by Sarah Noffke
“Well, living on sleeping pills isn’t an option for you. So you have two alternatives. You can learn to dream travel properly so you don’t create disturbances while sleeping. Or you can off yourself. Your call,” I say.
“You don’t have many friends, do you?” she says, as less of an insult and more of an observation.
“Just the one,” I say.
“Yeah, I’m surprised you have any, really.”
“All right, focus,” I say and lay my head back, hoping my offspring isn’t a special needs Dream Traveler. Our race doesn’t have any, but leave it to God to give me the first.
After a minute I send my consciousness to the Tower Bridge, hoping I won’t find myself alone there.
***
Adelaide stands, almost like an apparition, lighter in dream travel form. She’s facing out toward the River Thames, a look of awe on her face. She doesn’t look at me when I approach. The girl seems disoriented, like she’s half sleepwalking. “I did it,” she says in a half whisper.
“Yes,” I say, studying her face, wondering why she doesn’t look happier about this achievement. It’s not rocket science but usually the first few times of successful dream travel are marked by a bit of pride. So I wonder why she doesn’t look more elated.
“For all of my life I’ve felt different—”
“Don’t,” I say, cutting her off, now realizing what the look on her face means. She’s having a moment. I don’t do moments.
“For all of my life I thought something was wrong with me,” she continues like she hadn’t heard me. “Then I turned thirteen and I knew that I wasn’t like anyone else. My mum grew scared of me, saying the devil possessed me the same way he had my father.”
“Look, if you need someone to talk to then I’ll hire you a shrink. We need to discuss laws,” I say, almost in a nervous rush.
“But now I’m learning the truth, and I should be relieved that I’m not sick. However, now it feels like I have zero excuse for not doing something great,” she says, that same zombie-like tone to her words.
Adelaide turns to me now, her eyes almost glassy looking. “We’re obligated to be amazing, aren’t we?”
“No. If half my life is to answer that question, then no. You can do whatever you bloody want. You can waste away. Devote your dream travel to being a creepy voyeur. There’s no restrictions on how much a loser you can be; believe me, I know my fair share of Dream Traveler lowlifes,” I say.
“But that doesn’t mean it’s okay. I’m full of power. Now I understand that and it’s—”
“Enough,” I interrupt. “You can’t process this all in one night.”
“No, what you mean is I can’t do it with you.”
“I mean both,” I say and turn my gaze to the pedestrians strolling down the pavement on the side of the bridge. People jostle by, most not noticing that the sun is setting as the moon rises. Most are absorbed in dumb conversations. “Those are most likely Middlings, and they’re definitely not dream traveling. They’re in the physical realm.” I say.
“Which means they can’t see us?”
“Bingo,” I say.
“But why can we see them?”
“Because they’re in a physical form. In dream travel form we can see anything that’s in the physical realm, but we can’t interact with anything with a consciousness,” I say.
“So that’s why I could pick up the paints and open doors and whatnot when I dream traveled?”
“Yes. However, the Lucidites have laws,” I say, my hands behind my back as I stare out at the passersby.
“Who are they? The Lucidites?”
“They’re a society of Dream Travelers. The most powerful,” I say.
“Is that where you work?”
I stare off. Not willing to answer her question. “They have laws and although I’m not usually in favor of being restricted, theirs were carefully constructed and following them will preserve a better future for all,” I say.
“Wow, be careful. You kind of sound like you give a shit about humanity,” Adelaide says, giving me a half grin, which I ignore.
“I don’t care,” I say simply. “I care about preserving the world that provides my food and clean water and maintains the luxurious world I’m accustomed to.”
“Should have realized your intentions were purely selfish.”
“Yes, you should have,” I say. “One of the laws of the Lucidites states that during dream travel you’re never to move something in the physical realm. It appears like a phenomenon to those not dream traveling.”
“Like a ghost is doing it?” she says with a chuckle.
“Yes, although ghosts can’t really move objects.”
“There’s no ghosts,” she says with a disbelieving laugh.
My expression remains flat, which ends her laughter.
“Oh, god, they’re real?” Adelaide says.
“Most things are real, although they probably aren’t how you’ve been taught.”
“So unicorns and gnomes are real?”
I shrug indifferently. “I’ve never seen one, but I hate the outdoors.”
She’s looks amused, which lights up her green eyes, making them appear fresh.
I decide to continue with the rules. “No moving objects. No dream travel into the future.”
“Wait, I can dream travel into the future?”
I sigh heavily. “No, bloody would you listen. I just said you couldn’t, well shouldn’t.”
“But I can time travel,” she says in disbelief.
“Yes, and you can also fry your consciousness doing it, especially with future time travel so don’t…or do.” I say in a bored voice.
“Ha-ha,” she says with no enthusiasm. “Always happy to offer me ways to off myself, aren’t you?”
“As I was saying. No dream travel to spy on yourself. No time traveling too far into the past. Less than ten years is a good rule for someone like you,” I say.
