by L. E. DeLano
I can’t help myself. I reach across the table and cover his hand with mine, and he looks up, startled. Then he smiles a slow, genuine smile, and I pull my hand back. God, what was I thinking, leading him on?
“Finn,” I say, gently but firmly, “you have to realize that most people don’t believe that dreams are real. And I think you need to talk to someone about that.”
He stares at me. “You think I’m crazy.” It’s a statement, not a question, and an exasperated statement, at that.
“You have to admit, it’s not … normal.”
“You and I have an entirely different definition of ‘normal.’ And I can explain all of it to you if you’ll just let me.” He leans across the table. “Jessa, you are in danger.” He punctuates the last word with his finger thumping the table.
I shake my head. “You said that before, but—”
He sits back, hands splayed on the table, and lets out a huff of air. “This isn’t working,” he says to himself. “We’re running out of time. I’m going to have to do it.”
I look at him warily. “Do what?”
He gets to his feet. “I’ll see you tonight, Jessa.”
“I—I have plans,” I blurt out as he’s walking away.
Finn just shakes his head, as if he doesn’t care, and he keeps on walking.
He’s crazy. He’s honest-to-God crazy. He thinks my dream was real. There’s just one problem with that.
The additional backstory he supplied about my writing project is exactly the backstory I had in my head, as well.
When you wonder if you’re going crazy, doesn’t that make you not crazy?
I cling to that hope.
6
Mario
I’m sitting in a classroom, and it’s empty of students, except for me. The walls are an unrelieved white, without a poster or even a clock to break them up. In one corner is a bright red door, sticking out like a sore thumb. The teacher is a middle-aged man with dark, curly hair and a wide smile. He’s wearing a yellow polo shirt and khaki pants, and he’s perched on the corner of the desk with one leg swinging carelessly.
“Are you ready to begin, Jessa?” His voice is friendly, polite.
I glance up at a whiteboard on the wall behind him, but there’s no assignment to be seen. I look around for my backpack, and it’s nowhere to be found.
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing,” I finally say.
“Feeling lost without a notebook?” he asks sympathetically.
“Yeah.”
“There you go,” he says. “Feel free to take notes if you’re more comfortable that way.”
I glance down at the desk in front of me and flip open the Moleskine journal, sliding my pen from between the pages.
“Thanks, Mr.—” I look at him questioningly.
“Mario.” He smiles at me warmly. “Just call me Mario.”
“Thanks, Mario.”
“Don’t mention it.” He shifts back, pulling both legs off the floor, and sits squarely in the middle of his desk. He folds his arms over his chest and stares at me for a moment.
“So … Finn tells me you’re giving him a hard time.”
My head snaps up, and I stare back at him warily. “You know Finn?”
“He and I just met,” he tells me. “But you can’t really say the same, can you?”
“I—I don’t really know him,” I stammer.
“But you’ve been dreaming about him for quite a while,” he tells me. “Years.” He pushes himself off the desk. “Though you’ve only just made the connection in the last few months.”
I’m having a hard time getting words out of my suddenly dry throat. “How do you know that?”
“Because I know what you dream about. You’re dreaming right now.”
I look around me slowly. “I’m dreaming?”
He nods. “You’re dreaming.”
“Oh…” I close my notebook slowly. “This is … weird.”
“I’m going to explain everything, I promise.” He smiles at me again. “You might want to open the notebook back up,” he suggests. “This is going to take a while to explain.”
“Uh … sure,” I say, flipping the cover back and grabbing my pen. It doesn’t bother me that I’m dreaming. Part of my mind registers that this is going to make a really cool story. Might as well go with the flow.
“I’m here to speak with you because it’s time for you to learn what you are,” he tells me.
“And what is that?”
“You’re a Traveler,” he says, then gestures to himself. “And I am your Dreamer.”
“What’s a Dreamer?”
Mario goes to the front of the classroom, and the whiteboard behind him suddenly shimmers to life with a picture of a giant urn, the kind you’d see in a museum, with Greek figures drawn on it.
“Dreamers are—for lack of a more current term—Fates,” Mario says.
“Fates? As in Greek mythology Fates?”
“I’m referencing that because you know it and it’s close enough,” Mario says. “We don’t really decide anybody’s fate outright. We’re just in charge of keeping track of all the possibilities. Finn realized he was getting nowhere with you today, so he brought me in to talk to you.”
“Wait,” I say, touching my pen to my lips. “Is this going to be some kind of Christmas Carol–type thing? Like, Finn is the Ghost of Christmas Past or something? Is he visiting me to tell me how to fix my life?”
Mario laughs out loud, rich and full and genuine. “Oh, Jessa,” he says. “You’ve always had the best imagination. But in a way, you’re not far off. Finn is here to teach you, but also to keep an eye on you.”
“Teach me what, exactly?” I close my notebook again.
He moves over to the desk in front of me, turning around in the seat and leaning a forearm on my desk.
“He’s going to help me teach you how to travel between realities.”
