Dream Escape

by Sal Conte

  Peter turned stiffly, and headed out the door for the destination room.

  Smith stood where he was, considering his options.

  “Are you coming?” Hathaway barked.

  “On my way, sir.”

  *

  The doors to three destination rooms lined the narrow hall. Peter could hear the computer humming away in the room at the end. He moved down the hall and pushed into the room.

  There were two gurneys. Molly lay on one with the dream escape apparatus strapped to her head. She looked as though she were asleep and dreaming peacefully.

  Peter’s eyes moved to Emma, lying on the next gurney.

  She pitched back and forth as if she were in the midst of a nightmare.

  Upon seeing his wife lying in an agitated dream state, Peter shuddered. Her left arm had been heavily bandaged, and a deep crimson blood stain was growing through the gauze.

  “She’s bleeding,” he whispered, the words coming as a whimper. He went to her, was about to smooth the hair from her face.

  “Do not disturb her, Mr. Hathaway,” Smith called softly. “You know that disturbing a subject’s dream can have an ill effect.”

  Peter pulled back his hand and turned to Smith. His expression was both incredulous and pained. “Ill effect? She needs a doctor. She’s bleeding. Why didn’t you send her to a hospital?”

  “We treated the wound, sir,” was Smith’s reply. He looked away. “I never thought it would come to this.”

  “What did you think would happen, sending a mad woman and her injured victim into a dream? You could not have thought this would end well.” Peter’s voice rose dramatically.

  Smith lifted his eyes and faced him. All the smugness Peter had seen for the past several months had disappeared. It was as if a different person was standing before him. “A man pours his life and every penny he has into his dreams. And when he sees them falling apart, he is like rat on a sinking ship.

  “He does not think of the consequences of jumping into the frigid ocean. He does not consider whether or not he can swim. His only thought in the moment he realizes he may go down with the ship, is saving himself. So he grasps at the straws that are available, and he hopes.”

  A silence arose between them, two beaten men looking one another in the eye.

  “Then you know exactly how I feel,” Peter said, his soft reply breaking the silence. “You know you must send me back to Casablanca now.” He continued staring into Smith’s eye.

  Smith nodded, and sighed deeply. “I do,” he replied.

  In a short while, Peter was hooked up to the dream escape computer and ready to go. As the machine hummed, he felt his consciousness fading.

  “One more thing, sir. I nearly forgot. She had us alter the program,” Smith called out.

  “Wha…”

  Chapter Twenty Three

  The patrons were running and screaming.

  This was the scene inside Rick’s Café when Peter arrived inside the dream. Bedlam. German soldiers were herding selected patrons into one of the larger side booths.

  The last thing Smith had said before Peter left the real world was that Molly had altered the program. This was definitely different. He also noticed he wasn’t wearing his signature white dinner jacket. He was in his work clothes.

  Peter began glancing around, hoping to spot Molly and Emma in the melee.

  “You need to get out of here,” a voice behind him called.

  He turned, and peered into the concerned face of Henry, the industrialist who frequented the café.

  “Henry, I’m looking for two women. One of them is injured.”

  “You cannot indulge your carnal knowledge now, Peter. Captain Strasser is looking for you.”

  No, no, you don’t understand—”

  Henry grabbed him around the shoulders, squeezing hard. “It is you who doesn’t understand. Peter, they found Lazlo hiding in the club’s basement. I know you had nothing to do with him being there, but Strasser is going to shut the club down, and is now tearing the place apart searching for you. When he finds you, there will be a firing squad in your future.”

  Peter began gazing around, realizing he was in danger.

  Henry leaned in, whispering in his ear. “You must run, man,” He pushed Peter toward the door.

  “You. Stop!” a young German soldier cried out.

  “That’s my driver,” Henry barked at the soldier. “If you detain him, I will see to it that you spend the rest of your tour on the front.”

  As the soldier hesitated, Henry peered at Peter over his shoulder with a look that told him to keep moving.