“Someone like me? Are you insinuating that I’m dumb?” Adelaide says.
I give her a sideways, telling look.
“I inherited your brains,” she says.
“As of right now, it appears you’ve only inherited my powers and physical features,” I say.
“Whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes at me in typical teenager fashion. “So I can’t interact with those not dream traveling?”
“You pass right through them,” I say, casually.
“And can I move on to another location from here?”
“Yes,” I say.
She gives me an exasperated look. “How?”
“To change locations, wake up, use your power of mind control, or manifest a bloody cup of tea, you use your intention. Haven’t you figured that out by now?” I say, returning the eye roll from earlier. I’m much better at it. “Everything in this world is centered around intention.”
“You can’t manifest a cup of tea,” she says, sneering a little with puckered lips.
I hold out my hand as a cup and saucer appear in it, my cold tea from earlier swishing a bit. “I bloody well can,” I say.
“How did you do that?” she says in awe, her eyes wide and pinned on the china in my hands.
It disappears at once. “I summoned it. Stop irritating me most of the time that you’re in my bloody presence and I might teach you how to do that.” I then turn and walk toward the southern side of Tower Bridge. “Don’t be out late. And don’t create problems I’ll have to fix.” Then I leave Adelaide to have a bit of freedom, which I know she’s craved.
Chapter Eighteen
“Ren, have you been using the strategy that we discussed?” Dr. Dave Raydon says from his chair. It’s covered in green fabric with little red and white polo players on horses embroidered on it.
“Yes,” I say, sitting in an equally repugnant chair, this one with a hunting dog pattern.
“And how did that work?”
“Well, doc, I got to seven before I threw my tray down while in the lunch
line in the main hall and stomped away,” I say.
The Lucidite Institute kindly provides hundreds of organic and fresh food options for its employees. However, they make us congregate like cattle to get said options.
“Seven, you say?” the doctor says, stroking his round chins. I don’t really like plump people but this man is more like a muscular sailor. He’s fat but also strong, probably carrying a high muscle to fat ratio. Some people just don’t carry it that well.
“Yes, I counted back from ten like you told me and your hocus-pocus absolutely didn’t work. I think you have the spell wrong. Maybe I need to count in Latin,” I say.
Dr. Raydon chuckles, his face breaking into an easy smile, which I can spy even underneath his giant mustache. Unlike most daft therapists he doesn’t have a page of notes on his lap, but rather all his attention on me. And I’m proud to say I know what most psychiatrists do during a session. I’ve seen my fair share of therapists growing up. It’s kind of a nostalgic experience for me right now, having an educated professional try to fix me. So far they’ve all waved a white flag of defeat and most scaled back their practice or retired altogether. Once a therapist gets into my head, they usually don’t want to counsel another human being. I ruin people. Make them fear what other monsters are out there lurking, in need of therapy.
“It appears to me that your anger management problems stem from a deep-seated frustration with yourself. Would you say that’s accurate?” Dr. Raydon says, none of the usual fear in his voice that I hear from other therapists. His hands are clasped over his round belly, his head sometimes leaning back to rest on the cushion of the chair. He appears as relaxed as a panda bear after eating its fill of eucalyptus leaves.
“Are you sure it’s not that I was born into a world full of idiots who God makes me endure on a daily basis?” I say.
He smiles at me, not put off by my lack of decorum. “Maybe it’s that you misunderstand the world you were born into. Perspective is key to a happy life, I’ve found.”
“Yes, happiness is an inside job, my internal system is broken in that regard,” I say.
“Maybe if you viewed the people around you differently you’d feel different about them and they wouldn’t anger you so much,” he says.
“Right, so if I realized they all didn’t know better than to be a drain on our ecosystem then I’d cut them some slack, is that it?”
Again another smile, like he finds my bad attitude endearing. I sense he’s a man who tries to see the best in people. That’s definitely a mistake. Sets a person up for all sorts of disappointment. Better to be surprised when a human being actually does something right for a change.
“We all come into this world with a different make-up, born to unique parents, given our own experiences. And we all operate based on what we are given.” Dr. Raydon’s light-colored eyes travel up to the ceiling, a dreamy look on his face. “If you look at each person in the right light you might find magic in them. If you appreciated people for who they are, and didn’t hold them to your unrealistic expectations, then maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t make you so angry.”
“Magic,” I say dryly. “Yeah, like that psychopath the Lucidites stopped from shooting up an elementary school? What a fucking magical human being he was.”
His mustache bristles a little with another slight smile. What the fuck is this guy on? Why is he so bloody happy and not the least bit offended by my brazen nature?
“I didn’t say we had to tolerate bad behavior,” Dr. Raydon says. “Sometimes it’s incredibly difficult to find the good in people. But isn’t that why we are here? To love one another even in our flawed and yet beautifully human states?”
