Dreamer

by L. E. DeLano

  “We’ve had this conversation,” I say in a hard voice. “You’re not just erasing billions of lives so you can start over. What you’re doing is murder. Mass murder.”

  “Is there anything you wouldn’t do?” she asks. “For love?”

  I stare at her in silence as the pieces fall together. “You’re in love with Rudy,” I say as it begins to dawn on me. “But … he’s not … mortal.”

  “Does that make my love for him any less? Or his for me a thing of dreams only? And when this is all over, he will be restored and we will be truly together, as we should have been.”

  “You are completely deranged.”

  Her eyes go cold as she gives me this warning:

  “Be careful who you love, Miss Jessa. For I am making it my personal mission to see that you lose them—all of them—before I finally come for you.”

  She turns on her heel and walks briskly through the crowd gathered at the other end of the room, then out the far door. I pry my fingers from the railing. I’m shaking hard and I feel lightheaded, like I’m going to pass out.

  Oh my God, she could have killed me. She could have killed Ben, if he’d walked up while she was here.

  Ben.

  Where is Ben?

  Be careful who you love.…

  Her words echo in my head as I run for the door, pushing my way through the crowd of students and visitors, out into the hall, glancing each way, but I don’t see Eversor or Ben. I run up to the bathroom door, and it opens.

  “Is there anyone else in there?” I ask the man who just exited. “A guy my age? Dark hair?”

  “Nobody in there but me.” He shrugs.

  I nod my thanks as I race forward again, tearing down the stairs, pushing people out of my way. Fear is giving my feet wings, but I stumble, catch myself, and I’m up again. My head is swiveling on my neck as I look for any sign of him.

  “Excuse me!” I’m shouting before I even reach the information desk. I know I look like a crazy person, panting and slamming my hand down on the counter. “Someone’s missing—from our group.”

  “Did you tell your teacher?” The security guard doesn’t even look up from the computer he’s sitting at.

  “No—I—there wasn’t time,” I splutter. “Please—he’s my age, tall, dark hair—”

  The guard glances up. “So your teacher or sponsor hasn’t been informed? Have them do a head count and then they can personally speak with security.”

  “You don’t understand—he could be in trouble!”

  “Talk to your teacher and—”

  “Please! Please, we don’t have time!” I beg. “He’s about six feet, dark hair, brown eyes, and he’s wearing … uh…” My mind frantically searches to remember what Ben is wearing.

  “A brown leather jacket?” the guard asks.

  “Yes!” My eyes widen. “You’ve seen him?”

  “He’s coming in the door right behind you,” the man says dryly. I whirl around, and to my relief, he’s right.

  “Jessa!” Ben rushes forward just as I throw my arms around him. “You’re shaking,” he says, pulling back from me. “Are you okay? Why weren’t you on the bus?”

  “What?”

  “Some kid outside the bathroom told me you got sick and you were going to wait on the bus. But I just checked and it’s all locked up. Are you okay?”

  “What kid?” I asked.

  “I didn’t know him. He said a teacher asked him to give me the message.”

  “Oh God,” I say, leaning my head into his chest. I’m still panting, and I can’t seem to let him go. “It wasn’t a teacher. I mean, it was. It was Eversor.”

  His arms tighten around me in an instant, and he lifts his head to look around. “She’s here?”

  I nod, and my head rubs against his chest as he strokes my back soothingly. “She came up and talked to me like we were old friends. And then she told me she was going to kill the people I loved if I didn’t stay out of her way.”

  Ben’s hand on my back goes still. “The bike courier,” he says. “I was walking back from where they parked the bus and a bike courier rode up on the sidewalk at the corner. He nearly knocked me into traffic.”

  “Just now?”

  He nods. “If I hadn’t stepped back to check out the Solomonic columns on one of the buildings right at that moment, he would have hit me. Instead he just ran over my foot.”

  “Causality,” I mumble.

  “Come again?”