  “Thank you,” Peter mouthed. As he headed out the door.

  He’d never been outside before. He had chosen the fantasy for the adventure of it, but had never set foot outside Rick’s Café until then.

  The street was dimly lit by gaslamps that cast a dull, yellow patina over the city. Very little of the commotion within the café spilled out onto the street. Peter knew if he wanted to survive he had to get away from the café as quickly as possible.

  He began walking with no sense of where he was going. He couldn’t tell north, south, east or west. He didn’t know if he was headed toward the center of town, or out of town. These were the straws that were offered to him. He grasped at them.

  He walked on, scanning both sides of the street in the hopes of spotting Molly and Emma. A fog was rolling in, impeding his vision.

  Molly had altered the program, placing him in mortal danger. He wondered why, if she loved him, would do such a thing. He came to the conclusion that she didn’t want him dead. She wanted him to know she was in charge.

  Message received.

  As Peter walked, he realized he was afraid, not just for Emma, but for himself. He jumped at every sound, every voice in the shadows set his heart drum beating in his chest. The desire for adventure he claimed he craved was just a ruse, a trick his mind had played to justify his actions. In reality, he was like all the other men who came to Smith seeking a Dream Escape. He was like the others Smith looked down his nose at. He didn’t want adventure. All he really wanted was a roll in the hay. He was a fool, and his foolishness was costing him everything.

  He’d misjudged Molly. Kind, selfless, Molly was nothing she presented herself to be. People like that were dangerous. She was a psychopath, capable of anything, including murdering his wife. And where did she get all that money?

  He needed to be careful with her once he found her—and he would find her. He would need to put forth his best, most persuasive argument to free Emma.

  “You, sir,” a voice called, nearly frightening Peter out of his skin.

  It was a child, no older than ten. The boy emerged from the fog on the sidewalk in front of him.

  “What do you want?” Peter responded gruffly, trying to sound tough. If he could sound tough, maybe he could feel tough.

  “The lady, she said you are to go down there.” The boy was pointing to an alleyway up ahead.

  “What lady?” Peter asked. “Were there two of them?”

  “Yes, yes,” the boy replied. “There were two ladies. The one said you were to go down there.” He was pointing again.

  Peter looked toward the alley, hope rising within him.

  The boy’s voice lowered. “You must hurry. They are after you.”

  Just then a whistle, loud and shrill, pierced the night silence. German voices were crying out.

  “The soldiers are coming,” the boy said. “Hurry.” He moved away from Peter, disappearing into the growing fog.

  “I see him. Over there,” a voice called out. A flashlight pierced the fog, illuminating Peter. Then another voice called out. The street was suddenly teeming with unseen men.

  Peter began walking quickly toward the alleyway.

  “You there. Stop,” a voice cried out. Another called: “Stop him.”

  Peter quickened his pace. Two German soldiers appeared in front of him out of the mist, standing between him and the all
ey.

  “What are you doing out here? Don’t you know there’s a curfew? Show us your papers,” one of the soldiers demanded.

  “I’m an American. I’m lost,” Peter said. “But here.” Peter began reaching inside his shirt as he approached the soldiers.“I’m so sorry. I’m looking for—”

  Pow!

  He punched the soldier in front of him in the jaw. It was a reflex. He didn’t know he was going to do it. Pain fired in his hand as it crackled like kindling. It felt broken, yet despite the pain, he felt elated.

  The soldier went down. The second soldier peered at his comrade lying on the pavement, aghast. Peter shoved him aside, and began running.

  Another shrill whistle sounded.

  “He’s getting away,” a voice in the darkness cried out.

  Peter reached the mouth of alleyway. He was panting. He hadn’t run very far, and yet he felt a pain his side. His lungs were burning, a result of too many nights at the office, and too many days driving past the gym. Footsteps were coming toward him from every direction.

  His adrenaline was pumping like high octane through a four barrel carburetor. Despite the fire in his lungs, he hustled down the alleyway.

