Dream thief

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  The nurse left again, dimming the lights and immersing the rigidly efficient and scrupulously spotless hospital room into cool, soothing shadow. Ari heard the door sigh shut and, folding her hands in her lap and bowing her head, began to pray.

  The golden crown of her bowed head was the first thing Spence saw when he woke up.

  "I seem always to be waking up here." His voice was a hoarse whisper. His lungs burned and his throat felt as if it had been stripped raw.

  Her head came up smiling. "It's because you fall asleep in such funny places."

  "You heard about that, huh?"

  She nodded her head, regarding him with eyes which seemed a deeper shade of blue, darkening out of sympathy for him. "You could have told me yourself," she said.

  Spence shrugged. "There wasn't much to tell."

  "How do you feel?"

  "Okay."

  "You sound terrible."

  "Thanks." Spence was suddenly convulsed by a fit of coughing. The flames in his lungs leapt up and he felt as if his throat was on fire.

  Ari stood quickly and grabbed a plastic cup of ice water from the tray beside his bed. "Here, sip some of this." She held the cup for him and guided the straw to his mouth. "Better?"

  "Much." They looked at one another without speaking for a moment, then Spence turned his head away.

  "Was it that bad this time?" His voice sounded small and faraway.

  Ari sat down on the edge of his bed. She placed a hand on his arm. "Don't you remember?"

  "I don't remember anything."

  She placed a cool hand on the side of his face and turned his head toward her. "It's all right, Spence. It's going to be all right."

  In the soft light falling from recessed panels overhead Ari was transformed in his eyes into a ministering angel who had come to succor him in his hour of need. Her fair hair shone with a soft luster and her eyes glimmered with calm assurance. Her lips curved upward in a smile and the shadows caressed the gentle curve of her smooth cheek.

  He lifted a hand to her face and gazed into her eyes. She took the hand in hers and kissed it gently. Spence felt revived. He squeezed her hand and pulled it to him.

  "How long will I be here this time?" he asked at length. "The doctor said at least twenty-four hours, but it's up to you, really. How do you feel?"

  "Tired."

  "I'll leave you to get some rest." She stood up from the bed and placed his hand back on his chest, giving it a gentle squeeze, "No. I didn't mean-"

  "Shh. Don't worry. I'll come back. Get some sleep now." She smiled again as she turned to leave. "You had me worried-for a moment I thought it was the mousse."

  "I didn't eat it, remember?" He smiled faintly. "Good night, Spencer."

  He closed his eyes and drifted off into deep, untroubled sleep.

  …

  "HE RESISTED THE ATTEMPTED mindlink," said Hocking flatly. He did not like admitting failure, especially to Ortu. Often the repercussions were unpleasant.

  Ortu's yellow eyes narrowed as he glared coldly out of the shimmering halo. "So?"

  "He is a strong-willed subject, Ortu. I don't know where he found the strength to resist. It did not seem possible that this time he could withstand."

  "There seem to be a great many things you do not know, and far too many impossibilities. It does not suit me at all. I am displeased with you, Hocking." The metallic band on his brow pulsed more quickly.

  Hocking fought to keep his voice under control. "A minor setback. A small delay. We are nearly there. Next time-"

  "Next time!" The wizened countenance suddenly contorted in a snarl of venomous rage. The thin-lipped mouth gaped open, revealing a row of sharp, even brown teeth. The yellow eyes flashed fire, and the gleaming circlet quivered. "Next time' You speak to me of next time? I, Ortu, say what is to be. Or have you forgotten?"

  Hocking drew back into his chair as if it were a shell he could hide in. His fingers jerked spasmodically on the tray before him.

  "I have not forgotten. How am I ever to forget?" There was an icy tinge of hate in the underling's voice.

  Ortu's eyes narrowed once more. "I made you what you are. I can unmake you. You came to me a pathetic mass of misshapen flesh. I saved you, fed your intellect, increased the power of your mind. Do not now pretend that you are sorry. It is too late for that, crippled one. Much too late."

