by V. E. Lemp
Vance’s eyes were the most unusual thing about him. They were light brown, flecked with gold, like amber. They were also focused quite intently on her face. Karen swallowed hard and fought her urge to kick the table leg.
“Welcome, Karen,” said a stocky, bald man with eyes as blue as lapis lazuli. He appeared to be at least a decade older than Vance. “I’m Jasper James.” James had the rough-hewn features of an unpolished sculpture, but his voice was beautiful—cultured, deep, and rich as fine coffee.
“I’m Leena Rebani,” said a lovely woman, probably no older than thirty-five. She was slim, and her delicate features were dominated by luminous brown eyes. Her black hair was pulled into a smooth plait.
“And we’ve already been introduced.” Alex Wythe favored Karen with one of his dazzling smiles. She met his gaze and smiled in return.
“Have you?” asked the fifth person at the table. This man looked too young for his severe navy suit. His brown hair was cut short, and his dark eyes were partially hidden by the thick lenses of his pewter-framed glasses. He switched off the pager he was holding and tucked it into his suit pocket. “Isn’t that against protocol?”
“Not at all, Mark. It’s not like we know one another. We met once, quite by accident. Karen was looking for a job, and I encouraged her to apply for the project.” Karen noticed Alex didn’t mention her unusual sketch. “Oh, this is Mark Hallam, by the way. Government overseer.”
“Liaison,” Mark Hallam corrected. “I’m not in charge. Just keeping an eye on things.” He appraised Karen in a way that made her squirm in her hard plastic chair. He looked like someone who’d pick up on little details, like the fact she’d allowed her gaze to linger too long on Alex.
“This is a government project?”
“No, not really.” Vance waved his hand with a conductor’s flair. “We’re receiving some government funding so we need oversight, but we don’t require security clearances or anything like that. It’s just a little test project, as a matter of fact. We hope to replicate this study with additional student groups over the next few years.”
“Karen is probably wondering what the project is really about,” Alex said. “It wasn’t very clear in the application. Perhaps we should explain.”
“Perhaps you should,” Mark Hallam said. “I’m not entirely clear on a few points myself.”
Ian Vance raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I’ll let Dr. Rebani do the honors.”
Leena Rebani appeared flustered. But when the researcher spoke, her low voice, with its distinctive musical intonation, betrayed no hesitation.
“It’s simple enough. Brainwaves and other physical markers of the subjects will be monitored as they sleep, then they will jot down any dreams immediately upon waking. We’ll be comparing the physical data to the subjects’ recollections of their dreams. Part of this,” she added, with a gentle smile for Karen, “is to work toward a methodology to help those with sleep disorders due to post-traumatic stress syndrome.”
“Which explains the government interest,” Alex said. “Especially with all the vets who’ve just returned from Kosovo and other hot spots. Help for soldiers, you see.”
Karen did not quite see, nor, if his expression was any indicator, did Mark Hallam. But she nodded as if it made perfect sense.
“At some point we’ll be introducing lucid dreaming techniques to teach the subjects to manipulate their dreams,” Dr. Rebani continued. “We hope it will prove helpful for people suffering from nightmares.”
“Lucid dreaming?” Karen glanced at Alex and was rewarded with another smile. As she looked away she caught Mark Hallam frowning darkly.
“All to be explained in time.” To Karen’s surprise, Ian Vance flashed Alex a warning look. “Now, Karen, let’s get to a few required questions and allow you to complete this grilling on time, shall we?”
The rest of the interview moved quickly, with each of the researchers asking Karen simple questions about her studies, sleep habits, and other basic topics. She found it odd that no one asked about her dreams, but perhaps that wouldn’t come into play unless she was invited into the program.
While the others talked, Mark Hallam rolled a pen between the fingers of one hand. He said nothing, simply studied her with the concentration of a hawk scouting its prey. It was quite disconcerting, and Karen glanced frequently at Alex for reassurance.
