I continued down the street and saw the pawn shop at the end of the street. The owner was turning off the lights and locking the doors. I saw his shifty eyes and imagined how many people he had taken advantage of that day. Aunt Judy hocked her jewelry after Uncle Bill died. The owner of the pawn shop charged her so much interest on her jewelry that she eventually lost it because she couldn’t get ahead. What a jerk that guy is.
I was standing there remembering about Aunt Judy and just thinking about all that crap when I saw the guy in the hoodie again. I saw him slip around the side of the building, then I saw him through the front window. I saw him going through the display cases and filling his hoodie with jewelry, guns and whatever else he could grab.
The shop owner looked surprised as hoodie guy loaded up. I could see the owner freaking out as he ran to set off the alarm. Hoodie guy left back through the side and disappeared. I heard a police cruiser’s warbling siren down the street. Then I saw the flashing lights as they slid up to the front of the store.
The shop owner ran out and blurted something about being robbed. The cop asked which way they went and the owner said he never saw a person. A backup cruiser showed up. The first cop took off on foot trying to pick up a trail while the second cop looked around the perimeter. He walked close to me and asked a lady if she saw anything. She shook her head. He walked right past me as he questioned someone else.
I don’t think he saw me.
Dreams are crazy things.
TRIBUNE: JANUARY 16
UNIDENTIFIED ROBBER STRIKES AGAIN
Last evening around 10:00 p.m., another suspicious break-in occurred that has local authorities looking back at the incident from Jan 13. Last evening an unidentified perpetrator robbed the Golden Nugget Trading Post while the owner and operator Willard Ferguson was attempting to close the store for the day.
“I was turning out the lights and getting ready to set the alarm. The back door was already closed, dead bolted and barred. Whoever it was didn’t come in the back door and they didn’t come in the front. I had a clear view of the door. A lot of stuff is missing and I could see things disappearing. When the detective got here we checked the security tapes and they are all blank.”
When asked if he would reopen the shop tomorrow, Mr. Ferguson replied, “I don’t think so. Not until they get a handle on what’s going on around here.”
Detective Dwayne Chaney said in a statement, “I do believe that these crimes are related. I am again urging anyone with information to come forward. The police can’t have officers everywhere, so we need your eyes and ears. If you have any information, please contact me at 555-1967.
JANUARY 16
Holy crap! I stopped to get coffee again, picked up a paper and read that it happened again, just like in my dream. Should I say something?
What am I worried about? Let’s see...
If I say I saw something they are going to ask me where I was when I saw it. Can I honestly say I was dreaming? I mean, it’s the truth, but does anyone want to hear the truth when it’s something like this?
Here’s a good test. Would I believe the story if I heard it? Hell no I wouldn’t. Who am I kidding?
Maybe an anonymous tip would work. If I could call and give a little bit of info and get off the phone before they could trace the call then it wouldn’t matter if they believed me or not. They could catch the person and who cares if I sound like a crazy person?
So what do I tell them? I still haven’t seen the robber, not his face anyway. Maybe I need to just sit still and see if I can get more info. Assuming it happens again.
If it happens again, I will call the cops as soon as I wake up. Maybe my memory will be fresh. That’s what I’ll do.
I gotta get to work.
JANUARY 16, 6PM
Work was weird today. I had my usual stream of old people that needed me to clean viruses off of their computers. Seriously though, why can’t people just stop clicking on shady stuff? Uggghhh.
Anyway, the boss was on edge all day. She kept pacing in front of the plate glass window looking up and down the street. If she told me once, she told me a hundred times to keep my eyes open, watch for anybody looking creepy. I just nodded and kept my head down.
I know they’ve all been reading the paper, and for once they’ve gotten the story close to correct. I wanted so bad to say something. To say that I saw it happen, but I just can’t bring myself to say anything. I don’t want to be labeled “that guy.” No thanks.
Looks like tonight is a pizza and a movie. Silence of the Lambs or Forest Gump? Do I really want to instigate a nightmare? I think my dreams have been psycho enough lately without help. Gump it is.
“I don’t know if we each have a destiny, or if we’re all just floatin’ around accidental-like on a breeze, but I, I think maybe it’s both. Maybe both is happenin’ at the same time.” My favorite line. God bless you, Gump.
G’night.
JANUARY 17, SUNRISE
At some point, Gump drifted out and I fell down the tunnel again. Like last time I saw different scenes pass by and this time I tried really hard to look at them—to recognize anything. I saw scenes from the other nights, but I also saw scenes that I did not recognize. Was I seeing things in the future? Or maybe things in another dimension? Nothing makes sense at this point, which is kind of liberating. If nothing makes sense then anything can.
I’m starting to sound like some crazy Timothy Leary crap. Turn on, tune in, drop out. Yeahhhhhh, man.
As soon as I woke up I grabbed the phone. I left it right next to me and I already had the detective’s number punched in, with *67 at the beginning to block my phone number. The sky was dark, and the clock on the phone said it was 3:33 a.m.. I hoped that he would be sound asleep and I could just leave a message. Quick and off the phone. But no, he answered right away, and he sounded on edge.
