Book of Dreams

by Bunn, Davis

“Elena? How are you, my dear?”

  She peeled apart her lips. All she tasted was dryness.

  “Here.” Hands inserted a straw into the side of her mouth. Antonio said, “Drink slowly.”

  Forms took human shape within the light-filled room. Nigel was there. As was Shirley and Sandra and Antonio and Lawrence. Mehan leaned against the door.

  Antonio waited until she had stopped drinking to ask, “Shall I get the nurse?”

  “Just hold my hand.”

  They all gave that a beat. Lawrence and Nigel smiled. Janine slipped quietly away. Antonio asked, “Are you in pain?”

  She was, but in a way she liked how it helped anchor her to wakefulness. “I’m fine.”

  Janine returned with a doctor and nurse. The doctor asked them all to leave. When they had filed out, he inspected her wound, asked a few questions, then described her as extremely fortunate, as the bullet had passed within millimeters of both bone and vital nerve centers, but had merely pierced the soft tissue above her collarbone. When he was done, the group filed back in, filling the room. Mehan said, “I need to ask you a few questions.”

  The detective had already heard the story from Antonio. Elena answered most of his queries with a simple nod. When he was done, Elena asked, “What happened to the woman?”

  “Remarkable, that.” Nigel did not so much smile as crinkle the edges of his features. “Several people in the park took umbrage at her shooting you.”

  “Umbrage,” Lawrence said. “Interesting way to put it.”

  Antonio said, “The woman was mauled.”

  Nigel said, “Have you ever seen one of those nature programs where the bait hits the water and every fish within a hundred miles goes berserk? That woman shot you and instantly became bait.”

  Lawrence was grinning. “You weren’t even there.”

  “I saw the end result. They bunged her up right smartly.”

  “No serious damage,” Mehan said. “But I doubt she’ll sleep comfortably for a while.”

  Antonio said, “Your friends from the shelter would have done much worse, but our guards managed to pull them off.”

  Mehan said, “Your assailant is currently incarcerated in the hospital wing of our local women’s jail. Chained to her bed. Bars on her one small window. Bad lighting. Beastly smells. Worse food.”

  Nigel said, “It appears she is rather averse to enclosed spaces.”

  Mehan said, “She hasn’t said anything yet. But I’m told it’s like watching a kettle come to a boil.”

  “That’s enough,” Sandra said. “Talk like this can wait until she’s better.”

  “Glad to know you’re in one piece.” Mehan patted the bed’s metal railing. “We take shootings in public places quite seriously in this country. Your two gentlemen friends will be watched closely from now on, courtesy of Her Majesty’s government.”

  “And there’s a guard outside your door,” Antonio said.

  When the detective had left, Elena asked, “What time is it?”

  “Four in the afternoon, the day after your attack,” Antonio said. “You’ve been gone a while.”

  Elena murmured, “We missed today’s meeting.”

  “We did no such thing,” Shirley said.

  “We held it in the lobby here on your floor,” Antonio said.

  “Shirley carried it,” Nigel said. “Did quite a lovely job.”

  “Not as good as you,” Shirley said.

  “Janine had to leave for a meeting,” Sandra said. “Brian sends his best. Along with everyone at the shelter.”

  Elena felt the fatigue slip up and over her, a lethargic warmth that spread through her bones and pulled down her eyelids. She slipped away with somnolent ease.

  When she returned, Antonio was reading a newspaper in the chair beside her bed. He held the cup for her to drink, then asked, “Can I get you something?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “The doctor wants you to eat. I’m supposed to ring downstairs for a meal.”

  “In a minute. Have you stayed here all this time?”

  “Where else am I to go?” He refilled the cup, then snapped the lid back on tightly. “The nurse said I was to call if you needed something for the pain.”

  “It hurts, but in a good way. And I don’t want to sleep anymore.”

  He studied her with an impossibly open gaze. “Shame on you, frightening me like that.”

