Cathedral of Dreams

by Terry Persun

  He focused this time and when the doors opened on his floor, he strolled out as though nothing had happened, although his body tingled with the morning's events.

  He stepped into the offices and went up to Maria's desk. “I'd like to deliver the reports again today, if you don't mind.” He had no idea why he suggested it, but just as he did, he could visualize the boy in the stairwell. He had to see if that boy looked like the boy in his dream image. And if he did, then Keith wanted to get the image clearly embedded into his memory in case the dream occurred again. For reasons he couldn't put a finger on, he thought that another encounter would help him receive more images, and perhaps even provide an entire dream.

  “Of course you can. I'll call when they are ready,” Maria said.

  Keith did not compliment her on her attire today, but instead walked around her counter and down the hall directly to his office. Sitting in front of the terminal, he didn't move. He wanted to know what was happening in his life. Why were things so different than just a few days before? Was this still part of his feelings of dread? And if so, how could he stop it from happening?

  His terminal booted as he sat down and said, “Good morning, Keith.” He nodded and sighed. Perhaps a solid day of work would relax him. He lifted his hands toward the terminal and began to run through the day's reports. Everything looked fairly normal until he saw several security reports in a row. Normally, he would have scanned through them, made sure that the materials had passed through the right channels, that the items used were reordered, that the job had been completed and properly notated. But this time he stopped to read the reports.

  He didn't get far when Maria buzzed in. “Delivery time,” she said in a pleasant voice.

  “Be right there.” Keith got up from his desk and went out to deliver the reports. Something inside him shifted, a sense of urgency, a compelling drive, and took over. He rushed toward the stairwell as though he were going to miss something. He was suddenly aware of the cameras staring at him. He could see them through his peripheral vision. The shifted focus caused him to walk funny, at least for it to feel different while he walked, and he wondered if the cameras could pick up on such a thing and record it. He closed his eyes just before shoving against the metal door to enter the stairwell.

  He entered and stopped.

  The door closed behind him. After he heard the clunk of the latch, Keith backed into the alcove. A slight shadow shaded his eyes. A sense of security washed over him, and a moment later he became fearful of what he might find. Hiking the reports under his arm, he stepped onto the broad expanse of the landing and trudged over to the stairs. He descended with purpose and care. At the second landing, he saw the boy tucked into a ball near the back of the alcove to the right. Over the doorway, it said EXIT. But Keith knew there was no real exit unless you were on one of the ground floors where he had never ventured in his life, and had no plans to.

  Although his blood ran hot and his nerves tingled with excitement, Keith advanced. His internal monolog was that he was curious, eager to find out why the boy was there. Was he sleeping, resting, hiding?

  “Hello,” Keith said while standing a few feet away.

  Just as in the encounter earlier that day, the boy stirred in slow motion and turned his head toward Keith, whose eyes widened as the boy moved. What he saw took a moment to register, but when it did, Keith jumped back and stumbled onto the floor. The reports fell, but remained fairly organized. “What happened? What's that?” he pointed to a round dot of blood on the boy's forehead. And as Keith's eyes adjusted to the darker space, it looked to him as though the blood seeped from a hole as big around as his little finger.

  It was as though the boy let Keith stare and become uncomfortable before he spoke. “Have you ever wanted to leave here?” The boy's voice was a whisper, fragile, like he was too weak to have the energy to speak louder.

  “Newcity?”

  The boy glanced up at the EXIT sign. He nodded. “I know how to get in and I know how to get out,” the boy said.

  “No. I don't think so,” Keith said, his voice edging into the hysterical. He continued to stare at the wound in the boy's forehead.

  “A bullet hole,” the boy whispered. “You know.”

  Panic shot through Keith. “I don't know. I don't know anything about it. I don't even know who you are. What are you saying? Why are you saying that?” Keith scrambled to his feet, grappling with the reports, which now hung unevenly from their folders. “Go away,” he said.

  And with that, the boy with the bullet hole in his forehead stood and opened the door, with some effort, just far enough to slip out.

  A strange smell swirled into the stairwell.

  Keith bit his lower lip. He was almost in tears. He had never seen anything like that before. How could the boy be alive with a bullet hole in his forehead? Keith was scared, then worried that the Newcity system would detect his widely swinging emotions. How horrible. What he had seen wasn't possible.

  The face—was it the one from the image?—He couldn't remember. The bullet hole had taken all his attention. He could see it clearly, could imagine putting his little finger in the hole and rubbing against the blood-damp sides. As Keith's memory reviewed and magnified details of the image, black crust grew in places along the edges of the hole, clotted into a scab. But the wound seeped still.

  Bile climbed into Keith's throat and he forced his thoughts in another direction.

