The Nightmare Within

by Glen Krisch

  The Nightmare Within

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Prologue

  Part I:

  The Nightmare Within

  Glen R Krisch

  Smashwords Edition

  Cover art by Caniglia

  Copyright ©2010 Glen Krisch

  Chapter 1

  The memory of heat and burning, of smoke and searing pain, shaped every moment of Maury Bennett's life. When he was eight years old, fire gutted his family's apartment building, killing seven people before the firefighters, some from two towns over, could contain it. Maury was lucky enough to regain consciousness in the hospital, thirty percent of his body charred black and nerveless, his skin as crisp as fried chicken. He had been the first of his family to smell the smoke and to see the flames as the living room curtains caught fire, the first to feel the raging heat bursting down the hallway, throttling his body like a malevolent spirit. Flames quickly engulfed everything, forcing Maury, his younger brother, and their parents to run with their heads covered with soaked bath towels through a gauntlet of swirling flames to reach the front door. The shared hallway outside their apartment was little better, the old faux-wood paneling a mass of tumbling embers and seething smoke.

  Upon reaching the sidewalk outside the apartment building, the fresh air was intoxicating. But Maury was on fire, his Incredible Hulk pajamas combusting, his throat hoarse from smoke and screaming. Shocked neighbors stood on the trampled courtyard grass, their glassy eyes reflecting the shimmering fire consuming their homes. Maury's father pulled him into an unyielding embrace. He rolled on top of him, smothering the fire.

  Maury had lost all sense of reality. Only momentary fragments rooted him to the conscious world. His father, still struggling to choke out the flames feeding on Maury's flesh, whispered repeatedly into his ear: "I never should have left you alone, never should have left you, never should have left…"

  Rosemarie Clement reclined her ample body on Maury Bennett's leather office couch. She was staring into a panel of drop-tile ceiling, not focusing on anything in particular. She was trying to probe her soul, searching for a meaning to it all, trying to figure out why she had to be such a perfectionist. Why did she have to iron her bed linens? Sure, a small segment of the population ironed their bed linens, but she felt worthless if she didn't strip the bed naked before it had a chance to cool after her husband got up for work. Why did she incessantly wash, iron, buff, shine, scrub, boil, sanitize? Does asking that question lead to answers that she didn't want to face, that she couldn't face even if she wanted to?

  Maury wondered how a woman could let herself become so insignificant.

  The couch hadn't been a part of his practice during the early years. But he learned the hard way, that even when he wanted to, he couldn't accomplish the simple act of looking at his patients as they spoke. His palms would become clammy, and he would wait for the subtle hint of pity in their eyes. They would twitch after glancing at his melted-wax scars and then look away, ashamed. Their self-consciousness offended him more than if they gaped without giving it a second thought.

  "I'm on the edge of this cliff…" she was speaking about a dream she had the night before. As if it were interesting enough to bring up in a meeting with her psychiatrist.

  Maury closed his eyes and thought of his younger brother, and the night of the fire. Little Dale, with his dark brown hair covering his eyes, cowering in their mother's lap as she tried to soothe him. Maury remembered hearing the shrieking sirens and seeing flashing lights washing across the slate gray apartment building in chaotic waves. His father was resting his cheek on Maury's forehead. He cried as he held Maury, rocking him against his chest. The flames were gone; the searing pain attacking his skin was nearly gone, too.

  Maury heard his skin crackle under the pressure of his father's touch. When he looked down he saw the scorched flesh of his arm crack and split, saw blood seep and bubble from his wounds. The worst part was that he felt nothing.

  Though Maury was in shock when they loaded him into the ambulance, he clearly remembered and had since become haunted by the image of Rocky, their mangy pound cat. Before the ambulance doors closed, Maury saw Dale pointing at the building. Maury looked up in time to see Rocky jump from their third floor balcony. The cat was a ball of flames streaking across the grass until the fire stole the last ounce of his life. As the ambulance doors closed, Maury drifted from consciousness.

