17 | Awaken
Devin rolled out of bed with a pounding headache. No dreams; just darkness.
He reached for the curtain, but couldn’t loop his tired fingers around the curtain’s drawstring. He gave up, and his arm fell back to the floor.
The door to his bedroom opened, and Anya’s eyes peeked in through the crack.
“What do you want?”
“Shower,” she said.
“What, you’ve been waiting out there or something? Listening?”
“I waited for you to get up. You’re up.”
“Thanks,” Devin said, and propped himself up against the wall, wiping the crust from his eyes, “that makes it way less creepy.”
“It’s polite.”
“Agree to disagree.” The door opened just a crack more. “Well, come on. Take the shower. Just don’t use all the hot water.”
Anya ran into the bathroom and shut the door with a loud slam.
The water didn’t turn on.
Devin didn’t move.
“Are you still there?” she called through the door.
“Yeah.”
“You can’t be there.”
“But it’s my room.”
“Creepy.”
Oh. Right. His mistake. He was the one being a total weirdo. Devin went into the kitchen, making each step deliberate and loud so that she could be assured that, no, he was not waiting to see a hint of a small, pale titty.
Not that he’d be opposed to that, or anything, but he kind of knew that it wasn’t in the cards.
The mail popped through the slot and Devin almost dropped the bowl of cereal onto the floor. He set down his breakfast—lunch, he realized, once he checked the clock, which informed him it was past noon—and picked up the assortment of papers.
Bills, coupon clippers. The usual junk.
Something addressed to Tommy. Didn’t look like a bill, or junk mail.
Devin took the envelope into the kitchen and searched around for a knife. Maybe he could just heat up some water on the stove, open it with steam. They did that in the movies, right, when people wanted to look at things all incognito?
But whatever. Devin could just say he messed up, thought it had his own name on it.
He slit the edge open with a steak knife and shook the contents of the envelope out.
A cashier’s check floated out on to the ground.
Devin knelt down to pick it up.
“Hi.”
“Holy shit. Don’t sneak up on me.” Devin put his shaking fingers on the check and grabbed its edge. Got back up to his feet. This girl was going to give him a goddamn heart attack before the end of the day.
“I didn’t sneak up on you.”
“Not polite,” Devin said, engrossed by the numbers on the check. It wasn’t from Parsons Shipping & Processing. No way, not with this many zeroes.
This check was for ten grand.
No identifying bank. No from name. Just Tommy Travis written on the recipient’s line in neat all capital letters. Devin slipped it back into the envelope and tossed it in with the rest of the mail.
“What was that?”
“What was what,” Devin said, going back to his soggy cereal.
“You looked ready to pass out.”
“That was a one-time thing,” Devin said. “Don’t hold it over me forever.”
He turned around to look at her. Still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. A red blood stain on one of the front pockets.
“I’m not holding it over you.”
“You don’t have any other clothes?” Devin said, and pointed with the spoon at the stain. “We can wash that out, you know.”
Anya looked down and covered the spot with her hand. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Good.”
“I was just asking, since you look a little suspicious.”
“These are my clothes,” Anya said.
“I know they’re yours. I don’t want them.”
“They’re not nice?”
Devin looked her up and down. Normal, except for the blood stain, which made the whole outfit shift from bland to psycho-killer.
“They’re…fine.”
“I don’t have any others.”
“You didn’t bring any others?”
“Miss Ena says that going without teaches you many things.”
“Of course,” Devin said, and fished the last remaining piece of cereal out of the bowl before downing the milk with a loud slurp, “anything Miss Ena doesn’t know?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t get out very much, do you?”
“No.”
Devin put the bowl in the sink and walked up to her. Close. She only backed away a couple inches.
He reached out a hand.
“Come on,” he said.
“I don’t understand.”
“We’re going to wash your clothes,” Devin said. “We can’t travel like that.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry,” Devin said. “I’ll wait in my room the whole time. I’ll never see you naked. Since that’s some sort of Buddhist honor thing, apparently.”
“I’m not Buddhist.”
“Fine, whatever,” Devin said. “We can leave around three. Bus leaves at four, we get there around noon tomorrow. That work?”
Anya unbuttoned her jeans right in front of him and took off her shirt. Handed them to him.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Whatever was going on in this chick’s head, one thing was clear.
And she’d do anything to bring him back.
Devin wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or a warning sign.
He’d just have to keep his eyes open and play it by ear.
18 | Another Visit
“Catalina,” Dr. Stanton said. “We’ve been patient.”
“She’s coming,” Catalina said. “Would you like some water?”
“No. Just the Dreamer.”
“You’ll have him,” Catalina said. “When was the last time you took a bus?”
“A long time ago.”
“Then you’ve forgotten how long it takes to travel from Texas to Arizona.”
The man looked at his expensive watch. Its well-shined gold links looked dull in the shadowy light. He couldn’t make out the time. A little past noon, perhaps.
He’d arrived not long before, in anticipation of the Dreamer’s arrival.