  “Causality. Eversor doesn’t know you’re crazy about history and architecture. Her correction didn’t work because she didn’t anticipate you stopping to look at the building.”

  “She didn’t hurt you?”

  “She could have killed you,” I whisper.

  “But you’re okay?” he asks again, giving me a squeeze.

  I lift my head to look at him. “Okay? How can I be okay? She’s trying to kill the people I care about!”

  Something softens in his eyes, and he hugs me tight again. “But she didn’t hurt you. That’s what matters.”

  “You matter, too. A lot.”

  I’m still shaking, despite the warm strength of his arms around me. She got so close. How can we stay ahead of her when she’s got a Dreamer who can forecast our moves before we make them?

  How can I keep the people I care about safe?

  8

  A Definite Maybe

  We have a long ride home on the bus. I’m numb and exhausted, and before I know it, I drift off into a dreamless sleep.

  My eyes snap open as the bus slows for a stoplight. I’m so warm and comfortable, I don’t want to move.

  I stretch, and it only takes a moment to realize I’ve been asleep in Ben’s arms. My head is against his chest, and I can hear his steady heartbeat under my ear. His hand is idly smoothing my hair as it trails down my back, and the other arm is around me to keep me from sliding off the seat. I should move.

  Instead, I slowly raise my head up, and I meet Ben’s eyes, gleaming in the dim light passing through the bus window.

  “Hi there,” he murmurs. “Comfortable?”

  “Mmmm,” I answer sleepily. “You’re a lot cushier than the bus seat.”

  “Well, I am on the Twix Breakfast Diet.”

  I bring my hand up to push my hair off my face as I laugh, and his hand bumps into mine just as he was about to do the same thing. He twines his fingers with mine instead.

  “You’ve been out for a while. Look—we’re in town already.” He yawns. “At least we got some rest.” He leans over, lowering his voice. “Any luck with your Dreamer guy?”

  “No. He wasn’t there tonight.”

  “Can’t you summon him or something?”

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t work that way.”

  Ben makes a face. “I still don’t like that she got so close to you.”

  “To us,” I remind him.

  “Us.” He repeats the word and then he goes silent, pulling absently on the strings of his hoodie as we pull into the school parking lot.

  In less than five minutes, we’re off the bus and after a short ride in Ben’s truck we pull up to my house. Before I can reach for the handle on the truck door to get out, he stops me.

  “Wait.”

  “What?”

  “I’m fixing to say something, so just hear me out, okay?”

  “O … kay…,” I answer warily.

  “This trip was fun. Up until the psycho crazy woman, I mean.”

  I smile. “Yeah, it was. Up until then.”

  “It wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun with anybody else.”

  Where is he going with this?

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “And … well … did you ever think that maybe a whirlwind romance is only good for ripping people to pieces?”

  “Is this about the other me?”

  “I’m not talking about her. I’m talking about you. I’ve been thinking about this … about you … this whole weekend.” He takes a fortifying b
reath and goes on. “It’s hard to get over someone when you feel like you got cheated out of them to begin with. When you didn’t have enough time together. I get that.”

  My eyes soften. “Ben … I just…” I shake my head because I really don’t know how to put this into words, what I’m feeling. What I’m trying not to feel.

  “All I’m saying is maybe you need somebody to help you pick up the pieces in a slow and methodical way,” he says, “instead of a whirlwind. Somebody who may not be as exciting until you watch him fall on his ass a few dozen times.”

  He gives me a lopsided grin, and I can’t help but smile back a little.

  “Maybe,” I hedge.

  “Maybe?” He raises his brows in a hopeful manner.

  “I’ll think about it. Promise.”

  “You do that. And while you’re at it, maybe think about this.”

  He leans in, and he hesitates a moment before his lips meet mine. I have time to pull away, to turn my head, to say wait … but I don’t. I feel my eyes closing, and his mouth is warm, gentle, and slow on mine. I feel his fingers lightly cupping my face, and he pulls back before he brushes his lips against mine once, twice more.

