Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
His heart hammering like the pistons in a 357, showing no signs of slowing down.
“Are you okay,” he heard Anya say through the rushing water, the rushing in his ears, the voices going round and round in his head saying you’re crazy, you’re crazy, you’re crazy.
No, he wasn’t okay.
Not even fucking close.
His feet buckled beneath him, and his head caught the counter on the way down to the floor.
The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the girl staring at him, unsure what to do.
That made two of them.
14 | Field Surgery
“Just take me to the hospital.”
“No fucking hospitals, Tom,” Boyd said, his hands pressed against Tommy’s leg, trying to stop the bleeding, “you knew the risks when you signed on.”
“I’m dying, damnit,” Tommy said. “You didn’t say nothing about no dying.”
Boyd limped back to the front of Tommy’s truck and tried the satellite phone again. The emergency line. This time he got a response.
“Where were ya’ll,” he said. “We got a situation out here.”
“It was time for prayers.”
“Oh, you’ll be praying soon, if we don’t get some help,” Boyd said. “Get Samuel on the phone.”
“The Reverend is in the middle of a sermon,” the woman manning the phone said.
“I don’t know who you are,” Boyd said. “Maybe you’re new. But I guarantee you ain’t gonna be part of the flock long, you don’t tell Samuel I’m up shit’s creek out here with a situation.”
“I’ll see if I can get him,” the woman said, her voice demure, horrified at the thought of being cast out to the wolves.
Boyd looked around him. Hell, the world wasn’t so bad as old Samuel painted it. The good Reverend had everyone riled up about monsters and shadows that didn’t exist.
Current situation not withstanding.
Boyd smirked and rubbed his own leg. Little bitch had gotten him good. Tougher than she looked. He’d thought she was simple, messed up in the head, the way Samuel described her. Didn’t get things quick. Well, those rumors weren’t true.
And she sure didn’t look like she was all fucked up. Pretty thing.
Boyd slapped a mosquito from his ear. Heard someone pick up the open line.
“Samuel? That you?”
“It’s the Reverend, son. You know it’s prayer time.”
“I don’t have time to pray now.”
“I wish you would,” the old man said, his strong voice weighed down by the passage of time. “It’d help, son.”
“What would help, Samuel,” Boyd said, “is some proper intelligence.”
“You found the girl, I assume?”
“We tracked her just like you said.”
“And?”
“She ain’t no girl. She’s a little hellcat. Stabbed me in the leg with a switchblade and Tommy here caught a couple shotgun pellets. Ain’t doing so good.”
“The Prophet’s brother?”
“Yeah, the freak’s big brother,” Boyd said. “He’s bleeding in the bed of his truck, out off the highway.”
Boyd looked down at his jeans, at the red stain, the slash, the torn fabric. He reached down and touched the open wound. Damn, she sure got him good.
“He must survive, son,” Samuel said. “You know that.”
“I damn well know that. Why I called you during prayer.”
“I see.” The old man still didn’t seem convinced that it was quite that important, despite waiting twenty years for this moment. “Well, if God wills it…”
“Fuck God,” Boyd said, but didn’t mean it. He plunged his fingers into the cut on his leg, screamed as his penance. He could do better. He had to do better.
“That’s all right, son,” the Reverend said, “you can stop now. We’ll find a way to get Tommy well.”
“How? Samuel—Reverend, we’re lost out here.”
“I know, son.”
And then Reverend Samuel Thane told Boyd how to get found.
15 | Explanations
Devin woke with a start on the kitchen floor. It’d all been a fever dream. Took too many Xanax, passed out getting a cup of water or something.
“Hello,” Anya said, and Devin rolled over, banged his back into the stove.
“Kick me,” Devin said.
“Is that an expression?”
“No, I mean kick me.” Devin jerked one of his legs on the ground to illustrate what he meant. Anya wheeled back. “No, wait.”
“Wait?”
“Medium kick,” Devin said. “And in the shin.”
She nodded, then kicked him. Way too hard.
“Goddamn,” Devin said, and reached down to grab his left leg. His gaze bounced about the room, searching for changes. No, he wasn’t going to wake up, jump out of this.
Because this wasn’t a dream. It was reality.
He hobbled to his feet. Anya just stared at him, like he was the crazy one.
“I have dreams sometimes,” he said, then limped to recliner and collapsed. “But let’s not talk about that.”
“This is why I’m here,” she said. She followed him, stood right in front of him, unaware of the concept of personal space.
“Get me some ice, would you? In the freezer. Plastic bags are next to the oven.” She returned after a minute and handed him the cold bag, which Devin placed on his head. “Thanks.”
“You should be more careful.”
“I’ve had a long day,” he said. “You know, when things are all moving too quick, and the world won’t slow down?”
“No.” Then Anya thought about. “Yes. Today two men tried to kidnap me.”
“You mentioned that,” Devin said, although he wasn’t sure if he believed Tommy was one of them. “What makes you say Tommy was involved?”
“Because he was.”
“Details, please. It’s my brother you’re talking about.”
“It was him,” she said.