  “You have the most amazing eyes.”

  “Don’t change the subject. When you saw that woman, why didn’t you warn me?”

  “I couldn’t. I didn’t see her before I moved.” Elena decided now was as good a time to tell him as she would ever have. “Besides which, if I had said something, you would die.”

  “You know this how, precisely?”

  “A dream.”

  When he frowned, his forehead creased in rows shaped like a boat’s prow, deep furrows that ran from his hairline to his eyebrows. “Elena. Why am I learning about this now?”

  “I tried to tell you. Several times. But something held me back. And I wasn’t sure that the dream was anything more than nighttime fears.”

  She described the night’s sequence. The dream with him. The dream of the dissolving army. Then the one at dawn. She finished by saying, “I didn’t understand until I ran toward that woman. The dream was meant for me, not you. It was both a warning and a choice. It was time for me to commit. Not just to loving you. To everything that love requires.”

  Antonio was silent a long moment, then said, “I cannot lose you, Elena. I cannot survive that a second time.”

  “Love comes with no guarantees, Antonio. Take my hand. Feel that? We are together now. I love you, my dearest. I would give everything to keep you safe. Sacrifice anything.”

  Antonio leaned forward and planted a kiss upon her temple. “Don’t you dare.”

  An orderly arrived with two dinner trays and drew over a metal table on rollers so Antonio could eat beside her. When they were done, as the orderly cleared things away, there was a knock on her door. When it opened, Elena caught a glimpse of a woman in a police uniform seated outside her door. Then Lawrence Harwood blocked her view. “Do you mind a little more company?”

  “Come in.”

  Nigel slipped in behind Lawrence. “We’re your nightly emissaries. The ladies are all busy at the shelter and send their regards. They’ll return in the morning.”

  Antonio said, “Elena is feeling much better. I can tell. She’s started giving me orders.”

  “Terrible sign, that.” Nigel fitted himself onto the side wall. “I’d watch my step if I were you.”

  “I am,” Antonio said, smiling at her. “Very closely indeed.”

  Lawrence asked, “Do you mind if I turn on your television?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Andrew Kerr’s producer called this afternoon. Newsnight is airing our segment.”

  “Detective Mehan phoned,” Nigel reported. “The woman has started to talk. But so far she has said little of use save to confirm her name. Mehan remains confident that it is only a matter of time.”

  Elena shook her head slowly, sliding it back and forth on the pillow. “That’s not how it’s meant to be. Moving forward in dribs and drabs.”

  Lawrence turned around to watch her with the others. Elena went on, “The dream was very clear. We were to stand and watch God perform a miracle.”

  “Your assailant is in custody,” Nigel pointed out.

  “The miracle was not limited to just one woman. God’s light erased an army.” When the three men did not respond, she said, “Neither of you have your positions back. The people who manipulated you out of the vice presidency are still hiding in the shadows. The enemy remains in control of the commissions.”

  The three men studied her for a time; then Lawrence glanced at his watch and said, “It’s almost time.”

  “Bring another couple of chairs from the waiting room,” Antonio said.

  The men settled just as the News
night logo appeared and the music trumpeted. Andrew Kerr came on, looking far more polished than when he had been with them at the shelter. He began, “This week I traveled to Oxford with the intention of interviewing two men I classed as failures. There was certainly an abundance of evidence to support my assumption.”

  On the screen to his left appeared a professional photograph exuding power and money. “Lawrence Harwood, formerly a United States senator and before that CEO of America’s fourth-largest bank. He had been named as a front-runner for the American vice presidency, and until recently served as America’s ambassador to the Court of Saint James. This week, just five days after his appointment, Harwood was dismissed as chairman of America’s new financial oversight commission.”

  The photograph switched to one of Antonio, clearly taken at the height of his power. “Antonio d’Alba, former chairman of Italy’s largest private bank, former adviser to the Vatican on financial matters. He also survived just five days before being fired from the European financial commission’s chairmanship. Both men washed up at an Oxford institute that they helped establish. We caught up with them just as the bailiff arrived to evict them and close down the institute. As I said, total failures.”

