by Indi Martin
Victor’s eyes were sympathetic. “Ms. Gina,” he whispered with his voice, leaving the telepathic link open and sending soothing images in her head. “What’s wrong? You cannot concentrate at all.”
“No, I really can’t,” her shoulders sagged and she cradled her head in her hands. “It’s these dreams. These nightmares. I can’t sleep, and when I do, I wish I couldn’t.” She allowed images of her nightly terrors to bubble up through the fog, the inky darkness that invaded her space, the rotting burning spider veins that crawled out from it, the staircase that led from fear to more fear. The scenes seemed so real, and yet made no coherent sense at all.
Victor’s silvery eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. Gina winced instinctively, her muscles tightening in her thighs and stomach, her primitive self preparing to run. He may look human, she thought, and a damn handsome one, but my body knows he isn’t.
“How many times have you had this dream, Ms. Gina?” his voice was solid, almost angry. She fought her body’s wish to recoil from him, concentrating on the telepathic link; he was angry. However, she could feel he was not angry with her.
“It’s been almost a week now, every night,” she explained, forcing her tired muscles to relax. “Sometimes if I wake up from it and manage to get back to sleep, I’ll have it again. It’s never quite the same, not quite. But those things, those bits are always there. The hole, the corrosion, and the staircase.”
Victor nodded. “You must stop,” he said simply.
She snorted derisively. “Oh, thanks. I’ll try that.”
His demeanor grew more serious. “No, Ms. Gina, I mean what I say: you must stop. I will help you if I can. These are no normal fancies of the night. Those images are not unknown to me. If I am right, they are very dangerous and lead to places where you are not prepared to go.”
“They’re just bad dreams,” she said uncertainly. Considering all she’d seen since that fateful encounter in Snow Hill, all she’d been exposed to since joining the Unit, she couldn’t cling to that dismissive statement very strongly. She wanted to, but she knew better. If Victor said they were more than dreams, then they probably were. She shivered. “Please, just tell me they’re dreams and that they’ll go away,” she said resignedly, without much hope in her voice.
“I think you know differently, Ms. Gina,” he replied softly. “Recurring dreams are always important, but this is more than even that.”
The unmistakable sting of tears pricked the back of her eyes as she took a deep breath. I don’t cry, she told herself, severing the psychic link between them to mitigate the damage. She saw him flinch at the suddenness. Blinking hard and shoving away exhaustion-induced despair, Gina felt an overwhelming need to change the subject. “Why do you still insist on calling me Ms. Gina?”
The question seemed to take the tall man off guard, but presently his look of confusion turned to understanding and sympathy. “You are not married. What else would I call you?”
She sniffed and laughed. “Just Gina’s fine, you know.”
“That has a feeling of familiarity, Just Gina,” his smile was soft and sad. “Most people don’t like to be that familiar with me, especially if they know what I am.”
His silver eyes seemed to flash with an intensity that belied his low voice, and she found her other thoughts drifting away. “I don’t really mind,” she sighed.
He reached out a hand and brushed hair off of her forehead, and she couldn’t suppress a sharp intake of breath when his fingertips brushed her skin. “Perhaps you should, Ms. Gina,” he said gently, looking down and rolling his chair further away from her. “Perhaps you should. Now,” he looked up again, his gaze steady and his jaw set. “Today’s lesson plan has changed. We need to start building up your subconscious defenses.” He exhaled through his nose, his eyes troubled. “Not only for your dream states, clearly.”
Gina blinked at the hard transition, confused. For a moment, she hadn’t felt like herself at all. “You’ve taught me how to keep my walls up,” she replied unsteadily. “I know how to block someone out, at least for a bit.”
“Yes, and you do pretty well, when you’re not exhausted,” he nodded. “But clearly not well enough, and not without conscious effort. You can’t exert that kind of effort when you’re sleeping.”
“Can you?” She was legitimately surprised. “I didn’t know you could do anything when you were asleep.”
