Dream Walker

by Shannan Sinclair

  Genesis clinked her glass to Aislen’s and they both took a sip of the electric blue juice.

  It was fruity and sweet. Aislen was surprised she actually liked it. “Interesting. What is it?”

  “I call it The Avatar!” Genesis swirled her glass with flourish. “Hpnotiq, vodka, and a splash of energy drink. A few of these and everything will be backwards, the dream will be the real world, and we will be the dream,” Genesis laughed.

  Aislen blanched and set the cocktail back on the table, not sure she had an appetite for it any more. It was just like Genesis to unwittingly hit the nail on the head.

  “Gee, was it something I said?”

  “No. It’s nothing.”

  “Don’t try to fool me! Girl, you need to remember whom you’re best friends with. Does it have to do with your so called ‘stuff’?”

  “Kind of, but not really.” Aislen really didn’t want to talk about it. She came here to get away from it. But who better than Gen to talk to about the strange and absurd? “It’s just that I’ve had a couple of strange dreams lately—disturbing really. And I seriously would not want to flip-flop the real world with them.”

  Genesis laughed. “Well, first...this,” she pointed to her drink, “is a mixed drink, not a magic potion.” She picked Aislen’s drink up off the table and handed it back her. “Second. It was only a line from one of the best movies ever...not an invocation. And third? You need to tell me about these dreams, pronto.” Gen flopped down on her soft, overstuffed couch, grabbed Aislen’s hand, and pulled her onto it. “Spill it.”

  Aislen felt warm and relaxed for the first time all day. Only Genesis had that effect on her. She could tell Gen anything, never fearing that she would be criticized or judged. And it never failed, Gen would have a perspective completely off-kilter from the rest of the world: fresh, out of the box, and perfectly right.

  Aislen began spilling the beans, the whole can of them, filling Gen in on the details of her dream the night before: the mutant world, her father’s voice churning up long-buried memories, the magnetic and ruthless soldier who killed her, and the little boy named Blake. She shared about the day, how the little boy from the dream was a real live boy, that she had seen him with her own eyes and that he possibly killed his father. She told her about the second dream in the shrine, her father appearing as a homeless man urging her to ask her mom about the teacups, how she came home to find her mother crying over a shattered favorite, and the whole story about how they all had came from him.

  By the end of it, Genesis was sitting deep into the cushions of her couch, her mouth and eyes wide open. “Holy shit, Aiz! That’s freaking intense! No wonder you are so off tonight.”

  “So—do you think I’m going crazy? I seriously think I am in the beginning stages of insanity.”

  Genesis burst into a fit of laughter and took Aislen’s hands in hers. “No. I don’t think that at all. I think you had an amazing experience, a premonitory dream and a message from your father.”

  “Well, I think that sounds pretty, freakin’ crazy.”

  “You would. You are such a realist. I hate to be the bearer of bad news...but what you hold onto as real isn’t the only real that there is.”

  “That isn’t very comforting, Gen.”

  “Aha! Maybe that’s really what your problem is. The ‘what you see is what you get’ philosophy you cling to makes you feel comfortable and safe, but something happens that strays outside of the ‘provable’ and you are thrown into an ‘I must be crazy’ panic. So the question is...do you want to stay in your safety net? Because if these experiences keep happening, and you keep trying to rationalize them away, you will make yourself crazy. Or I can give you a little ‘world according to Genesis’ speech about these dreams.”

  “After today, I’m game for anything. Do tell, oh wise one!”

  “Okay. Your dream last night was obviously, precognitive. I mean, it was symbolic, but it was definitely a vision of an actual event. Precognitive dreams are not uncommon, but for you, not being used to this kind of stuff, it would be shocking.”

  “Really, Gen...not uncommon?”

  “Absolutely not. People have precognitive dreams all the time. Life-altering dreams showing them getting on a plane that crashes. They choose not to get on a plane the next day, only to find out the plane they were scheduled to be on, crashed. Or mundane premonitions—where they dream they are eating fresh cookies and wake up and find their mom getting out the ingredients to make cookies! That was one of mine, by the way. Even Abraham Lincoln—he dreamed his own death three days before he was assassinated! Weird? Maybe. But common? Yes.”