  The photographs vanished and the camera tightened on Kerr’s face. “What I found affected me as few stories ever have. The reason is quite simple. For the first time, this financial crisis has been given a human face.”

  The switch was intentionally abrupt. One moment they were safe inside the television studio. The next, the camera was tight on Fiona’s face as she hurled angry invectives at the bailiff. There followed a three-second close-up of the bailiff’s haughty chill; then it switched to Lawrence and Antonio in their rumpled and weary states.

  Which only added to the force of Lawrence’s words. He stood upon the institute’s lowest step and spoke with a resonance that sent shivers up Elena’s spine. Of being precisely where he needed to be. Serving the common man.

  Then the cameraman found the children.

  The ones hiding behind trees. The ones wailing in their mothers’ arms. The ones clutching their fathers’ trouser legs, watching with tragic expressions as their pasts were played out once more.

  As Elena watched the camera follow them across town to the shelter, she felt an immense calm settle upon her. She recalled a late-August afternoon seated on the bench in her back garden. The sky overhead had been utterly clear, the air breathless and hot. Not a blade of grass moved. The light reflecting off the Radcliff dome had been so brilliant that it had hurt her eyes. But beyond this patch of calm, out over the plains north of Oxford, the sky had been purplish black. Thunderclouds had formed a massive wall. The rain beneath them had been so heavy that she could not tell where the clouds ended and the storm began. The entire tableau was lit by a forest of lightning, the strikes so frequent that all she heard was a constant rumble. Yet there she had sat, safe and shielded within her breathless calm.

  The news segment ended with a back-and-forth sequence, binding together Lawrence’s closing statement with images from the evening service. Lawrence spoke of his duty, and his words were illuminated by the papered-over windows and the candles and the faces.

  The return to the studio’s cold brilliance was intentionally harsh. Andrew Kerr was once again in his seat at the curved dais, with his makeup and his suit and his perfectly coiffed hair. “Joining me tonight is Easton Grey, newly appointed to replace Lawrence Harwood as chairman of the US financial oversight committee.”

  Antonio said, “Did you know he was here?”

  “How could I?” Lawrence did not take his eyes off the screen. “All my sources have gone silent.”

  “Rather a coincidence that he would show up at our lowest moment,” Antonio said.

  Nigel shook his head. “Every investigator on earth shares a distinct loathing for coincidences.”

  Elena barely heard the exchange. For as the camera switched to Lawrence’s replacement, her senses became filled with the stench of cold smoke. “Switch it off.”

  Lawrence kept his attention on the screen. “I need to hear this.”

  “No you don’t.”

  Lawrence muted the sound. “What’s the matter?”

  Elena pointed at the screen. “That’s him.”

  “What are you talking about.”

  “The man behind the attacks. The face of the enemy.”

  The three men turned in unison. Antonio said, “What are you saying?”

  “I sensed it before. When he argued with you on Larry King. I thought the sensation was coming from the banks, the people behind him. I was wrong. It’s him. This is the man.”

  Antonio said, “Are you certain, Elena?”

  “Utterly.”

  The three men exchanged a long look. On the screen, Easton Grey gave what was no doubt a very polished performance. But with the sound turned off, it was possible to look beyond the words and the preparation. Underneath it all, deep in the man’s gaze, was the unmistakable look of panic.

  Antonio asked, “What do we do?”

  Elena turned to Nigel. “Ask Detective Mehan to give you the book.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Mehan has the book in his evidence locker. We need it for tomorrow’s session.”

  Newsnight ended. Lawrence fumbled with the controls and cut off the television. He continued to stare at the empty screen. “You have no idea the power behind Easton Grey.”

  “I think I do.” A dark army stretched over a windswept plain.

  “Dr. Burroughs.” Nigel remained at attention. “You do me great honor. I will guard the book with my life.”

