If Souls Can Sleep (The Soul Sleep Cycle Book 1)

by David Michael Williams

  Pause. “What do you know about Daniel Pierce?”

  Leah didn’t know whether to be surprised or relieved that Boden wasn’t at all shocked by the strange story she had just told him. It was difficult to feel anything except anxious under the man’s unwavering stare.

  “Daniel is actually Vincent’s half-brother,” she said. “According to the news, Daniel shot a police officer when they tried to arrest him for drug dealing. He also was shot and ended up in a coma. Vincent said he and his mother fought about whether to keep him on life support…and that his mother believes an angel came to her in her sleep, telling her to keep Daniel on life support.” Leah gasped. “It wasn’t an angel, was it?”

  Boden frowned. “In all likelihood, it was Daniel himself.”

  “So he can do this too?” She gestured at the man and the replica of her living room. “What did you call it?”

  “When two people with the ability come together it is called shared dreaming,” Boden said. “When someone enters someone else’s dream, uninvited, we refer to it as dream drifting.”

  “And who, exactly, are ‘we’?” Leah asked, her impatience getting the better of her apprehension.

  Suddenly, something changed, though it took Leah a moment to understand that, all around them, colors were fading. Even the flames in the fireplace had lost their luster. In a matter of seconds, the scenery melted into a gray abyss.

  Boden remained seated, undaunted by the cataclysm.

  She leaped up from the couch, reaching for him. “What are you doing? You promised—”

  ***

  “—you would help Vincent!”

  Leah lost her balance and slammed into something big and unyielding. A vague idea of floating or flying flashed in her mind, but she couldn’t grasp it. She righted herself and cried out in surprise at the sight of an armor-clad warrior seated upon a throne made of bones. The man wore a helmet with long, dark horns.

  A black-gloved hand reached for her.

  She turned to run but was immediately overcome by dizziness. Two torches perched in tall, tower-like sconces on either side of the throne cast a circle of dull light a few feet in all directions. Beyond was absolute darkness. If she ventured too far, she would be swallowed by the void.

  “Forgive me, Dr. Chedid. I didn’t mean to frighten you,” a familiar voice said.

  The warrior removed his helmet, revealing the stern countenance of Boden. He made a mild gesture, and a second chair—one made of wood, not bone—appeared in the space before him.

  It’s only a dream. It’s only a dream. It’s only a dream.

  But it’s also real.

  Leah’s shaky legs took her over to the chair. Heart pounding, she sat down.

  “Do you mind if I called you Leah?” Boden asked.

  “Sure, no problem.” She punctuated her words with a nervous laugh.

  Pause. “Very good. While we are here, it would be more appropriate if you call me Odin.” Pause. “The name, my attire, this place…it was all Milton’s idea. For as long as I have known him, he has had a fondness for Norse mythology. I had hoped to prepare you better before bringing you here, but your dream was ending, so I pulled you into mine.”

  Leah scratched the back of her neck. “I was waking up?”

  His eyes, which perfectly matched his metallic outfit, narrowed as he thought. “Possibly not. Given the hour, you likely were transitioning into a new sleep cycle. Rather than waste time searching the dreamscape for you again…and risk interrupting another private moment…I took you with me to Valhalla.”

  He made an almost imperceptible gesture with his hands, and the torchlight intensified. Her claustrophobia didn’t abate. So enormous was the chamber that Leah couldn’t see its perimeter.

  “Think of it as a constant in the ever-changing dreamscape, a static location where my colleagues and I rendezvous,” he said.

  “It’s where you meet before barging into other people’s dreams,” Leah said, though she immediately regretted her cynical tone.

  Long pause. “A fair, if incomplete, assessment of our operations. I know this must be incredibly perplexing, but now that we are in Valhalla, it is safe for me to brief you on the situation as it pertains to you.”

  “Brief” me? Figures Odin would be a military man.

  Boden continued, “Some people are born with the ability to drift into the dreams of others. We call them ‘naturals,’ and, as far as we know, there are perhaps only five thousand naturals in the entire world, and only a small percentage of them understand what they are capable of.