  "I meant nothing by it, Ortu. I ask your forgiveness for my error." Hocking swallowed hard and looked steadily into the glowing blue wreath of light. His answer seemed to appease his unpredictable mentor. Ortu drew back and his twisted features went slack, becoming once more blank and remote as if he were carved of cold stone.

  "What would you have me do?" asked Hocking. His breath came easier.

  "We are in dangerous territory at present. One more projection could break him and he would be ruined for our purposes. It could kill him. Either outcome would be unfortunate. It would mean starting over yet again. I do not wish to begin again. Besides, his ability to resist interests me. We will continue."

  "As you wish, Ortu. I will allow him time to regain his strength and then increase the frequency of the dream suggestions. That should sufficiently wear down his mental defenses.

  "Dr. Reston is, after all, a very adept subject. We have a great wealth of dreamstate images from him already. I will have no trouble altering the content of his dreams to suit our purposes."

  "The next projection must not fail," warned Ortu. The hollow, empty voice was devoid of anger or malice. The utterance chilled Hocking to the marrow.

  "It will not."

  The halo dimmed and began to fade away. Hocking watched until nothing was left but a faint glow in the air. Then that, too, disappeared. The egg-shaped chair spun silently around and whisked out of the empty chamber.

  "I have been too easy on him," muttered Hocking. "I have let him escape. But no more. I will break him like a twin. He will acknowledge we. Reston will crawl to me!"

  14

  … Y0U ARE LOOKING CHIPPER this morning!"

  Spence turned as Ari entered the room. She was dressed in a fresh, green, tunicked jumpsuit with a high collar. Her hair spilled over her shoulders in flaxen curls. She appeared the picture of health and good will.

  "I am. I'm leaving."

  "When?"

  "Right now-or just as soon as the nurse comes back with my clothes."

  She cocked her head to one side. "Are you sure you're up to it?"

  "Of course. I only slipped in the shower. I'm fine. Besides, if I stay here much longer, I'll starve. The food is like… don't ask." "You still sound like a frog. Your poor throat-" "Dr. Williams says it will clear up in a day or two. The chemical isn't harmful, but it doesn't do to inhale it in quantity, that's all. He says if I can stay out of the rain I won't catch pneumonia.

  There's no reason to keep me here."

  "Can you breathe all right? Does it hurt?"

  "Not too much. What's all this? Don't you want me to get out?" "Certainly I do. But I don't want you to have a relapse." "Relapse?"

  "You know-another spell or whatever."

  Spence stared at the ceiling for a few moments before speak inn again. And when he did, the bantering tone had none out of his voice.

  "Ari, what do you think has been happening to me?" "I don't know. Honestly."

  "What has Dr. Williams told you?"

  "Nothing. He's as puzzled by all this as anybody."

  He considered this. "Listen to we, Ari, I-" He was inter rupted by the arrival of the nurse with his clothing.

  "Here we are. Good as new, Mr. Reston." Everyone was Mixter to the nursing staff-that was the only way they could distinguish the medical doctors from all the other varieties abounding on Gotham. She laid the neatly folded gold and blue bundle of his jumpsuit at the foot of his bed.

  "I'll wait outside while you change, Spence," said Ari. She left with the nurse.

  When he emerged from the sick bay ward he looked fit and rested and better than Ari had seen him.
She wondered if she had been overconcerned; surely Spence knew what was best. He turned his head when he saw her and she saw the "sun-burned" portion of his face. No, she was right to be worried. He needed looking after.

  Dr. Williams stepped up to dismiss his patient as Spence met Ari at the portal. "I hope you'll think about what I said, Dr. Reston. My offer still stands."

  "I'll think about it. But I don't think I'll change my mind." The physician shook his head. "It's up to you. I'm always available."

  "I appreciate that."

  The panel slid open. Spence and Ari stepped through. "Goodbye, doctor. I'll try to stay out of trouble for at least a week."

  "Please! I need my beds for sick people." The sliding door cut him off.

  "Well, where to?" asked Ari. "How about lunch? I'll buy." "Yes, to lunch. But I'll buy. I have a favor to ask you." "All right. Where shall we go?"

