The first painting slammed to a halt a foot from my avatar. The second moved to the space directly above the first, and the third, a smaller one, perched itself on top. The parts of the frames that touched melded together at appropriate spots. Some sections disappeared, creating a velvety, midnight blue blank space. It looked like a strange, full-length mirror.
Recognizing it as a portal, I leapt to my feet and hopped up onto the frame, using a hand to catch each side and brace myself. It’s a good thing I did too ’cause the ornery thing hurtled toward the wall to my right. I screamed long and loud and tried to let go, but my hands wouldn’t listen. The frame stopped when it met the wall, but my momentum sent me sailing through the portal into the darkness beyond.
I imagined a cushion appearing beneath me and landed on it with a grunt. The remaining momentum sent me and my cushion skittering across the room. I’m not sure how I knew I was in the center, but I guess it’s one of those random things I’m allowed to know as a Dream Shaper.
Now more comfortable with my role in Nadia’s dream, I bid the lights to come on. Torches lining the walls sprang to life. I frowned at that and wondered why Nadia insisted the dream stay locked in a century without electricity, email, computers, and flushing toilets. Not sure why flushing toilets came to mind since such necessaries ain’t requirements in dreams. Poor Nana would have been horrified at the unladylike nature of my thoughts.
A glance at the stone floor made me mighty glad I’d thought to put a cushion down as I landed or my avatar woulda had some very lovely scrapes and bruises. Healing ’em would be no problem here, but I don’t like pain.
The tiny room’s only furniture, a bulky writing desk and a sturdy looking wooden chair sat centered along the far wall from the entrance. Climbing off my cushion, I made my way over to the desk. It held a large stack of fancy paper and a big container of black ink with a feathery quill sticking out of it.
I giggled ’cause there was a hot pink sticky note hovering right next to the quill. As my eyes fell upon it, Nadia’s words disappeared from the note and filled the air.
Do not worry, Jillian. The quill is simply for show. It will function as a normal pen for you.
The other side of the desk held a steaming cup of tea on a delicate saucer. A neon green sticky note hanging in the air above the tea spoke with Naidine’s voice.
I hope you do not mind mint tea. If you wish something different on future visits, please include instructions in the letter. You are our only connection to the world for the moment. The more you can tell us, the better our preparations will be. Good luck and thank you.
***
ITEM 185: Jillian’s first letter to Nadia
Item Source: Jillian Blairington
Dear Nadia,
I found the writing desk without too much trouble, but what’s wrong with putting doors in the throne room?
Sorry it took me a few days to find you. Tracking Dr. Carnasis through her dreams wasn’t exactly like following road signs.
Writing things out by hand sure takes a heap of effort. I may shape this process in the future if I got a lot to say, but for now, this will do. Unfortunately, there’s not much to say.
I’ve begun the process of tracking y’all to actual locations, but without you or one of Dr. Devya’s people helping, I’m not rightly sure how long I’ll need. I wish I had a better answer for ya. Malia agreed to help some, but I think her new family is busy with wedding preparations or something. We both know she’d drop everything if she thought she could help, but the truth is, there’s not a great deal to do.
Varick may find ya before I can and that’s fine. It ain’t a competition. I need to know where you are so I can send him along to free ya. I know you promised to stay with Dr. Devya, but I get the sense that you’re not even with him. If they’re keeping you this deeply unconscious, I’m guessing something’s not right.
I will let you know how the search goes. Do your best to wake up and reach for me. That’ll make my job worlds easier.
You once told me to hang in there when we were in some serious trouble, so now I’m giving you the same speech. Hang in there. We need ya.
Your worried sister,
Jillian
Chapter 4:
Welcome Week Surprise
ITEM 186: Danielle’s fifty-second letter
Item Source: Danielle Matheson
Dear Dr. S.,
Has it really been almost a full week since my last email? Although not my longest delay in writing you, I believe it sets a poor precedent for this college term. Writing to you has long been a comfort and steady point in my life. I feel as if you’ve walked with Jillian and me through some of the craziest parts of our lives and kept us on an even keel.
