The Dream Catcher's Daughter

by Steven Fox

  Ronnie punched in another number. “Hold on, I got a good one. Just downloaded from iSpellz…‘Makes whoever’s inflicted break their own fingers then try to reattach them.’” He sneered at Jason. “Payback in full. Traitor.”

  Something flared inside him, licking like a flame at the back of his head, and Jason jerked up and snatched the phone from Ronnie’s boney fingers. Ronnie’s eyes grew wide as Jason chucked the phone into a nearby puddle. The screen turned black as the phone sparked. Ronnie’s mouth fell open, then screwed shut as he cocked his leg to kick Jason. But Jason rolled away, past one of Boone’s outstretched, grasping hands. His other hand fumbled with his cell phone. Jason stood and when Boone wheeled on him, pointing the cell phone at him, he smacked the phone from Boone’s grasp and out into traffic, where a semi-truck crunched it beneath half of its eighteen wheels.

  “Son of a bitch!” said Boone. “My parents paid half a fortune for that!”

  He stalked toward Jason and swung, catching him just across the cheek. Before Jason could recover, Ronnie tackled him to the ground. This time, Jason couldn’t save his head from smacking against the pavement. The world seemed to flip upside-down, fireflies veiling his eyes and thrumming in his temples. Something clawed at his face, nails scratching down his cheeks and neck. Someone’s B.O. wafted into Jason’s nose like a cloud of garbage on a sweltering summer day.

  “MOMMY GAVE ME THAT PHONE FOR MY BIRTHDAY!” shouted Ronnie.

  Jason tried to struggle, but Boone had pinned his legs and the fireflies were still swarming around him. And as Ronnie clawed his way toward Jason’s eyes, Jason wondered where the police were, where the paladins were. Didn’t anyone see them?

  Of course, normies couldn’t see anything. The dome that had risen around the van was a concealment spell. Boone and Ronnie were going to have Jason for as long as they wanted. At this rate, he wouldn’t need his memory erased—these two meatheads would make it so he couldn’t recognize himself. He was tempted to lay still and take the beating, but Jason remembered there was a crying girl in his van. If Ronnie and Boone would attack him, who knew what they would do to Len?

  Jason threw up his arms, getting in the way of Ronnie’s claws. Ronnie balled his fists and started raining hammer blows. He grunted with each strike, flesh smacking against flesh and bone. Already Jason’s arms ached.

  The fireflies started clearing away, and Jason could see, albeit fuzzily. He waited until Ronnie drew back his left hand for another strike, then shot with his right, his knuckles cracking against Ronnie’s left cheek. Ronnie’s head snapped back and he rolled off Jason. Boone loosened his grip on Jason’s legs and Jason kicked up, catching Boone in the groin.

  He tried to reach his feet, but Ronnie had recovered and kicked Jason in the jaw. Something popped. Loudly. Searing pain tore along Jason’s jawline. He screamed. But it wouldn’t make a difference; normies couldn’t hear him. He stumbled back and slammed into the van. He felt the icy metal through the back of his shirt. Ronnie loomed over him, cracking his knuckles. Boone lumbered over to join him. Both of their eyes were filled with hate. And there was something else about their eyes…

  But the flute music distracted him.

  As the music pierced the air, Boone and Ronnie slowly shook their heads. They blinked, rubbed their eyes, and yawned as if they’d just woken up from a nap. Then their eyes fell upon Jason and their mouths dropped open. They looked around.

  “Where am I?” said Ronnie.

  “What was I doing?” said Boone.

  “Oh my god. What’s up with him? He looks like he was mauled by a tiger.”

  The music stopped, and a familiar voice cut the air: “You two did that.”

  Len appeared around the front of the van, holding up both her flute and cell phone. Her eyes were red and puffy, but other than that, she looked normal. As normal as a pissed-off, gray-haired teen girl could look.

  Ronnie’s mouth dropped open, his lips forming an o. “What?! No way!”

  “Trust me, you did. And I have proof.” Len held up her phone and clicked something. A video played on her phone’s screen, repeating everything from the last few minutes—the screaming, the cell phone flying out into traffic. The punching. The scratching. The sickening kick to Jason’s head.