  Elena started to tell him it was just a book. But instead she reached out her hands and said, “Let’s close with a moment of prayer.”

  46

  FRIDAY

  Elena slept deep and well. She woke only once in the night, when a nurse checked on her and the hall light spilled across her face. Elena saw the police officer on guard outside her door, a man this time. She lay in the stillness and felt the energy course through the night. Working at a level far beyond the ability of man to direct or even understand.

  The dream came with the dawn. In it, she stood in the street before a vast stone structure. It looked like some sort of monument, gray and as imposing as a battleship. Broad steps led up to a portico fronted by stone columns. The building was crowned by thunderclouds, as though heaven itself brooded over whatever went on inside. Instantly she smelled the smoke, stale and cold and slightly sulfuric. A scent old and dead as an open grave.

  A man stood before her. She could not see his face. She did not need to. The man said, “Teddy Wainwright left you a gift.”

  The final word, gift, propelled her up and out. Into daylight.

  The doctor arrived a few moments after she opened her eyes. Elena remained detached from the inspection and changing of her bandages. She mouthed thanks at the news that she would be released that day. She was still mulling over the dream when Sandra Harwood entered, carrying her breakfast tray. “How are you feeling?”

  “I slept well.”

  “The doctor says you’re ready to go home.” Sandra rolled the tray over and raised the back of her bed. “That’s great news.”

  Sandra did not look at all good. Elena doubted she had slept at all. “What’s the matter?”

  “Eat your breakfast. You need your strength.”

  “Sandra. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Easton Grey.” She slipped into the chair. “He and Lawrence go back a long way. They were both division VPs at one of the major banks. Both went for the CEO slot. Lawrence was the front-runner. Easton beat him out. Neither of us saw it coming.”

  Elena lifted the coffee cup and pushed the tray away.

  “Lawrence left the bank to run for Congress; then afterward he took the top position at one of their competitors. When he became ambassador, he tapped his number two to take over. The head of investment banking—you know that is the name banks us
e for their derivatives units, right? The derivatives chief put Easton’s name forward. Lawrence fought them and lost. His own man was sacked.”

  “And now Easton Grey has been named to chair the commission. I’m so sorry.”

  “Easton is sneaky, fast, ruthless. And utterly without scruples.”

  “You’re frightened over what he might do next.”

  “There are a lot worse ways to destroy a man like Lawrence than just kill him. Lawrence has never been more vulnerable.” She swiped at her face. “Last night we got a call from friends in the media. CNN and MSNBC are both carrying the Newsnight segment. Easton and his backers will be furious. They will try to find a way to crush Lawrence. Publicly.”

  Elena waited while this strong and loving woman reknitted her world, then asked, “Where are the others?”

  “Downstairs with Antonio in the cafeteria.”

  “Would you ask them to come up?” When Sandra reached the door, Elena said, “And there’s something else I need you to do.”

  Elena studied each face as they entered the room. Most carried a combination of fear and resolve. All looked very tired. Nigel Harries entered last, the book of dreams clasped to his chest.

  Elena accepted the book and lay it on the bed. She led them in prayer, then opened the cover. She paused over the second image. She traced her finger over the line that was invisible now in the light of day.

  Then she turned the page.

  The image was almost welcoming, as though everything they had experienced had readied her. The insight did away with any need to read the words. After all, she knew what it said. Thy Kingdom come. She had spoken the words all her life. They resonated through her now.

  A cloud of script hovered along the page’s upper half. It sent a soft golden rain down. A second layer of script, down at the base of the page, sent up tiny shoots of hope and life. Elena understood with a sense of having left doubt behind. The acts of servants, filled with the power of God, lay the groundwork for the coming of God’s will. To the ends of the earth and time.

  She looked at the others and said, “Miriam’s great-grandmother said nothing to the young girl who was to become her heir because there were no instructions to pass down. No earthly instructions.”