by Bryan Davis
She drummed her fingers on the counter, apparently to hide her whispers. “The other customers are looking at you. They're going to know you're a traveler.”
He reached for his wallet. “If you get me a Whopper and a Coke, I'll get out of here as fast as I can.”
She gave him a quick nod. “Just don't tell anyone, okay? I mean, you won't report me, will you?”
Leaning close, he whispered, “I won't tell. Everything will be fine.”
“As if I could trust a traveler.” She whirled around, snatched their sacks of food, and plopped them down on the counter. “The stalker won't make you suffer like I will tonight.”
As Nathan paid for his order, he hid a nervous swallow. “White ponytail and ghoulish eyes, right?”
“So you have seen him.” She tilted her head. “Are you sure you're a traveler?”
“I don't think I'm sure of anything.” He gathered the food sacks and strode to the dining area where Kelly and Daryl waited at a booth. “Come on,” he said, nodding at the exit. “We can't stay.”
Daryl flicked her thumb toward the booth behind her. “Something weird's going on,” she whispered. “Those people are talking about a murder that'll happen tonight. They say the police know about it, but they're not going to —”
“There you are!” A muscular young man strode in through the door, wearing jeans and a Chicago Bears T-shirt.
Nathan shot to his feet. “Gunther! I was just about to try to call you. How'd you know we'd be here?”
“Grab your food.” Gunther leaned toward the door. “Let's get out of here. Too risky to explain in public.”
All three followed Gunther out the exit. His Stoneman Enterprises van, with a flatbed trailer in tow, was parked across several spaces at the back of the lot. A metal ramp spanned the gap between the trailer bed and the pavement.
“Load up your bikes,” Gunther said, “and let's get moving.”
Nathan pushed up his kickstand. “But how did you know we'd be riding—”
“Never mind that.” Gunther grabbed Kelly's motorcycle handles. “Let's go!”
After securing the bikes with ropes, Gunther hustled to the driver's seat. Daryl sat up front with him while Nathan and Kelly climbed into the back where a comfortable new bench seat had been installed, much better than the hard floor they had used the last time.
Gunther slapped the van into drive and jerked the load into motion. He hurried through the parking lot and then into traffic with barely a glance at the other cars. Nathan bit into his hamburger and looked at Daryl, then at Kelly. While they munched their own sandwiches, their eyes seemed to ask the same questions he had on his own mind. When would Gunther explain what was going on? What was he so worried about?
As the van accelerated on the interstate, soft music played from all around, rich bass tones — a cellist performing a sacred hymn— combining with the mellow violins of an accompanying orchestra. Apparently Gunther had also installed a new stereo system, a timely addition. The soothing music seemed to calm everyone down.
Finally, when the van reached highway speed, Gunther let out a deep breath. “Have you figured out what's going on around here?”
After swallowing his mouthful, Nathan nodded. “Sort of.” He glanced at a newspaper on the seat. The headline read, “New Dream Rules Now in Effect.” He handed it to Kelly and leaned toward the front. “It looks like the nightmare epidemic we heard about when we were here before has spread to just about everyone. Some people are dreaming about their own future, and then it comes true. Even if it's a bad dream, they're afraid to do anything that might change it. If they try, they'll have a terrible nightmare the next night, usually about dying, and they can't stop it from happening.”
“That's true for the next-day dreamers.” Gunther pointed at himself. “I'm a traveler, and I saw you in my dream, even your motorcycles, so I knew to bring a trailer. It took me a while to figure out which Burger King it was. That's why I'm a little late.”
Kelly passed the newspaper to the front seat. “Did you see yourself coming here?”
“No. Travelers don't always see the future. We see things that might happen anywhere in the world.”
“Might happen?” Kelly repeated.
“Yeah, it's sort of an expectation, like what people want to happen. Sometimes it comes true, and sometimes it doesn't. Francesca's a traveler, and she saw you at the Burger King, too, so with both of us dreaming the same thing, I had to check it out.”
“Have you been in contact with her a lot?” Nathan asked.