  As he ran, he saw a brightness up ahead at the end of the alley. He couldn’t discern the source of the light. It was as if he were running toward a train coming at him through a darkened tunnel.

  He grasps at the straws that are available, and he hopes. Smith’s words played in Peter’s mind as he ran toward the light.

  Footsteps pounded the pavement behind him. Peter continued running into the brightness.

  “You, there. Stop or I’ll shoot,” a voice cried out.

  Peter was now bathed in the brightness of the light in front of him. Its warmth cut through the chill of the night air, dappling his skin in its balminess.

  He continued running away from the man with the gun, and into the light. A gunshot sounded behind him. And then, he was inside.

  *

  He was in a cave. The air was hot and moist.

  There were no longer soldiers chasing behind him. The sound of the gunshot, so vivid moments earlier, died in his ears. On all sides lay a vast, well-lit cavern. It was quiet, with the distant sound of dripping water. He didn’t know where he was, but from the look of the place, and the humidity in the air, he got the sense he was no longer in Casablanca.

  The cavern was beautiful, featuring gorgeous, crystalline stalactites hanging from the ceiling of the cave, and stalagmites, rising from the cavern floor. They brought to mind giant icicles. He’d seen the structures before in science books, or on picture postcards, but never in person. They were more beautiful than he could have imagined.

  Was this another alteration in the program, or had he reached the end of the fantasy? Kim had described it as a void. Was this the void she spoke of? He didn’t think so. The cave was too beautiful to be characterized as a void. This had to be Molly’s doing.

  The walls were lined with metal sconces embedded deep into the jagged rock. The sconces held flaming torches, the light from which set the crystal rising and falling from the caves floor and ceiling, aglow.

  Chip… Chip… Chip…

  A faint sound coming from one of the many passageways drew his attention. A tickling fired in his belly as Peter felt for certain the women he was seeking were down the path. He began walking, following the sound.

  His hand was throbbing from the punch. It always looked so easy and painless on TV. His eyes moved to his aching hand. It was badly swollen, bringing to mind a puffy Mickey Mouse glove.

  Despite the ache in his hand, and the fatigue that plagued his body, he was happy to discover that the fear he felt earlier was gone, replaced by determination. He was emboldened to save his wife. If Emma was still alive, he was going to rescue her at any cost—even his own life.

  Children need their mother, he thought.

  He didn’t want to die, didn’t want to think morbid thoughts, but the truth was, more than their fathers, children needed their mothers. Peter was determined to return Robbie and Dinah’s mother to them.

  He moved farther into the cave. He rounded a bend. The area up ahead was free of hanging crystal. There was a huge boulder at the center of the cavern. Molly was seated on the edge of the boulder, whittling a tree branch with an old pocketknife.

  “There you are,” she said, looking up from her work. “I was afraid the soldiers may have captured you.”

  Peter didn’t respond. He looked around for his wife. She was nowhere to be found. Slowly, he approached her.

  Molly went back to whittling. “This place, Cathedral Cavern, is exactly as it was when I was growing up. Those guys at Dream Escapes really know their stuff.” She looked up at him, and smiled.

  “Where’s Emma?” he said, stopping in front of her.

  Molly took in a long breath, and let it out slowly. “My father used to take me and my older brothers to these caves all the time when I was growing up. You city boys have playgrounds, we Alabama kids had Cathedral Cavern.” She chuckled wistfully. “What fun. We played hide and seek, running all over the place, hiding in all the nooks and crannies. We knew these passageways like the backs of our hands.”

  “Where’s Emma?” Peter repeated softly. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t want to rile her. He knew the best chance of seeing his wife again was to remain calm.

  “I’m getting there,” said Molly. “Where was I? Oh yeah, around the year two-thousand the state declared most of these caves off limits. The beauty of this place had started attracting tourists, and too many of them wound up getting lost, and never finding their way out. Some fell down the deep ravines. City folk,” she said with distaste.