Before I can form a question, he lifts a hand to shush me. “I know that sounds far-fetched,” he continues, “but bear with me. You’re dreaming anyway, right? You might as well hear me out.”
He’s got a point. Might as well hear him out.
“Dreams are just another reality, and there are many, many realities,” he explains. “Everyone can visit them in a dream state, though most people don’t have the power to change anything. You and Finn can travel while you’re awake, too. That’s what makes you Travelers.”
“Everyone goes to other realities in their dreams?”
“Sure they do.” Mario shrugs. “The dreams show the other realities. Some realities are wildly different. Some are very close to what you know but just a little off.” He leans in, warming to his subject. “Have you ever tried to describe a dream to someone? You say things like, ‘I was in a house and it was my house except it looked like it was as big as a football field. And then we went down to the diner in town and that waitress who has the weird hair told me that my cousin murdered Matt Damon.’”
My eyes widen. “In another reality I’m related to someone who murders Matt Damon?”
He lifts a shoulder. “You never know.”
I sit slowly back while I try to wrap my head around all this.
“So Finn and I travel through dreams?” I’m getting confused.
“No, you observe through your dreams. That’s where I come in. There aren’t a lot of Travelers, and each Traveler has a Dreamer. We keep an eye on all the realities and their possibilities, and we ask a Traveler to step in when something needs a correction.”
“A correction?”
He moves back to the front of the class again, and the whiteboard behind him shimmers once more. This time, it’s a horizontal line that spans the width of the board.
“There’s a ripple effect when a decision is made that changes reality,” he explains. “Sometimes the ripples are no big deal, and the reality stream remains on course. Sometimes one decision”—he touches his finger to the line and it splits into two
lines, now at right angles to each other—“can alter things dramatically, and a new reality shears off and is formed. Dreamers can see that and figure out the potential repercussions.” He touches one of the lines again, and it branches into five more. “We brief you through your dreams and then dispatch you to make the necessary adjustments.”
“And how do we do that? Is there a wormhole or something?’
“It’s a lot simpler than that,” Mario says. “I’ll leave the hands-on training to Finn.”
I set my pen carefully on the desk. “Look … Mario…”
“You’re not sure if you believe me. And you want to wake up, write it all down in your journal, and make sense of it. I know,” he says. “But that won’t work. It won’t make sense. Not until you’re ready to believe.”
“You have to admit, it’s a lot to take in.”
“It is. And you haven’t even heard the rest of it.”
“The rest of it?” How much more could there be? “I think I want to wake up now.”
“We’re not done here,” Mario says. “I’ve invited some guests to join us.” He gestures toward the bright red door in the corner.
“Right this way,” he says.
I get up from the desk and move hesitantly toward him. “Where are we going?”
“Into the dreamscape.”
“We’re going into my dreams? I thought we were already there.”
“The dreamscape is a place where Dreamers can observe all realities, and all the people who shape them. Including you.”
I must be making a face, because he smiles at me to reassure me. “Nothing’s going to hurt you here, Jessa. This is just an observational platform.”
“Right,” I say, trying to sound like this is all perfectly fine. “I’m right behind you.”
He opens the door, and I take a deep breath.
I step through, and I’m in a baseball stadium. Thousands of fans are cheering around us, and Mario is somehow now eighty years old and wearing one of those cabbie caps that old guys like to wear to cover their bald spots. I have no idea how I know it’s still him, but I do.
He takes the cap off and folds it in his hand. “Yankee Stadium,” he says, gesturing with the flopping hat.
“I saw a game here once with my dad,” I say. “It was a long time ago, though.”
“Huh?” He leans in, cupping a hand to his ear.
“I said, I’ve been here before,” I say loudly.
He nods. “It’s too loud here, don’t you think? Come on.”
He walks back toward the red door again—which is visible in the wall behind the last row of seats—and we walk back through.
Instead of the classroom, we’re standing next to a river, on the outskirts of a rain forest. Mario is now a woman, short and brown-skinned, with thick black hair.
“It’s a lot more peaceful here,” she says.
“You can go back and forth like this?” I ask, awestruck. “What are you—a shape-shifter or something?”
“It’s the dreamscape.” She shrugs. “I can look like anyone here. I can take you anywhere you want to go. Or show you anyone in any reality.”
“Won’t people notice us?”
“It’s not real. Think of it like … an interactive movie. It feels real while you’re here, but it’s just a projection.”
I glance around. “I don’t think I’ve ever been here before.”
“You haven’t. Not this you, anyway.” She motions me toward a nearby shack. There are fish hanging on a line, drying in the sun, and the red door stands out from its frame. She opens it and once again motions me through.
“How many realities are we going to visit?” I ask.
“Last one tonight,” she says. “I promise.”
We step through and we’re in the middle of the desert. Scrub brush dots the landscape, and it’s evening.
A fire has been built within a circle of red boulders, and Mario gestures for me to take a seat on one of the boulders. I do a double-take because he now looks like a young Native American boy, and he’s beautiful. His hair is long and silky, and his high cheekbones and flawless skin make him look almost too perfect in the firelight. He catches me staring and smiles as he finds a boulder of his own.
