The Dream Catcher's Daughter

by Steven Fox

  ELEVEN

  The hole in the playground looked like a ragged wound. Jason half-expected blood to spurt from it. Perhaps, he should’ve been paying more attention to the blood-red hound behind him and the gray-skinned giantess over him, her smile unscathed from the metal and plastic she’d just snarfed. Len tugged on his sleeve.

  “Come on!” she whispered. “We have to get out of here.”

  “How? We need a distraction. Your flute is broken…”

  Len patted her jacket, grinning. “You didn’t think I’d come unprepared, did you? Just start running.”

  So Jason did, with Len following behind. Talshe’s hand shot out to block their path and Leech fell in behind them. Len’s hand disappeared inside her jacket and in a lightning-strike flash she pressed a small flute to her lips. The melody she played wasn’t quite as resonant, but it was enough to make Talshe clasp both hands over her ears. Leech, on the other hand, bounded after them, his growls like the guttural whine of a blender.

  The sun had nearly set, and it was getting harder to see. Jason nearly tripped over a curb, but Len kept him balanced. When Leech came too close, Len made sure to blast a few notes, effectively slowing Leech down each time. Jason’s heart pounded, his ankles and heels warm with electric pain. His sides stitched, and each breath sounded more like a sob. Len was winded, but not relenting. Sweat rolled off her brow, down her cheeks. Still, she kept a steady pace, always checking to see how close Leech was, blasting more music through her flute as needed.

  With South Hollow Ave only half a block away, Len blasted a string of melodies, and Leech froze to his spot. They turned the corner and Jason’s left leg cramped. He fell forward onto his knees, gripping his leg. Len bent down next to him. After a few more notes to ensure Leech stayed put, Len hoisted Jason up, wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders. Like that they went, their speed more than halved by Jason’s hobbling. He cussed at Len, telling her to leave him. But Len never dropped him, never saved herself. Jason hated her. But secretly, he was thankful. More than thankful.

  Len’s house came into view. Leech’s growls had fallen silent, and the hound itself was nowhere in sight. Len helped Jason to the door. Inside, she leaned him against the wall and rolled up his pant leg, revealing a bundled up, twitching calf muscle. She shut the door and locked it. A door would only buy so much time, maybe none, if Talshe was concerned, so Jason tried to stand, but his leg seized, and he hissed in pain. Len helped him inside her house.

  They took the hallway past the basement staircase, knocking over bags. Glass bottles rang like bells as they rolled along the floor. Len and Jason half-hobbled past the bathroom and toward an open doorway at the end of the hall. The floor was cluttered with papers and what looked like wood shavings. On the far wall was a bed. Next to it sat a nightstand with a wand decorated in feathers. Len’s room, thought Jason.

  She guided him across the paper-covered floor, sat him on the edge of her bed, and kneeled before him, her hands groping his calf. He tried to pull away, but Len didn’t loosen her grip. As he stared at her, watching her massage the cramp out of his leg, he sobbed.

  “Does this hurt?” said Len, stopping the massage.

  Jason shook his head. “I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”

  His head tilted forward, his arms limp and lifeless. The stone had struck without warning. The pressure in the back of Jason’s head pulsed as he fell on top of Len. She pushed him off easily, and then slapped him.

  “Wake up!” she said. “Don’t give up on me now!”

  He felt so tired. All he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and forget. Forget and—

  “Forth!” he gasped, sitting up. He folded his arms to his sides, hands on top of his chest, and rocked forward. Tears flowed evenly from his eyes. “Forth,” he whispered.

  He looked up and spotted a mirror across the room. From where he was sitting, Jason thought it looked like he was trying to pull something over his shoulders.

  ***

  Len forced Jason to lie down then sat on the floor next to him, a knife in one hand and a wooden flute in the other. She explained it to him: “Catchers must make their own wand. Otherwise they hold no power over dreams. Dreams only listen to those who take initiative. Whatever that means.”

  “I think I get it.”

  “Really?”

  “Dreams only want to be controlled by those who don’t surrender. Like, they don’t want someone who’s easily thrown for a loop.”

