by V. E. Lemp
Ingrid pushed a lock of her silky dark hair behind one ear. “Ja, Max is our expert on such things. He must critique for us.”
“Not much acting going on at this point.” Max leaned back in his chair, balancing it on its two rear legs with a grace that matched his athletic frame. “Now, when we get to the part where the giant carrot goes berserk …”
“Carrot?” Ingrid’s blue eyes widened. “What is this film you are showing us, Lee?”
Lee shot Max a dirty look. “Don’t spoil it. Just because you’re studying Shakespeare and all that crap, you don’t have to diss classic sci-fi.”
“Hey now, I’m no drama snob.” Max banged the front legs of the chair down onto the tile floor. “Only took a beginning acting class as an elective because I needed an easy A to stay on the football team.”
Val straightened and peered at Max. “Knew I recognized you! You were that freshman phenom a few years back. Saw you in some games. You gave it up for acting?”
“Yep, and lost the scholarship. So I have to work my way through. That’s why I’m doing this. Pretty damned inconvenient, since I can’t be in any shows this term, but I’m making enough money to ditch work next year and do all the senior productions. Those I get cast in, I mean.”
“Can I start this over now?” Lee waved the remote at the group. “We aren’t going to be able to watch all of it tonight anyway, but at least you can appreciate the great beginning.”
“Sure, let’s see it.” Max ran his hand through his cropped black curls. “Might be interesting to see if it affects any of our dreams tonight.”
“No talking about dreams,” said a voice from the hall.
Karen didn’t have to turn around to know the speaker was Drew Bronski, a graduate student in psychology who claimed—more times than necessary—to have been personally recruited to participate in the project by Ian Vance. If Lee should be rendered in black and white, Drew would best be captured in pastels, the buttery tones of his skin blending into the dark gold of his hair, and his plump body smudged into a neutral background. Not that Drew, an intensely private person, would allow such a thing. His longtime girlfriend, Marie, was known to the group only through one photograph Drew kept on his nightstand. Karen suspected Drew forbade Marie from visiting him while he was in the project.
Max groaned. “Oh, the unholy protocol again.”
“You know it’s against the rules.” Drew crossed the room to stand behind Max’s chair. “There are reasons.”
“Scene?” Lee’s pitch rose in the middle of the word. He glared at Max and Drew.
“Just fire up the damn thing. They’ll shut up once it starts.” Val stood and stretched her arms above her head. A cascade of bangles clattered from one wrist to her elbow. “I think I’m heading to my room, though. Need an aspirin or something.”
“Not another headache?” Pilar’s sympathetic words were swallowed in a blare of sound from the television. Lee had obviously pressed the volume button along with “play.”
Val rolled her eyes and turned toward the door. She gasped and threw up one hand. “Dr. Wythe! How long have you been standing there?” Her sour expression morphed into a simpering smile.
Karen jumped to her feet. Alex was in the doorway, casually leaning against the frame.
“Not long.” He strolled into the lounge. “Good flick, but you won’t be able to see the end.”
“No joke.” Lee turned it off. “Think I’ll save it for a private screening. Just me and Ingrid. People who appreciate such things.”
“Hey now,” Max said.
“Are you watching the monitors tonight, Dr. Wythe?” Val stepped closer to Alex. “I know you guys take turns. Must be very boring, staring at a bunch of sleeping people.”
“Yes, it’s my turn. But we don’t watch you sleep, Valerie. There aren’t video monitors. Just equipment that measures heart rates and brainwaves and such.”
Val pouted. “Really? So my lace nightie is useless, huh?”
“I’m afraid so. Might as well stick with the ratty t-shirts.” Alex grinned and patted Val’s arm absently, but his eyes were elsewhere.
Focused on Karen. No, that was ridiculous. She ducked her head.
Lee muttered to himself as he pulled the tape from the machine.
“Sorry, dude,” Max said, rising to his feet. “We’ll give movie night a shot another time. Maybe skip the alien stuff, though. Don’t want nightmares.” He picked up his chair and carried it back to the kitchenette.