“You said they would arrive,” Stanton said. “You said they would arrive by noon.”
“It’s only five past, Mark,” Catalina said, and took a sip of water. “For Christ’s sake, calm the hell down. You’re like an anxious child.”
Mark’s posture didn’t change, seated cross-legged and ram-rod straight on her floor. But he also didn’t pressure her any more. Twenty years. He could wait another few hours.
“And our deal,” Catalina said after a moment, snapping her fingers before his eyes, “that remains on the table, correct?”
“Same as when we handed the girl off.” Twenty years ago. Just a small child. A baby weighing no more than a few pounds. A few days old. And now Anya was going to bring him the Dreamer. There was a poetic circuity to it.
“You’ll leave us alone. For good. If we give you the Dreamer, no more weekly visits. Check-ups. Monitoring. We’re through.”
“Just as we said twenty years ago.”
“You have to give me your word, Mark,” and Catalina’s hand shot out, grasped his. He recoiled, but she clung tight. “Look at me and promise.”
“I promise.”
“Take the goddamn glasses off and promise. Your word.”
Mark removed the shades and stared deep into her eyes. “You have my word. We get the Dreamer and you get the girl. What we plan to do with the Dreamer, she’ll never know. And she never knows about your involvement in her mother’s death.”
“That wasn’t my fault.”
Mark removed h
is hand from hers and returned the shades to his eyes. “It was no one’s. No one knew. The cost of progress. Sacrifice is a necessity.”
“That’s a person you’re talking about,” Catalina said. “We drove her insane. She killed herself.”
“It was unfortunate, as I said before.”
“God,” Catalina said, and flung the water glass against the unfinished, rough concrete wall, “how can I trust you when you say that? That it’s unfortunate Myra died, when it was our fault?”
“The cost—”
“Is that from the Chimera corporate handbook? I’m not an investor, or the SEC. I was your friend, once.”
“I remember well,” Mark said.
“You must not remember well enough,” Catalina said. “And you don’t remember seeing her.”
“I saw the subject—Myra, her body.”
“You didn’t find her,” Catalina said. “You didn’t tell her who she was, what she could do, tell her that her dreams were real. And then have her excuse herself, only to find her in the bathroom.” Catalina knelt down and picked up the pieces of shattered glass. “You weren’t there. So don’t tell me you understand, or it was unfortunate.”
“You haven’t talked about this in a long time. Why now?”
“Why now?” Catalina whirled around, hysterical. “Because I don’t want you to repeat the same damn mistakes from twenty years ago. If you hurt this boy, then I’m responsible. I brought him to you.”
“He’ll be safe,” Mark said.
“So you say.”
“He will.”
“I’d like to believe that.” Catalina flashed back to twenty years ago. Knocking on the bathroom door. Myra had been in there awhile. It was a lot to handle. Catalina understood that. Gave her time. But an hour—that was pushing it. Knocked for a couple minutes. No answer. Tried the knob. It wasn’t locked.
Went in.
Bath tub overflowing with red stained water. The pale woman—just a girl, a little older than Anya was now—eyes rolled back in her head. Gashes along her arms. The cool stiffness of the body, how final it felt when Catalina had reached to her neck, checked for a pulse, found nothing at all.
And then the realization that Anya was still in her mother’s stomach, days from being due. And Catalina reached into the water, lifted the body up—
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
“Catalina. Catalina.”
“What,” she said, and shook the cobwebs of the past from her head. “What the hell do you want, Mark?”
“Someone’s at the door.”
Catalina brushed her skirt off as she trotted over to the door.
Flung it open.
Anya stood there, a young man behind her, hanging back, tentative and flighty, his eyes scanning the dingy alley.
“Hello child.”
“Hello Miss Ena.”
The two embraced, and Anya went inside.
The young man stayed outside, looking inside the small house like he was seeing ghosts of the past.
“Hello.”
The young man stared at her. “I remember you.”
“Devin Travis,” Catalina said, and opened her arms wide, “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”
And then she swept the man up in her embrace. He reached an arm around her back, then another, and the two stood there, locked together in the street.
19 | Recovery
“Give me another, would you,” Tommy said, and tried to hobble over to the dresser where the pill bottle sat, “just one more.” His legs crumpled out from under him, unable to bear much weight. From the floor, his fingers flailed skyward, looking up at what seemed like an impossible obstacle.
“We need you sharp,” the Reverend said, “top shape.”
“Case you didn’t notice, Reverend, my legs are like tissue paper.”
The Reverend nodded, but his expression didn’t change. “I know, son. It’s a setback.”
“And what about that old man? I think I shot him dead.” Tommy’s stomach felt black, cold, when he said the words. That nice old man, making a living. Blasted him.
“It was Boyd’s gun that got him,” the Reverend said. “You’re in the clear.”
That made Tommy feel a little better. But he was still responsible. “I said we should leave, sir, I told him that. I don’t want no one to get hurt.”