“Just about every day. She's been looking for you. She says the only way to stop this mess is for you to come with her in her dreams.”
“I kind of figured that out. We saw her in the Earth Blue dimension while she was wandering around Wal-Mart in her dream.” Nathan shook his head. That sounded too strange to be true. But what wasn't strange in this dawning of interfinity?
“Francesca didn't mention anything about Wal-Mart,” Gunther said, “but you can ask her about it yourself. If you two don't put a stop to this dreaming business, the whole world is going to crack. The financial system almost collapsed when people started investing based on their dreams. That's the main reason the rules went into effect.”
“But how can the government enforce them?” Nathan asked. “They can't control dreams.”
Gunther looked back at him and wiggled his fingers as if casting a spell. He stretched out his reply, altering his voice to a creepy bass. “No, but Zelda can.”
Nathan grinned at his antics. “Who's Zelda?”
“The only survivor from the flight one ninety-one crash three years ago.”
“Three years?” Kelly said. “It's already been three years?”
“I'm afraid so.” Gunther sighed. “Three very long years.”
Kelly leaned forward and joined Nathan, copying his pose as he rested his chin on his hands against the front seat. “I met Zelda,” she said. “I took some pictures of her, and she gave me her business card.”
“Do you still have it?” Nathan asked.
“It's at home, but I remember her title said doctor, so she must be well educated.”
Gunther laughed under his breath. “Well she's smart enough to cash in on her celebrity status. She claims to be a prophetess, that God saved her from the crash to prove her spiritual power. She started predicting major events perfectly and claimed that she could control the nightmare epidemic. When the dreams spread to almost half of the population, she had to set down rules. We're not allowed to try to change the future. She says it's predestined, and we shouldn't mess with God's plans. After that, when people tried to take advantage anyway, this ghostly guy would come and haunt their next nightmare. Lots of people died, either during the dream itself or because of a terrible accident the next day. She says she knows when people — as she says— ‘injure the fabric of predestined purpose.’ And she knows who they are. So when she says the boogeyman's going to get you, she really means it.”
“Mictar has to be the boogeyman.” Nathan wondered at his own conclusion. Why would Mictar be working with Zelda, and how did that fit in with his agenda to merge the three earths?
Maybe it had something to do with generating fear.
“So,” Kelly said, “is Francesca thirteen now?”
“Yes, and a beautiful young lady. She has a great handle on what's going on, but her father is just confused by the whole thing. Fortunately, he trusts me completely, so I get to come over whenever I want to.”
During the rest of the journey, Nathan explained to Gunther everything that had happened in the other dimensions, including Mictar's plunge into the mirror at the funeral, their encounter with Francesca at the Wal-Mart, and their experience with the stalkers and supplicants in the misty world. Since he filled in as many details as possible, and since Kelly added her color commentary in dozens of places, by the time he finished, they had passed Iowa City and were closing in on Newton.
Gunther pulled off the highw
ay at the Newton exit. “We're meeting at Francesca's old house. It was sold at auction to a guy named Vernon Clark, but no one's moved in yet.”
Kelly nudged Nathan's ribs but said nothing. It wasn't hard to figure out why. Tony, her father, had mentioned that his father had bought the house after Francesca's mother died. Vernon Clark was probably Kelly's grandfather.
“About a month ago,” Gunther continued, “Dr. Malenkov asked Vernon for permission to come to the house to get the trunk Francesca left behind. Once he got a key, they started going there regularly. You'll see why in a few minutes.”
After passing between the familiar cornfields, tall and fully tasseled, they pulled into the driveway next to the cottonwood tree now dressed in late summer greenery. Gunther got out and stretched as he looked up at the sky. “Cloudy. Maybe Iowa will sleep easy tonight.”
Nathan joined him and gazed at the gray skies. Thick clouds streamed in from the west and covered the descending sun. “Do clouds keep Mictar from stalking dreams?”
“Not sure. The blanket effect might be psychological, but it seems to help. Maybe people feel kind of vulnerable when the weather's clear, like the ghosts can reach down from wherever they are and pierce our minds.”