Val inched closer to Alex. “How do you stay awake all night? Drugs?”
“Just coffee. Which reminds me—I need to make a pot.” Alex pushed past Val and strode toward the kitchenette. “Leave the light on please, Max.”
“Curfew time.” Pilar raised her arm and pointed at her watch. “Later, fellow dreamers.”
Ingrid stood and languidly stretched one leg and then the other, pointing her feet. She really was gorgeous. Karen glanced over at Alex, who was fiddling with the coffeemaker in the open kitchenette. She half expected his gaze to be captured by the elegant movements of the dancer, but he met her inquisitive look instead. Up went the golden eyebrows.
“A little help?” he asked.
Val started forward.
“Karen,” he added. ‘I’ve seen you use this thing before. You’re always the one making coffee in the morning, right?”
A sound suspiciously like a snort escaped Val’s pursed lips. She turned and flounced from the room, followed by Pilar, who shot Karen an unreadable look.
“Almost curfew,” she said, as she passed by.
Karen nodded. She waited until Drew left the room before joining Alex at the yellow Formica counter that lined one wall of the kitchen.
“Haven’t you used one of these before?” she asked, as she watched Ingrid link her arm with Lee’s and drag him, still complaining, into the hall.
“I usually bring a thermos,” Alex said. “But time got away from me today. Now, where’s the coffee?”
“Freezer.” Karen pulled a can from the top of the olive-green refrigerator. “Keeps better that way, you know.”
“I didn’t, but thanks.” As Alex took the can from her, his fingers brushed the back of her hand. “You never called. Were you so sure about everything?”
Karen took a deep breath. “Yeah, I decided I didn’t really have any questions. It was the perfect opportunity, and I … well, I didn’t want to bother you if it wasn’t necessary.”
“Bother me?” A little smile played over Alex’s lips as he measured coffee into the filter. “That’s a first. Most people don’t have any problem bothering me.”
“Most women, you mean,” Karen said under her breath, covering her words with the gushing from the faucet. She kept her eyes on the coffee carafe as it filled.
“That too.”
So he’d heard her. Damn. “Guess I better get going,” she said, handing him the full carafe. “Curfew.”
“Yes, of course.” Alex sat the glass pot on the counter. “Thanks for your help. I just pour this water in, then?”
“Pour in the water, turn on the coffeemaker.” Karen glanced up at him from under her lashes. “Surely you’ve done this before.”
“No, not very handy in the kitchen,” he replied. “Not one of my talents.”
Of course not. There’d probably always been a long line of girls, ready and willing to provide him with food, drink, or whatever. “I really have to go.”
Alex’s fingers clasped her wrist. “I hope you’re not sorry, Karen. I mean, about joining the project. I’d hate to think I talked you into something you regret.”
Karen looked up, meeting his gaze squarely. “Not sorry at all. The money is great. Definitely helps with my senior exhibit. Anyway, you didn’t talk me into anything.”
“Didn’t I?” Alex’s lips twitched. “Overestimated my influence, I see.”
There was something shadowing those bright eyes. “Have to go,” she said again, pulling her wrist free. “Good ni
ght—or maybe I should say good luck staying awake. Hope you’re not too bored tonight.”
“I won’t be. Plenty to think about.” Alex examined her for a moment, before flashing one of his charming smiles. “Didn’t want to bother me. That’s different.”
Fingers of heat danced up Karen’s spine. She muttered a quick “see ya” before fleeing the room.
Later, lying in bed, she fingered the collar of her ratty Pink Floyd t-shirt. “There aren’t any video monitors, are there?” she asked the graduate student hooking up her sensors.
“No, not that I’m aware of,” he replied. “No cameras. Just brainwave sensors and that sort of thing.”
So Alex had been telling the truth. Of course he had. Why would he lie? Karen stared up at the ceiling and counted tiles until she fell asleep.