  "Belles Exprit is okay with me. Okay with you?"

  "My, it must be some favor. But I'm game. Let's go."

  They made their way along the trafficways of Gotham to the so-called leisure level, taking several lifts and a shunt tube to their destination. When they arrived in the plaza there was a line of people waiting to be seated in the restaurant.

  "Ah, perfect timing," said Spence. "That's the trouble with a good beanery. Word gets out and the tourists take over. Want to go someplace else?"

  "It's worth the wait. Let's stay."

  The line moved slowly and the two filled the time talking about mundane items of Gotham news. Spence did not mention again his reason for the rendezvous, but Ari let him work up to it in his own way.

  At last they were ushered to a small table and sat facing one another over a stiff, white tablecloth. Spence hardly glanced at the menu and put it aside. Ari decided he was getting ready to tell her what he had begun to explain in sick bay.

  "Ari-" The waiter, attired in a black suit with white shirt and tie and looking very continental, appeared to take their order.

  "What would you like, Monsieur?" Even the French accent was commendable. Spence decided that the waiters for the various restaurants were recruited for their acting ability as much as for their efficiency. They seemed to be the flower of their flock, and far better than any Spence had had the fortune to run into on Earth. Perhaps they were in fact French waiters after all.

  "We will have the artichokes vinaigrette to start. And the sole."

  "New peas or cauliflower, Monsieur?"

  "New peas. And I think I would like a nice Beaujolais."

  "Shall I bring a bottle, sir?"

  "A half bottle will be fine, thank you."

  It was only after the waiter had gone that he realized he had not consulted his guest for her order. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I neglected to ask you what you wanted."

  She laughed. "Don't be embarrassed. You read my mind."

  "I do this so seldom, I'm afraid I'm out of practice."

  "And don't apologize. There's nothing to apologize for."

  "Just the same, next time I'll let you do all the talking."

  "I'm not complaining, Spencer. A girl would be a fool to scorn a free meal."

  The waiter returned with the wine. He showed Spence the bottle and Spence pretended to read the label. He then deftly uncorked it and splashed a swallow into Spence's glass and handed it to him, laying the cork at his hand. Spence took the cork and sniffed it, not knowing what he was smelling for, then took a sip of the wine. It was smooth and good, warming the palate with a vibrant charm.

  "That's very good," he said. The waiter poured their glasses half full and then left.

  The glasses stood before them, casting faint crimson shadows on the white cloth. Spence did not lift a hand toward his glass, so Ari folded her hands on the table and waited.

  "I want to tell you something-it's about what has been happening. "

  "You don't have to say anything."

  "I want to-I want you to know." He raised his eyes from the white expanse of the tablecloth to meet hers.

  "All right, I'm listening," she said gently.

  "Ari, I don't know what's happening to me. Not really." He looked at her and for a moment she saw how frightened he was. He shook his head and the fear receded, pushed back behind its barrier once more. "But I don't think it's me. At least not entirely."

  "Oh?"

  "I know what Dr. Williams thinks. And I have a fair idea what he must have told you. But he's forgetting that I am trained in psychology, too. I know the symptoms and the causes.

  "I don't think I fit the profile. I mean, I'm hardly manicdepressive, and I'm not schizophrenic. At least, I don't think I am.

  The waiter returned to lay the glistening green-gray artichokes before them. He unrolled the napkins and placed them on their laps, arranged their silver, and then vanished.

  Spence continued as if the waiter had never been there. "At this point, I realize I would have a very rough time proving my sanity."

  "Nobody thinks you're insane."

  "Dr. Williams might dispute that."

  "Nonsense. He's concerned, and I am too. You have to admit, though, we haven't a lot to go on."

  "Granted. These past few weeks, however, I have doubted my sanity. I could feel it slipping away and there was nothing I could do to stop it. It was like I was being drained, bit by bit, only I didn't realize it at first. I tried to tell myself that it was overwork, pressure, new surroundings. But I don't think so anymore."