Sitting next to him is a man in his early forties, blond-haired and steely-eyed with an impeccable haircut and dressed in a business suit—which really looks odd, considering we’re sitting on rocks. And next to him …
“Hi,” Finn says. “Glad you made it.”
“Another face change?” the other man remarks to Mario in an amused tone.
“Variety,” Mario says with a shrug.
“I like this place,” Finn says, looking up at the sky. “I forget how beautiful the stars are out in the desert.”
“Where are we, anyway?” I take a seat, doing my best to get comfortable on the boulder next to Finn.
“Arizona,” Mario replies. “In this reality, your father got a job out here six years ago.” He points off away from the foothills. “If you walk that way for about two miles, you’ll be in your backyard.”
“Ahem.” Mario’s companion clears his throat slightly, and Mario gestures to him.
“Jessa, this is Rudy. He’s another Dreamer.”
“Rudy?” I raise my brows. “Why don’t you have old Greek names?”
“We’re not Greek,” Mario says. “I told you, that’s only one of the mythologies we appear in. We predate your civilizations by quite a bit. These names will do fine.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, giving Rudy a nod.
“Rudy is my Dreamer,” Finn says. “Mario invited us over so we could all have a discussion.”
“Is that normal?”
“It’s highly unusual,” Rudy says. “But in this case, we feel a need to break protocol.”
Mario threads his hands together, balancing his elbows on his knees, and looks over at me.
“Jessa, it’s time to level with you,” he says. “I haven’t told you everything.”
“I would imagine there’s an awful lot more to know.”
He shakes his head. “No, not the Traveler stuff. That’ll come,” he agrees. “You need to know why Finn is really here.”
I look over at Finn, and I’m suddenly feeling uneasy. “What haven’t you told me, Finn?”
He takes a deep breath. “I was sent by Rudy to find you. This you. Specifically.”
“Me?” I clarify. “Why?”
“Because you’re at risk,” Rudy interjects.
Finn leans forward, running his hands through his hair. “Jessa, now you know that you exist in multiple realities. But the truth is, there are fewer and fewer of you every day.’”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Mario finishes, “you’re being killed off. One by one. Everywhere. In every reality.”
I go cold inside. “Who?” I ask. “Who’s killing me?”
Mario’s face is full of sympathy, but Finn’s voice chills me to the bone.
“I am.”
7
The Target
I jump off the boulder, my mind whirling with panic. Oh my God, I knew it! I saw this coming! Another horrified thought invades my brain: What if I’m not dreaming? What if Finn drugged me or something and … that sounds improbable to the point of crazy, but then again, I think I’m talking to people in a dreamworld. And now they’ve brought me out into the middle of nowhere, where no one will hear me scream and no one will find my body.
“Jessa,” Finn says, coming to his feet slowly. “Sit down. Just listen.”
“Don’t touch me!” I shriek. I scramble to put the boulder between me and the three of them. “I mean it! Don’t come any closer!”
“Calm down,” Rudy orders. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
“You’re here to kill me!”
“Do we look like we’re here to kill you?” Finn asks, spreading his hands wide.
“We’re here to save you, not hurt yo
u,” Mario promises.
I stare at them all, wide-eyed.
“What is going on?” I demand. “I need you to tell me the truth—all of it. How can I protect myself if I don’t know what I’m up against?”
“Jessa…,” Finn starts in again.
“I mean it,” I snarl. “Somebody had better start talking!”
“Fine,” Finn agrees. “But you really need to come out from behind that rock before you step on the damn snake.”
I leap away so fast, Mario breaks into laughter. I stumble a little, then glance back to see that Finn was right. A snake lies coiled just behind my former refuge.
“It can’t hurt you,” Mario reminds me, “but I can imagine it would be hard for you to concentrate with a snake nearby. Let’s move back to the classroom. Rudy looks like he’s tired of sitting on a rock anyway.”
“Indeed.” Rudy stands, brushing off his pants. Mario stands as well, gesturing to the large boulder just behind me, and the red door set within it.
Finn opens the door, and I step through warily, still not over my encounter with the snake. The stark white of the classroom makes me squint my eyes after the darkness of the desert. I take my seat, and Finn slides into a desk beside me as Mario—who’s back to his original self—and Rudy each lean on a corner of the teacher’s desk.
“So…” I look over at Finn. “Why do you want to kill me?”
“I’m not the one trying to kill you,” Finn clarifies. “But I am the one responsible.”
I raise my eyebrows, failing to see the distinction. He rubs a hand over his face before going on.
“In almost every reality that you’ve died in,” he says, “the cause lies indirectly with me. Either an accident or some other circumstance brings it about, but the bottom line of every situation is that if I weren’t there, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“So you’re involved in my death? Deaths?”
“I’m not doing it on purpose. In fact, most of the time, I’m trying to save you and failing.” His eyes are haunted, gleaming in the firelight. “I can never see it coming, either.”