When the interview was over Karen rose, gave a quick bob of her head, and practically ran out of the room. Leaning against the hallway wall for a moment, she was surprised to hear the door to the conference room open and close.
Alex strode over to stand in front of her. “Hope we didn’t scare you off.”
“Oh no, not at all.” Karen kept her head down, afraid to look at him, afraid if he saw her eyes he would read everything she was feeling.
“Good. I’d hate to lose you. I believe you’re a natural fit for the project.”
“Do you?” Karen couldn’t help but meet his gaze. Already accustomed to his smiles, she was surprised by his serious expression.
“Definitely. Of course, we all have to jump through the proper hoops. As Hallam said, protocol must be followed.”
“Yeah, that Hallam guy. Is he FBI or something?”
“Now that you mention it”—a little line creased Alex’s brow—“I’m not sure who he reports to. But he’s just a pencil pusher, I think.”
“Honestly, I’m surprised the government’s involved.”
“Like Ian said, it’s a formality.” Alex glanced down the hall, then reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Listen, Karen, here’s my private number. Call me if you have questions about the project. I don’t want you to feel uneasy.”
“I haven’t been invited to participate yet.” Karen took the paper, resisting the urge to brush his hand with her fingers.
“You will. Perhaps I shouldn’t encourage you, but I’m positive you’ll be chosen. You tick all the boxes, and I—well, I do have a little input in the decision.” Alex flashed a quick smile.
Karen twisted her backpack strap around one finger. His interest seemed genuine, and quite harmless, but it occurred to her this man knew all too well how his smile could disarm.
“I should let you go,” Alex said, with another glance down the hall. “Don’t want anyone to think I’m interfering with the process. I just thought I’d reassure you. Our team can be a little overwhelming. Don’t want you to feel intimidated.”
“I don’t. Well, maybe a little.” She shook her head. “Anyway, interviews. Nerve-wracking, no matter what.”
“That’s only natural.” Alex reached out and tapped her gently on the nose. “But you did just fine, kiddo.”
Karen inhaled sharply at his touch, and Alex stepped back as if he too were spooked.
“Gotta go,” she said, fumbling with the strap of her backpack. “I guess, maybe, I’ll see you around? If it all works out, I mean.”
“Oh, I’m sure it will,” Alex said. The smile had returned, but it was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We need people like you on our team.”
“That’s nice.” A wave of embarrassment washed over Karen as soon as the words left her mouth. She bobbed her head in an awkward goodbye and fled down the hall, clutching the backpack to her chest. As she turned the corner she glanced back and caught Alex watching her—for what reason, she couldn’t imagine.
Dream Journal, Jan. 14th:
I stood at the top of a wide flight of stairs, overlooking a great banquet hall built of marble.
Everything in the hall was white and so bright the room shimmered before my eyes. Hanging above the center of the hall was a chandelier, its crystals spilling over in a frozen waterfall. There were banquet tables covered with white linen tablecloths and laid with clean plates, crystal glasses, and fine silverware. There were even white name cards by each place setting.
I instinctively knew all the people represented by those name cards were de
ad. As I stood in silent communion with the fallen I realized I’d been bequeathed a mission. A task the dead could not complete had fallen into my hands.
A sound like a mighty engine rumbled from outside the building. I ran down the stairs to a set of French doors that led to a balcony. Staring over the railing I could see nothing of the landscape. All was in shadow. I looked up into the sky. The clouds, tinted a peculiar copper color, swirled in a pattern of concentric circles, like a camera lens slowly opening. I couldn’t see anything definable in the center of the circle, but I felt something waited there. Something about to descend to earth.
I turned at a sound from inside. There was a figure standing just beyond the doorway—a woman. The light from the great hall blurred and distorted her form.
“You see the truth,” she said, “and choose to ignore it.”
“What truth?” I attempted to walk toward the woman, but my feet wouldn’t move.