  Countless surgeries, skin grafts, and physical therapy patched together Maury's body until he looked as normal as someone recovering from his condition could look. That's what the doctors said, at least. They always told him how lucky he was, how some people from his building didn't make it out alive. Until he was ten years-old, he spent more time in hospitals than not. At first, his left arm was little more than a dead limb. Whorls of pink and brown scars ran up his shoulder and melted across his ear. He went through the torture of his formative years wearing ball caps to hide the spots where his hair wouldn't grow back. Long sleeves hid the easy target of his disfigurement from the other kids. By the time he received a new prosthetic ear, he had learned how to conceal the worst of his remaining frailty.

  Through all of his struggles, he learned a valuable lesson. Doctors possessed true power. They could salvage the unsalvageable; they could extend life and raise the level of comfort for those in their final days. Doctors looked at Maury with an unflinching eye. They saw his ravaged body as a canvas--their medium of choice to practice the highest of intellectual arts. Maury watched these people wield their power and learned from an early age what his calling would be. But he soon discovered, that even with his impressive academic record, he had to give up his dream of becoming a surgeon. His left hand carried with it an invariable impairment. He would never be able to practice surgery. Instead of salvaging the flesh, Maury turned his attentions to salvaging the mind.

  "Can you understand how I have trouble sleeping at night?" Rosemarie asked from her reclined position.

  Maury blinked away the memories of his childhood. "Hmm… yes, I think I do." He opened a desk drawer and took out his script pad. "Your time is almost up, and from listening to what you've said, I think I have something that might help you with your sleep issue." He scribbled something slightly legible on the pad and handed it to her.

  "You really think I need to go on a prescription?"

  "I think it would help you find the root of this problem," he said. "You need to look at this issue from a new perspective. This script will help you unclutter your mind and lead you in the right direction."

  She looked at the paper doubtfully. "Are we through for the day? I thought I still had more time left?"

  "If you use the rest of the time to get the prescription filled, that will be part of your therapy," he said, getting up from his chair. Rosemarie followed, a confused look on her face. Maury handed her the slip and walked with her to the door.

  "So… same time next week? Good. It was nice seeing you again, Mrs…" Before he could fumble with her name, he rushed her out the door, the prescription fluttering between her fingers as the door shut
behind her.

  Maury leaned against the edge of his desk and exhaled slowly. He didn't know how he was going to keep up this hectic pace. His practice was a safe bet; he would never be out of a job, but ever since meeting Nolan Gage, his whole outlook on life had changed. Dr. Edwardson, a family physician, had introduced him to Gage at a fundraiser for the Loyola Children's Hospital. Dr. Edwardson knew that Maury specialized in the treatment of patients suffering from traumatic dreams, and that Gage desired to fund a research project in a similar field. When they met, Gage had spoken about groundbreaking research with dreams, and particularly, the transmutation of dreams. Nolan Gage didn't know what he was getting himself into.

  Three months ago, Maury accepted an offer to join Gage's research team. Maury soon realized that he could never again live his simple life. Treating the Rosemarie Clements of the world would leave him hollow and unfulfilled. He only kept his practice going as a safety net until he learned the end result of the dream research. As time went by, the prospects looked more and more promising that he would close shop and work exclusively for Nolan Gage.

  Reaching for his coffee mug, he absently spilled it across a stack of notes. Using the tissue that he always kept handy for his patients, Maury wiped up the mess. He picked up a potted plant and pushed aside a few family photos to make sure he didn't miss a spot. As he dried the corner of one of the picture frames, he realized the family portrait taken under an azure summer sky at Cape Cod was probably their last family picture before the apartment fire. His parents stood shoulder to shoulder with their arms wrapped around one another. Maury and Dale sat at their feet, while everyone wore big smiles and squinted against the water's glare. The picture brought painful emotions to the surface as he fought off tears.

