Immortal Memories

by Hibbard, Michael

  “But,” I continued, “I would rather not spend the rest of my life in a straightjacket.”

  “Each experience has a purpose to your Dream.” She offered cryptically. “I’m Daisy, by the by. Daisy McClure.”

  “McClure?” I asked. “As in the McClure’s that own the Hilltop?”

  “Yes, Martin. And we know you very well.” She said enigmatically.

  I had such a self-deprecated view of myself that her comment stunned me. I never thought anyone ever noticed me, let alone wanted to engage me in conversation. Even tending the bar, patrons rarely spoke to me other than to order their drinks. I seemed to exude a repulsive force.

  “I...” I fumbled. “Well, I’m honored, I think.”

  Daisy laughed again with a slight nod, “We have been watching you for many years, contemplating, ensuring you were truly like us.”

  “Like you? As in a Dreamer,” I furrowed my brow in confusion.

  “No,” she shook her head slowly. “We knew you were a Dreamer. In fact, we would not be having this conversation otherwise. You haven’t realized what is happening tonight, have you?”

  I opened my eyes a bit wider, completely puzzled by her question. “I must admit, I was shocked to be invited to the ball. But I am not sure I understand to what you are referring.”

  “Did you know my great-grandfather was the architect of the hotel?” She asked, avoiding the subject.

  “Actually I did know that,” I said, having thoroughly researched the history of the hotel. “I’ve been a bit –“

  “Obsessed?” She cut me off once more. “Yes, we know that as well. There is very little we do not know about you, Martin. And, he wants to meet you.”

  I looked at her in unfettered shock. The Hilltop was built in 1929, which meant her grandfather, Seamus, would be well over a hundred.

  “How is this possible?” I asked as nausea crept into my belly at the thought, oddly so.

  “It’ll all make sense once you’ve spoken to him.” she said with Cheshire smile. “He’s been waiting all this time.”

  She turned to walk back into the open door that led past the ornate pool towards the ballroom. I stood there in shock, my legs refused to move, unsure of what to expect.

  “Coming?” She asked as she cast a demure glance over her shoulder, which beckoned me.

  I nodded absently and followed after.

  Once we returned to the ballroom, she led me through the crowd. I slowly realized that all of the guests, now that I was more aware, my ability unusually strong in that moment, were Dreamers. I should have noticed this before, but something had prevented it.

  On the far side of the ballroom, partially shrouded in shadow, was a man who looked no older than I do, watching the others from a private table. His eyes were the same pale blue, as Daisy’s and he seemed to look right through me as we approached the table.

  “Here he is,” she said as she motioned to me.

  The man nodded to her, then motioned for me to take a seat across from him. I felt as if I was dreaming, not in the Weird sense, the surreal nature of the encounter assailed my mind with phantasmagorical thoughts and possibilities. The band played music from the jazz age, and I felt as if I had stepped back in time to 1929.

  I offered the man my hand, which went unaccepted, “Good evening, Mr. McClure.”

  “Good evening, Martin,” He responded, and motioned for me to sit once more.

  “Daisy—“ I started, but was cut off.

  “Martin,” he began. “I am going to tell you a tale, and then you will make a choice. “We...” He motioned around the room to all the guests, who now looked at me as if by silent command, “have been watching you for some time now, as I am sure Daisy told you.”

  I nodded, wordlessly.

  “When I was a younger man,” he continued. “I had a terrible accident whereby a horse kicked me in the back of the head. I was in a coma for several days, one from which the doctors believed I would never awake. While I slept, things were revealed to me from a then unrealized source. Things I am unable to share with you at this time. When I awoke, I had a vision of this location, this hotel. I also realized that I had Awakened to my abilities and that I was Immortal.”

  He paused to allow my mind to consider to what he was saying. I had heard whispers of Immortals from other Dreamers, but I did not truly believe they were real. Nor was I sure what he was saying to me was true.

  “Pardon?” I asked.

  “Immortality is the goal of every Dreamer, whether they realize it or not” he continued. “It is a state of being that cannot be explained without experiencing it. You and I have sat in this ballroom before, that is why we have been watching you, to see if you’d Awakened. Though you did not look the same in that body you are wearing now, I can see your true self, behind the eyes of Martin Snead.”

  “That would explain my affinity for this hotel,” I offered, as I tried to appear less naive.

  “You helped me to design it,” He said succinctly. “It was your work that made it possible for all of us to remain or return here. Everyone in this room has been here before. In addition, no one but you can see us. The people you see, who you feel are not real, are Dreamers who have not yet inhabited a Sleeper, or simply choose to exist incorporeal to observe the Dream unnoticed. However, they cannot do so for very long as it takes a great deal of Weirdness to stay in the Waking Dream without a body. This is the origin of ghostly sightings.”

  My mind reeled with all the new information, and I felt what he said was true, yet I could not be sure.

  “I see them often,” I said as it all became lucid. “But they don’t disappear from my sight. I seldom know who is in the Dream and who is not. It has caused me great concern for my sanity.”

  “Sanity is a matter of perspective,” he said with the same certainty Daisy had said it. “But your gift is the only reason we can have this conversation.”