  He had to calm down. He breathed evenly. He tried to relax his shoulders where the stress had settled, as he walked down the steps. But his movements were jerky and unsure, as when he shifted into peripheral vision earlier. His body didn't belong to him anymore. It wasn't totally in his control. Leaving the stairwell to make his first delivery, Keith noticed that he was sweating again. He decided to take the elevator.

  When he returned to his office, Carl, his supervisor was leaning over Keith's desk.

  “Carl, can I help you?” Keith said, almost strangling on the words that squeezed through his throat.

  The man was built like Keith but had light brown hair and lighter colored eyes. He wore a blue shirt with cuff links that matched his wrist-phone. His pants were nicely creased down the front, and barely touched his shoe-tops, causing the slightest wrinkle.

  “Why did you stop on this page? Is there something wrong with the report?” Carl asked.

  “I don't know,” Keith said. “Let me look.” As he stepped next to Carl and leaned in, he noticed first off that the security report was for the EXIT door where the boy with the bullet hole in his head had been sleeping. He hesitated, trying to think what to say, wanting to scream out about the boy. But he swallowed and said, “Nothing specific. I was just running through reports when Maria buzzed me to make deliveries.”

  “You asked to make deliveries today,” Carl said.

  “I needed the exercise.”

  Carl studied Keith, which made him feel uncomfortable. “You were late, but credited, for work yesterday. Is there something you need to tell me?”

  Keith knew that he could be credited for work for any number of reasons, and that Carl would not have access to police records unless it had to be entered into Goods and Services. He had no idea what Carl suspected, but wasn't about to tell him the truth, which might spawn another emotional shift. But it wasn't like that hadn't happened several times already today. The police would probably be lounging at his apartment now, just waiting for the workday to end in several more hours.

  “Keith?”

  “Sorry, Carl. There's nothing you need to know.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Keith looked away from his supervisor. “I'm sure.” He squeezed by and sat in his chair. “I have a lot more reports to go through,” he said.

  Carl tapped the top of Keith's desk and put his hand in his pocket. “Carry on,” he said before he left the office.

  Keith took a moment and read through the report still on-screen before he moved on. There were notes of several do
or latch replacements in that particular place in the last month. Flipping through other security reports, Keith noticed that other doors were prone to damage as well. He didn't know what it meant, but he figured that security was monitoring the situation. It would be fine.

  He carried on for the rest of the day. The boy with the bullet hole in his forehead remained on his mind, though, and he couldn't help but worry that the police would either rush into his office and take him away or be waiting for him when he got home. Either way, he wasn't in for a pleasant evening.

  Chapter 4

  After work, Keith went shopping before going home. The police never showed up at the Offices of Goods and Services, but Keith didn't want to rush home just to find them waiting there. Instead, he took his time wandering through clothing racks, and then stopped by to pick up a few snack drinks for his refrigerator. He finally milled around the food court and ordered a hamburger as dinner. He sat alone and watched people wander by. Everyone was pleasant, talking quietly to one another, some holding hands, all looked peaceful. The few children scurried to a play area and rode electromechanical animals, animals that Keith had never seen in real life, only on television and very seldom.

  He looked at the hamburger meat sticking out the side between the buns and wondered what it would be like to actually touch a cow. Was the burger real or synthetic? Any other time in his life it wouldn't matter, but lately he felt like he was missing something. The boy with the bullet hole in his head had mentioned going outside. Or was it just into the exit space? No, it was outside. And the smell from the stairwell, was that the smell of the outside air?

  Keith ate at a slow pace. Nellie had shoved him against the wall, but that was exciting. When he had a similar exchange with the man in the hall, it felt abusive. It didn't matter that the encounter was an accident. What was the difference? Why was her roughness so easily accepted? Newcity residents were not allowed to be rough with one another. That's what led to violence. The man in the hall, yelling. Keith knew how close he'd come to having the man push him, or even hit him. It's a good thing the police were in the area.

  The police. Yes. Where were they going earlier that day, anyway?

  Keith finished his sandwich and wiped his fingers over a napkin, then tossed the napkin into the trash receptacle in the center of the table. It was time to go home.

  The police were not at his apartment when he arrived. Keith didn't know why they had not noticed the emotional swings throughout his day, but he tried not to be concerned about it. He removed his dress shirt and put on something more casual. Then he removed his dress pants and replaced them with pajama bottoms. He considered watching a movie, but decided on flipping through television channels instead. He stopped at the Newcity News channel.

  “Several frightening events went on today: a pregnant woman was taken to the clinic because she was having her baby before her scheduled cesarean; a man was yelled at in the halls of the Office Workers section of Newcity; and another man is missing from the system. These stories and a Meat and Produce report after these messages.”