Dream Journal, March 18th:
I was running down a hallway. A hallway lined with doors. I couldn’t spy any end to the hall, nor was there a single window or any source of light except for the bare bulbs that dangled from the wooden rafters.
I had to get out—out of this hallway, away from this trap. But I didn’t know where to find the exit. There was nothing in the hall that provided any sense of direction. l glanced from right to left, and all the doors appeared the same. Identical wooden doors with crystal doorknobs.
Pausing in front of one of the doors, I considered my options. Perhaps, my mind whispered, perhaps there are people living behind these doors. People who can tell me where I am. People who can help me escape.
I slowly turned the knob. The door opened without a sound, and I stepped inside. It was a parlor—brightly lit and vibrating with the hum of voices. The crowd turned to look at me with faces so similar I thought they must be part of some extended family. I’d apparently walked into a party. Everyone was holding a slender glass of sparkling liquid, and there was music playing in the background, a soft thread of clear sound, bright as water in a shallow stream.
“I'm sorry,” I said. “I'm just looking for the way out.”
“You needn't leave,” said one of the men. He had dark hair and black eyes. “Come and join us.”
“Oh no,” I replied. “I don’t know you. I don’t know anyone here.”
“You know us, Karen Foster,” the man said, moving closer. “We have been acquainted for a very long time.”
“No, no.” I backed away. “You’re mistaken. I have never met any of you before.”
“Have you not?” The man held out his glass. “Look closely. Tell me what you see.”
I stared into the fluted surface. There was an image there, of something, something I recognized but refused to acknowledge. “Nothing, I see nothing.”
“You could see everything, Karen Foster,” the man said, “but you have chosen blindness.”
The room was plunged into darkness. I stumbled backward, feeling for the doorframe, searching for my way back into that endless hall of doors. Better, much better to be alone, endlessly searching for an exit, than to give myself over to the people in that room.
FIVE
“Karen? What are you doing here?”
Lights flared, forcing her to open her eyes. Karen blinked and grabbed for the nearest object to steady herself. Her left hand landed on someone’s arm. “What?” she asked, looking up into Jasper James’s concerned face.
“You’re in the conference room, Karen,” James said. “Do you remember how you got here?”
“No,” she replied, cursing silently. It had happened again, despite all the monitoring.
“Sleepwalking,” said another voice. “I thought so.”
Karen realized she was seated at a table. She glanced across the room and met Ian Vance’s gaze. His amber eyes were bright with interest.
“Has this happened before?” James sat in the chair next to her. “Or only since you started in the project?”
“It’s happened before.” Karen wondered if they would dismiss her on the spot. “But not recently.”
“And the drawings?” asked Vance, motioning toward the table.
Karen gazed at the fine-tipped marker she gripped in her right hand. The large pad of paper that had been attached to the room’s presentation easel was lying flat on the table. It was covered in a series of detailed renderings of objects she couldn’t identify. “Yes, that too. Sometimes I draw things when I’m asleep. I don’t know why. No one knows why.” Karen dropped the marker and lowered her head. “If you want me to go, I will. I know I should’ve told you when I applied for the job. But I really did need the money.”
“Go?” Vance walked around the table, examining the drawings. “Why should you go? A little sleepwalking’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“Were you dreaming? Right before you woke up here?” Jasper James asked.
“Yes.” Karen lifted her head. “I’ll write down the dream later. I won’t forget it.” She glanced about her. She must have wandered the halls of the Indigo Building until she found this unlocked room. “But why are there two of you? I thought just one person worked at night. That’s what Dr. Wythe told me the other evening.”
“Usually that’s true.” Vance lifted the pad of paper and rolled it into a loose tube. “Jasper called me when he discovered your sleepwalking. Thought I’d want to know, which was correct.” A peculiar expression flickered across his face. Like a teacher pleased with a student’s progress, or a child delighted with a new toy. “So, this drawing in your sleep—you’ve done this in the past?”
“Yes, almost all my life.” Karen took a deep breath. “Just like the sleepwalking. My parents did try, you know. They wanted to make it stop. I saw so many doctors, and we experimented with medicines and methods … Anyway, nothing seems to work. But I’ve never actually hurt myself”—she met Vance’s steady gaze—“or anyone else.”