  He finished drying the frame, tossed out the tissues, and went over to his couch. As he sat down, his emotions were back in check, but his mounting fatigue felt like a physical weight on every inch of his skin. He pulled his legs up on the couch, held the Cape Cod picture against his chest, and closed his eyes.

  Eight months after the fire, Maury came home from the hospital for good. The first night, after an unbearably awkward dinner, he excused himself and turned in early. His parents were treating him differently, as if he were a fragile object instead of their son. Dale also wouldn't stop staring at him as they ate. They lived in a new house and none of the stuff in his new bedroom felt like his. Maury felt more comfortable in bed with the light turned off.

  At some point, he must have fallen asleep. The room was completely dark when Dale woke him, shaking his leg.

  "Maury, Rocky won't leave me alone." Dale was sitting on the edge of Maury's bed and sounded terribly upset.

  "What do you mean?"

  "When I go to sleep he's always there. He's on fire just like that night."

  Maury couldn't see his brother's eyes in the darkness, but he could hear in his voice that he believed every word he said. "It's only a dream. Dreams can't hurt you, Dale. Go back to bed."

  "But he's after me, he's gonna…" Dale said, stopping mid-sentence. Maury's eyes adjusted to the dark bedroom. Dale's face was all shadow and gloom.

  "What's Rocky going to do?"

  "Nothin'. He just scares me."

  "That's not what you were going to say. Spill your guts. What's Rocky going to do?"

  "He's gonna… burn me," Dale said, turning away.

  He knew he couldn't calm his brother with words. He patted his bed, and Dale climbed up next to him. "You can sleep here tonight. Rocky won't hurt you. I'll make sure of it."

  Dale looked skeptically at Maury, but he seemed more at ease. He climbed under the covers and gave off a worried grunt. Maury turned on his bedside lamp and started reading the newest Incredible Hulk comic. He was really into it, enthralled by the concept of an outsider housing monstrous powers deep inside his soul. By the time he had finished reading it for the third time, Dale was snoozing fitfully next to him.

  Maury snapped off the light and pulled the covers up over his shoulders. His eyes burned from reading so much, and he felt like he could fall asleep in about two seconds. He was in the gray area between sleeping and waking when Dale began to stir. He could feel his brother's tension next to him, but Maury was frozen in some kind of in-between state.

  It wasn't until Dale screamed that Maury sat up, fully awake.

  "Hey… you okay?"

  Dale didn't seem to hear his brother and continued thrashing about the bed. His eyes were closed while his legs tangled with the sheets.

  Maury shook his brother, trying to wake him. When his fingers touched Dale's shoulder, the fiery image of Rocky burned behind Maury's eyelids. Every time he blinked, the cat was there. He could feel Rocky's pain. His calico fur blazed with six inch flames and his green eyes were watery and skittish. Maury had to pull away, had to get away from Dale and the image of the burning cat. When he removed his hand from his brother's shoulder, he felt a magnetic pull under his dead, nerveless skin. And in the gap between his trembling hand and his still sleeping brother, a bundle of flames emerged. The more Maury pulled away, the more the form took shape. It was as if he were pulling a calf from its mother's womb. Rocky, his fur burning, his skin sizzling, appeared right there on Maury's pillow. By touching Dale, he had flipped some type of switch. He had somehow pulled his brother's dream into the waking world. Maury felt the cat's burning body.

  He dragged Dale away from the cat, while a humming noise filled their bedroom. It could've been the cat purring, or possibly his flesh burning, he couldn't tell. Maury still had bandages over much of his torso and had trouble moving his left arm. He hooked his right arm under Dale's armpits and pulled until stars shot across his vision. His brother inched along the floor with him, the effort aggravating his wounds.