  Keith muted the news and waited. He knew that he would be the man yelled at and wanted to see if they mentioned where the police were headed.

  The news came back on and the pregnant woman was the lead story, and the longest. Not only did they mention the early delivery, but they had a scientist talk about how it used to be that “the human body would begin the birth automatically when it was time for the baby to arrive.” But now, with the aid of scientific auto-body controls mounted inside each Newcity resident's chip, “the body's automatic system should be squelched.” Apparently, something was wrong with her chip and there was some concern over that because there were several million of those in operation.

  Keith wondered how many other bodily functions the chip squelched. Was that why he couldn't recall his dreams? Only dimly remembered his childhood? His parents? He thought about what he'd heard. Didn't anyone else consider such things?

  The next segment was, as he had guessed, about the man yelling at him. The video showed the police heading straight for them as though they knew what was going to happen. The video focused on the two policemen, who separated from the group and came to investigate Keith and the yelling man. It did not focus on the other three policemen who had peeled off and continued down the hall. Again, the problem all stemmed around the failure of the chip, but this time it was because the man – Keith didn't catch his name – had overridden the circuitry due to an enzyme in the brain that actually deleted a whole sequence of signals from the chip. “Scientists feel that evolutionary occurrences are the root cause of these enzymes and that they expect to be able to control them with the next generation chip. In the mean time, a standard vaccine is under test and is hoped to be available within the year.” The announcer went on, but Keith muted the television again.

  He watched the announcer speak, but kept the set on mute. When he tried to concentrate on the idea of having his emotions shut down, for any reason, his mind became muddled and slow. Perhaps he was tired. Perhaps it didn't matter. He had a good life, and enjoyed his work. In fact, the purpose of Newcity was to provide a safe and comfortable place to live, and things were going well for Keith for the most part.

  He stood up to get one of the snack drinks he had brought home when he heard a knock at the door. The sound was quiet and he almost doubted that he heard it. He expected no one. The police? He waited as the doorknob turned and Nellie sneaked in as though she were being followed.

  “What? I didn't request…”

  “I know,” she said. “But you should have. You wanted to,” she said. She had a navy blue fabric pack with her and threw it onto the sofa. “You asked me to come by.”

  “But you aren't allowed to unless I request it through the Companion site. I thought there were rules against us getting too, too…”

  “Too involved. I know, without it going through the Family system. It doesn't matter anyway. We're not that involved. We just like each other's company. Right?” She stood near him now. Her face leaned close to his, too close. “Right?” she said.

  “Okay. But look, I had a rough day. I can't be with anyone, so please.”

  “The boy with the bullet hole in his forehead?” she said, shaking her head at him.

  Keith whirled around and stepped away from her. “What are you talking about? What are you saying? You…”

  Nellie grabbed his arm and, with a force he never expected, swung him back toward her. She grasped his triceps, dragged him to the sofa, and shoved him down. “Look, I know about it and you've got to stay away from him. There's nothing there for you. You want to be here. I'm here. You want to stay inside.”

  “I have no intention…”

  She leaned back and pointed toward the door. “I've been outside. You know that. You don't want to go.”

  “I thought you said it wasn't so bad,” he said.

  “For me. I have a job out there and they leave me alone, but you couldn't handle it. Chippies are too weak,” she said. Her eyes widened and her movements stilled. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean that. I shouldn't have said that.” She knelt down in front of him and placed her arms across his thighs, her hands on his waist. “That's not how I think of you. Forgive me.”

  Keith reached out and rubbed her back with both his hands.

  She pressed her head into his stomach. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to call you that.”

  “It's all right. I've never heard anyone say that before. It means nothing to me, except…”

  “Except what?”

  “Now I know what that scar is from. The one on your arm.”

  Nellie sat up and rolled the scar on her forearm into view. “You noticed.”

  For reasons he couldn't quite understand, Keith wasn't scared. He was intrigued. “How is it that you're in Newcity if you're not chipped?”

  “We live here. Work here. We just don't belong here.”

  “We?”

  “I don't kno
w how many. I only know that there are a lot more than me,” she said.

  “Your computer system friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why are you here with me? What do you really want from me, and why can't your friends get any information they want?”

  Closing her eyes, Nellie took a deep breath. “If I tell you, can you stay calm?”

  Already Keith's heart pounded. “I think so.”

  “We want out. We want to go free.” She stared at him, waited.

  “How does the boy with the bullet hole in his forehead get inside?” Keith said.

  “We don't know.”

  “How does he live like that?”

  Nellie bit down and her jaw tightened. “We've only seen him on the monitors once in a while. It's as though he just appears. But he must get inside somehow. There must be a security breech. If we can find it.”