This wasn’t getting anywhere. Maybe she’d mistaken Tommy for someone else. Trauma could do that. Make people think crazy things. And the already weird, they were even more prone to jumping to insane conclusions.
“Whatever,” Devin said. “I’ve seen you before. In my dreams.” The words came out and lingered. Devin winced. It sounded like an awful pickup line from some sleazy book on how to hook women.
But Anya didn’t take it that way. No, she knew exactly what he was talking about.
“So you knew why I was here?”
“I just figured it out, all right? I wasn’t lying, before you accuse me of being a jackass.”
“How did you not know?”
“Because dreams are dreams and reality is reality.”
“But you are the Dreamer.” Her words had a tinge of the reverential, like he was some sort of deity. Devin wasn’t sure if he was cool with that, or if it scared the crap out of him.
“I’m just a guy who works at a packaging center. Has panic attacks. Sleeps like shit.”
She squinted her eyes, sizing him up, like she couldn’t believe what he was saying.
“But Miss Ena said you are important. The most important.”
“I don’t know this Miss Ena, but I do know one thing,” Devin said. “I need a drink. Hard stuff.”
He got up, unsteady on his feet, but managed to get to the kitchen. Grabbed the whiskey from the cupboard, dropped ice cubes into two glasses.
Handed one to Anya, who just looked at it, until he kind of shook the glass a little to indicate that it was hers, and she better damn well take it.
And then she did, and Devin sat back in the recliner, feeling like he’d just climbed Everest.
“Damn,” he said, “much better.”
On the couch, Anya swirled the liquid with her finger, tasted it and made a face.
“Why would anyone drink this?”
“Because
it makes you forget,” Devin said, and drained the glass, got up for another. “And what’s better than that?”
“But you’re the Dreamer,” she said. “Why would you want to forget that?”
“I don’t know if I’m this Dreamer, or if I’m crazy,” Devin said. “What would you say?”
“What would I say?”
“If I told you I had a dream where I met you, talked to you. But I was someone else, and you were…you. And then you came here in real life. Found me. Sent the same words I heard in that dream to my computer screen. We’ve been waiting for you for many years. What the hell is that?”
“It’s the truth. That is what I say.”
“Great,” Devin said, and tipped back the whiskey. “So prove it.”
Anya locked eyes with him and then downed the whiskey in one gulp.
“While that’s impressive, that doesn’t prove shit.”
She gagged, and then picked up the laptop.
A couple minutes later, she’d brought up a news article.
Former Bank Manager Leads Heist of Local Branch
“Bob Merriweather, 45, former bank manager of the Sunset Financial & Loan on 21st Avenue, died of a gunshot wound sustained during yesterday’s midafternoon bank robbery.”
He stopped reading out loud and skimmed the rest of the article.
“He leaves behind a daughter, Paula. His three suspected accomplices, including local loan shark Jacky “Stubbs” Randolph, are still at large. For information—”
“Proof,” Anya said, and shut the lid. She re-filled her glass and drained it. Devin blinked, unsure if he was getting drunk or if this all had just happened.
“I was him,” Devin said.
“You’re the Dreamer.”
“You keep saying that like it means something,” Devin said. “I controlled him. Walked around. Talked with that Jacky creep. And then I woke up here.” Devin limped to his bedroom and whipped his head around the room. Maybe there was something special in here.
He looked underneath the bed.
No secret black hole or warp portal.
No, it was all normal.
Except for him.
If this girl was weird, he was about eight standard deviations past weird.
He came back in and sat down on the couch, next to Anya. This time, she didn’t run away. Must be warming up to him. That, or the whiskey in her veins was warming up to him.
Whatever.
Devin wiped his eyes and cradled his head in his hands. “Oh shit.”
“What?”
He half-expected her to follow that up with but you’re the Dreamer, as if that was a panacea to everything, when that was the entire reason he was freaking out. When he went to sleep, he entered other people’s lives. Changed things. This guy, Bob Merriweather, he’d died in this girl’s house. Jesus Christ, he needed another drink.
“This is kind of a lot,” Devin said.
From between the cracks in his hand, he could see the girl extending her fingers out above his back, then retracting her hand. Then doing it again. Was she trying to touch him?
Devin leaned back and her hand shot back to the laptop’s keyboard.
Neither of them spoke.
“So,” he said, “what’s so special about me?” Because it didn’t seem like a superpower, or a world changing ability. He could live other lives, taste them for a second.
“You’re important.”
“If you could explain how, that’d be spectacular.” Devin tried to think back, to other dreams. Were they all real? How long had this been going on? They’d gotten more intense in the past few years, but had he been controlling people’s lives for his entire life?
“You can make things right in the world.”
“That sounds like something you’d read on the back of a bad romance book.”
“But it’s true,” Anya said.
“I can make everything all right in the world.”
“Not everything. Just small things. But sometimes, that is enough,” Anya said.
“Who taught you that?”
“Miss Ena did.”
“Figures. You got any other teachers?”
Anya didn’t answer, but her eyes seemed to say what for?