He looked slightly exasperated. “We’ve talked about lucid dreaming before, I know you can do that.”
“Oh,” she replied. “Well, yes. But that’s different. Besides, I try all my tricks in these dreams and they don’t work. Light switches don’t act funny, my phone works - hell I called Morgan during the first one. And he got the call. That’s not a lucid dream. I don’t... I don’t know WHAT that is.” She drew her arms tightly around herself. “But I don’t like it.”
Victor rolled forward slightly, sighing. He reached out and unwound her arms, taking one of her hands between his own. She was surprised to find it warm and pushed aside the curiosity of how it got that way. “No, it isn’t,” he agreed, nodding slowly. “You’re right. But it can be handled similarly. Of course, your parlor tricks won’t work, your normal ways to achieve lucidity. But you were already lucid, weren’t you? You knew it was a dream without those tricks.”
“Yes,” she said thoughtlessly, then shook her head. “Wait, no. Well, sort of. I did think it was a dream, but then nothing really works the way I expect it to in a dream. So I always get convinced it’s real. I even called Snyder. And he answered. In real life,” she repeated, convinced it was important. She had certainly never heard of in-dream cell service before.
Glancing sidelong at her, Victor took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I heard you the first time, Ms. Gina. You called him and he came. Yes. He flew in and saved the night.”
There was a touch of bitterness to his voice that surprised her. “Maybe we should just start again tomorrow?” she offered.
Victor stood and walked to his desk. “Yes,” he replied. “Let me give you something. Perhaps it will help you sleep so you will be more rested and we can work on your defenses tomorrow.” Rummaging around in his file cabinet, he stood up victorious, with what looked like a small coin in his hand. Walking back over, he pressed it into Gina’s hand.
It looked and felt ancient, its surface pitted and chipped. Gina studied it. “Is this a tree?” she asked, pointing to the asymmetrical symbol crudely carved into the pewter metal.
“Not… quite,” replied Victor. “It is a talisman, a very old one. I am hoping that if you have it on you, you may sleep tonight.” Her face lit up, but he wasn’t finished. “It is not a permanent solution,” he counseled, his hand up in warning. “And I don’t want you to use it more than a few nights. It may ward off that which is trying to pull you in, but it may also draw other equally dangerous eyes toward you, given enough time. This is old magic.”
Nodding, Gina slipped it into her pocket. “A full night’s sleep.” She sighed. “Right now, that’s worth any risk. Thank you, Victor.”
His smile was genuine, and she felt that irritating flutter in her chest again. “Go get some sleep, Ms. Gina. I shall be here tomorrow, or sooner if you have need of me.”
4
Luke didn’t care what they said, this was supposed to be an adventure.
After years of playing regional venues, clawing their way up for choicer gigs and slightly better-paying shows, they needed to do something different. They needed to stand out, find a new audience. Sure, they had some fantastically die-hard fans that had stuck with them since the beginning, and some new people bought their cds and merchandise at most shows, but it had become too hard-fought a war and they were battle-weary. He could see the exhaustion at every rehearsal, it was even starting to crop up during shows. They were tired of working so hard for virtually nothing, and a lot of their love for playing had started to wither.
This hadn’t originally been Luke’s idea. It was
mostly Nathan, their quiet, introspective lead guitarist. People usually assumed he was the bass player when they met him, he was so understated and silent; for some reason, people associated these traits with the low, cool notes of the bass. But Nathan had undeniable talent and was a great songcrafter, and he animated himself a bit when he was actually playing. So when he started chatting up the members individually about a marketing idea he had - of all things! - everyone listened just due to the sheer strangeness of the situation. They listened far more than they would have if it had been Luke’s idea, he concluded with a sigh. They rarely listened to Luke anymore, and he couldn’t really blame them, even if he resented it. His last idea had been for a concept album, but the concept was fuzzy and the songs reflected it. Really, his last good idea had been to form the band, he admitted to himself.