  “Scary.”

  “That, too, sometimes.”

  Aislen mulled this over for a little bit. She should have called Gen earlier. Even though it seemed nuts, the idea that it was common to have dreams that actually occurred in real life reassured Aislen. Just a little, but enough.

  “So, what about my father? Why him? I haven’t thought about him for years. Yesterday, I couldn’t have told you a single thing about him. And today, I can hear him and picture him as if I had always known him.”

  “Well...there are different theories about this. Some people think that people in our dreams are not really those other people, but just aspects of ourselves. Maybe all these dreams and visions are surfacing because of the stress you’re under with finals and work and your subconscious is diving down deep for resources, pulling up a lot of repressed stuff, like the memory of your father’s voice and his visit when you were young. Maybe, in some way, you are reaching for that lost aspect in your life for strength ...or maybe, because it is something that needs to be healed so you can move forward into the next chapter of your life as a whole person...Or...” Gen stopped talking, contemplated something, then seemed to think better of it, “Nevermind...”

  “Noooooooo way! You can’t do that!” Aislen playfully hit Gen on the arm. “You started it. Now finish it.”

  “I think it will freak you out, too much.”

  “Now you have to tell me!”

  “Well...” Genesis took a deep breath then spoke the next sentence super fast. “Maybe your father is really trying to speak to you so he is coming to you in your dreams.” She closed her eyes in a wince ready for Aislen to punch her in the arm again, but harder this time. When it didn’t happen, she opened one eye. Aislen was staring at her.

  She thought about her father, how he had known her mom was pregnant. How he timed his first package with the night of her birth. How he always seemed to be one step ahead of every event in their life. She thought about how his voice actually helped her in her dream and how that afternoon he told her she was going to need help.

  A shudder ran deep through the center of her, a quake of foreboding. She picked up her Avatar and swallowed it down in a big gulp.

  “I think we need to go out after all,” she said, jumping off the couch. “I’m feeling that need to dance you mentioned earlier. How about you make me another Avatar, call us a cab, and I’ll get ready?”

  She went into the bedroom to change clothes, leaving Gen looking after her, confused by the sudden change of heart.

  “Thatta girl!” Genesis called after her.

  CHAPTER 14

  The first strike of the bowl began the clock’s golden ratio progression. Raze heard the harmonic chime resonating from a long distance away, deep under a sea of blackened silence, adrift in a mind unadorned with form or thought, resting in oblivion.

  Precisely three minutes and forty-eight seconds later, the bowl sang again. Raze began a slow ascent toward the surface, riding the mellow overtones of B on a slow 232 hertz wave. A third gong, two minutes and twenty-one seconds later, brought him to the crest of consciousness. He recalled his name, his life, and his purpose with his first breath awake.

  While chilling in low Alpha, he stretched out in the bed and began the process of tracking Mr. T, Raze’s code name for Blake’s preppy therapist from the hospital. Raze pictured Troy in al
l his casual confidence, messy brown locks barely brushed out of his eyes, cute enough to make Zac Efron jealous. Once Raze got a lock on his image, he selected his sound.

  “Fusion Jazz,” he said aloud. The house responded and the loquacious groove of Joshua Redman’s tenor sax began to dance off the walls in surround sound. That seemed to work and Raze put his feet on the floor and walked to the shower.

  “Brisk,” he said as he stepped inside. The shower went through a three-minute sequence of pummeling his body with freezing water at full throttle. He stepped out, dried off, got dressed, and headed down the stairs, fully alert and ready for a productive evening.

  “Alpha 8, and keep the tunes.” The jazz was definitely putting him in the zone. He could feel the signal line synching up already. Tracking Mr. T. wasn’t going to be difficult at all.

  Raze reclined in the lounge, closed his eyes, and re-accessed Mr. T’s signature from the cognitive storage area of his brain. An algorithmic kaleidoscope of cerulean and sea foam broke across the velvet black of his inner vision. An aperture appeared in the center of the radiating sine waves and cyclones of color. Raze regulated his breathing, slowed his brain cycles down, and tuned in for the match. An opening burst into brighter whirlpools of radioactive lime and azure, giving Raze a strong and accurate portal.