As they walked toward the front door, the sound of the garage opening made them halt. Dr. Malenkov, the younger Earth Yellow version, stepped out, his eyes darting all around. “Please park the van inside without delay.”
While Gunther hustled back to his van, Nathan, Kelly, and Daryl quick-marched into the garage. Dr. Malenkov ushered them toward the inner doorway. “Welcome, friends. Francesca will be so glad to see you.” He added a soft laugh. “And, of course, I am glad to see you, as well.”
After Gunther drove the van into the garage, Nathan helped him detach the trailer and roll it next to the van. While the motorized door closed, he pulled the mirror and violin from the motorcycle pack. “Where is your car, Dr. Malenkov?”
“Hidden,” the teacher replied. “I wanted to be sure we had enough room for you here.” He waved his hand toward the open inner door. “Come, come. The time is approaching.”
Nathan and Gunther joined the girls and followed the graying gentleman through the familiar laundry room, kitchen, and hallway. Sweet violin music filled the air, growing louder with each step. When they reached the bedroom door, Dr. Malenkov paused and peered inside. A white glow bathed his face as he turned to Nathan, smiling. “She is ready.”
The music stopped. As the glow faded, Nathan and the others filed past Dr. Malenkov. Inside, Francesca sat on a solitary wooden chair with a music stand in front, her violin and bow on her lap. With her shoulders back and her head straight, her hair fell in ringlets of black down the sleeves of her flowing white dress. Although she was now a young lady, a familiar child-like mirth sparkled in her eyes.
She smiled as she rose to her feet. “I'm glad you finally came, Son.” Her soft voice carried across the empty room in lilting echoes. “I have been praying for your arrival for three years.”
Nathan took a step closer. His throat narrowed painfully. She was more woman than girl now — too young to be his mother and too old for the playful banter they once shared. Shifting his weight nervously, he nodded. “I'm glad I could make it.”
Kelly rushed forward and gave Francesca a warm hug. “It's so good to see you again!”
Francesca returned the embrace, her eyes staying focused on Nathan, as if probing his mind. Nathan cringed. His mother used to do the same thing, and a familiar sense of inescapability swept through his body. He would never be able to hide a thought from her, so he might as well give in.
She angled her bow toward him. “You've figured out the gift, haven't you?”
“I think so.” Nathan lowered his head. Just looking at her scalded his soul. Somewhere in the cosmos his real mother needed help, and here he was, probably a billion miles away. Sure, being here was important, incredibly important, but his heart ached to find her.
Francesca glided forward, reached out a hand, and touched his cheek with her fingertips. As her smile weakened, a tear dressed her eye with wetness, and her voice returned to that of a little girl. “The gift is scary, Nathan. I'm not sure what to do with it.”
Her touch felt cool and soft, just like his mother's. Trying to keep his voice from cracking, he reached for a lower tone. “Are you still on a mission to play the huge violin?”
She nodded. “But it's more complicated than that. When your mother described the violin, she only saw it in a vision. She wasn't really there. She and your father were trying to break through to another world, the Quattro world, I suppose, but they failed.”
Nathan looked at the sheets of music on her stand, a variety of compositions from the classical and romantic periods. “I see you've been experimenting,” he said.
“Different pieces have different effects, but …” She pulled out a music book from behind the stack. “This one works the best. And it's the only baroque piece that works at all.” She nodded at Dr. Malenkov, who stood next to Gunther near the door. “My father and I arranged it as a duet.”
Nathan smiled at the title—Vivaldi's Four Seasons. Somehow it didn't seem so strange that his mother's Earth Yellow twin would come up with the same duet. “So you figured out how to get through to that world?”
“Only in one sense. I can walk through it like I'm in a dream.”
“In a dream?” He bobbed his head slowly. “Something like that happened to me, too.”
“Because you have the gift.” Her bright smile widened. “But I learned something very important. I can take my father with me in the dream if we sleep while touching.”