“Your dreams. Your drawings. All the things you question. Do you not wish for answers?”
“How can there be answers? It's just stuff in my head. Created out of the part of me that …” I turned my face away.
“Yes?” The woman’s voice resonated inside my head.
“The crazy part,” I said, looking at her. The lights flared in the great hall, blinding me. When I could see again, the woman had disappeared.
But I still heard her voice. “Your fear is unfounded. The truth will not drive you to insanity. Ignoring it might. Someday you will learn this. Now look and see, Karen Foster. What do you see?”
Darkness shadowed the sky, and I discerned only the slightest imprint of that great orange ring. The opening was slowly being obscured as the stars winked into existence in the night sky.
“A doorway,” I said, but this time no one replied.
I woke with the image of that portal burned into my memory.
FOUR
Alex’s prediction proved accurate—Karen’s invitation to join the Morpheus Project arrived within a week of her interview. She packed only two suitcases and some art supplies, since Thea offered to store any additional belongings in their apartment until the end of the term. “Might as well,” she’d said, sure Karen would drop out of “that insane project” before the semester was over.
Karen secretly wondered if Thea was right. Anxiety dogged her, like an itch creeping over her skin. Which was totally ridiculous, since all she was required to do was sleep in a tiny room, hooked up to machines that monitored her brainwaves, and record her dreams after she woke. A thirty-minute debriefing with either Leena Rebani or Jasper James was her only other duty. Then Karen was free to attend classes and work in the studio. It was the easiest job in the world, and the money was great. So good, in fact, that when Karen cashed her first paycheck, she immediately dashed to the art-supply store and chose one extravagantly priced brush and three expensive tubes of paint.
Living in the Indigo Building wasn’t too bad, either, as her private room was at least as big as the dorm room she’d shared with Thea as a freshman. There was a well-stocked kitchenette and a lounge reserved for the students involved in the project, and if the gray cement block walls of the building were a little drab, well, they were no worse than many of the campus apartments she’d seen. Besides, Karen was hardly in her room, or the Indigo Building, when she wasn’t required to be working with the project. She spent most of her time, as she would’ve anyway, in the drafty, paint-and-linseed-oil scented environs of the art studio.
Honestly, everything was fine, except for one glitch—she had to live with six strangers.
“It’s challenging,” she told Thea, in one of their frequent phone calls. “You know, since I was an only child, and didn’t socialize much in high school …”
Thea’s snort practically vibrated through the receiver. “Or now.”
“Okay, smart ass, I’ll admit I’m not a party person. But even you’d have trouble with some of these people.”
“The redhead still giving you grief?”
Karen jiggled the phone cord. She stood in the hall, her back pressed against the painted cinderblock wall. Through an open door, she spied the other student subjects. They were gathered in a seminar room converted into a lounge. A distinctive swath of hair, crimson as a cardinal’s feathers, poked up above the high back of one of the sofas. “Yeah, but she does that to everyone. I don’t take it personally.”
“She’s the trampy one, right?”
“Val? Not quite that bad. But she does put the moves on any man in a five-mile radius. You should see her attempts to seduce Dr. Vance. Not that he’s interested. He’s married to Pandora O’Drury—a great photographer, and she’s gorgeous too.”
“So you’ve told me. What about that other guy—the blonde? Alex something?”
Thea was fishing. Karen cleared her throat. “What? Didn’t catch that.”
“Uh-huh. Well, gotta go. Date should be showing up any minute.”
Karen didn’t ask his name. Thea had too many boyfriends to track, and they changed far too frequently. “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Well, that leaves a lot of options open,” Thea replied, before wishing Karen a good night and hanging up.
It was a Friday evening. Date night. Not that it mattered. Karen sighed and absently pressed the phone hook to end her call. She tapped the receiver against her palm as she contemplated her options. She could head to her room to read. Or, she could join the others in the lounge. Not her favorite choice, but she certainly couldn’t go out, not at this hour. She’d love to take a walk, but it was too late. Only half an hour until curfew.