“Chaney.” My throat nearly closed off.
I pushed up my courage and blurted out, “I just watched the movie theater get robbed. The guy was wearing a black hoodie. He must have some sort of special gloves because his hands glowed and then the door flew off its hinge and he walked right in. He walked through and found the safe and pulled the door right off it. He made off with stacks of cash and went right back through the door.”
Chaney blurted out, “Slow down. Give me a description.”
“I didn’t see his face, but it’s the same guy that’s robbed the last two places.”
“Tell me anything else you can remember.”
I hung up the phone. I powered off my phone. That’s what they do in the movies when they don’t want anyone to trace them. I need to ditch this phone and get a burner. How many Bourne movies have I watched?
I paced around the apartment for a while, sleep was nowhere to be found.
I told him the truth. That’s just the way I saw it. I’m sick to my stomach. Telling him what I saw hasn’t made me feel any better. If anything, I feel worse now.
I’m sitting here by the window looking out the window as the sun begins its slow ascent to begin another day. I’ve been watching the flashing lights down the end of Elm. I bet the cops are combing every inch of the theater and probably every building within a several block radius. But something tells me they won’t find Mr. Hoodie.
And those hands. What is up with the dude’s hands?
I need sleep, but sleep is not to be today. I need coffee. I can’t wait to see tomorrow morning’s paper. That’s the joy of having a small town paper that prints in the evening. By the time the headlines are printed the news is way old.
Signing off to get coffee and to clean viruses.
I’ll be watching for you, Hoodie.
JANUARY 17, 6PM
Tonight is Chinese takeout. You would not believe how nervous everyone in town is. The little black lady that owns the Chinese place was watching everybody that came in. She eyed me up and down and dared me to case the joint. I just wanted my egg rolls and sesame chicken. I got out of there as quickly a
s I could.
The boss was in rare form today. I just thought she was wound up the other day. She was wearing her .357 Magnum on her belt today and rested her hand on the grip as she paced in front of the window.
One old lady that brought her computer to me asked if I thought ISIS could watch her through her computer. I wanted to tell her that her old 486 was probably safer than anything on the Internet because not even ISIS would bother hacking in through her 1200 baud dial-up modem.
Instead, I assured her that I didn’t think the rash of robberies had anything to do with a terrorist organization. Probably just an opportunist looking to make his mark on a sleepy, unsuspecting town. Probably won’t even happen again. I mean, what else is there here? The bank?
Crap.
The bank.
JANUARY 17, 11PM
You ever had that feeling like you knew something was gonna happen? Like maybe you’ve seen it before but you can’t quite put your finger on exactly when? I have a knot the size of a basketball in my stomach. Tonight’s the bank. I know it is. I know it better than I know my name.
The more I think about it, I think I’ve seen it in one of those scenes when I’m dropping into the dreams. I’ve been debating whether I should believe it or not, but why shouldn’t I? Haven’t all of the dreams come true? Haven’t they been in the paper? If that is true, then why wouldn’t the future events be true also?
I’ve been formulating a plan. I am going to call the detective right before I go to bed. An anonymous tip. Then I’m going to take some Benadryl so that I will be sure to go to sleep. Then I’ll watch to see if it happens like I think. Maybe the detective will be there and I can assist him in some way. Maybe between the two of us, we can get a look at his face, or better yet maybe they can catch the guy.
Here’s hoping.
Benadryl down. Anonymous tip call made. Hitting the sack.
See you in the headlines.
JANUARY 18, 5AM
Good God, my head hurts. There is no hangover in the world like a Benadryl hangover. It worked. I fell right to sleep, but this trip down the rabbit hole was different. I didn’t see any other scenes. It was like the whole scenario just changed.
I fell down the hole and the tunnel was just black. No distractions, no trying to figure out what I might be missing, no looking into the future. But when I landed, I knew I was right.
I hit the ground with a thud. Up until then, I had never remembered landing. I just was. I attribute it to the medicine. Who knows? Anyway, I walked down the street and felt a bit of a chill so I put my hands in my pockets and kept my head down. I could see the bank at the end of the street, but I had called the detective so I didn’t want to be obvious.
I skirted around Elmer’s appliance repair store and took up a spot on the bench at the next corner that served as advertisement space for one politician or another year round. I sat and watched the bank. Nothing happened. I also watched for any sign of the detective, but I didn’t see him. Maybe he didn’t take me seriously. I think if I was him I would have taken any lead seriously at this point. But I’m not a cop.
After what felt like an hour, I got up. I figured someone camped out on a bench all alone would be more suspicious than someone wandering around, so I walked.
I decided that I had nothing to hide so I strolled past the front of the bank, trying not to look at it other than a passing glance. I got past its ornate granite columns out front and when I saw the Masonic cornerstone at the edge I knew I was past the building. I breathed a sigh and walked past the post office the next block over. I turned and walked toward the rear of the building and that’s when I saw him.