  “Theta 7.” Raze pulled his consciousness into an orb and moved himself into the line. He fell through the supernova, traveling at warp speed, and was pushed out of the tunnel in a flash of blinding white.

  It took a moment for his vision to adjust from the soft grays of the Womb to that of the viewing. As it did, Raze found himself in a more Cimmerian atmosphere. The only light in the view emanated from blue, neon webbing that spanned the ceiling and the occasional spin of laser patterns that scampered across the walls. The playful jazz sounds of the Womb cross-faded into grimy, wobble bass and syncopated drum patterns.

  Raze knew better than to project expectations, but he was surprised to find Mr. T in a nightclub spinning dubstep and not at home cooking dinner for a lady friend and sipping Pinot.

  As he integrated more into the view, Raze saw that he was on the second story, perimeter balcony overlooking a very crowded dance floor. The upstairs area was filled with tables, each lit with blue flame candles. A fire was burning in the fireplace in the corner, surrounded by couches and puffy chairs. The place was saturated with bodies dressed for the prowl, holding drinks, chatting, and checking each other out.

  Raze scanned the room for his target and spotted him at the bar next to a couple of his bros who were talking up a couple of trim. Mr. T wasn’t paying much attention to his pals as they worked the getting laid angle. Half sitting on a barstool, he was taking stock of the room while nursing a drink.

  Raze moved into closer proximity. Rather than casual, business attire, T was in a pair of dark blue, almost black, hand-sanded jeans, lace up loafers, and a dark chocolate sweater that lay smooth against his chest—stylish, but not too metro. He was fit but not buff. His drink of choice appeared to be Scotch on the rocks. Hmmm...there were more provocative facets to Mr. T then what he presented to the world. Raze was kind of impressed. How refreshing to have a target more dimensional than a piece of cardboard, Raze thought.

  Something caught T’s eye and Raze watched him zero in on a couple of females walking up the stairs across the room. One was a sprite, little nymph with short, blond hair wearing a fuchsia mini dress. Her friend was taller and was rocking a shimmering cream dress that clung and slipped against each perfect curve as she moved, her body coruscating like a disco ball. Her long, copper hair cascaded in waves around her shoulders.

  She was smoking hot and T’s eyes were on her like Elmer’s as she crossed the room to a table overlooking the dance floor. There was something familiar in the way she carried herself. And there was something, also too familiar, in how the room suddenly reverberated with a riff that wasn’t being spun by the DJ, a buzz of electricity that sent ripples through the little space Raze had staked out in the view.

  Her Royal Hotness turned around to survey the room, eyes wide with naïveté and vulnerability.

  It couldn’t be! There was no fucking way that piece of eye candy is the same fearful chick from Demesne and the hospital. Raze watched her as she turned back and said something to her friend. The way she moved, the way she spoke, the way the energy radiating off of her pressed against him. It was her. It was Aislen!

  Mr. T must have been thinking the very same thing; his eyes didn’t waver from her and his mouth dropped open.

  Score! Raze had lucked out in being able to find her so soon.

  Raze wasn’t going to wait around for homie to make a move. She was what he was really after. All he needed was to snatch her signature and he could be on his way. He had other business to attend to tonight before he could deal with her, but as soon as his other shit was handled, she would be his highest priority. And he didn’t want to be rushed when he dealt with her either.

  Rather than moving in quickly, pouncing on her, and risking getting zapped back into his body by her voltage package, Raze measured the oscillations of her field from the safety of distance. She was relaxed. Her guard was down. There was still a lot of spark in her, but it wasn’t the same nuclear power she brought with her earlier. She might be attainable tonight.

  “Aislen,” he said her name to himself as he stalked the outer edge of the room. He took cover within the heated skin and musk of the bodies crowding the room, all the time keeping his eye on the prize. She was engaged and laughing with her firecracker friend, who was overflowing with effervescent raillery.