  “As you might imagine, a natural can stir up quite a bit of chaos and confusion in the minds of non-naturals. Invasion of privacy, as you alluded to, is but the tip of the iceberg. Since it is possible for naturals to extract information from sleepers without their knowledge, the dream-drifting phenomenon presents a threat to national security. The U.S. government created Project Valhalla to track naturals and use their abilities to defend the population from those who would do them harm.

  “In the past few months, the Dream World, dreamscape, humanity’s shared unconsciousness…whatever one chooses to call it…has become a battlefield between two factions. Milton Baerwald is a casualty of that war.”

  When Leah caught up with his explanation, she asked, “Milton is dead?”

  Pause. “No. Seven months ago, Milton was ambushed. Since then, he has remained a prisoner in someone else’s dream. From what we can ascertain, Milton believes he is awake and running for his life. In actuality, he is fleeing from the very people who want to rescue him…agents of Project Valhalla. Meanwhile, in the real world, Milton is in a coma.”

  “Just like Daniel,” Leah said. “Wait, did you say it happened seven months ago? That’s about the time Daniel went into his coma too.”

  Boden nodded grimly. “We now suspect Daniel is Milton’s captor. Who else could maintain a never-ending dream?”

  Could Vincent have discovered all of this? Was he trying to stop his brother?

  “But why would Daniel do such a thing?” Leah asked. “He’s a small-time drug dealer. What is his connection to Milton…to any of this?”

  “That is being investigated as we speak.” Pause. “For now, however, I am less concerned with why than how. We ought to be able to overpower him, but most of the time we cannot even find him in the dreamscape. On the one occasion when agents were able to locate DJ…Daniel…he escaped, indicating that he has the ability to maintain the dream that has ensnared Milton while simultaneously hiding in others’ dreams.”

  Leah shrugged. “I’m sorry, but you just lost me.”

  “I entered your dream earlier. Now you’re in mine. I can’t leave you here while I drift somewhere else and still maintain control over this dream. I could either bring you along or let you go,” Boden explained. “In other words, I couldn’t trap you in Valhalla, leave you unattended, and expect you wouldn’t eventually wake up.

  “When Daniel is absent from the Twilight Realm, my agents should have no trouble manipulating the dream and freeing Milton because Daniel has forfeited his control over that dream.”

  Leah nearly fell out of her chair at the sound of a new voice behind her.

  “That’s not entirely true.” A dominatrix sauntered past Leah, her high-heeled leather boots striking the stone floor like a hammer on an anvil. She stopped and leaned against the bone throne, her dark leotard-like outfit stretched taught across her generous curves. Her lips, painted blood red, were puckered in a permanent smirk. “When all the gods are in Valhalla, it’s a shared dream. Each of us has control to some degree. For all we know, Danny Boy has some friends in the Twilight Realm who keep Borr busy and enforce the rules while he’s out messing with his brother.”

  “Borr?” Leah asked.

  “That’s Milton. We use code names around here. Can’t be too careful,” the woman said with a wink.

  Boden kept his eyes fixed on Leah as he spoke. “Why are you here, Syn?”

  “Heimd
all said he can handle Vincent without me…if he’s even dreaming tonight. What’s this I hear about him being in the loony bin?” Syn straightened up and took several steps closer to Leah. “Besides, I wanted to get a look at our new friend.”

  Syn was younger than Leah, though it was impossible to discern her age due to the raccoon-like rings around her eyes and jet-black pixie cut. She was part goth, part punk, part fetishist.

  In a conspiratorial whisper, Syn said, “You might be powerless here, honey, but I’m a goddess and more than capable of giving you a makeover. You can borrow something of mine. I bet you’d look great in leather.”

  Looking past the alleged goddess, Leah said to Boden, “You’re trying to drift into Vincent’s dreams?”

  “Not just any dream, The Dream,” Boden said. “We believe we might have an easier time confronting Daniel there than in the Twilight Realm.”

  “I don’t understand,” Leah said.

  “That makes two of us,” Syn confided.