  “The way the state saw things, the money those tourists brought in was far more important than sharing the beauty of this place. So, these caverns became off limits, even to us locals. No one is allowed in here without a guide anymore. That’s just awful, isn’t it? They have a few guided tours these days, but you can’t go far enough to see anything like this. What a waste. Isn’t it?” She gestured at the cavern around her then looked into his eyes.

  “Yes,” he said. While he was amped up on the inside, on the outside he remained calm.

  “I wanted to share this with you, Peter. I wanted to share some of myself with you. That’s why I brought you here, to share some of what is most important to me with you.” She smiled.

  “Thank you,” he said. “That’s very… thoughtful. But then, you’ve always been thoughtful,” he added.

  Her smile brightened. “Oh, Peter. Sometimes you say the sweetest things.”

  “It’s easy when you care for someone.”

  Molly stood. A shadow of caution darkened her face.

  “Emma is down there somewhere,” she said, pointing down one of the many passageways. “She’ll never find her way out. She’s too dumb. We can go now.” She set her whittling aside atop the boulder.

  “What do you mean, we can go?” Peter said, trying desperately not to let the jolt of alarm he felt filter into his voice.

  “Don’t you see, this way it’s not on either of us? It’s on her.”

  “We can’t just leave her down there,” he said his voice rising.

  “Peter, I know the kind of man you are—kind, caring. You’re always trying to help the helpless, which is probably why you married her. She’s so damn needy.”

  “Molly—”

  “Please, listen,” she barked, a moment of rage filtering in. She tamped it back down. “She brought this on herself, Peter. I was trying to do it the easy way, but that stupid bitch forced me to do things the hard way.” She stopped abruptly.

  “Sorry about that.” She sighed, got a hold of herself once again. “Now we can go back to Casablanca and lead our dream lives, the lives we’ve been waiting to live, loving each other openly. That is what you want, isn’t it?” She was looking into his eyes.

  “Yes,” he replied, hoping he sounded sincere.

 
She smiled, satisfied.

  “We won’t have to worry about her, or anything. She will never be able to find her way out, and that’s on her. This is not on you, Peter. It’s not.”

  Peter recalled Smith’s words to him, that if you die in the dream you die in the real world. Now was the time for the argument of his life, his best closing ever. He had to convince Molly to allow Emma to live.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Molly was smiling at him. It was a smile filled with love, but Peter knew behind that smile was the rage of a psychopath. The woman was crazy as a loon. She had somehow convinced herself they loved one another.

  “We save people, Molly. That’s what you and I do,” he began. “We’re sworn to save the lives of the little people. Emma is one of those little people—our people. We can’t let her die. Our lives together would be filled with guilt.”

  “We are sworn to save the lives of the innocent. She’s not so innocent, Peter. She tricked you into marrying her with her needy, neediness,” Molly said in a whiny, ridiculing tone.

  “But it would be on our consciences if we let her die… sweetheart. We don’t want our lives together to start out with that hanging over our heads.”

  “If Emma survives she will go to the police, and they will arrest me for trying to kill her. If we’re going to be together, this needs to end here.” She looked him in the eyes. “And don’t call me sweetheart. I appreciate it and all, but we’re not the silly pet names type, are we?”

  He shook his head sadly. His argument was failing.

  “I miss being with you,” he said softly, trying a new tact.

  “I miss you, too. It was hard at the office every day, both of us pretending we didn’t know. I will be so happy when we can live our lives in the open.” She was smiling again.

  “At least let me say goodbye to her,” Peter said. He looked at her, and then quickly looked away for fear he’d given himself away.

  Molly’s smile faded. “I hope this isn’t another attempt to save her life?”

  “No, no way. Like you said, she brought this on herself. You see the way she’s treated me. She deserves whatever she gets. It’s just that… we’ve spent a lot of time together. We have children together,” he said, again raising his eyes, appealing to her. “I need to make a clean break of things with her. Just a quick goodbye.”