“Now that's really strange,” Kelly said. “Touching can make people dream together?”
“If one of the sleepers is gifted. My father never remembers the dream when he wakes up, so I'm not sure if he's dreaming it, too, but it feels like he's really there, because he talks to me and gives me advice. I wish I could show you, but what we're about to do is a waking vision, not a sleeping dream.” Francesca lifted the violin and set the bow over the strings. “Are you ready to join me, Son? It's always faster with two playing.”
Nathan held up his mirror. “Don't we need this?”
She shook her head. “Not just to look. The interdimensional wound is so deep at this spot, we can pierce it visually with only music. We'll use the mirror for when we actually travel there. I want you to see what's going on while it's relatively safe.”
“Sounds reasonable.” He handed the mirror to Kelly and lifted his own violin. “Let's have a look.”
“What do we do?” Daryl asked, nodding at Kelly. “Do the ungifted just stand here and play Old Maid?”
“You can stand with us,” Francesca said. “But you won't be able to see what we see. Just listen carefully and you'll hear what's going on. You might pick up on something important.”
“I guess that'll do,” Kelly said.
Turning to Nathan, Francesca bowed her head. “Here we go. From the top.” She played a long note, as crisp and clear as her older self ever played it. Yet, it rang out like a death knell, raising haunting memories of the recent funeral, the last place Nathan had attempted this piece. It would take all his strength to play without trembling.
He joined in, at first with an echo of her introduction, then with a blindingly fast run along the fingerboard, pausing at the high end with a series of eerily beautiful half notes. With each stroke of their bows, white mist erupted, as if brushing up thin dust from the strings of a violin long abandoned in an attic.
The streams of mist flowed together. Like two serpents slithering up a pole, they wrapped around each other, growing thicker with every note that sang from the enchanted strings. Soon, they created a funnel-like swirl, the same cyclonic fog that had sent Nathan and company to the misty world. The lower tip of the funnel hovered over the carpet next to his shoes, and the outer edges brushed against his bow arm as he continued playing.
He leaned forwar
d to get a glimpse of Francesca on the other side of the swirl. Her eyes began to glow. Rays of white poured forth, like twin searchlights scanning the room. As the mist spread, two other spotlights intersected the first ones, creating a crisscross set of wandering headlamps. It seemed as though two cars were trying to find their way in a foggy parking lot.
Nathan blinked. Were those two other lights coming from him? He turned his head. The lights followed. He aimed them at the swirl. As his glowing vision penetrated the cyclone, images flowed through his senses— a long, glassy path; a dark chasm on one side, a foggy swamp on the other. It looked exactly like the misty world he had already visited.
“I think it's big enough.” Francesca stopped playing and nodded toward the funnel, now at least five feet wide. “Everyone step in and huddle close.”
Nathan lowered his violin and followed her into the funnel. The mist felt cool but not as wet as the funnel he had traveled in before. It felt more like dry ice vapor than fog. Kelly and Daryl joined them, but Dr. Malenkov stayed on the outside. “Gunther and I will keep watch,” he said, patting Gunther on the shoulder. “You will be unaware of your physical surroundings while you are in there, so we will be your eyes in this world.”
Francesca set her feet and raised her bow again. “We have to keep playing, or the viewing portal will collapse.” She began the duet from the first measure. Nathan joined her again, trying to pour in the passion the piece deserved, but the overwhelmingly strange surroundings kept tugging at his concentration.
As the foursome stood within the swirl, the mist absorbed the eyebeams and spread the light throughout. Particle after particle of mist reflected the light with a pinpoint flash, each one a different color. As the number of flashing points grew, the reflections created a tapestry of tiny strobes that slowly eased their frantic pulses, finally staying lit in their chosen color.
Soon, the picture was complete, the living image of the misty world. Nathan and Francesca stood upon the glassy walk, safely away from the chasm on one side and the swamp on the other. This time, darkness didn't shroud their initial view. The long walkway, easily visible within the first fifty yards or so, led away in both directions, vanishing in cloudy curtains in the distance.