  Pause. “We need to learn more about what Daniel is plotting and whom he is plotting with. The Valenthor dream is our only lead.”

  “Which is pretty sad when you think about it,” Syn said. She pulled out a long dagger from nowhere and ran the flat of the blade up and down the elastic material coating her thigh like a second skin.

  “We do not know why Vincent is getting pulled into a dream with a setting so similar to our own Norse theme,” Boden continued. “Perhaps Daniel is the one responsible. Perhaps Vincent is a natural and unconsciously goes to The Dream of his own accord. Regardless, if we are to learn more about Daniel and his agenda, we need Vincent to become Valenthor again.”

  “So why do you need me?” Leah asked.

  Pause. “If Vincent has been secured in a mental health center, it stands to reason the authorities believe he has suffered a mental break. Most of the tranquillizers used at such facilities inhibit REM sleep. We need you to break him out so that he can be sure to dream tomorrow night.”

  Leah took a few steadying breaths as she looked from the ironclad warrior to his provocative companion. As bizarre as it all sounded, she had no choice but to work with them if she wanted to save her friend. So even though the answer wouldn’t change anything, she had to ask the question.

  “You said that our dreams have become a battlefield between two forces. Since you work for the CIA, does that mean I’ll be working with the good guys?”

  Pause. “Project Valhalla falls within the CIA’s Directorate of Science of Technology. Our existence is a closely guarded secret. The President of the United States doesn’t even know we exist,” Boden said. “But as for your question—”

  “Only time will tell,” Syn said.

  Chapter 29

  On the other end of the expansive room, an elderly woman whined incomprehensibly. Her childish noises made it hard for Vincent to hear the TV—an old-school model that still had knobs on the front—but her blubbering was only slightly more annoying than the shrill voice of the cartoon character on the screen.

  Sitting next to him on the couch, a young woman in flowery pajamas and sporting a hairdo made popular by neo-Nazis stared enraptured at the snowy screen. Her laugh reminded him of the bark of a stray dog he and Danny once tried to sneak into the house.

  Vincent looked for somewhere else to go, but the few other patients in the common area were already engaged in conversations with invisible pals. An almost sane-looking guy sat at a round table, playing a one-man game of Sorry. Vincent was weighing the pros and cons of going over and introducing himself when the man popped one of the pawns in his mouth.

  He turned back to the TV, where a pink starfish with a head resembling a penis laughed hysterically. Across the room, Vincent thought her heard the words “feather duster” spoken between the old lady’s sobs. Beside him, Little Miss Buzz Cut barked so hard she nearly rolled off the couch.

  Did Dr. Phillips let me out of my room so I wouldn’t feel so isolated or because he wanted me to see how other crazies pass the time?

  “Vincent Cruz. You got a visitor, hon.”

  He twisted around, stretching his neck to see over the back of the brown, scratchy couch. A nurse that had the same body type as his old boss—but none of Darlene’s salty attitude—walked toward him, her considerable girth completely obstructing his view of whoever followed her. When she stepped aside, he didn’t immediately recognize the woman in the thick-rimmed glasses and navy-blue power suit. His eyes came to rest on the gun holstered at her hip.

  “This is Agent Dragsa. She’s with the CIA,” the nurse told him, speaking more slowly than she needed to. “She wants to ask you some questions.”

  The nurse shepherded them over to an empty table, walking past the game eater, who surreptitiously shoved another Sorry piece in his mouth.

  Vincent started to say something, but his visitor shushed him. Through the no-nonsense spectacles, she watched the nurse as she walked away and then eyeballed the room’s other occupants before turning her attention back to Vincent.

  “‘Agent Dragsa’?” he asked.

  “It’s Asgard spelled backwards,” Leah said quietly. “It must be Boden’s attempt at humor.”

  Vincent didn’t get the joke. Then again, he didn’t understand what Boden had to do with anything or why Leah was wearing a CIA badge. She removed her glasses, and her expression softened. It was a look his mother had been giving him ever since Clementine died.

  Now that he was crazy, Vincent figured he’d start seeing it far more often.

