by E. R. Mason
To Cassiopia’s surprise, the Professor did not bother to feign surprise at Markman’s unorthodox arrival. Instead, he assisted in moving furniture to get the Gurney through the house and paused at the foot of Markman’s bed in silent greeting. He caught Cassiopia’s eye as they stood together, and in those few moments of silence, she knew he understood completely and had been expecting this.
With Markman securely tucked into bed in his specially prepared room, she brought a chair alongside and sat silently with her missing man. He looked pale but not weak. The IV catheter was still in his left arm, but taped down, out of the way. His hair was longer, and there was a darkness around his eyes. His breathing was slow and regular. She felt his pulse. It seemed strong. She thought to talk to him but was interrupted when Rogers peered into the room and motioned her to follow.
They went to the den and sat on the small sofa. Rogers leaned forward and spoke with compassion. “There’s been a change of plans.”
“What?”
“I have to be at Orlando Executive Airport in an hour and a half. A chartered jet is already in the air on its way to pick me up. It’s a request that can’t be refused. I’m to be met by a limo in Washington and taken directly to the White House. The President wants to talk, and you know the old saying, ‘you must not keep the President waiting.' Apparently, the terrorists came so close to being successful it scared the hell out of everybody. They say this is just so the President can extend his thanks, but the Secret Service is also asking for an interview. I get the impression I’m going to be dragged through every security department they have.”
“Will they find out about us? It’s such bad timing.”
“No. They won’t find out about the SCIP door. As long as they don’t check my cell phone location records, my story is solid. Even Alaman himself has no idea what really happened. We were lucky. They mostly are going to walk around wringing their hands, wanting to make sure they have the whole story. There’s going to be some real action from this. I’ll bet there’s already SEAL teams secretly training for assault missions around the world on some of the people who made the air conditioner possible.”
“This is so bad, though. I only have him for a couple days. I needed to go through the door tomorrow morning. It was the best chance.”
Rogers took a deep breath and looked earnestly into Cassiopia’s eyes. “Listen, about that. I’ve gone over this in my head a thousand times. No matter what happens, you need to go through that door alone.”
“What?”
“It’s as plain as writing on the wall. You love Scott. You’re out here. Scott loves you. According to weird Cassell science, Scott is in there. You step through that door alone, and the only thing on your mind and in your heart is finding him. Combine that with his love for you, and it’s got to be a sure thing. There would have to be a connection. If I went through with you, the only thing I would do is complicate the chemistry. So, it doesn’t matter that I have to leave. Either way, you need to go through that door alone.”
Cassiopia reluctantly considered the logic of it. It was difficult to argue, but she had never entered Dreamland alone. That thought was frightening. Scott or Ann had always been there for back up. She would be completely on her own and could possibly find herself in a Dreamland nightmare.
Rogers saw the doubt in her eye. “You underestimate yourself. You brought him down from a snow-covered mountain alone. I couldn’t have done that. You’re my best friend. I’d never tell you to go in there if I didn’t believe in you.”
“Self-doubt is rearing its ugly head.”
“If you get stuck, I’ll come looking for you. I’ll find you, somehow.”
Cassiopia smiled and hugged her. “I just wish you didn’t have to leave.”
“I’ll be back the moment they’re done with me. You’ll need me to get him back to the hospital. They’re probably expecting me to show up and ease their fears a little. Truth is, I’ll only finish scaring the hell out of them. And one other thing, Cass. When you get in there, you need to tell him.”
“Tell him what?”
“That you love him.”
“He hasn’t said that to me.”
“I don’t care. You need to tell him.”
Cassiopia stared blankly at the floor and suddenly realized that prospect frightened her more than entering Dreamland alone.
Reluctantly, she drove Rogers to the airport, secretly wanting to protest and turn around the entire trip. At the drop-off, she made Rogers promise once more to return as soon as possible. The ride back alone seemed wrought with doubt and fear, so much so that she took a wrong turn and had to circle back to the expressway. Back at home, she entered the front door and found her father peeking out the curtains.