  I am stunned, but to be honest, it’s not in a bad way. He feels warm and safe, and he’s a surprisingly good kisser. But the emotions are swirling all around me right now, and part of me is screaming that this is too soon. Or maybe not such a good idea—for Ben, I mean.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “No…,” I answer. “Not bad. Not bad at all. I just—”

  He puts out a finger, mashing my lips shut.

  “Let’s leave it at ‘not bad.’ The rest we’ll figure out as we go. Deal?”

  I nod. “Deal.”

  Something just changed between us, and I am suddenly desperate to get away.

  “I gotta go,” I say, not meeting his eyes. I open the door and hop down, reaching into the back to retrieve my duffel bag.

  “See ya,” I say, working hard to keep my voice normal.

  “See ya.” His eyes hold mine, and he looks like he wants to say something more from the way his jaw tightens, but I guess he thinks better of it. I shut the truck door, giving him a wave as I head up the sidewalk to my front door. I’m relieved to see that I’m all alone—Mom and Danny are still at work, so that gives me some time alone with my thoughts.

  I need to think. After everything that happened today, I don’t know if I can risk dragging someone else who I care about into this giant mess I call my life right now.

  He’s already in the mess, says a voice inside my head. And isn’t it nice not to have to face it alone?

  But am I ready for this?

  For Ben?

  What if it doesn’t work out? I’ll break his heart. I can’t hurt him like that, especially when there’s every chance it’ll end up just that way.

  Not necessarily, says that voice again. You know what I mean.

  And I do. Ben and I could be together. We are together. Just not here. I wish I had an hour over there to just give him a trial run—set a year down the road—and get another taste of what a healthy relationship could feel like. Right now, I don’t know that I’m capable of recognizing one, not after all that’s happened.

  For some reason, that really doesn’t sound like a bad idea. And I need to talk to another me, anyway. Somebody’s got to get ahold of Mario. Might as well be her, right?

  I’m not going to analyze this one iota further. I touch my hand to the glass, picturing her—me—and my bedroom over there. It seems like it’s taking forever to get through.

  I take it back. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. I start to pull my fingers from the glass when she answers.

  I can’t tell where she is, and all I can see is her face—probably in a compact mirror, like I carry. I wonder if she’s going to get angry at me for even suggesting this. Oh God. This is stupid. This is so, so stupid.

  She must see the emotions warring across my face because her forehead creases with concern.

  What? she signs.

  Can you give Mario a message if you see him tonight? I sign in return. Tell him I saw Eversor and I need to talk to him.

  Can’t you tell him yourself? she signs back.

  I told him I quit. He may be ignoring me for a while.

  Her eyes widen, but she reluctantly nods.

  Hey, what did you need? Last night? I ask.

  A smile touches her lips. I wanted to tell you that Danny was asking about you. He seems to know when I switch out, and he likes you.

  I smile back. My Danny likes you, too.

  Her eyes shift down, and she flushes slightly, as if she’s embarrassed. Sorry about last time, she signs. I didn’t think.

  About that … I take a deep breath. I didn’t call her just to get through to Mario. I might as well get it all out there. She watches silently as I sign my request.

  I see her eyes shift away, then back again.

  Tomorrow morning, she signs back. For an hour. Ten o’clock. Her eyes shift away again and return. Be careful.

  I promise, I sign back. Thanks.

  She smiles. I owe you one, she signs.

  I flop down on my bed. This is stupid. A really, really stupid idea. But I’m going to do it anyway. Somehow, despite the whirlwind in my mind, I manage to drift off to sleep.

  9

  Danny’s Dream

  I am all alone in the classroom, but it’s a relief to be there. Dreaming myself here can only mean one thing, and the door opens a moment later, letting in a very harried-looking middle-aged woman in dress slacks and a long gray cardigan. She makes a clucking noise with her mouth and then pats her pockets.