“I see. Well, I don’t think we’ll worry too much about this little incident. We’ll just have to keep a better eye on you.” An unexpected smile crossed Ian Vance’s face. “Now, Karen, can I ask a favor?”
“Of course, Dr. Vance,” Karen said, eager to comply. Anything to mitigate this embarrassing episode.
“Since you’re an artist, perhaps you could draw some of the images from your dreams. In the mornings, I mean, when you’re writing them down. Add a few images, if you can.” Vance cradled the roll of paper in his arms. “Like these drawings. Do you think you can do that?”
“I don’t know if I can draw like that when I’m awake. I don’t normally draw in that style. But I can certainly sketch any images I remember.”
“Excellent. Now, let’s get you back to your bed, shall we? I’m sure you need your sleep. Escort her to her room, would you, Jasper?” Ian Vance held up one hand as James opened his mouth to make some comment.
“Very well,” James said, with what sounded like resignation. He followed Karen as she rose and walked to the door.
“And find her a sketchpad and whatever else she needs,” Vance called after them as they headed down the hall. “We may as well make good use of her talents.”
The following morning Karen was surprised to discover Alex sitting in the small seminar room where her dream debriefings were held. Leena Rebani or Jasper James usually conducted the discussions about her dreams. This morning Rebani was in the room, too, but all Karen could focus on was Alex.
He gave her one of his charming smiles. “How are you, Karen? Hopefully you got some rest last night.”
Leena Rebani shot him a sharp look. “Yes, we heard about your sleepwalking. So fortunate you weren’t hurt.”
“I’ve never gotten hurt. I mainly sit and draw stuff. It’s weird, but I don’t tend to wander outside or anything,” Karen said.
Alex’s eyes were fixed on her. “Good to know.”
Karen squirmed in her hard chair as heat rose up the back of her neck.
“Ian’s quite interested in your drawings, Karen.” Leena Rebani walked over and stood behind Alex’s chair.
They made a beautiful couple
—the perfect foils. But Karen suspected there was no love lost between the two researchers. “He wants me to draw images from my dreams in addition to writing my journal entries.”
“Yes, we heard,” Alex said. “Is that okay? It wasn’t part of the original contract.”
Even though it was a sketch that first prompted him to recruit her. But, obviously, he’d never mentioned it to the others.
“Oh, that doesn’t bother me, Dr. Wythe. Just not sure how useful it’ll be.”
Alex looked her up and down. “Very, I’d say.”
“Now, I must run,” Leena Rebani said. “I have another appointment. Alex is going to talk you through your dreams from last night, Karen. I hope you don’t mind.”
Karen fought back a nervous laugh. “Not at all.”
“Very well. I must dash.” Rebani headed out the door, glancing at her watch. “Behave yourself, Alex. Don’t tease her. She isn’t accustomed to your humor.”
Alex winked at Karen. “Don’t worry, Leena. I promise not to scare her off. I know Ian would never forgive me.”
Rebani’s expression confirmed Karen’s suspicion—Leena was one of the rare individuals immune to Alex’s charm. “I’ll see you later, Karen,” she said as she left the room.
Alex gave Karen another brilliant smile. “Well, sleepwalking isn’t so terrible. At least there were no meteors to contend with, right?”
“Yeah, at least,” Karen said, embarrassed by the wobble in her voice.
Alex shuffled a handful of papers. “Anyway, I read through your dream account and found it very interesting. These dark-haired people, have you met them before?”
“Met them?” Karen thought of the man she’d seen in the lobby. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, I’ve had other dreams about dark-haired people. But, you know, those are just dreams.” Dark-haired, she thought, and dark-eyed. Slender and pale. But something stopped her from speaking those words aloud. “Why? Is it a symbol or something?
“A symbol? No. It’s just interesting they resembled one another—like clones or siblings. I thought perhaps it meant something to you.”