My old buddy hoodie was lurking by a door at the rear of the bank. I followed him. The same thing happened with his hands and the door peeled down like tin foil. He stepped in.
He was on a mission and knew right where he was going. He made a beeline for the safe. He gave the combination dial a spin and it spun off leaving a hole where it once sat. He spun the big wheel and the door creaked open. He flung it the rest of the way and stepped into the cavernous safe. He walked past the stacks of cash and went right for the safety deposit boxes in the rear. He opened several and filled his pockets with diamonds and jewels.
I looked around for the detective, but I saw no one. I worked up the courage and screamed, but hoodie didn’t even look up. He filled his pockets and left.
I followed him as we retraced our steps back through the bank and onto the street. He walked faster and faster and then, right in front of my eyes, he disappeared. Vanished.
I made another circuit around the bank trying to find the detective. He was nowhere to be found. Finally, I gave up and went back to my spot on the bench. The next thing I knew I was lying in bed with this god-awful hangover.
I think I need a nap.
JANUARY 22, 10AM
I like this thing. I might get one for myself. I see why people use these things. Must be cathartic to be able to process your thoughts without anyone judging you. Writing down every crazy idea that comes into your head. Leaving a trail...
If you’re reading this then consider this the final chapter to your little episode. I thought it would be a nice touch to finish it off for you. Maybe you won’t read it. Maybe it winds up in a museum one day and others can see the evolution of a truly evil person.
We’ve actually been following you for a while now. Not actually following you, but you’ve been on a list. Since that accident at the chemical factory near your elementary school, several of your schoolmates have exhibited, shall we say… “odd behavior”? But you have been quiet. A model citizen.
Until I got called in for that first break in. When nothing made sense I pulled out that list and made a few visits. Everything checked out for you though. No prints at the crime scenes, no trail whatsoever. Then I started going through the FBI files from the explosion.
The most curious one I found was an interview with your aunt who you lived with at the time. She said you would complain about weird dreams, then she would find odd things in your room. One day you slept for nearly 36 hours and she was sure you never left your room. She later found a stash of comic books, baseball cards, and odd things that a preteen kid would collect. Except she had not bought them for you. When she confronted you, she said you honestly had no idea where they came from.
There are several little stories like that in your file and apparently, the feds didn’t think they were interesting enough to pursue. Their loss.
The first phone call I got from you was startling. I really had no idea who you were or what you had to gain, and I really think you have been oblivious. The thing that I can’t shake is not knowing what’s next. One minute it’s robbing jewels, the next it’s taking over the government. And who could stop you?
I’ve never been stumped like I have on this case, but it was you that broke it for me. That second call, when you told me where you were going to strike before you did it, you must have forgotten to block the caller id. I did a reverse number trace, had your name and a quick cross-reference of the database and you were mine.
You were honestly surprised when I knocked on your door right after the robbery and you sleepily came to the door. You have professed your innocence the whole time, and the trouble is, I half-believe you. At least the half that says you didn’t know you were doing it. But I can’t take the chance of letting you free, but this is a case I know I can’t try and win. So here you are.
The feds were nice enough to give us space at this facility. No one knows where you are, and probably never will.
Watching you through the two-way glass breaks my heart, but only a little. You’ve been equipped with an adrenaline pump that pumps you with a steady stream and ensures you can’t go to sleep.
I only hope it works.
Good night.
-Detective Dwayne Chaney
A Word from Hank Garner
I hope you enjoyed “Dreamer.” As a fan of comics for nearly 40 years, I wanted to do
something unique and not entirely in the capes and cowls line. When Steve asked me to join this project, I knew that I’d like to tell a villain story.
In my experience, what makes a great hero a lot of times is the fact that the hero is met with a foe that is not doing evil for evil’s sake, but they are doing what they think is right; think General Zod, for example, or sometimes they are being affected by forces they don’t even understand. When I pondered that possibility, that my villain would be oblivious to what he was doing, the story was born.
With an unconventional villain comes an unconventional storytelling style and I hope you enjoyed seeing this story through the lens of our character’s journal as he learns the truth of what’s really going on, and through the detective that ultimately steps in and enters the story.
I am the author of a few weird books and short stories, most notably my latest novel called Writer’s Block. A reader actually took the time to write to me to say that they hated me because I made them “snot cry.” Any writer will gladly mark that in the win column. I also host a podcast called Author Stories where I interview authors about the creative process and try to find out what makes them tick. There’s around 200 episodes so far, so subscribe and give it a listen. You can find everything I do at hankgarner.com
THE COLLECTOR
BY DAVID BRUNS
THE COLLECTOR
BY DAVID BRUNS
I was sure I had locked the front door, so when the voice boomed into the fermentation vat I nearly dropped the long-handled scrub brush.
“Mr. Rogers?” the voice said again.
“Who wants to know?” I said. The man’s face was blurry from the steam rising out of the copper container.
World Domination Page 8