“I know you do, son. Boyd, he’s a good boy, but he can get excited, from time to time.” The Reverend handed Tommy a pill and a glass of water. “Now, I’m sorry about what happened to you, but I need to know something.”
“Yes sir?” Tommy struggled to get back on the bed, but managed to do it by himself.
“Can I count on you to see this through?”
“You said you wouldn’t hurt him. Devin, you won’t hurt my little brother, will you?”
“No, son,” the Reverend said, and put a heavy, loving hand on Tommy’s shoulder, “I would never hurt someone with a gift like his. It would be an insult to God’s great work.”
“What is it he can do, anyhow? I ain’t never seen him do much, besides go off to college. Did good there for a couple months. But he’s shit with girls and don’t care much about anything.”
“There’s more to life than women and whiskey,” the Reverend said with a not unkind laugh.
“You always been a man of the cloth?”
“I was like you, once upon a time. Young. Seeking all the wrong things. But tragedy showed me the way, just as it did you.”
“Yes sir,” Tommy said. “I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t, son,” the Reverend said. “No one ever does.” And then he left the infirmary—a guest room converted into a somewhat sterile and medical-like environment.
Tommy rolled over on to his side, trying to get comfortable.
The way the Reverend had said those last words, they didn’t sit right with him. There was a darkness inside that man, beneath all the holiness, and words about the Lord.
And maybe the reason no one ever betrayed him was because none of them were around to tell their side of the tale.
But there hadn’t been a choice. What was done was done.
Tommy would just have to reap what he’d sown.
Because that’s what a man did in this life.
20 | Headquarters
Devin had been inside Miss Ena’s house for less than two minutes. It might’ve been shorter than his first visit. The man in the suit—a Dr. Mark Stanton—had thrust out a robotic-like hand, given Devin a greeting, then told him there was a car waiting.
Devin had waved behind him to Anya as he was hurried out the door, into a limo, and that was it.
Gone.
“I thought I was staying with Miss Ena,” Devin said, looking out the window as the terracotta Southwestern streets passed by the window.
“Don’t worry, you’ll be well cared for.”
Devin stopped looking out the window and turned to examine this strange man who hadn’t averted his gaze from Devin’s face since they’d gotten in the car. Dr. Stanton was like a dog eying a bone.
Devin shifted in his seat and faked a cough.
Dr. Stanton’s stare didn’t abate.
“You work with her,” Devin said. “With this Miss Ena?”
“Once upon a time, yes.”
“But not anymore?”
“No, not anymore. You could say that her bringing you to us was our last collaboration.”
Devin didn’t like the sound of us. He began to wonder how much it would hurt if he dove out of the car when it was moving at forty miles an hour.
No, that’d be stupid. And fatal.
Dr. Stanton’s sharp appearance told Devin nothing about where he was going, other than it was to a place filled with serious customers and high rollers. Nothing like the incense-scented cave that Miss Ena and Anya lived in.
Anya.
Devin had sensed her surprise when Dr. Stanton had taken him away. Whatever Miss E
na had told her about her mission, it wasn’t ending as Anya envisioned.
“Can I ask,” Dr. Stanton said, and leaned forward, “how long has this been happening?”
“How long has what been happening?”
“Your…experiences.”
“I’m twenty,” Devin said. “That’s how long my experiences have been happening. It’s called life.”
“No,” Dr. Stanton said, and waved his hand, as if life was all quite ordinary and unspectacular, “I mean your experiences.”
“You mean the dream hopping shit.”
“Yes, where your mind controls others.”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I just realized that they were, uh, you know—”
“Real?”
“Yeah, that the dreams were real, a day or two ago. When Anya told me.”
“Fascinating.”
“More like terrifying.” Devin turned back to the window. Nothing but desert all around. Not even any billboards or rest stations. Just endless chalky orange dust interspersed with wisps of plants.
His mind settled on Paula Merriweather. What had Miss Ena done with the cash in Bob’s bag? Had she given it to the girl? Had she checked the bag? The feeling had been nagging Devin ever since he’d found out he could change reality.
He had the constant feeling that he’d failed in some cosmic mission. Failed to tie together the strands of fate.
Devin wasn’t a spiritual guy or a superstitious one. But it seemed like his job was to balance the universe in some small fashion. To right other people’s wrongs in some small way. Give them a shot at redemption, of doing the thing they always wanted to, the moment before their light went out.
Or maybe it was just a crazy genetic defect, and there was no reason. He was just different.
“Devin. Devin.”
“What?”
Dr. Stanton was staring at him like an over-eager schoolchild at a candy shop. “I asked you if could tell me the earliest dream you remember.”
“I don’t remember any of them.”
“None.”
“Except for the most recent one. No, I just always forgot. Too intense to remember.”
“I see.” Dr. Stanton scribbled something down on his pad.
Out the tinted window, Devin could see a large concrete building come into view. It looked something like a parking garage. Practical. Not ostentatious. It clashed with the refined corporate appearance of the car and Dr. Stanton.
The Last Dreamer Page 6
