by Taylor Kole
Walt seemed to be peacefully sleeping on his back. Surprisingly, Corey wanted to review the collected data; really dig into the science of what that particular ride did to Walt.
Mortal fear, for his family, sent him to his wife and child near the door. Moving Janey’s strawberry blond hair behind her ear, he kissed her forehead, and squeezed Marci’s shoulder.
Their eyes briefly met. In that instant, he read her concerns. They had planted a timed explosive in the form of Walt’s broken mind, and needed to create distance before it blew.
Without commenting, Marci retrieved her abracadabra necklace from the equipment stand and guided it around her neck.
Footsteps preceded Kendra’s barging into the room. “What went wrong? Why is Dr. Linderman so shaken?”
Marci used her body to block the laptop, and gently closed the screen with her off-hand.
“Mommy,” Janey said in a sleepy, but alarmed voice.
“I’m here, you’re okay.”
“Why is he laying like that?” Kendra demanded as she reached the edge of the bed.
“He’s laying the same as his last two trips,” Marci said. “You can ask him why he sleeps on his back with a slack jaw when he wakes, in about an hour.”
“I want to go home, mommy.”
“I know sweetie, we’re going now.”
“Like hell,” Kendra said.
Stepping into Kendra’s line of sight, Corey said, “I’m not sure what has you agitated. Clients always take longer to wake. You know this. We did our duties, as your people will attest. Walt said we can leave immediately.”
“She’s well aware of that,” Marci said as she marched toward the door, “And we are leaving.”
Before she reached the exit, Cooper stepped into the entrance and surveyed the bright room.
Corey hadn’t remembered the man’s physique being so large. His shoulders nearly filled the gap of the doorway.
Cooper rubbed sleep from his eyes. Despite having recently woken, a gun filled his shoulder holster.
Stopping before him, Marci said, “Excuse us, we’ve got a little girl in need of love and affection.”
Cooper looked to Kendra.
“I think they should stay,” Kendra said. “Our doctor’s eyes are the size of dinner plates.”
Marci passed Corey their child and squared to Kendra, “Your doctor’s wee little mind just got blown.” She emphasized the expression with both her hands, widening them out from her temples. “Same as this one.” She pointed to the shorter doctor, who had backed into a corner, a puzzled look on his face, his attention on the bed. “That’s why we advise you to keep the process a secret. Now, we just gave your boss the Ride to end all Rides. He’s snug and content. When he wakes, he’s going to want to maintain the social progress we made tonight, he’s going to want to avoid pissing us off, which should be your goal, too, if you value your position.”
Kendra glanced at Walt.
The colorful wires attached to his head seemed to amplify her unease.
As if sensing as much, Marci walked over and yanked them off one at a time. “When Walt wakes you can discuss the power me and my husband yield. I think that will be important for you and Cooper to comprehend.”
“I need to use the potty,” Janey said.
“Okay, honey. We’re leaving.” Marci stared at Kendra.
Corey added, “He’s had a very intense dream, but… he’s fine, and as healthy as he’s always been.” Physically, that might be true.
Kendra lifted Walt’s arm, let it drop. “Look at him”
A shudder passed through Corey as he obeyed. The man was gone. Anyone could see that. A malfeasance odor hung in the air, like sweat and melted butterscotch: the apparent scent of a burnt-out mind.
Marci didn’t blink, “For us, that’s an everyday occurrence. It’s another reason we keep loved ones away during a Ride. Dream Rides are mental stimulus, but Walt received everything he needed in that dream. By this afternoon, you will realize as much. You slime balls did what you had to, got what you needed. But for now, WE ARE LEAVING.” She marched past Kendra, and attempted to guide Cooper out of the way. He didn’t budge.
“Who do you work for?” Marci asked. “Kendra or Walt? Because I swear, if you don’t follow Walt’s instructions, and get the hell out of my way, I will tell Walt we won’t work with him for one minute until you’re fired.”
Cooper looked to Walt. His eyes widened with worry, but he didn’t move.
Marci reached her hand back for Corey. Once accepted, she attempted to guide Cooper out of the way a second time, and he moved.