Still, even if nothing came from it, it sounded like a blast. A real music video. They all vaguely remembered when great music videos could make a band, and while Luke suspected that time may have passed, he wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to have one. His only request was hard-won; they needed a chick, he’d argued, for the video. All good videos had a hot girl. Nathan dismissed the idea out of hand, which he’d expected. Danny and Chris agreed to it, but only under the condition that Luke do the legwork in finding her, and not use any of the scarce band funds to hire her.
Luke looked over at the sleeping blonde in the passenger seat and grinned. How hard was it to find someone with actress-dreams to “star” in their video? Not hard at all. So easy, in fact, that Luke felt kind of bad about it. She sure was a trusting sort of girl, he thought, letting his eyes trace down her body. He shifted in his seat and returned his attention to the road. He decided he didn’t feel too bad about it. After all, who knew? Maybe she would get discovered from the exposure.
He bit his lower lip and looked back over at her. Exposure. He chuckled to himself, dragging his hand through his shoulder-length tawny hair and refocusing on the road.
“Do you even know where you’re going?” Chris shouted from the back. The rest of the band were packed in like sardines with the audio and video equipment filling all of the space between them.
“Sure,” answered Luke. He noticed that Melissa had awakened and was blinking sleep out of her eyes. “Should be turning off pretty soon.”
Glancing in his rearview, Luke saw Nathan bent over, jotting in his notebook. He’d been working on the “script” for months, and took Melissa’s inclusion in stride (after an initial not-talking-to-Luke tantrum that lasted about a week). Nathan had wanted a unique setting for the shoot, and had searched around for any purported haunted places that were available for rent and that were within their very limited budget. The Wilson mansion was as close as he’d gotten, an old plantation supposedly haunted by ghosts of slaves who had died there. But Luke knew Nathan hadn’t been super happy about it - it was too sanitary, too clean, and too expensive. There were travel brochures for it, which didn’t exactly scream “spooky.” So, when the gas station attendant heard their story (Luke was a talker) and offered an alternative, he felt a definitive spark of destiny in the conversation. Danny and Chris were still on the fence, but he knew they’d come around, they always did eventually. Nathan’s nod was all the support he needed to go ahead with it. Luke felt sure it was the place they needed, sight unseen.
Glancing down at the folded map and back up at his gps device, Luke gently pressed the brakes. A tiny, private road beckoned, and he turned right onto it, then almost immediately had to stop. An ancient metal crossgate blocked their path.
“Fuckin’ great,” spat Danny, wrenching the van door open. “Awesome.”
Luke yanked up the e-brake and hopped lightly out of his seat, walking quickly up the dirt road. The gate was fastened by an old, rusted chain and an ancient-looking padlock. All of the numbers had been worn off the turn dial, making him wonder how those “church groups” had managed to open it even if they’d had the combination. Frustrated, he gave the gate a quick kick.
The chain gave way and the gate swung open with a horrendous creak.
Luke blinked at this turn of events and grinned, huffing a short laugh in surprise and kicking the chain victoriously out of the van’s path. “Problem solved!” he announced cheerfully.
Hopping back into the vehicle, he winked at Melissa. “See? Destiny.”
She smiled back at him prettily under thick eyelashes.
The sound of Danny grumbling as he slid the door shut again was music to Luke’s ears. See? Not all of my decisions are bad ones, he smiled to himself as he coaxed the van forward. This one’s gonna be perfect.
The thought of adventure beckoned him forward, and his spirits soared with new hope.
⇼ ⇼ ⇼ ⇼ ⇼
Nathan peered out of the window as they passed beside thick foliage, the small path not much larger than the van itself. He winced at every bump, sure the old band van would give out and take its last breath. So far, the woods were exactly as he’d envisioned them - dark, gloomy, a little dangerous-looking. He pressed his face to the glass to get his first look at the house itself as they turned the corner.
He stopped breathing for a moment.