  “Yes, Daisy explained this to me.” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “So how is it that I helped you?”

  “You were an alchemist when first we met,” Seamus continued. “Your name, at the time, was Mikhail Haupt; a brilliant star, in a vast sea of darkness. Yet, like all brilliant stars, you burned to fast and too brightly and your time here was short. Yet, in your brilliance and inherent understanding of the Weird, you discovered a method to enhance metal alloys to allow Weirdness to be stored like a battery. An invention you and I made a pact never to reveal to anyone, knowing if it fell into the wrong hands it could be used by the less scrupulous Immortals for their own dark plans.”

  I quirked a brow, “I have never been interested in Alchemy.”

  “Nor will you again,” Seamus retorted. “You’ve learned all that you can learn in that craft. You have created something of more value than any other alchemist. You have allowed us to stay in this place as long as we want, observing the Dream from within. And,” he leaned in to whisper, “you’ve allowed me to possess this building like a body. I am the first Immortal to inhabit a structure. And that is another reason why we kept this secret, and you will remember it in time.”

  “How will I remember?”

  Seamus settled back in his chair, taking a long sip from his glass of wine. “By joining us here.”

  “Join you here, as in permanently?”

  “Yes,” he responded pithily. “You have wasted all your money on this hotel, weekend after weekend. Why not submit to its calling? We did build it together, after all.”

  It was true. I had wasted this existence completely enamored by the building; memorized its corridors, its architecture and tried to capture its memories. Now, faced with opportunity to actually live forever in the hotel, trepidation crept into my chest, gnawed at my soul. One thing I had learned, since Awakening, is that other Dreamers, and especially those professing to be Immortal, cannot always be trusted.

  “And what do you gain from all this?” I asked with obvious doubt in my voice.

  “My partner once again an
d for you to take the room you designed for yourself on the fifth floor.”

  “Fifth floor?” I knew the building only had four floors.

  “Yes,” he said with a slightly amused smile. “Inhabiting this building for so long has erased the fifth floor from the memories of the community, and hidden it from view.”

  “How much energy have you stored to achieve such a feat?”

  “Every Dreamer who comes to this place leaves a bit of themselves within the batteries. It draws the residual Weirdness left with each footstep, or while they slumber within my rooms.” He flicked a hand dismissively. “But you already know all this, and you will remember when you’ve come to live among us.”

  “So even though I designed this, as you say, I still cannot see it?” I asked. “Even though I can see the rest of you?”

  “After the incident,” Seamus paused choosing his words carefully. “When you died in 1934, you had not attained Immortality, though you were very close. Others had saw your brilliance and you became a beacon, like a lighthouse to the ships in the eternal sea. They had you executed to keep you from uncovering their plot. You returned to the Spaces Between and returned again as the self-deprecating person that sits before me now.”

  “Who had killed me?” I asked feeling as if my mind would crumble with each word. I could feel myself becoming dizzy, unsure if it were the words he spoke, or the amount the Weirdness within the building intoxicating me.

  “You know, and you will discover it when you’ve joined us,” He took another sip on his ethereal glass of wine. “Telling you now would only expose you to them again, possibly causing us to lose you once more for a generation. We simply do not have time for that.”

  “Time for what?” I responded confused and not sure that I understood any of what he was saying at that point in the conversation.

  Seamus glanced at his watch, “Time is short, my friend, and the window is closing.” He finished his wine before he stood. “Follow me and all will be revealed.”

  We walked silently through the lobby, to the library near the main sitting area of the hotel. As we approached one of the bookcases, it opened on its own, presumably by Seamus’ will. Beyond, a well-lit spiral staircase descended into a hidden portion of the hotel basement.

  “This is where it all ends and begins, my friend,” Seamus said as I glanced around the small chamber.

  There were oaken shelves filled with urns, presumably the ones used for keeping human remains. Carved deep into the stone at the center of the room was a circle, a magic circle adorned with symbols I had seen before in my research, yet never was able to translate.

  “I am going to be honest with you, Martin,” he said with a grave expression on his face. “You will have to burn to be able to ensure that all your essence is released and allow you to retain your tether to the Spaces Between, yet remain here without having to find your way back.”

  “Burn?” Fear filled my throat and suffocated me.

  “Yes, while alive,” he replied with a comforting smile. “But, it will be rather quick. Dreamers are like dry kindling, soaking in Weirdness every moment of their Awakened lives. It will be mostly painless after the first few minutes. Nevertheless, the pain is to remind you of the flesh, and how precious life is. But also, this is another gift you gave us previously as a result of your studies. All of us owe our present reality to you.”

  “I’m not so—“

  “Yes,” he said cutting me off. “You know this is what you want. And afterwards you will join us, and weather the coming storm that will change the Dream.”

  “What storm?” I asked. “The Hilltop has time and again withstood even the most violent of hurricanes...”

  “Not an earthly storm, Martin. A storm that threatens the very fabric of the reality we have created. We have much to do and very little time to execute. Plans have already been set in motion that we are only now beginning to understand and perceive. The one who had you killed will come again, and with him, the end of all we know now. The Dream will change. We must harden our fortress, keep it hidden from sight, until we can emerge in the wake of the aftermath and walk the planet once more.”

