Tangled Dreams

by Cecilia Dominic

  …and woke again to the sound of a car alarm going off outside the window.

  "Just effing steal it already," Greg mumbled into a snore. Emma nudged him.

  "Turn over," she said. He did. She didn't want to go back to sleep, but drowsiness overtook her…

  She found herself in the same doorframe in the same room off the same hall. What the hell? She knew that in the past, she had continued a dream upon awakening once, but twice was unheard of.

  "Oh, there you are."

  She spun around and found herself face to face with a person, mid-twenties, who seemed to be simultaneously gender-less and dual gendered. Slender and with dark hair, they wore a simple tunic and pants outfit of navy blue. The person's large brown eyes captivated her, as they seemed to belong to someone far older than the chronological age of the rest of the being.

  "Who are you?"

  "Adrian." The person's voice gave no clue as to gender, as it could be a low-pitched female's or tenor male's.

  "I'm Emma."

  "I know. Lucy told me about you."

  "Lucy?"

  "The Madam Lucia? The psychic you spoke with today? Yesterday, actually."

  Emma shook her head. She knew that had been a bad idea, but, really, what could she have done?

  She'd gone to Target for packing supplies and was headed back on Highway 29 when her cell phone rang. Lightning overhead had made the reception poor, but she could hear the voice of Grace, her mother-in-law.

  "Hello, Emma," Grace snapped. "Is this a bad time?"

  The corners of Emma's mouth tightened. "Yes, actually."

  "Well, I won't keep you but a second. Is my son there?"

  "I'm driving right now. In the rain." And Greg's at work, as you well know.

  "I just wanted to ask him if this would be a good weekend for us to come see the house. We're so excited for you."

  Of course she'd called to ask him, not them. "We're excited, too, but we need to see how the move goes before we can make any plans. As it stands now, we're planning on having a housewarming party at the end of the month."

  Emma swerved to miss a puddle and earned a honk from a driver whose lane she'd invaded.

  "Sure, but don't you want us to come up before that? To help out?"

  Not really. "I really appreciate the offer, but I'm sure we'll be fine."

  "Well, I'll just talk to Greg and see what he says. Go on with your errands, and we'll see you soon."

  Emma sighed and tossed the telephone into the passenger seat. She knew how it would all play out. Grace would call Greg and guilt trip him for not inviting them up before the housewarming—"But honey, don't you want to spend time with us?"—and then they would come and pick and nag—"I don't mean to tell you how to set up your kitchen, but I've had my glasses in the cabinet by the sink, and it's just worked out so well for me for twenty years"—and do it so sweetly that protesting would make her, Emma, look like the bitchy, ungrateful daughter-in-law.

  She hadn't seen the glass bottle until she rolled over it and heard the pop under the right rear tire. The car groaned and pulled to the right. She drove into the first parking lot, put her forehead on the steering wheel, and cried in frustration.

  A tap on her window startled her, and she looked up to see a tall, dark-skinned woman dressed in blue jeans and a black linen top embroidered with flowers in red metallic thread. The woman wore her hair long and in braids, and it faded from copper-colored at her crown to blonde at the bottom. She looked at Emma with friendly black eyes.

  "You are having a rough day, yes?" she asked in a lilting accent.

  Emma looked up and saw that her car was one of two parked in front of a small whitewashed frame house with purple curtains in the windows. The sign over the door said, "Madame Lucia, Palm Reading $5."

  "Yes," she sniffled.

  "Come inside, and you can call a tow truck from there."

  Emma straightened. Did everyone think she was completely helpless? "Thanks, but I can change a tire."

  "Then let me help you." Madame Lucia, Emma presumed, held a large red and white golf umbrella. She helped Emma change the tire—an unwieldy process since it involved unloading and reloading the trunk. By the end of it, Emma felt doubly grateful she'd had someone to hold an umbrella over her.

  "Um, thanks," Emma said once they'd completed the task. The woman inclined her head. "Do you have anywhere I could wash my hands?" Emma held up her grease- and dirt-stained fingers.

  "Of course. I have a bathroom inside. You may clean up there."

  When Emma emerged from the bathroom, Madame Lucia had an old-fashioned tea set on the small coffee table in the living room. Emma thought of excuses she could make to leave, but her growling stomach gave her away.