According to architecture student Lee Oshima, the major drawback of this job was the curfew. Everyone had to be ready for bed at eleven o’clock, without exception. Although the research team took turns staying in the lab to watch the monitors, the graduate students who set up the subjects’ sensors and other equipment were only hired for a few hours a night.
As if on cue, Lee’s voice rang out. “Here’s the really good part. Watch closely—so awesome.”
Karen placed the phone back in its cradle and wandered into the lounge. A black-and-white film flickered on the TV. Karen squinted at the picture—a group of bundled-up people stepping back to form a large circle on a sheet of thick ice.
“It’s a saucer, see?” Lee bounced out of his seat to point a remote at the screen. The image on the TV froze. “I’ll back this up so you can get the whole effect, Karen.”
“Saucer?” Although her face was hidden in the shadows of a deep armchair, the slightly accented English identified the speaker as dance student Ingrid Haskin. She stretched out one lean leg encased in black footless tights and wiggled her bare toes. “Like a UFO, yes?”
“Yes,” Lee replied, with a bright smile. “Flying saucers—not sure what you call them in German.”
Karen studied Lee Oshima as she crossed the room. It would require pen and ink to capture him. Black haired and black eyed, he vibrated with energy. No use attempting a portrait, though. Lee didn’t sit still long enough for even a quick sketch. Karen glanced around the room. The only empty seat was on the lumpy sofa, between Pilar Varda and Valerie Rice. Fantastic.
“Fliegende Untertasse,” Ingrid said.
This comment roused Pilar from a close study of her textbook. She lifted her head, tossing back her glossy dark hair. At twenty-five, Pilar was the eldest of the group. A graduate student studying early childhood education, she projected an aura of quiet strength despite her short stature and petite frame.
“Fliegende, like the Dutchman?” Pilar glanced at Karen. “Sit here. There’s room.”
Val Rice obviously disagreed. Her pale green eyes glittered beneath spikes of heavily mascaraed lashes, but she squeezed against the arm of the sofa after Pilar shot her a warning look.
“Ja, but we say ‘Hollander,’” replied Ingrid. “But these UFOs, Lee—surely you do not believe in such things?”
Lee shrugged. “Not reall
y. But I like to keep an open mind. And it’s just a movie …”
“Thank God,” Max McCormick said. He positioned the plastic chair he’d pulled from the adjacent kitchenette. “Don’t want to encounter aliens.”
“Really, plenty of room, Karen,” Pilar said, patting the cushion next to her.
“I think aliens would be pretty cool, actually.” Val tossed her multicolored hair. “Lot more interesting than most people, anyway.”
Karen ignored the glance Val sent her way. “I’ll just sit on the floor.” No sense antagonizing Val, whose attitude was as prickly as her hair. Strange that her major was psychology, but maybe she was drawn to it in an attempt to understand her own volatile personality.
Karen sank onto the braided rug thrown over a section of the linoleum floor. Val was a puzzle. Given the choice, most people would undoubtedly tag her as the artist, instead of Karen. Val was certainly more flamboyant—her eyes were heavily ringed with eyeliner and bright splashes of blush highlighted the freckles that veiled her pale skin.
Lee waved the remote at the TV. “Let me start this up again. You have to see this scene, I mean really see it. It’s classic.”
Karen leaned back against the sofa, banging her elbow into Pilar’s leg. “Oh, sorry.”
“No problem.” Pilar flicked off the book light she’d inserted into her textbook. “So, show us, Lee. But you’ll have to point out all the special cinematography stuff. I don’t know much about movies.”
Ingrid sat forward, her perfect profile clear as a relief. “Lee is teaching me. He knows a lot about the cinema.”
“Not really.” In the dim light, it was impossible to tell if Lee was blushing. “I’ve studied up on the technical stuff, but Max could tell you more about the acting and directing.”