  Len rolled her eyes. “I guess.”

  Jason thought about Talshe, about how stupid he’d been. He should’ve seen that she was real from the beginning. But he hadn’t known about Dream Catchers and Callers at the time. He glanced at Len, who’d been watching his face. She grinned. “I can’t tell whether you’re thinking or just vegging out,” she said.

  Jason grunted. “I wish my face would work. It only gets a couple things right.”

  “Yeah, and your voice sounds weird, too.”

  Jason glanced over to Len’s nightstand, and stared at the wand decorated with eagle feathers and deerskin. Len noticed his gaze, stood, and sat on the edge of the bed. “My father’s. It was the only thing left of him.”

  “How long ago did it happen?”

  “Don’t remember. Isn’t that sad? It drives me insane, sometimes.” Len’s eyes fell, and her smile shrank. “Now Mistress might die. I mean, our job exacts a huge toll on our bodies. Mistress has told me that there haven’t been many Catchers who’ve made it past forty. They usually have an apprentice by that point, though. An apprentice only needs fifteen years of training, then they can take over and the previous Catcher can die in peace. Whether their apprentice wants them to or not.”

  Len jerked up, eyes wide, her face flushed. She took to the floor, picking up her knife and near-completed flute. “Sorry, I’m rambling. You’re probably bored to death.”

  “No, it’s interesting. I just can’t show it.” Another thought popped into his head. “If Catchers don’t live long, then maybe your mistress is going early.”

  Len’s face hardened just as she set the knife against her flute. She forced the blade forward and cut her thumb. Cussing, Len stuck the thumb in her mouth before examining it: Not much blood, but enough to warrant a bandage. When Len returned, she plopped on the floor and picked up her knife and flute again.

  “I told you once, I’ll say it again,” she said, glaring at the floor, “the Guardian is trying to kill her.”

  A few moments later, Len finished her flute. She played a few notes on it, and an emerald light glowed at one end of the flute. She handed it to Jason, who regarded it the way he might a crying newborn—fascination mixed with worry and confusion.

  “I don’t want it,” said Jason.

  “Too bad.” She shoved it into his hand, then pulled off the bandage and held up her thumb, which bubbled with blood. “Just push the green light into the cut.”

  Curious, Jason did as she said. The light sizzled, died, and then Len flinched. Her thumb healed, blood and all. As Len took the flute back, Jason stared at her thumb.

  “That’s cool,” he said.

  “It’s part of a Catcher’s job. We’re healers by nature. But we can’t heal ourselves. Someone else must do it for us.” She shrugged. “That’s part of the reason why we age fast. We take on the burdens of others…God, I’m going to ramble some more.”

  Jason shook his head, and opened his mouth to reply. But a loud bang rent the air.

  Len stood, gripping the flute tight. “I can’t use it yet,” she said. “Not for Catching. I need my mistress’s blessing.”

  Another bang, like a gunshot, came from down the hall.

  Jason stood, testing his leg. It felt tight, anxious. But it would let him run if he needed to. Now there was scratching, followed by a series of bangs. They crept out into the hall. The bags of trash added an eerie backbeat to the spastic banging—crinkle ting bang, crinkle ting bang. They made it to the kitchen. And everything stopped. Silence.

&n
bsp; Jason moved toward the door. Len tried to stop him, but Leech was after Jason, so why let someone else go in his place? He opened the porch door. Nothing here was disturbed. The screen window wasn’t big enough for Leech to squeeze through, though the door seemed to bend inward now. Jason’s left leg threatened to cramp. Everything moved fast and slow at the same time; the door seemed to be miles away, yet Jason was already there, his hand on the handle, pushing it open. Before him lay the patio. Beyond that, the empty street and the neighboring houses. He turned back and shut the door behind him.

  He was halfway into the kitchen when he heard the screech of shattered glass.

  “It’s in the house,” said Len. “We can’t stay here!”

  Instead of turning and running out through the front door, like he’d expected, Jason’s body took him toward the basement. Len paused, her eyes wide, but then ran after him. She didn’t know, but a part of Jason, the instinctual half of his brain, told him to meet the beast head-on. He just hoped the instinctual part had better advice to offer than just charging.