  And under all of that, Jason heard something else: sobbing. His sobbing. He’d cried someone’s name—Tara Engel.

  “Now,” said Len, “get out of here before I call the paladins.”

  Without a word about their phones, Boone and Ronnie ran off. Somewhere in the back of his head, Jason thought the concealment spell would wear off soon. What wouldn’t wear off soon were the scalding cuts on his face and neck, his broken jaw, and the back of his head, which throbbed in rhythm with his heart. Len bent down next to him, staring into his face. Her cheeks were red apples.

  “I can heal you,” said Len, “but we’ll be a bit late back to the store. And there’ll be scars.” Jason didn’t respond. “Okay, I’ll take that as a yes. Can you stand? C’mon, put your arm around me.”

  She hoisted him up and they half-walked half-hobbled to the back of the van. Len opened the doors and helped him inside. She banged the door shut behind her, leaned him against the inside of the van, and then moved up front to pull the driver-side door shut. The mirror screeched against the hood as she fully shut the door.

  As she came back, Len said, “I can fix that, too. Sorry, sorry. This is my fault. God, I thought it wouldn’t happen today. Today, of all days. I’m sorry. They could’ve killed you.”

  She ran her fingers along the scratches on his face. He smelled vanilla, and the scratches stung and itched. He reached to rub them, but Len smacked his hand away. “Don’t think about it. I have to put this cream on your face. Otherwise the magic won’t work.”

  Her fingers trailed along his face and neck. By the time she finished, Jason’s face throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

  “Okay, sit still a bit longer. This’ll only take a moment. I need you to focus on the music. Forget the pain. I know it hurts, but you got to listen.”

  Without waiting for a response, Len picked up her flute and played. The music seeped from the keyholes, a thin, wispy tone floating out, sifting through the air. It wrapped around Jason like a warm towel. The pain in his face and broken jaw peaked, making him flinch. But then it faded, and as it did, the wounds on his face zippered shut. His lower jaw shifted and popped back into place. The song seeped into his brain, caressing his mind with the gentle care of a mother. It hushed the synapses and neurons; it told the pain center to stop working. Within moments, Jason felt numb in a good, relaxed way. Suddenly, tears pricked his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. He murmured the name he’d been crying while at Ronnie’s mercy, the name that had been his bane for over a year now: Tara.

  Tara’s voice filtered into his ears, saying, “Once upon a time, a knight didn’t want to be a knight. He looked like and talked like a knight. He could duel swords with King Arthur, and could scare even the bogeyman with his ruthlessness. But the knight hated all of this. He only wanted to be kind, to care for others…On the inside, he wasn’t truly a knight.”

  Jason gasped. Len stopped the music, and a slight sting bit Jason’s face. He turned toward Len, who waved the flute at him. “Don’t do that! I could’ve messed up your face.”

  “From my head,” he said, gasping.

  “Huh?”

  He huffed and sighed, his shoulders rising and falling sharply. Len only watched him as he gathered his thoughts, tapping her fingers along her flute.

  He looked at her, then to her flute. “Talshe. Leech. Bootelia and Amor.”

  “What about them, Jason?”

  He looked out the back window, then down at his own hands. He raked his fingers through his hair, catching some of the unhealed scratches. His scalp itched with mild pain.

  “They’re all from me. From my head.” Len blinked. Twice. She puffed out her lips, blowing a breath out. “You don’t look surprised,” he said.r />
  “Because I’m not,” she said. “I’ve known for a while.” She looked down to her flute. “Talshe, Leech, Amor, and Bootelia are dreams. Your dreams, come to life.”

  SIX

  After Len fixed the van’s dents and scratches, she moved around to the passenger-side door and climbed in. The concealment dome shriveled and disintegrated, leaving the van visible to the normies driving around them. Jason put the van into drive and looked out his rearview mirror. He saw through the warped and cracked glass the reflection of a man in chain-link armor walking toward the driver-side window. Jason parked the van, turned in his seat, and peered out.

  “Paladin,” said Jason to Len.

  The paladin had a long, hooked nose with a sharp chin. His eyes seemed almost black in the shadow of his helm. The rest of his face was plain, ordinary. One of his hands rested upon the sword at his waist. Jason nearly jumped when he felt Len’s hand on his leg.