In the hall, Marci took Janey. Once they bent the corner, she increased her pace to a frantic jog.
Corey ran past her. If they could reach the exterior hallway, where presumably security cameras recorded activity, or maybe a neighbor could hear a scream or a gunshot, they would have a chance at freedom.
The condominium’s long halls echoed with their fast steps. The relative silence amplified their heavy breathing. Three turns brought the double-doors into view. Corey expected armed men to spring from one of the side rooms as he approached, or for an alarm to sound at contact.
The deadbolt opened like normal.
They raced to the elevator without having closed the door.
Corey inhaled his first conscious breath as the car descended.
Janey tucked her head into her mother’s neck. Corey rubbed her back, met his wife’s eyes and said, “Now what?”
She looked to the illuminated numbers and watched them decrease, eleven… ten… nine…
“Do we call the FBI?” Corey said
“No,” Marci said. “Unless you’d like to drag this out for another year, or two. Maybe end up in prison, broke, or as science experiments.”
Corey didn’t want any of that.
The elevator slowed as it neared the main floor. A phone call to front desk security would foil their escape.
Before it opened, Marci looked at the ceiling as if addressing a camera. “It’s over. Nobody won, but it’s finished. You hit one of ours, we hit one of yours.” A deep breath and she addressed Corey, “Now we go home, give the FBI a statement through our attorney, and get back to living.”
The doors slid open, cinching Corey’s chest. A lone patron in a suit crossed the sterile lobby and pushed through revolving doors. The orange glow of an approaching dawn, grayed by the smog and the towering buildings of Chicago, lit the outside.
“Mom,” Janey said as they exited. “Is Lisa okay?”
“Yes, she’s just fine, honey. She misses you. And do you know who’s been sleeping on your pillow every night since you’ve been away?”
“Smokey!” Janey cheered.
The cool morning air jolted Corey into the present. You hit one of ours, we hit one of yours. Corey grinned despite himself, chuckled, almost laughed with madness. His wife would have fit in with the historic Mafiasos of the Windy City. Remembering she had been willing to stop, and it had been him who pushed them on, maybe they both would have made it.
“How about McDonalds?” Marci asked.
“I want three hashbrowns and an orange juice,” Janey said.
Walking briskly down the street, Corey almost whistled.
Cooper’s only punishment might be unemployment. Though unjust, him avoiding prison should all but ensure he moved on. And Kendra, alone, without Cooper’s muscle or Walt’s influence, might find herself neutered and take up gardening.
Corey addressed a curiosity. “You never cared about the million dollars, did you? You planned this attack the entire time.”
She reached out her hand. When Corey embraced it, she said, “Let’s forget about this place. It’s our past.” She squeezed their hands. Her voice lifted with enthusiasm as she added, “Baby, with the ideas I have for Dream Riding, we’ll have a million dollars in no time.”
EPILOGUE
Florence Zimbardo stood next to her husband’s medical bed, parked near a window on their upper
floor. Rotating his limp arm from wrist down to wrist up, she inhaled sharply, closed her eyes, and resisted the urge to cry out.
Small puncture wounds, set roughly an inch apart dotted Walt’s once muscular, ever deteriorating, forearm.
The first marks had been discovered during a bath, nearly two months prior. Fearing a demented nurse had made the wounds, she installed a spy-cam, and discovered her own son was the culprit.
In the video, Bart spent minutes prodding and sneering at his immobile father. He then pulled a tack from his shirt pocket, and wielded the instrument before his inert father in a taunting manner. Florence had cried out when Bart plunged it into flesh near Walt’s genitals. Tears flowed as she watched him poke a series of holes on a withdrawn tongue; commenced a flurry of stabs over the chest area.
When confronted, he claimed to only want to wake his dad. After securing a promise for him to seek counseling, she accepted his excuse, because she loved him. But sometimes when Bart talked, that look of cruelty captured on film would superimpose over her son’s face.
Staring at the new marks weighted her heart. The counselor had assured her of immense progress.
Lashinda, who doubled as a registered nurse, entered the room carrying a bucket for Walt’s bath.