  A bloody wad of muscle, teeth, and claws, Leech clogged the end of the hallway. Halfway between it and Jason stood the staircase. But Leech covered as much ground as Jason could in only two strides. His mouth opened, a tunnel of teeth spinning around on the inside. Jason yelled for Len to duck, and they both dropped to the floor. Leech flew right over them, crashing and sliding through several garbage bags, swallowing a couple. The beast heaved and gagged while Jason pushed Len in front of him, toward the stairs.

  Before Len could descend, Leech tackled Jason, and the mouth of the stairway swallowed them both. Stairs and lights flashed by in a blur. Leech seemed distant, a red blot that blinked into view and then out again. Strangely, Jason felt no pain as he fell. Just the rolling, tumbling. He kept his head tucked in, hoping that would help.

  Everything stopped and Jason flattened against the floor. He pushed himself up on his elbows. Nothing felt broken; somehow he’d survived. But before he could think of anything, something thudded behind him. It growled. Jason stood, woozy, and stumbled forward. The pain hit him with the force of a truck loaded with cement bricks. Everything felt shattered and ragged; everything came loose under his skin. A guttural scream exploded from his mouth.

  Leech stood on all fours, though it appeared its neck was broken and one hind leg was snapped in half, dangling uselessly as it hobbled toward Jason with a mouth of sharp, unbroken teeth. Jason tried to crawl, but the hound latched onto his foot and sucked in Jason’s ankle.

  This is what I get, thought Jason, for being so close-minded.

  Just as the teeth cut into his shoe, a flash of blue light engulfed them. Something inside Jason pounded like a bass drum. Not his heart, but something else, deep inside his body. He wasn’t even sure what it was, but it felt alive. So alive it felt, the pain vanished from his body in a wisp of light. And as the light cleared, Jason noticed something else: Leech had disappeared.

  Len cleared the bottom stair, and when her eyes fell upon Jason, she gasped. Her eyes weren’t truly on him, but slightly behind him. There, tall and proud, stood the Dream Catcher.

  TWELVE

  The Dream Catcher reclined back onto her bed and looked up at Jason. She flashed him what he thought was grin. He couldn’t tell, because she looked so sleepy, so old. But as with Len, Jason could see past the gray hair and wrinkles. Youth was still there, but fading quickly.

  Before the Dream Catcher fell asleep, she raised a fist halfway through the air, too tired to extend it fully, and said, “Forth, after the Dream Caller.” Then she eased back and fell asleep with her hands over her chest. She looked too dead for Jason’s comfort. Len tended to her mistress, patting her head with a washcloth, trickling water down her throat, and various other tidying duties. After a while, Len kissed her mistress on the head.

  “Sleep peacefully, mother,” she said.

  “Mother?” said Jason.

  “Well, she did adopt me. That makes her my legal guardian.”

  Jason was less interested in parents than the obvious concern hanging in the air between them. Jason stepped away from the wall he’d been leaning against. “The Dream Caller’s alive.”

  Len nodded. “I think so.”

  “No, don’t think. She is alive. Who else could bring those dreams into reality?”

  “The Guardian,” she said.

  “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

  “It would make sense! He wants his powers back. The power he gave to his daughters…”

  “Daughters?” Jason shook his head. “You’re telling me the Guardian is your mistress’s father?”

  “No. Grandfather. Twenty times over. Probably more.” She sat on the ground, her back against her mistress’s bed. “Adopted, as well. Dream Catchers always adopt. Ever since the first Dream Caller went bad.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because after the first one went bad, each and every offspring has been just as corrupt. Somehow, before each Caller died, they had given birth to a child.” Len heaved a sigh. “I can’t understand how so many people would want to carry on such a terrible legacy.”

  Jason looked over at the Dream Catcher, then back to Len. The way she’d said legacy made him think that, maybe, she held resentment toward the word. Resentment made him think of Darlene, and the downright anger she’d held in her eyes before storming off.

  “I need to find Darlene,” he said.

  She gave him a look as if he’d said he wanted to lick her toes. “Why? Talshe’s still out there. You should stay where it’s safe.”