  “Good girl,” he said silently to the sprite. “You keep her on ice like that for me.” He had a better chance of apprehending Aislen’s essence if his presence remained undetected. He wouldn’t want to frighten the little thing and throw her into any power surges.

  The DJ was spinning a sludgy mix; the bass was low and thick and made the very air of the room palpable. Aislen would be distracted by that flux and might not feel his energy differential if he moved in closer. He slid himself behind a large column right beside her table.

  He could feel her signature spiraling around his own. Rather than being greeted by her usual, off-putting resistance, her signature was alluring and inviting. Raze actually felt drawn in by it. Whorls of violet unfurled from gold spheres and washed over him in pulsing eddies. He was pleasantly surprised and opened his field up to her disposition, letting it roll across him, doing a slow savor of her and enjoying the scent before he reached in and plucked the flower.

  Just as he flipped his switch to receive her, a sharp dissonance shot through him, kicking him out of the flow.

  “Now what?” Raze peeked around the pillar, thinking she must have become aware of him, but saw that Mr. T had found his swagger and had presented himself at her table. Aislen had responded to his appearance by battening down the hatches and throwing up some highly charged barbed wire. Maybe it wasn’t just Raze. Maybe she wasn’t into guys. Raze moved out from behind the pillar, using Troy’s lolling field for cover, so he could get a better view of the scenery.

  “Well, hello to you,” the sexy sprite said, giving Troy the once over and flashing him a dimpled smile.

  Aislen looked way less pleased. She looked at Troy through narrowed eyes, then reluctantly introduced them. “Gen, this is Troy. We work together. He’s kind of a boss of mine. Troy, this is my friend, Genesis.”

  “Your best friend since forever,” Genesis corrected her playfully.

  Troy extended his hand to Genesis. Raze mirrored him with his own phantom fingers, tuning into Genesis and snagging her vibration key. Like taking candy from a baby. It should have been just as easy with Aislen, but against his better judgment, he’d lingered a little too long. But if he couldn’t get a receipt on her tonight, he could use her bestie’s freq and find her later.

  “Nice to meet you,” Troy said as shook Genesis’ hand. “And I am not her boss. We’re co-workers.” He ga
ve Aislen a pointed look, “...and friends.”

  A mixture of wishfulness and doubt passed over Aislen’s face and Raze felt a whomp-whomp in her energy as her defenses let down and then, on a second thought, went back up again.

  “A total pleasure to meet you,” Gen flashed him another smile. Aislen looked from her friend, to Troy, and back. Raze watched her and felt her energy take on another, sharper, layer.

  Is that jealousy? Raze wondered.

  He checked out Genesis again. She was adorable—sassy and sparkly, wrapped up with a little bow of naughty. Raze could see why Aislen would feel a bit threatened, but only because Genesis had an easy energy, flowing and golden, like honey. Aislen, on the other hand, was stunning and dynamic, but she was tightly coiled and didn’t give anything away freely. Troy could totally go for Genesis just because it was a path of least resistance; but to Raze, there was something much more tempting in the challenge of Aislen.

  “So, I guess you are feeling better, then,” Troy said to Aislen.

  She bristled a little. “Yeah,” she said before turning a cold shoulder to him and looking down at the dance floor. The silent treatment created an awkward aura at the table and Genesis picked up the slack.

  “She’s had a rough go of it lately, but nothing that a little time with a friend, a couple of cocktails, and some dancing can’t shake off. Right, hon?” She reached across the table and rubbed Aislen’s hand to try and soften her up.

  “Yep, that’s right.” Aislen responded, trying to put up a good front, if only for her friend.

  But Raze wasn’t having it. This girl was a mess. How could someone who seemed so weak and insecure have such a powerful field? All that trepidation Aislen transmitted should leave her naked and ripe for the plucking. Raze should have been able to ravish her with ease. Fear was the most disruptive of frequencies. Fear, anger, depression—any intense, dark energy, weakened a target’s grid, leaving them exposed. It was the perfect weapon for control: amplify a person’s fears just a little and you can capture, imprint, and track them anywhere. Jack up their fear frequency even more and you own them.