  Leah leaned forward. “Vincent, there’s a lot I need to tell you…but not in here. We’re going to talk for a few minutes. As far as anyone knows, I’m asking you questions about what happened at the hospital. Then we’re going to leave. If anyone tries to stop us, I’ll flash my badge and tell them you’re a threat to national security.”

  Vincent wondered if the pills were to blame for making her so hard to understand. “I thought the FBI handled internal threats to the country,” he said.

  Leah gave him an exasperated look. “Yeah, well, let’s hope no one else questions why the CIA would be interested in your case. The important thing is to get you out of here!”

  “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Leah,” Vincent said. “I tried to kill my brother because of a bad dream. I’ve got a lot of issues to work through, and Dr. Phillips says I have to let go of my anger before I can get better.”

  Leah sat motionless for what felt like a long time. Then she started moving her pen across a legal pad. Vincent could tell that she was surreptitiously watching the adjacent table, where the nurse was rescuing the remaining pawns from impending digestion.

  In an ultra-professional tone, Leah asked, “And did you recognize the man who thwarted your attempt to kill Mr. Daniel Pierce?”

  “No, I never saw the guy before,” Vincent answered honestly. “But I think he was blond. And big.”

  Leah jotted down more fake notes. Meanwhile, two men in gray scrubs forcefully escorted the devourer of games out of the room. The man struggled, sending Sorry cards raining everywhere. The number eight landed on the back of Vincent’s hand.

  Leah clicked her pen and plunged it into the breast pocket of her blazer. “We have to go. Now.”

  “But I need help—”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Leah hissed. “You’re not crazy, Vincent. There actually is a conspiracy, and your brother is part of it.”

  Vincent closed his eyes and shook his head. “No. No way. Dr. Phillips says my aggression toward Daniel is a defense mechanism that—”

  “What kind of pills are they giving you, Vincent?”

  “I don’t know. What difference does it make?” he snapped. “For the first time in God knows how long, I’m relaxed. And I’m ready to start dealing with all the shitty things that have happened to me…and the shitty things I’ve done.”

  Leah reached into her handbag and dropped a pair of shiny handcuffs on the table. “Put these on.”

&nb
sp; He reached for them but then stopped. “Leah, I don’t think—”

  She stood up and, more loudly, said, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Mr. Cruz.”

  Her steely expression was even more alarming than the presence of the handcuffs. Somewhere in the distance, the nurse was talking excitedly, but Vincent couldn’t look away from Agent Dragsa.

  What if it’s not Leah? What if I’m just dreaming her to look like Leah?

  Leah leaned in and whispered, “Trust me, Vincent.”

  “Whom do you trust, Valenthor? The giants plot. The gods scheme. The Ancestors drift through eternity, awaiting the call to arms for the Final Battle. But only I can reunite you with your daughter.”

  “Damn it, Vincent,” Leah muttered, retrieving the handcuffs, grabbing his arm, and folding the metal around his wrists before he could protest.

  “This is bigger than our family.” Daniel had said that too.

  What if I’m not crazy?

  “What’s going on here?” Dr. Phillips demanded.

  Vincent looked helplessly from one doctor to the other. He liked Leah, but he also liked Dr. Phillips, who didn’t dress or talk like a shrink. During their morning session, Vincent had come to appreciate the psychiatrist’s insights—and his prescriptions. He didn’t want to have to choose between the two of them, so he kept silent and waited to see what would happen next.

  Leah pulled at the lapel of her blazer, drawing attention to the badge affixed there. “I’m Special Agent Dragsa, CIA. We have reason to believe that your patient, Mr. Cruz, represents a serious threat to national security. I need to bring him to headquarters for further questioning.”

  Vincent looked up at Dr. Phillips, who had stopped directly beside him, arms crossed. Dr. Phillips was in his fifties, Vincent guessed, but his bald spot made him look older. So did his glasses, thanks to the lenses’ reddish-brown tint.

  The psychiatrist scratched his salt-and-pepper goatee. “Vincent was checked in yesterday by the Milwaukee police. He is to undergo a thorough—”