  “Hey, calm down. I’m sure it’s nothing. If anything, we could pretend we were…you know…” Her eyes fell to his crotch.

  “I don’t want to pretend that any more than you do.”

  “Pretend what, Jason?” said the paladin.

  The paladin stood slightly below face-level of the driver-side window, so he had to look up at Jason. Even so, Jason felt the paladin might as well be looking down his long nose at them. A slight smirk hooked one corner of the paladin’s mouth.

  “Nothing, Sirin,” said Jason.

  “Nothing? Then why are you parked here? And why was there a concealment spell?” His eyes darted to Len. “Unless you were having a little fun on your break?”

  Sirin cracked a laugh. Jason pursed his lips. “Am I doing something wrong, sir?”

  The paladin’s laughter died, and his mouth flattened. His eyes narrowed as he leaned in close to the window. “Are you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then I suppose there’s nothing to be afraid of, is there?” And his eyes flicked to Jason’s hands, which were trembling as they tightly gripped the steering wheel.

  “Maybe I’m angry.”

  “At what?”

  Jason didn’t know why Sirin was here, let alone why he was egging him on. But Jason couldn’t focus. Something about Sirin’s face made him feel…anxious. Panicky. He didn’t have the right word to describe the ooze-y nausea bubbling in the pit of his chest.

  “He was telling me about Tara.”

  Sirin and Jason both jerked their heads in Len’s direction. Sirin raised an eyebrow, while Jason stared. “Is that so? And what was he telling you?”

  “That she died. About a year ago.”

  The paladin’s eyes flicked to Jason, then back to Len. His nostrils flared, each almost the diameter of a quarter. He huffed, then said, “All right. I suppose that’s fair enough. But I suggest you get back to work. Your father doesn’t care for slackers.”

  Sirin left, disappearing into the distance.

  ***

  They drove back to the store. Jason wanted to ask questions, but wasn’t exactly sure what questions to ask. He had his own theories, but none of them were probably right. So he remained silent all the way back to Silver Moon. Len did the same. Tom had already left, and as the two hopped out of the van, Jason formed a reasonable question in his head.

  “Aren’t dreams supposed to be, like, something based on reality?”

  Len perched her brow, a small smile on her lips. “Could be. Dreams can be a lot of things—memories, guilt, even visions of the future. But you’re the only person who knows, Jason.”

  She dug inside her pockets, fished out a piece of paper, and then handed it to him. The paper was wrapped around something solid and heavy. He unwrapped the paper to find a key—not the one Bootelia had shoved down her pants. A phone number was scrawled in flowing script across the inside of the paper. In fuchsia ink.

  “My phone number and house key,” said Len. “I need you to come over tomorrow.”

  “Me?”

  “My mistress said you would say a name. Once you did, I was supposed to invite you over.”

  Jason cocked his head. “You mean…”

  “Yes. The name you shouted, while those two goons beat you up—it was Shemillah, right?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Shemillah?”

  “That’s the name you said.”

  “No, it’s not. I said…I said…”

  Len held up a finger and pulled out her cell phone. She hit a button, and the recording played again. Jason moaned and grunted with each kick. He sobbed and cried. The name he cried this time wasn’t Tara but, “Shemillah!”

  Len lowered her phone, looking at Jason with pursed lips. “You look confused. You heard the recording before right?”

  “Yeah, I did. Thought I said something else, that’s all.”

  Jason lowered his gaze to the paper with Len’s number. He wanted his face to have a look of doubt, but the most he could do was perch his brow in mild curiosity. His mind had forgotten how to do anything else. Except for anger. Except for sadness. He only started remembering when his dreams started to appear. Perhaps there was a connection, and Len seemed to know a lot about his dreams.

  “What time do you want me over?” he said.

  “As soon as you can. But make sure you call first. Make sure I know you’re coming.”

  The garage’s side door grated open and Darlene walked in, a wide smile spread across her face. “Yo, J. Kinney!” she said, waving a hand in front of her, gangsta-like. She shook her head and dropped her hand. “Sorry. Just couldn’t resist. I have to harass you in front of new recruits.”

  Jason shrugged. “It’s cool.”