Does the shift in me mean I’m becoming more independent? Perhaps it only means that The College of New Jersey’s Welcome Week efforts to immerse incoming freshmen into college life works very well.
Move-in day was that Thursday I already told you about, the day I got to meet Karen Tyler and her family. On Friday, there was a Walk-a-thon for the Special Olympics along with a civics lecture and an anti-cheating message. Saturday featured the “don’t do drugs” and the “sex ed” spiels, a picnic, and a magic show. Sunday was much the same as Saturday with slightly different messages and a Café Under the Stars with some live music to enjoy. Monday was the official Convocation and a series of formal welcomes from the Dean and various department faculty members. The only painful part was the breakout discussion groups on the summer reading. I did the summer reading, but that was months ago.
In and around the formal events, the PAs—peer advisors—kept us moving from one getting-to-know-you thing to another. At this point, I believe I’ve met everybody who lives on T-10, but I hope there’s not a quiz on names because I think the only ones I’m sure on are the neighbors to the left and right.
In the 11’ x 11’ box to our left if you’re in our room facing the doorway, we have Rajah Patel, a Biology major, and Grant D., a Physical Education major. Those two prove the point that the roommate drawings are random. The sweatbox to our right houses Tyra Summers, a Psychology major like yours truly, and Kiana W., an English Lit major. If you couldn’t tell, people are sort of defined by their majors around here.
I am Danielle Matheson, Psychology major, at least until I get around to filing the paperwork to switch majors. I think Ethan—I never did catch his last name—is also a psych major since he’s in two of the same classes as I am. I haven’t changed majors yet because I’m not really sure what to switch to. Criminology and Justice Studies and Journalism both sound like fun options, but what would I do with either of them beyond college? I realize it’s too early to be thinking of life four years from now, but the last couple of years have taught me that I really need to do some hands-on helping. Part of me still believes that could mean doing exactly what you do, but the road to a psych PhD might do me in.
The ultra-vague direction to do good is about all I’ve got right now. Even Nadia’s job offer is on shaky ground for the foreseeable future. Jillian hasn’t said much, but Nadia’s new silence bothers her something fierce, as she would say if she were in a talking mood. The fact that she’s not in a talking mood is Exhibit A in the something’s not right case.
Warning: awkward subject switch coming.
The food’s decent. The blandly named Commons looks like something you’d see in an amusement park food court. In addition to normal round and rectangle tables to share with many friends and random strangers, there are some nice private booths. Not exactly sure what vibe they were going for when designing the place, but the color scheme looks to be tri-colored pasta. Surprisingly, it works.
Dylan and Katy nearly started drooling during the campus tour when we walked past the dessert counter. They’re already begging to come visit me. Pretty sure the main dining hall is 90% of the attraction, but I’ve decided not to take offense.
The Brower Student Center food court is more typical of what o
ne expects from a cafeteria style dining hall. The 1855 Room looks too fancy for everyday eating opportunities, but I’m sure if I stick around four years, I’ll check it out someday. Varick said The Rat (Rathskeller) used to serve excellent buffalo chicken wraps, but unfortunately, they’re closed now.
Whoops. Did I forget to mention my Welcome Week surprise? During Convocation of all things, I bumped into Varick. The sight of him set loose a strange cascade of emotions, especially after I blundered into a semi-circle of moon-eyed, hungry-looking female freshmen.
“Hello. Fancy meeting you here,” Varick greeted, purposefully deepening that gorgeous British accent.
“Do you know her?” asked one of the circle, sounding none-too-pleased.
“Know her? Sure, I do. Danielle’s the reason I’m here,” Varick said. He had a solemn expression, but his eyes laughed at me.
Several hostile gazes swung my way. The looks combined with shock to bring a fine flush to my cheeks. I felt claustrophobic and light-headed and in need of some fresh air, which was dumb because we were already outside.