  None of this made any sense to me. I barely understood the nature of my own existence, let alone trying to absorb a hundred years of knowledge from a man, I did not remember knowing.

  “Seamus,” I started again. “This is a very gracious offer, but I do not know anything of what you speak. I don’t remember ever being in this place, despite déjà vu that can be attributed to the number of times I’ve been here.”

  Seamus nodded, “I completely understand you’re apprehension my friend.” He motioned to an envelope lying on a table in the corner. “I had hoped you would have accepted this offer through understanding the nature of the Dream. Yet, you have not. But there is still a final word of encouragement.” He walked over to the table, and beckoned me to follow.

  There, in the dim light of the basement, a letter sat with the word “Martin”, written in what I presumed to be my own handwriting. I glanced at the letter then to Seamus before picking it up.

  “What sort of trickery is this?” I asked, almost outraged as if I were being played the fool.

  “In addition to you alchemical ability, you were possessed of foresight, which is not uncommon among our kind. Past, present and future is all happening simultaneously and it is the Waking Dream that regulates what we perceive as the common reality.” He motioned to the letter. “You wrote this in the event that you doubted my true aims. But you asked that I allow you to make the decision on your own first, before giving you this final piece of evidence.”

  “You obviously have great power, sir,” I retorted. “How can I truly know that what is contained herein was written by me in a different space and time? I do not know whether any of this is true as I constantly struggle with my own sanity. All I know is that I am unable to escape the grip of this edifice, for reasons unknown to me.”

  “Be careful what you label as sane,” he responded flatly then motioned for me to read the letter. “Once you see through your true eyes, it will all be apparent.”

  With a heavy heart and a sigh of dismay, I opened the wax-sealed envelope, yellowed by the decades. Within the envelope were a skeleton key and a letter. I looked at Seamus before I read the letter, written in my own handwriting.

  “Martin,” It began. “It is always better to accept life as an unknown. What Seamus, and now I, must impart to you is that all you have heard this evening is true. I, we, have seen into the future and know that there is a great calamity facing our world, and though from the time of this writing it is many decades away we know it to be inevitable. A few scant decades are not even a drop in the eternal sea beyond space and time. Before we know it, the end will be upon us and if you do not act on this knowledge, all of those contained within the walls of this hotel that you helped design will be lost in the Spaces Between; a realm between the Waking Dream and the Sleeping Dream.

  “The fact that you are reading this means that you have not embraced all that you can be, and that time has grown short. The hotel draws you to it like a moth to fire for one simple reason; we made it the beacon for our return. It will not be long before the one who murdered us will seek you again, seek the knowledge that we uncovered.

  “I urge you to trust Seamus for in the end, your existence cannot reach its full potential until you have embraced this. I have seen our future. I have seen your impending death, as I saw mine before. If you are to walk away from this opportunity, tonight you will die, and we will be lost in the waves of a tenebrous storm, which will change the face of the planet. We have seen this, and you must accept what lies before you.

  “All will be revealed. Trust your true self, look with your own eyes, feel the Weirdness coursing through your veins. Embrace it and be reborn.”

  It ended with a signature so eerily similar to mine, it sent shivers up my spine seeing it. Though the name was different, it was my signature; of this, I was
certain.

  Seamus watched silently as I read the letter again, and then examined the key before setting them both back down on the table.

  “Do you believe me now?” Seamus asked with a sense of urgency in his voice, glancing at his watch.

  I considered the words, and as I stood there, I felt fear melt away. I was unsure if it was some ethereal force or a moment of déjà vu, but a torrent of hope and inspiration gripped my soul as I finally turned to Seamus and nodded, “Let’s begin.”

  Seamus made haste before I could change my mind. He motioned for me to enter the magic circle, and I felt as if I were leaving the hotel and going somewhere alien, as if stepping through an invisible waterfall. As I recovered from the strange sensation, Seamus dowsed me with some unfamiliar liquid and set me alight. The fire burned away my self-doubt and cleared my vision; the pain excruciating for only a few moments, but it purified my soul. I did not scream, restrained by strength I gained from reading my own words from a different time.

  And, as Seamus promised, it was only a few short minutes when my current body burned away, revealing my true self, dressed as I had been the day I died. All that I had been in my previous life flooded back to me, from the moment of my first awakening, to the moment I was stabbed in the back while enjoying a cigarette one cool July evening, perched like a raven on the edge of the hill.

  I stepped from the circle, and was met with an earnest embrace from my long lost friend.

  “It is good to have you back, Mikhail,” he said looking at me with the kind of smile you reserve for a close friend or loved one.

  “Yes, it is good to be back,” I responded. “And not a moment too soon it seems. My time in the Spaces Between was most productive.”

  “I figured it would be,” he said motioning to the stairs. “You waited quite a long time to return. Have you discovered something of interest?”

  “We have precious little time, my friend.” This was true, as my memories returned, so did the information I had uncovered while traversing the infinite threads that connect all things in the Spaces Between. I remembered who had me killed, though I dare not mention his name. And, more importantly, I remembered that a massive, ancient plot was in motion.