  "This is all really very nice," she said, "but…"

  "But nothing. It is a slow afternoon, and I had the kettle on for tea anyway."

  Emma sat on the couch. "Thank you."

  She sipped her tea in awkward silence and nibbled at a scone. "These are very good," she finally said.

  "Thank you. I made them myself."

  "Do you usually serve them to, ah, clients?"

  Lucia shook her head. "Oh, no. Only to, how shall I say it? Equals? Colleagues?"

  Emma put the scone back on the delicate china plate. "What do you mean?"

  "Your palm, when you showed me, said that you have some sort of perception beyond that of normal people."

  "No, nothing out of the ordinary here." At least nothing helpful.

  "Then please forgive me. I can make mistakes sometimes."

  Tea ended amiably enough when an actual customer drove into the parking lot. Emma hoped it wasn't anyone she knew as she ducked out, got in her car, and drove home.

  "I didn't really consult her," Emma said to Adrian. "It just happened that I ended up in her parking lot. I had a blowout."

  Adrian shrugged. "Regardless of what brought you to her, it was meant to be that you saw her."

  Emma wasn't going to argue. "What is this place?"

  "A new extension of the dream world, the CU."

  "CU?"

  "Collective Unconscious."

  "Oh." She'd heard something about that in her intro to psychology course. "So the repository of dreams?"

  "Yes, the archetypes that visit people's dreams." Adrian walked down the hall, so Emma followed. "This is a new phase to allow those with talent to have easy access to the place." They lowered their voice. "They're trying to improve customer service."

  Emma peeked in rooms. Some were completely finished and decorated in widely ranging styles from a seventeenth-century boudoir to a twentieth-century New York penthouse. Some lacked even drywall.

  "I don't have any talent."

  Another shrug. "You must have some if you were able to get here."

  Emma decided this was a very interesting dream and that she might as well play along. "Like what?"

  "Clairvoyance, psychic, ESP, whatever you want to call it. Strong intuition beyond that of 'normal' human beings."

  "I tried to tell Lucia—there's nothing special about me. I must have gotten let in by accident."

  Adrian gave her a patient you must be a dolt smile. "You were invited, and you accepted. You may not realize that you accepted, but you did. And now you have a room."

  Obviously arguing wouldn't make a difference. "Why are they all the same size and shape?"

  "It's how they're doing all the new developments these days. There are also some lovely amenities, like free access to most of the Manor parties."

  "Manor parties?"

  "The dwelling places of those who live here."

  Emma shook her head. "This is all very confusing. Where are we going?"

  Adrian didn't reply but continued to walk, so Emma followed. They passed down one long, straight hallway that seemed to have no end in sight.

  "Where are the windows?" Emma finally asked to break the silence.

  "Oh, they'll be put in last," Adrian replied with a wave of
one hand. "That way they won't interfere with ideal object placement."

  "The windows will be cut out after the rooms are done? That will be a mess."

  "No." Adrian gave Emma a quizzical look. "They'll be hung."

  "I don't get it. How can you look out a hung window?"

  Adrian turned to her with the same infuriatingly patient expression. "The same way you look out any other kind."

  "But won't there be a wall behind them? What will they overlook?"

  "Whatever the resident wishes."

  "Oh, so they're more like screens?"

  "They'll have screens if you like. Especially if you decide to look over scenery where things may fly in."

  A faint beeping floated through the air and grew louder. Adrian halted, cocked their head, and looked at Emma with gray eyes. Before Emma could ask why they had changed color, Adrian said, "That will be your alarm, I think. Bother, I had wanted to take you to the manor. Ah, well, another night, then."

  "Right."

  Adrian and the scene melted away, and Emma rolled over to turn off the alarm and turn on the bedside lamp. She sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bed. For a moment, the light caught something that fell from her foot to the floor. She picked it up—a curl of wood.

  "What's that, hon?" Greg asked.

  "I'm not entirely sure." Emma crushed it in her palm, then threw it in the small wastebasket by her side of the bed. "I had a very interesting dream this morning…"

  Wait, what's happening to Emma? Is the Collective Unconscious a real place? Can dreams really come true, and if so, would you want them to?

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