With every breath he relived the memory of his dad's final moments.
Carin was sleeping deeply when Kevin's screaming roused her like a face slap. She ran to his room when she heard his cries, and still fighting sleep's grip, thought he had fallen out of bed. His bed was empty. But she could hear his voice, his screams. She stumbled around the edge of the bed to the window and pushed the drapes aside. When she saw the open garage door, she bolted from the bedroom.
She stormed through the kitchen and saw that the back door was open. When she reached the garage, her mother was already there. Kevin was sobbing in her arms while mumbling something about his mission to help Mr. Freakshow. And something about the smell of his father's blood.
Carin's heart broke. She felt more sadness now than the moment of discovering James in the bus station bathroom. This was ten times worse. Carin began to cry the first tears she had shed since they moved to her mother's house. Before she lost it completely, she went to her mother and gently touched her shoulder. When she turned, Carin sat on the gravel next to her.
Under a canopy of night pierced with starry light, they held each other and shed tears for very different reasons.
Chapter 8
Carin stood with Dr. Edwardson outside an examination room. Her mother's doctor kept his voice quiet so Kevin wouldn't hear from inside. The doctor wore thick bifocals and had wispy fine white hair. His breath smelled like ancient dinner mints.
"Your son is fine. Physically, there's nothing wrong. Obviously, he's still suffering mental trauma over the loss of his father."
"What can we do? We can't go on like this. He sees something, I don't know what, but he sees something in everything he looks at. Something awful."
"I've seen this before. Happens every time soldiers come home. Post traumatic stress. Unfortunately, I'm not the doctor to help deal with something like this."
"So I need to consult a psychologist?"
"A therapist yes. I know a good man, a psychiatrist. Dr. Bennett. He even specializes in dream therapy. While I don't know Dr. Bennett's philosophy or practices, I've heard nothing but raves from his patients. From my experience, there's no better doctor for dealing with nightmares."
"When can we see him?"
"It normally takes a couple weeks for an initial consult," Dr. Edwardson said. When he saw the color drain from Carin's face, he added, "Let me make a phone call. Let me see if I can pull any weight and get Kevin in right away."
Carin focused on the road and the bombardment of midday traffic. The fatigue from a sleepless night was starting to catch up to her and her reaction time felt a second too slow. Kevin's eyes were closed and he hadn't said much of anything since they left Dr. Edwardson's office. They had an immediate appointment with Dr. Bennett, for which she thanked Dr. Edwardson profusely. Now, if only she could find the right address. She wasn't familiar with the neighborhood, but she had a feeling they were getting close.
Since waking this morning, Kevin appeared perpetually nauseated, while his skin seemed pale even after spending time in the summer sun with Reid and the other neighborhood kids.
At a red light, Carin looked at the scrap of paper with the directions to the doctor's office. It wasn't technically an office building, according to Dr. Edwardson. He'd said that Dr. Bennett was also working at a museum, and at least during the initial evaluation, Kevin would have to see him there. She didn't care if they had to meet with him in a junkyard, as long this Dr. Bennett was able to help.
The car behind her slammed on its horn when she didn't immediately react to the green light. "Hold on, I'm moving," Carin said as she accelerated. "What a jerk." A powder blue Fiat swerved around her, cutting her off before she finished crossing the intersection. The sour-looking fat man crammed into the car's tiny driving compartment gave her the finger.
She wanted to scream at the guy, but she took a deep breath and tried to decompress. Kevin seemed unaware of the exchange and was now looking out the window at the passing buildings, mumbling to himself, and for the first time this morning, seeming somewhat relaxed.
She heard partial words, but one stuck out in particular.
"What did you say?"
Kevin looked at her, winced at what he saw in his mother's face, but continued mumbling.
"Kevin, speak up, I can't understand you."
"Lu-cid-ity."
"Where did you hear that word? Why did you say that?"
"It's on a sign. I like how it sounds," Kevin said, pointing out the window.
Carin looked over her shoulder and saw the side of a lighted sign on a tall white pole near the street. They were too far away for her to read the sign, so she hooked a quick right and went around the block.
Lucidity, The Museum of Dreams
"What is it, Mom?"
Carin pulled into an open parking space in front of the building.
"We're here. I think." It was an old limestone building with columns framing the overhanging doorway.
"What is this place?" Kevin peered out the window, his nose pressed against the glass. The tension had left his face, at least, temporarily.
"A museum. The other doctor works here."
"Can we go inside?" he asked, his dour expression softened slightly.
"It doesn't even look like they're open." Which was true. A group of men wearing overalls entered through the front door at the top of the concrete steps. They looked like workmen.
"Please?"
Carin realized she didn't want to see Dr. Bennett, at least not quite yet. She didn't want to hear bad news. But thinking of the alternative brought her to her senses. Kevin needed help and as soon as possible.
"Okay, kiddo, let's go."
They climbed the steps to the front door. They stood for a minute, and Carin didn't know what to do next.
"Maybe you should knock?" Kevin suggested.
"I don't know about that. It doesn't look like they're open yet."
"Can I help you?" a man asked from the street level.
The man scaled the steps, and as he got closer, Carin could see pink scars on the side of his face and spiky locks of brown hair escaping from under his Chicago Cubs ball cap. One of his ears seemed larger than the other. When he reached the top step, she could tell his left ear wasn't real. He fit Dr. Edwardson's description perfectly.
"Dr
. Bennett?" Carin asked.
"Yes?"
"Dr. Edwardson, he called over from his office. I'm Carin Dvorak. This is my son Kevin."
"Good. Perfect timing. Dr. Edwardson reached me on my cell, and I had to rush to get here."
"Thanks. We really appreciate it."
"What's inside?" Kevin asked as he tried to get a look inside the building through a curtained window.
"Why, dreams of course," Dr. Bennett said.
"Nightmares?" Kevin asked softly.
"Nightmares are dreams, aren't they?"
"Yes…"
"Nightmares are the most powerful of dreams, and we have many that will be displayed."
"I'm sorry, Dr.--"
"You can call me Maury."
"What exactly do you mean, displayed?"
Maury looked at Kevin and his gaze seemed to linger on his eyes, and their evident sadness. "Why don't I show you?"
"Really?" Kevin said with excitement. "Mom, can we?"
She too looked into Kevin's eyes and knew she couldn't deny him the hope of ridding himself of his burdensome nightmares. The three of them entered the museum of dreams.
Carin was astonished at the sudden change in Kevin's demeanor. He still looked like he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in weeks, but his eyes seemed to shine. She walked a step behind her son and Maury, this slightly odd stranger with his slightly odd limp. He had swept in from who knows where to welcome them into this strange building. If workmen weren't bustling through the wide marble foyer, she might have taken Kevin by the hand and made a run for the car.
Kevin was talking to Maury and walking by his side like he had forgotten she was even in the building.
"Maybe this wasn't the best idea. We can come by your office when you have an opening," Carin said, and both Kevin and Maury turned to look at her.
"Mom, look at this place," Kevin said in a pleading tone. "It's incredible."