  Rocky slinked along the bed as he always had, not seeming to notice the flames. He meowed as if he wanted them to pet him, and then jumped from the bed. Every step he took left a small flaming paw print on the floor. The paw prints burned brightly for a few seconds before extinguishing to a black sooty mark on the floor. The scorch marks faded to a silt-brown, before disappearing altogether.

  "Dale, wake up. Come on...I can't carry you!" Dale didn't stir, the cat only a few steps away. "Come on, Dale, wake up!" Maury yelled into his brother's ear. Maury slapped his face, startling him awake. As soon as Dale saw how close Rocky was to touching them, he started to scream.

  The bedroom door flew open and their parents stormed into the room. Rocky darted for the open door and meowed angrily, bolting down the hallway.

  "What's going on in here? Are you two okay?" their father called out. Dale leaped into their mother's arms and wrapped his legs around her waist, hugging her, new tears soaking into the shoulder of her nightgown.

  "Rocky… the cat. He came, and then…" Maury tried to explain, but how could he explain what had just happened?

  He felt a mixture of fear and awe, and as the seconds ticked away, this mixture was joined by curiosity. Since the paw prints had disappeared by the time they looked for the cat, they all began to doubt if Rocky had been there in the first place.

  Their father was going to call the fire department, but there wasn't a fire to report, or any damage to indicate there was a fire at all. Their father, an overwhelmingly practical man who was afraid to sound just the opposite, called no one.

  The next morning, their mother discovered a half-healed burn hole in a screen of a living room window. It was oval shaped, and just big enough for a cat to slip through. The family never brought up the subject of Rocky again. Their dad replaced the screen with a new one, and Dale didn't have any more dreams about their dead cat.

  Maury found the Cape Cod picture on the floor next to his office couch. When he picked it up, emotions once again threatened to surface. This time the emotions were different; he felt joy and a growing pride at seeing the Maury in the picture. He had left that Maury behind in that world of innocence--the world of happy summertime vacations, trips to the ice cre
am stand on hot nights, and building snowmen with Dale during the endless gray winters. But it was okay.

  For many years, he had regretted the night of the fire. He had been marred forever and seven of his neighbors had died. And it was all because of a silly cartoon. Maury had seen Jerry set Tom's tail on fire and had laughed hysterically when the cat ran around until he finally dipped his hind end in a sink full of soaking dishes. At the time, Maury knew that trying a similar stunt with Rocky would never end with the same result. No one would laugh, and no one would be left unscathed. But he did it anyway, childhood whimsy getting the better of him.

  He remembered the spark as he struck the wooden match against the box. The flame sped along the trail of lighter fluid faster than he could have ever imagined. When Rocky felt the fire bite into his tail, he was off like a pinball, running into furniture, bumping into walls, setting anything he touched ablaze.

  After all those years of guilt, and wishing he could only have a chance to do things differently, Maury finally accepted what he had done. In fact, he was swiftly coming to the conclusion that he appreciated what he had done. If he hadn't done such a stupid thing as a child, he would have never become the man he was; a man who could pull dreams--the essence of fear, guilt, rage, or lust--directly from people's minds. After years of turmoil, he could finally harness and wield a power that no one could ever imagine.

  He stared at the photo, a momentary glimpse into the life of those photographed. The transmuted dream-beings were somewhat like that. Once birthed from the mind of a dreamer, the transmuted dream was a still-photo of the dream taken at the moment of transmutation. But unlike the Cape Cod photo, transmuted dreams changed. They evolved, adapting to and absorbing surrounding details. Depending on the strength of the dream, this evolution could be limitless.

  He supposed he owed a debt to his poor dead cat. If someone forced the issue, he would also have to thank Nolan Gage for his money and patience. Now all he needed was a star. A main attraction. Nolan Gage's money was leading to the eventual unveiling of the transmuted dreams in a museum called Lucidity. All Maury needed was a dream so devastating to the museum goers' psyche that they would leave the museum of dreams changed forever, clutching their chests in both horror and joy, certain to return to Lucidity again and again.