Seizing Varick’s left arm, I spun him away from the conclave of admirers and hissed, “What are you doing here?”
“Here now, is that any way to greet an old friend?” Varick protested. He twisted his arm up and caught my hand, tucking it under his arm so we could continue the cozy conversation with some semblance of privacy. He swiftly steered us through the milling people onto a path that would lead away from the crowds. “I did warn you I’d check in. What did you think I meant? You look lovely by the way.”
“Thank you,” I murmured by reflex. I’d opted for a light summer dress in a color somewhere south of royal blue and north of midnight blue. I was going to wear my sleek black dress but the temperature talked some sense into me before the ceremony. I wanted to say much more but questions collided with exclamations and even accusations, leaving me with nothing coherent. “How did you get in?” I asked finally. It was definitely not the question I wanted to ask, but once it came out, I really did wish to hear his answer.
“I really am a student. I enrolled a week after you did,” Varick explained.
“How? Why?” The two questions contained more confusion and subtle condemnation than I’d been going for. “I-I mean it’s great to see you, but don’t you …” I let the sentence die unfinished. I was going to say something like: Don’t you have more important things to do besides follow me? I held the question in because it wasn’t entirely fair.
I’d unconsciously stopped walking, forcing Varick to halt as well. He let my arm become untucked from his, but used our clasped hands to pivot around so that he faced me squarely. To passersby, it might have appeared we would soon begin ballroom dancing, especially because Varick changed his grip so that his fingers rested under my left wrist with his thumb tucked into my palm.
For a long moment, Varick simply stared at me, but finally, he quietly answered my questions.
“Nadia pushed the proper paperwork through, and you already know the why.”
I did, but I didn’t. My brain got stuck in neutral. I was charmed, flattered, and slightly unsettled. I tried to smile but I think it came across as more of a grimace.
“Who’s going to protect the others?” I asked, sounding hoarse.
Varick gave my hand an encouraging squeeze before letting go. “Anastasia’s vigil is being maintained from afar. Jillian is searching for Nadia and the others. Malia is with the Davidsons, of course. That leaves you.”
He had a fair point, but I wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
“Do you really think I need protection?” I tried for incredulous but got mild curiosity instead.
“Yes,” Varick answered with innocent honesty. “Too many dangerous people know what you mean to us.” His tender tone tugged my emotions in an odd direction. As he turned to walk away, I saw his eyes shifting color from light blue to deep, intense green. After taking two steps, Varick paused and faced me again. “May I stay?”
I wanted to tell him I had no authority over him, but some inner instinct told me he needed the affirmation.
“Life is more interesting with you and your siblings around anyway,” I said, forcing a smile. I closed the distance between us until we were side-by-side before adding, “But promise me one thing.”
“If you like,” Varick responded.
This time I looped my left arm under his right and entwined our hands.
“Try not to make every girl hate me.” The statement needed explaining. Although it’s amazing to me, I don’t think Varick realizes the power his presence has over people, be they male or female.
We wandered the beautiful campus until meeting up with Karen for dinner. Then, Varick escorted us back to our room like a gentleman. I felt obligated to invite him in, but I’m relieved he declined.
“I am four doors down if you need me,” Varick informed. “Cheers.”
After answering a dozen questions from Karen, I climbed up to my bed and set my thoughts on a hamster wheel to nowhere. The next day was the first day of classes, and here we are today when I finally rolled out this email to you.
Should I be excited or unnerved by this development?
The Befuddled One,
Danielle Matheson.
Chapter 5:
Scattered Part 1: Dr. Carnasis and Nadia
ITEM 187: Jillian’s 92nd post-kidnapping journal entry
Item Source: Jillian Blairington
If I had to pick a word to qualify Dr. Carnasis’s dreams, I’d call ’em cluttered. You can learn a whole heap about a person by studying what they dream. For such a neat, orderly, put-together lady, Dr. Carnasis has memory-storm dreams that are almost as messy as the one I found in Nadia. These are only the surface dreams too. When this mess settles, I wanna see what deeper dreams are bound up inside my Second Momma.