  Darlene turned toward Len and extended a hand. “Hi, how you doing? Jason and I are lesbian lovers. He likes to suck the fingers on this hand, the very hand you’re shaking.”

  Len stared blankly at the handshake. Her eyes wandered back up to Darlene and she said, “But…How are you lesbian? Jason’s…”

  “Got a dong? Yeah, that makes things a little awkward. But, hey, if I close my eyes and imagine really hard…”

  Jason patted Darlene on the shoulder. “When you said harass me, I didn’t think sexual harassment. You can get in trouble for that.”

  Darlene puckered her lips, releasing Len from her handshake and planting her hands on her hips. “You, mister, aren’t being a very good lesbian lover. You’re supposed to support me, love me, lick the jam out from between my toes…”

  “Gross,” said Jason.

  Darlene turned back to Len. “So, what’s your name?”

  “Um…uh…Len. Lenmana for short.”

  Darlene giggled. “I think you got that backwards, sweetie.” She laughed a deep, full laugh that made the slight pudge on her hips and belly jiggle. “I’m only giving you shit. You don’t gotta be scared of me. I don’t bite. Not on Thursdays, anyway.” And she winked. Len’s face reddened, her mouth and nose sandwiched between two apples. Darlene had looked away before seeing this, and turned back to Jason. “By the by, Pops wants to see you.”

  Jason crossed his arms. “Really?”

  “Mm-hm. Wonder what for?”

  “Probably to wonder if I got laid.”

  Len only tilted her head, the blush in her cheeks growing darker. Darlene, despite Jason’s lack of expression, laughed. “Maybe that’s all you need—the magic of sex!”

  Jason gave her a dismissive wave of his hand. “I should go. If he wants to see me, it’s probably something important.” He turned to Len. “Did you need a ride home or anything? Or did you walk here?”

  “Oh, I can walk…”

  “What?” said Darlene. “Pretty lady like you, walk? Not on my watch! Come with me and we’ll hop in my Sexy Limo!”

  Jason sighed. “Get back to work. I know you work until eight.”

  “Awwh, now that’s not fair!’

  He shooed her away, and Darlene ran off, laughing. Jason looked back to Len, who was staring after Darlene. When she saw him watching, she averted her g
aze to the ceiling.

  He thought they’d make a cute couple.

  ***

  Mr. McKinney had passed out at his desk again. Next to his snoring head was a scroll of pale-brown parchment. Jason already owned five others like it. He wasn’t surprised his father had procured another one.

  “Dad? You awake?”

  With a grunt and a gulp of mucus, Mr. McKinney raised his head, his eyes little slits of blue. He blinked once, twice, then sat up slowly, rubbing his forehead, which was red just above the brow, like a strip of tape had been ripped away. He yawned and spit sprayed onto his goatee.

  “Excuse me, son. Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

  “It’s fine. Darlene said you needed to see me.”

  “Yeah. So, I heard about this new program…” And as he said this, his eyes brightened. The tiredness seemed to slip away from his body. “It’s great, you see. All the others aren’t worth a damn compared to this one. Just study it for a few hours, and you won’t have to worry! Monday won’t even matter! And you won’t believe…”

  Jason ignored the rest. He’d heard this pep talk time and time again. Each talk operated under one assumption: |He wasn’t studying hard enough. Maybe the past lessons were too hard. But this new one would surely teach him. Jason only nodded when appropriate. Then his father asked a question, the same question he usually asked: “You want to learn, don’t you? You don’t want your memories erased, right?”

  When these last two questions left Mr. McKinney’s mouth, Jason didn’t just nod or comply. Something deep inside of him stirred and writhed. It groaned, and Jason realized that thing was Sadness. It bawled, sobbing worse than Len had in the van. Tears trembled in Jason’s eyes. And the tears were met by silence from his father.

  “Jason, are you okay? What’s the matter?”

  Then the cries were met by a different feeling: It shot up from the deepest, blackest pit of Jason’s heart; it pounded against his face, turning his cheeks red. Tears stung his eyes. The slight remains of Ronnie’s claw marks felt like a crown of thorns on his forehead. Mr. McKinney noticed Jason’s scratches, and said, “What happened to your head?”