  “Safe? You call Leech breaking through the window safe? I’m sorry, but I’d feel safer knowing my best friend is okay and not sitting in the bottom of a giant’s stomach.” Len offered no further argument, but her face was still drawn, wary. She pinched the bridge of her nose as Jason turned toward the stairs. “I’ll be back later,” he said. “I’ll grab Darlene and bring her with me.”

  “What? Why?”

  Inside, Jason found the break in Len’s voice cute. He was glad he couldn’t smile—it’d be the biggest, shit-eating grin ever. “She’s my best friend. My only friend, besides you. I don’t want to lose her, okay? Don’t make me say more than that.”

  Len nodded, biting her bottom lip. “When you put it that way, it’s best to have your loved ones close by. But she better not get in the way.”

  “She won’t get in my way.” He turned to head up the stairs.

  “Hey,” said Len. “Could you wait at least an hour? I’m a little dirty. The house’s a little dirty. It could use some cleaning before our new guest arrives…”

  He nodded, then left, wishing he could wear the biggest Cheshire grin ever.

  ***

  While the past two years were foggy for Jason, the years before that, back until his early childhood, were not. He’d met Darlene and her father in Mr. McKinney’s office. Even back then, Darlene was a spitfire. She hated sitting still, always tapping her foot and shaking her legs, as though she were playing an imaginary drum set.

  As soon as she set eyes on Jason, he knew they were going to be friends. Maybe not consciously, but something in the back of his head told him that he wanted to know this girl and enjoy her company. It had nothing to do with her looks, the strawberry-red dress with white lace edging the sleeves and skirt. Nor did he care about the beautifully pinned-up braids that made her look like an Egyptian queen. What made him want to know her was the way she walked up to him and extended her right hand. He’d taken it tentatively. Darlene had smiled as they shook.

  “Hi, I’m homeless,” she’d said, “and I wipe my butt with my right hand.”

  As he remembered, Jason felt guilty. He’d been such a dick to Darlene. Calling her dike wasn’t the worst he could’ve done, but in the time and day they lived in, a comment like that was enough to send someone over the edge. He just hoped Darlene was still here.

  “Forth,” he muttered under his breath.

  The sun had
set, and the streetlamps washed the street in pale light. Overhead, the moon waned, and the stars twinkled like dying fireflies. Jason turned his eyes back to the road. He stood at the playground, staring directly at the hole where the slide used to be. What if they had been in that slide? What if Darlene had run into Talshe? Or didn’t even see her coming? The questions pounded and pierced Jason’s brain. He tried to quiet the noise, to think clearly. He tugged out a single thought. A memory.

  He turned and headed west along the sidewalk just south of the playground. He passed an old church to his left and rows of whitewashed, two-story houses to his right. The living rooms were lit gold, the Technicolor of their T.V. sets flickering as he jogged by. The night air was brisk and nippy, but couldn’t chill the butterflies in Jason’s chest.

  Don’t leave, Darlene, he thought.

  He let his memory guide him west another block, then south. Trees hung over the sidewalk like great umbrellas, shrouding Jason in night. Many people in this part of town knew Jason and his father. The graveyard workers in Len’s part of town couldn’t care less about Jason or what he did, but the goody-two-shoers of the Church District (as Jason liked to call it) would report any suspicious activity because they felt it was their duty. Normally, Jason would respect that. Tonight wasn’t normal.

  Don’t leave, he thought.

  The trees and houses cleared, and he came to a highway, which curved from the west and cut in front of him. On the other side of the road a hilly expanse of fenced-in pasture rolled into the distance. Horses and sheep would prance here. They’re sleeping now, thought Jason. Coyotes come out at night. Everything’s more dangerous at night.

  Southwest of the field stood two baseball diamonds, one much smaller than the other. The concession stand squatted between them. A large parking lot made of gravel lay north of these. Jason jogged across it, his eyes darting back and forth. Already he could see a blot forming on the bench in one of the bigger diamond’s dugouts. Twenty feet away, the blot grew a head and arms. It was hunched over, convulsing. Crying, but here. Alive.