Devin waved his hands. Forget it.
“Do you know how any of this works?” Devin said.
“A little.”
“Care to share?”
“It’s…personal,” Anya said.
“You have my entire family history up there, know everything about me, and that’s personal.” Devin reached for the whiskey, didn’t bother pouring it in the glass. The bottle would do just fine.
“You’ll get sick,” Anya said. Devin pulled hard for a few seconds, then wiped his chin.
“Glad you’re concerned,” Devin said. “I’m about two screws short of a padded room because of you.”
“I didn’t make you,” Anya said.
“Who did? What did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, so Miss Ena didn’t say?” Devin rocked back and forth on the couch.
“Are you all right?”
“What—yeah, I’m fine. Super.”
“You look kind of pale. I don’t want you to pass out again,” Anya said.
“I’m fine. I didn’t pass out, I was just surprised.”
“You were out cold.”
“No I wasn’t,” Devin said.
“Yes, you—”
“All right, all right, shit, you’re like a monkey in a goddamn banana grove.” Devin took a deep breath. “Sometimes I have these…attacks.”
“Anxiety.”
“How’d you know?” Then Devin looked at the back of the computer. “My records. Right.”
“No, you said earlier.” So this girl actually did listen to what he was saying. Didn’t just go on and on about Miss Ena and the Dreamer and other things he didn’t want to think about. “Are they bad?”
“Just with all the dreams, and my parents and all, it’s just…it’s hard sometimes.” Devin downed another shot from the whiskey. Passed it Anya. She held the bottle out.
He reached out and tipped it upwards, towards her mouth.
She shook him off and wiped the top for a couple seconds with her shirt sleeve, then drank.
“I’m not dirty,” Devin said. “Or crazy, I guess. You won’t catch anything.”
Anya winced as the warm liquid burned her throat. Then she smiled.
Devin wasn’t sure what was more surprising—seeing that, or the day’s events. A dead heat, that was for damn certain.
She handed him back the bottle, and he placed it on the table. Didn’t want to pass out cold again. You got one of those free, max, around a good looking girl.
“Do you know how long it’s been? That this has been happening to me?”
Anya shook her head. “I just know you’re important.”
The darkness bled through the windows, clashing with the dim fluorescent light in the kitchen, the one that had to light up the entire living space. Still no Tommy. Devin flipped open his phone. Nothing.
He wasn’t ready to admit that this girl was right about his brother.
But she’d been right about everything else.
“And you need to take me home?” Devin said.
“Yes.”
Devin got up and left the room, returning with a patchy blanket and a stack of pillows.
“Then we leave tomorrow,” he said. “After I sleep this off and get my shit together.”
“But Miss Ena said right away.”
Devin walked to the doorway of his bedroom. “Miss Ena’s been waiting for a long time. What’s one more day?”
Then he shut the door, leaving Anya on the couch.
16 | Disappointed Boy
“You disappoint me, boy,” Samuel said.
“I disappoint myself,” Boyd said, and averted his gaze from the Reverend’s craggy face.
“You allowed this man crucial to our cause to be shot.�
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“He’s not one of us—”
“Silence,” Samuel said. “Catalina and Chimera, the non-believers, they will have the Prophet by the time he recovers.”
“I can go alone.”
“How will one fool succeed where two could not?” The Reverend’s strong voice boomed.
Boyd’s swagger and audacity had all disappeared once he was in the room again with Samuel. Although he didn’t understand Samuel’s power, he could feel it swirling around him, in the ether.
The Reverend came closer, rubbing his bearded jaw as he walked. Old in stature, but not in spirit or presence. The man was still sharp.
And strong.
He boxed one of Boyd’s ears, and the younger man dropped to one knee, his head smarting. But he knew better than to cry out. Knew better than that from years of living here. Growing up here.
“Boy,” Samuel said, and knelt down to talk to the younger man eye-to-eye, “I give you a certain amount of leeway. You stray from the Bible’s letter often. And you know why I allow that?”
“No sir.”
“Because I understand that, in your chest, your soul, you believe it more than the hundred men and women running these green hills.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me,” Samuel said. “They’re good people. Believers. But you, son, you’re a true instrument of God. You see the responsibility, then, don’t you? In our Crusade?”
“I do, sir.”
Samuel got to his feet and extended a hand down to the still kneeling young man. Boyd’s gaze, cautious, contrite, fixated on the weathered palm. Then he reached upwards, and the Reverend pulled him to his feet.
Hugged him.
Tears stung the edges of Boyd’s eyes. But he didn’t care. This was beautiful.
“The Prophet is special,” Samuel said. “He’s an oracle. It is he who will bring our Crusade to the masses.”
“He’s not the Devil?”
“No, son,” Samuel said. “He won’t be.”
“Unless Chimera finds him first.”
“Unless they find him first,” Samuel said. “But they won’t, will they, son? Because you’ll stop them. At all costs.”
“At any cost,” Boyd said, and gripped the older man’s strong forearms, tears running down his cheeks like an unending river, all the way down into the rich brown soil.
The Last Dreamer Page 5