Before Florence asked for another ten minutes, since this would be her last visit for nearly ninety days, Mr. Lattimore entered.
The lawyer’s dapper mannerism unnerved Florence. In this room of hopeful healing, his presence felt pathogenic.
“I’ve brought the papers you requested, and articles of a more… delicate nature.” Mr. Lattimore addressed Lashinda. “Could you give us a minute.”
“No,” Florence said. “You continue your work, we’ll step into the hall.”
Once clear, Mr. Lattimore said, “Today marks seventy days with only sparse brain activity.”
Florence knew his intention, but decided to let the conversation play out and be done with it.
“I know the decision is difficult, but if you requested.” Mr. Lattimore tapped his slim briefcase. “We could declare Walt legally dead, and allow him to move on to a better place.”
“No,” Florence said. “It’s better like this. The kids still have their father. He’s alive. With us. And since his condition stemmed from such unique circumstances, he could wake at any moment.”
“I understand.” Mr. Lattimore cleared his throat. “However, the consensus is that if Mr. Zimbardo ever regained consciousness he’d have severe disabilities.”
“I’m aware of my husband’s condition. Constant activity in the limbic system is not brain dead. Many doctors believe a full recovery is possible.” One doctor, but he seemed the only intelligent expert she’d met.
Mr. Lattimore inhaled, then exhaled for two seconds. “I’ve been Walt’s counsel for more than a decade. I express this opinion based on what I believe represents his wishes.”
“I’m going to keep him on life-support, indefinitely,” Florence said. Seeing Mr. Lattimore’s face drop, she added, “The kids and I need him. You might not understand that, but the subject is closed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Besides, from what I understand, activity in the limbic system means Walt lives in a state of constant dreaming.”
AUTHOR NOTES
Would you believe the idea for Dream Riders came to me in a dream? It did. I had been going for walks after work and thinking about school shootings and exorbitant prison sentences. Like opposite ends of inexplicable wrongs. One night, I dreamed I was in jail. I kept trying to explain that I had done nothing worthy of being arrested. I kept trying to think of a crime I may have committed, but coming up blank. Soon, I sensed an outside presence. A Being. When I looked at him he had his hand over his mouth and was giggling.
My Being wasn’t as frightening as the Jinni from Dream Riders, but he scared me so bad I woke. I thought about angels and demons in dreams for weeks. Then I thought about Marci punching one. Then I thought about Marci shattering one with her mind. With my ending intact, I started my outline process and Dream Riders was born.
I have always wanted to write a horror novel. I thought Virtual Heaven was scary, in its own way. Live Like a God has scary moments, but Dream Riders scared me.
I’d love to stretch Dream Riders into a four or five book series. To be honest, you can help with that. If I rack up reviews with Dream Riders, I’ll write book two, and keep outlining three, four, and maybe five.
I have this grand idea worked up that I believe will be very satisfying. But I also believed Dream Riders would be satisfying. So, if I can prove Dream Riders is appreciated, measured by your reviews, I’ll spend the next few years bringing the rest to light!
I took more time with Dream Riders than the previous novel and I received outstanding help along the way. I Beta readers suggested many areas of improvement and helped me identify a blunder, or five.
I received multiple edits and MS evaluations as well. They were invaluable. If you’re a writer, I’ll save you a bunch of time and link the many helpful hands I’ve found on Fiverr.
Whether Dream Riders receives the surge of positive reviews or not, I’m already at work on my next novel. It will be another stand-alone novel. It is currently untitled, but like all my novels: a mix of genres that hopefully brings some creep-you-out, deep thoughts on ‘what if’, and great endings.
Nikki B Beta reader
Magi323 Beta reader
Mboyle98 Line editor
The beta readers were amazing. If you’re interested in beta-reading my next novel, email me at [email protected]
Mboyle98 gave me two rounds of grammar and content edits. He really focused on my weaknesses. Helping me to identify them, and then providing solutions.
Whether readers enjoy it enough to recommend it to friends and leave reviews, I’m happy to have written Dream Riders. Please be sure to let me know if you want more.