Nana says everybody’s got lots more going on in ’em than they let on. I sorta wish people would have clear, deliberate dreams, like Varick does. Since complaining ain’t gonna improve my lot, I may as well dwell on the positive side. That’s what Dr. S. says anyway. At least Dr. Carnasis don’t lock her dreams up like Dr. Devya. That’s a blessing to count every day.
I took some liberties with the first series of dream images and changed the perspective, so I could get a wider picture of the scene as a whole. The three big white trucks slowly lumbered up out of the underground parking garage. Dr. Carnasis and Nadia were tucked into the back of the middle truck. When I tuned in to what my Second Momma was feeling, I sensed an odd combination of excitement, weariness, and irritation.
There are several ways to fast-forward a dream, but I’ve found skipping from one emotional change to another is one of the most effective methods. Malia taught me how to better identify one emotion versus another. She’s got hours to say on the subject, but she was kind enough to give me the short-on-lecture, high-on-interaction version.
We spent a few days training with her projecting one emotion after another and me trying to identify ’em. I’m glad her patience levels are right deep. I kept mixing up guilt and sorrow. They’re both kinda heavy feeling, but guilt has subtle hints of righteous anger beneath it and sorrow usually comes with a faint image of whatever was lost.
Dr. Carnasis kept her strange combination of emotions for a good three hours of travel time. Nadia showed me how to keep better track of the clocks in my head. Dream time still ain’t the same as normal time, but dream time follows its own version of logic. As with all aspects of my Gift, once I understood the time thing, I could control it. At times, the weariness or the irritation would shift to a greater level, but those baby shifts weren’t what I was looking for. The lightning-quick flip from irritated to outright angry and scared caught my attention like a twenty-pound fish in a ten-pound container.
I halted the dream then slowly willed it forward, making sure to separate my consciousness from Dr. Carnasis. The first person view has its uses, but seeing everybody’s expressions is better.
> “You don’t want to do this, Darren,” Dr. Carnasis said. Her cool tone made me double and triple check the emotional signals.
I was right. Anger and fear flooded her whole being.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Dr. C., very wrong,” Darren declared. “I’ve wanted to do this since I learned that little freak is worth millions. I’m only sorry I couldn’t shove this gun in the face of that self-righteous—”
“Cora is the only one who defended you when you stole those embryos,” Dr. Carnasis spat. “I didn’t. I thought it was a good sign we couldn’t trust you.”
At the mention of “gun,” I changed the perspective again so I could see both Darren and my Second Momma from the side. Dr. Carnasis sat on a cushioned bench built into the truck’s right wall. Darren stood on the far side with a heavy-looking handgun pointed at my Second Momma. The gurney holding Nadia was parked a few feet beyond the angry pair.
Darren’s eyes flashed dangerously. He leapt forward and slammed his left forearm across my Second Momma’s neck, causing her head to thump off of the truck’s wall. She caught her breath at the sudden pain, but righted her head so she could glare at Darren. I think she’s perfected the glare over time on Dr. Devya.
“That wasn’t kindness,” Darren hissed. He leaned into his left arm enough to press Dr. Carnasis against the wall. “She owed me. Her words were payment for a debt, and she’s never stopped letting me know that.” Darren’s right hand held the handgun in a white-knuckled grip. His angry gestures brought the dark piece of metal awfully close to my Second Momma’s face.
“Your anger with Cora—justified or not—has nothing to do with Nadia,” Dr. Carnasis insisted.
“You almost sound like you care for her,” Darren said, taking a small step back.
A wave of weariness rushed through my Second Momma, completely draining her of anger and fear. She blinked slowly like someone waking from a long nap.
“You almost sound like you don’t.”
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