  He sampled some of the artichoke. Ari, who had been nibbling all along, laid down her fork. "I don't think I'm getting all of this, Spence. Perhaps you'd better start at the beginning."

  "You're right." He nodded and took a few more bites of his food. "I can't remember the beginning. There are a lot of things I can't remember. Whole chunks of my memory are missing.

  "But it was some time after I came here, though not long after. A couple weeks, that's all. It started with the dreams."

  "Dreams?"

  "Don't ask me what they're about, because I don't know. Sometimes I am almost on the verge of remembering-I can almost see a picture in my mind. A word or a sound will trigger it, but then it's gone. Everything goes blank.

  "But I can tell you this: they are strange, frightening dreams. I wake up in a cold sweat, trembling. Once or twice I believe I have screamed. I know I have cried in my sleep.

  "There is no pattern to it that I can see. Sometimes it happens during a session-the experiments, you know-and sometimes when I'm asleep in my own quarters. But the emotional impact stays with me for a while, lingering over me like a ghostly presence, haunting me."

  "That's horrible!"

  "It gets worse."

  "Your order, sir." The waiter materialized out of nowhere to place several steaming dishes before them. "Enjoy your meal, Monsieur, Mademoiselle."

  "Uh-oh," said Spence. "Something's wrong."

  "What is it?" said Ari, afraid that some new horror had descended upon Spence.

  "Red wine with sole. How gauche." He pulled a wry grin. "Ari, you are dining with a gauche person."

  She laughed and the sound was a bubbling of music. "Down with convention! I don't care. Besides, you know what they say."

  "What do they say?"

  "Foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds."

  "Is it?"

  "Well, Emerson thought so. He said it."

  They both laughed then and Ari saw the lines of strain ease from around his eyes and mouth. He let go; the ice had been broken. He had trusted her with his secret; now he would confide in her. She, too, relaxed, discovering she had been sitting on the edge of her chair since they were seated.

  "Cheers!" said Spence, lifting his glass and clinking it against hers. He took a sip of wine and then dug into his food with the haste of a hungry man. They ate in silence until he pushed back his plate with a motion of finality. He had reached a decision.

  He launched back into his confession willingly. The words spilled out in a torrent; the floodgates had op
ened. Ari sat spellbound as she listened.

  "The blackouts began a week ago-five days, to be exact. Nothing in my family history would indicate a condition such as this. No epilepsy, catalepsy, or anything of that sort. It's completely original with me, whatever it is.

  "What takes place during the blackouts, I have no idea. Neither do I know how long they last precisely. I estimate anywhere from six to ten hours, working backward from the time I can last remember until I wake up again. Obviously I am fairly active during these episodes, judging from the fact that I seem to be able to get myself into varying degrees of difficulty." He raised a hand to the red side of his face.

  "These self-destructive acts, as Dr. Williams calls them, are well known in psychological literature-especially in association with blackouts or amnesia. It is not unusual for a blackout to result from the trauma of a very destructive or threatening act. In other words, the mind blocks the memory of the episode because it is simply too painful to remember.

  "In my case, however, I believe it is just the other way around. I can't prove anything one way or the other, but something inside tells me I'm right in the assumption. I thought about it all last night as I lay in sick bay. It's just a gut hunch, but right now it's the best I've got."

  "I'm not sure I understand."

  "What I'm trying to say, I guess, is that in my case the blackouts come first and trigger the self-destructive acts. Only I don't think the point is to destroy myself."

  "What is the point?"

  "To escape. Flight is one of the oldest animal reflexes. It's basic, universal. Even the most timid creature will flee into an unknown danger in order to escape a known one."

  "But, Spence," Ari gasped, "who or what would want to harm you?"

  "I don't know-yet. But I mean to find out." He glanced al Ari's worried face; she was chewing her lower lip and scowling furiously. "I know how fantastic this all sounds. You must think I'm a raving madman. Why invent invisible enemies? Why concoct outrageous theories when the same facts can be explained more simply with known principles? I've asked myself those questions a thousand times in the last twenty-four hours. But there's something inside me that won't let me accept the other alternative. And right now that's all I have."