I sigh. It’s the only thing to keep me from vomiting. “Honestly, I have no bloody clue why we are here. I exist for reasons that elude me. I’m powerful, which breeds my arrogance, which is both part of my strength and why I’m here wasting an hour of your time. I’d say I used to understand life, even appreciate it. But honestly, it’s always been lost on me. If there’s magic in this world then it’s dulled in my eyes. If there’s magic in my fellow humans then I don’t see it. I see people who waste time and resources and contribute little to the society that keeps them from turning back into the Neanderthals that they really are.”
“Your daughter,” Dr. Raydon says, twisting the end of his mustache, his eyes sparkling with a new light.
“You mean the life-ruiner?” I say.
He winks at me. “Yes, that’s the one. She’s powerful like you, that’s what you said.”
“Yes, it’s dreadful. A girl who can control minds. Like the beast with the Y chromosome didn’t own an unfair balance in this world,” I say with a sincere growl.
“She shares your powers. The ones that have made it impossible for you to connect with most other humans.”
“What’s your point?” I say.
“Well, maybe by finding an appreciation for her, you’ll find it for yourself on a new level. Because I’ve found in my practice that to understand and tolerate the world around us we must first find that within for ourselves. The giant will never love the tiny ones around him until he comes to terms with his own size,” Dr. Raydon says.
“With offense intended can I just say this is starting to sound like psychobabble?”
He clutches his round belly as he laughs softly. “I’m afraid that’s exactly what it is.” The psychiatrist holds up a plump finger and shakes it at me, but no menace in the movement. “I know you’ve come a long way. You’ve accepted your powers and embraced your role in protecting humanity. But I think you, Ren, still haven’t gotten to a place where you truly value who you are and therefore the people around you. You see yourself as a monster, but you know what I see in you?”
“A growing desire to say ‘fuck this therapy bullshit’? And then steal more level five cases from the incompetent Head Strategist?” I say.
A smile precedes his words. “I see an extremely real opportunity for you to find yourself in someone else. And when you do, I think you’ll be humbled. Actually you’ll be more than that. You’ll be inspired. And after all, it is inspiration that connects us to the world. That connection grounds us not to anger, but rather to love.”
I yawn loudly, a long one that seems to stretch on forever. “Right, whatever. You know, I’m sure most lie and tell you that your advice has been helpful and this heart-to-heart really took a weight off their shoulders. However, I refuse to lie to a man who can maintain such a glorious mustache. That thing should be put on display in a museum,” I say as I stand. “This was zero help once again and as I’m obligated to do, I’ll see you again in a few days to waste more of your time.”
“Looking forward to it,” Dr. Raydon says, all cheer in his deep voice.
Chapter Nineteen
“You know your daughter has zero sense of humor and takes herself entirely too seriously,” I say to Trey as I slap a file down on his desk. “She’s just like you.”
His eyes swivel up from his laptop to mine. “You got the details on the newest report?”
“Of course I did.”
I plop myself down in the chair in front of his monstrosity of a desk and throw my expensive shoes on its top, knocking over a cup of pens and displacing papers. He eyes the new mess on his desk and then me.
“And I secured the location and person in question over a week from the time of the event. Now the pea brain you employ has time to strategize and hopefully not screw this up like the last case,” I say.
Although agents were able to intervene in the last level five case, the one at the airport with Persons E and F, they also fucked up the whole thing. Half of the agents passed out after suffering from delusions and don’t have a memory for what really happened. Person E was saved but has zero information to help us with. Persons E apparently has the gift of super strength. Yes, a handy skill that in the wrong hands could be dangerous. However, we don’t know who those wrong hands are since the perpetrator, whom I suspect was close by
, wasn’t apprehended. All we learned from questioning Person E was that Person E’s girlfriend, a Middling, was successfully abducted at the same time. Just as with the first two cases. Two simultaneous abductions. One seen by the news reporters and one not. This time one was successful, and the other stopped.
Now we have another case where a supposed Dream Traveler is going to be abducted. Again in a busy public place. There are more unanswered questions this time. Like how is this person, whom we’re calling the Blocker, since that seems to be their main skill, blocking clairvoyant and other psychic energy? That’s obviously what’s happening and what is stopping Roya and investigative reporters from doing their jobs. I suspect Blocker’s gift is a part of a bigger skill, something more sinister. And based on the research I demanded Trey dig up on the first individuals who were abducted we know dreadfully little. In the first case, the individuals, two women, were abducted separately. They are both dead now, their bodies washed up on different beaches. One on the west coast and one on the east.
The second case offers more details, but not much more. The report that Roya obtained but couldn’t see well was apparently of a Dream Traveler girl who was abducted. She has just hit prepubescent, the time a dream travel gift surfaces. But hers hasn’t surfaced yet; even the parents don’t know what her skill will be. And they’re grieving the abduction of two children, the one we saw in the reports and another we didn’t, a ten-year-old girl. So even though we know more, we don’t know what kind of Dream Traveler was taken. Their skill is key here. Still, this case isn’t my problem. Something this complex and mysterious is almost better than sex but I’ve been banished to abstinence.