“You’re up late.”
“They were here again.”
“Who?”
“The two men in the black sedan wearing sunglasses at night.”
“I didn’t see anyone.”
“They left as you turned onto our street.”
“It must be nothing.”
“I am not convinced.”
“Well, I need the SCIP tomorrow morning, and then it won’t matter either way.”
“What? Just you? Haven’t we discussed this at length on more than one occasion?”
“Ann and I agree it’s our best chance.”
“Ludicrous. Impulsive. Irresponsible.”
“We don’t have much time, Father. I’ll be okay.”
“You must take the Tel, at least.”
“No. I don’t want the false sense of security he would give me. My mind must be solely on Scott.”
“Even if you survive it, I may not, simply from heart-failure. What the two of you have put me through the past few weeks is more than mortal man can bear.”
“We’ll all be okay, Father.”
“We shall see, daughter. We shall see.”
Sleep did come easily for Cassiopia. The shallowness of it left her wondering if she had slept at all. When sunlight began to glow against the curtains, she began to wonder what items might be needed to for this return to Dreamland. It suddenly dawned on her that she had no appropriate clothes. Too many pressing items had precluded menial tasks such as housekeeping or cleaning. Her laundry was a small mountain in the utility closet. Despite the urgency and importance of what she had planned, some things needed washing. Perhaps it would help ground her a bit in advance of the lunacy she was attempting.
She wrapped herself in a robe, went to the washer and dryer, and began choosing items from the waist-high pile of dirty clothes. It would need to be jeans on this trip. There was no way to tell what the environment would be. She needed to be ready for anything. She began pulling jeans from the pile and checking the pockets, wondering what she might say when and if she found him. What would his attitude be? How much would he know and remember?
Three pairs of jeans would be plenty. She only needed one pair. She picked up the third pair and dug into a front pocket. There was something hard in there. She worked the pocket around and pulled the object out. It was shiny silver. She held it up in the light and froze.
It was Scott’s ring.
At first, she felt relief that she had found it. It could have been lost in the hamper, or in the washing machine. What a tragedy that would have been. It meant so much to him. It was given to him by one of his most beloved masters in Tibet and earning it had not been easy. Thank goodness, it had not become lost.
But, as Cassiopia considered it, there was a problem. How had this come to be in the pocket of her jeans? At the hospital, they would have removed it from his finger and placed it with his other valuables. They had given her the box of those things to take home, but she did not remember the ring being with them. Hurriedly she placed her clothes in the washer and went to her bedroom. She drew the box of valuables from her dresser and opened it. There was his watch, wallet, a few documents, and nothing else. She went to Scott’s sleeping form and looked at his hand. No ring.
>
Dumbfounded, she went to the den and sat. Over and over, she went through the events since leaving the hospital. There was no way for the ring to have been in her jeans. Then she remembered something else. On the trip into Dreamland with Ann, as she was leaving, one of the monks gave her a ring and told her to keep it close. She had accepted it graciously but expected it to disappear upon leaving Dreamland. Dreamland matter was thought-matter. It did not exist in the real world.
Once again, she mentally struggled through all the timelines. Once again, the only way the ring could have come to be in her jean pocket was when she accepted it from the Dreamland monk.
Cassiopia sat dazed. Markman was not wearing the ring. The ring was not in his box of possessions. How could this be the real ring? How could a Dreamland monk have come to be in possession of the real ring? How could the ring have found its way into Dreamland? Cassiopia went over and over the chain of events. The equation was missing a proof. The pattern was incomplete. The monk had been in possession of the real ring. That was the only way she could be holding it in her hand now. Markman was wearing it when the plane crashed. How could the ring have gone from a frozen mountaintop, directly into Dreamland?
The mystery would have to be put aside. There was nothing else to do. She looked down at the silver, engraved designs and wondered about the monk who had given it to her. He had said to keep it close. She slipped it over her thumb and promised herself she would.
Chapter 31