It was perfect.
The van ground to a halt and a flurry of activity surrounded him as his friends - sick of being cooped up in the van for hours - broke loose and escaped its confines. He waited patiently for their evacuation before beginning his own. He wanted to savor the possibilities of the place slowly.
“I’m surprised all the windows aren’t busted out,” remarked Chris, twirling his drumstick absentmindedly while he shook out his lanky legs.
“Are we sure it’s abandoned?” asked Danny, shielding his eyes and searching visually for evidence of other people.
“Only one way to be sure!” chirped Luke as he helped Melissa out of the vehicle with a chivalrous flourish, bowing in a gentlemanly way.
Nathan rolled his eyes and marched up to the porch.
The place sure looked abandoned to him. Dirt and leaves covered the once-lovely porch, and the steps groaned dangerously below his thin, lanky frame as he climbed them. Beige paint flakes stuck to his hand from the railing, and he shook them off as he stepped up to the door. He raised his hand to knock, when movement to his left caught his eye and he froze.
An ancient rocking chair caught a rogue breeze and creaked as it painstakingly rocked back and forth. Exhaling sharply, he grinned at his own jumpiness, and rapped his knuckles against the door loudly.
He waited a moment and knocked again. No sounds came from inside. Turning back to the band, he shrugged. “No one home,” he yelled. Chris and Danny turned back around and started discussing how best to unload all the gear. Nathan took hold of the door handle.
A shock of static electricity jumped through him and he yanked his hand back.
“You okay?” Nathan jumped again and turned to see Melissa standing beside him.
“Christ, what are you, a ninja?” he laughed breathlessly, nervously tucking his dark hair behind his ears. “The door shocked me.”
“Oh,” she replied, looking unimpressed. She walked to the railing and perched lightly on it, stretching her arms over her head. Nathan tried - and failed - not to notice her nipples standing perkily through her shirt. He turned back to the door hurriedly and twisted the doorknob.
“Hey Luke, I don’t suppose that guy gave you a key?”
“Nope,” answered Luke as he leapt onto the porch over the railing, landing next to Melissa. “Have to find another way in, I guess.”
She batted her eyelashes at him and flashed a bright smile, squeezing in closer to the singer on the railing. “I’ll check the windows,” she offered, hopping down and brushing past Luke in what Nathan thought was a very intentional way. She swayed to the end of the porch and disappeared around the side of the house.
“She’s something, huh?” whispered Luke, staring after her.
Nathan raised an arched eyebrow. “Sure,” he said.
He rattled the doorknob again and it clicked, pushing open with no resistance whatsoever. Nathan stood agape at the open door.
“Thought you said it was locked, man!” Luke pushed past the smaller man and burst through the door. “Hey Melissa! We got it!”
“Um, guys?” A shrill voice drifted from around the house. “Luke!?” There was an edge of panic to it, prompting Nathan to break into a run, vaulting over the low porch railing and cornering the house. He heard Luke right behind him.
“What’s wrong, are you hurt?”
Melissa turned around and launched herself past Nathan, into Luke, burying her face in his shoulder. Surprised, he patted her back, clearly uncomfortable and unsure of the situation. Nathan looked where she had been standing and clicked his tongue against his teeth.
“They’re all dead!” she wailed, sniffling.
Below the sole window on this side of the house was a pile of rabbits, a dozen, two dozen, Nathan couldn’t be sure. They were piled on top of one another in a ragged heap and in various stages of decay. Flies were buzzing around them in a frenzy and he could see a crawling movement in the pile and under some of the closest rabbits’ fur. He put his hand to his mouth and turned away, feeling no interest in getting closer.
“They uh... they must have been sick,” said Luke, weakly.
Chris and Danny turned the corner. “Whew!” exclaimed Danny, waving his meaty hand in front of his nose. “What the hell? Nice place, Luke.”
Luke half-snarled at him and led Melissa back around the house, still sniffling.