  “Where did I put my glasses…?” she mutters, turning in a complete circle. I clear my throat and she gives a startled glance over her shoulder.

  “Oh! Jessa!”

  She turns around and transforms into Mario in the same instant. He straightens his shirt and gives me a smile.

  “Sorry. I was out and about. Forgot to change.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, waving off his apology. “Where have you been? I’ve got news. Eversor found me.”

  He looks startled, then he grabs a chair, straddling it and gesturing for me to sit with him.

  “Where? And when?”

  “At the museum today,” I say, easing myself down into the chair. “She said it was a ‘lucky coincidence.’” I give a humorless laugh. “Some luck.”

  “I told you not to get complacent,” Mario reminds me sharply. “It was just a matter of time.”

  “She says they’re still trying to start the convergence. She didn’t try to kill me—she just warned me to stay out of their way.”

  “Just because she didn’t try to kill you doesn’t mean she’s given up,” Mario warns. “She couldn’t have done it right there and made it look like an accident. Too many ripples.”

  “She tried to hurt Ben. It was supposed to be an accident, but he diverted at the last minute.”

  Mario lets out a huff of air. “No, that’s luck. And this time, it saved his life.”

  “How do I keep my family and Ben out of this?” I ask him. “We need to keep them safe.”

  “Jessa, nobody’s safe!” he splutters. “Not in your reality, not in any reality! Eversor and Rudy have shifted gears and are now actively working toward convergence. They’re not just intent on eliminating you until they figure it out. The incident with Ben was a definite warning—you can’t ‘get in their way’ unless they’re actually onto something.”

  He taps his chin thoughtfully, then pushes up out of his chair. “Come on,” he says. “I need you to take a trip with me.”

  He’s got me curious. “A trip? In the dreamscape? Is this about a job?”

  “No. Intelligence gathering. Follow me.”

  He reaches for the door, and I walk through, closing it behind me.

  We’re inside the Ardenville Public Library, and my brother is driving what appears to be a lawn tractor around th
e main floor. He pulls up at the desk.

  “Hi, Jessa.” He waves and then he turns to look at Mario, who has moved behind the desk and once again looks like a middle-age woman with frosted blond hair.

  “Do you have more books, Angela?” Danny asks.

  “Sure I do, hon,” Mario says, reaching under the counter and handing him a stack of books. “These go to children’s.”

  “I’m on it,” Danny says. “Bye, Jessa!”

  “Are we…?” I turn slowly, taking it all in. “Are we in Danny’s dream?”

  Mario nods. “He’s got some interesting dreams. He gave me some great insights as he was falling asleep and his memories crossed over.”

  “So you don’t automatically see all our thoughts?” I ask. “I assumed you did.”

  “No, no, no,” he says, making a waving motion with his hands. “I’m not omnipotent, you know. I operate here in the dreamscape. I can see shadows of what happens out there in the real world as things start falling together, make assumptions about the stream of events that made them happen, and even follow that stream to predict where they might go. It depends on where I’ve got my focus. I don’t always get to know it all in real time.” He runs a hand through his perfectly frosted hair. “Believe me; it would be so much easier if I did.”

  “I’m not sure I like you invading my brother’s dreams,” I say.

  “I’m not invading. Just observing. Danny’s got a fascinating perspective. You of all people should know that.”

  “Why? Because he has autism?”

  He nods. “That’s part of it, I’m sure. But Danny is a font of information for me, especially where you’re concerned. Most people have really heavy or important thoughts on their mind as they’re nodding off, and I get a glimpse of them when they’re in that in-between state of consciousness, but Danny concentrates on the little stuff.”

  “Danny’s life is the little stuff.”

  “Ah, but the little stuff is where the big stuff hides,” Mario says. “My life is studying the little stuff. So you can see where a mind like Danny’s can be so very important in the process.”

  I hadn’t considered that. When I was younger, I used to wonder why he ended up with autism. What made it happen? And why him? It’s interesting to know how useful a thing it is.