The Dream Hopper (Those Whom the Gods Wish to Destroy Book 2)

by Shawn Mackey

  "It would take me all night to tell you the whole story," Jake said, carrying two cups of steaming coffee. He handed one to Michael and went on: "I'll make it brief."

  "Just go on," Michael snapped.

  "I guess the best place to start is about a month ago. Everything I told you about the insomnia medication is true, believe it or not. Some idiot actually thought they could turn that thing into a medicine," he said, nearly shouting the last part, shaking his head with a wry grin. "The funny part is, it actually worked in a few cases. In ninety-five other cases, it caused instant death, comas, and insanity."

  "Get to the important part," Michael said. "Why do you have it?"

  "The project shut down last week. I stole a sample," he replied. His friend gazed at him in perplexity. "I felt compelled to. Don't try to pry anymore—"

  "Are you out of your god damn mind?"

  "Possibly," he said. "I promised myself I'd destroy it. Unfortunately, I don't think that's possible."

  "Torch the thing!"

  "We tried everything," Jake continued, shaking his head grimly. "When I told you it was outlandish, I was understating the situation. I hesitate to call it a life-form, because it lacks all characteristics of life, yet it’s obviously sentient."

  "I don't get it."

  "My friend was part of an investigation on an uncharted island. A really small place at the edge of the world. No bigger than this town. That discovery alone was shocking. The island was actually inhabited! The small tribe was as ancient as it gets, according to my friend. Because of the isolation and small population, their customs remained the same for thousands of years. And they all revolved around a black lake. I'm sure you already figured out what filled that lake."

  "Not water."

  "I've seen photos. It resembled a typical tar pit. My friend assumed it was simply that, despite the natives praising its miraculous qualities. They claim to have a lifespan of centuries from merely bathing in the lake. This was proven to be another one of their customs. The party witnessed the ritual on their first night at the island. An old man stepped into the lake, and by the time it reached his waist, the pool swallowed him whole. They watched in horror while the tribe cheered and wept with joy. When asked why they were celebrating the man's cruel fate, one of the natives pointed at a pregnant woman."

  "So much for immortality."

  "Yeah," Jake went on, "but the lake did more than swallow up the island's inhabitants. In small doses, they claimed it cured any ailment. It lulled the drinker into sleep. My friend watched them cup their hands into the lake and take a sip. They were fine. There's been no explanation for this anomaly. I think their bodies somehow adapted to the substance. Merely being around it has strange side effects."

  "And I bet it's highly addictive."

  "The project ended before any long-term research could be completed. For the few that used it and survived," Jake paused with a shrug. "I haven't had the courage to find out."

  "I'm starting to suspect a bit of illegal activity," Michael said, smiling slyly.

  "Everyone involved with the project is dead," Jake said, his voice scarcely higher than a whisper. Michael's smile quickly faded.

  "Well, go on with the story. What happened to the island?"

  "The inhabitants happily handed the lake over to the exploration team. One night, every last one of them took a bath in the ooze. Their reasoning was beyond irrational. They thought if their entire tribe were swallowed up, they would be incarnated in the form of the exploration team, who the natives viewed as gods. There was no reasoning with them. The entire lot was insane."

  "So was your friend and his crew," Michael said, finishing his coffee. He felt slightly refreshed, possessing enough energy to walk to the counter and pour another cup. "They should've gotten the hell out of there."

  "I'm pretty sure the lake had already taken hold of them," Jake said. Michael managed one sip of coffee before dropping the mug. Before his friend could accost him, Michael seized him roughly by the collar with a snarl.

  "Are you saying it brainwashed them that fast? Just from looking at it?" he shouted. "And you brought me here?"

  "No," Jake snapped, breaking away from Michael. "As long as it’s in the container, we're safe. Dragging you over here was selfish, but I'm not that crazy."

  "I was about to punch you in the teeth."

  "They returned to the island with enough vats to carry a portion of the lake. It was decided to study the substance before probing the bottom. That's where I came in. My friend was already obsessed with their discovery. For good reason, I suppose. It was monumental."

  "I'm surprised you didn't mention this sooner."

  "Like I said, it was classified. No offense, but you aren't known to keep a secret. I couldn't risk it. I wanted to be part of the project."

  "Understandable," Michael said, finally cleaning up the broken mug.

  "It proved to be disastrous in the beginning. I won't go into details. Not because I'm sworn to secrecy. They're just bad memories."

  "You're a man of strong conscience. It must have been difficult."

  "You have no idea."

  "At least tell me how they all died."

  "Mike," Jake sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. It was a while before he continued: "They returned to the island."

  "And took a bath?"

  "That's right," Jake said, eyeing his friend with disdain. Michael noticed this immediately and smiled in a lame attempt to make light of the situation.

  "Sorry," he muttered, tossing the broken mug into the trash. "It's all so unbelievable. I'm not implying that you're lying! It just doesn't seem real."

  "After the mass suicide, the project was shut down. I'm the only one left. All of the ooze, besides the portion I stole, was confiscated. I was offered a hefty sum to keep quiet, but I couldn't take it. Just didn't feel right."

  "So why didn't you go to the island with the others? You had to be around that stuff as much as them."

  "I don't know."

  "So why did you feel compelled to bring it home?"

  "As long as it's locked up," he said, pausing a moment before elaborating, "it's harmless. I can't explain why I had to take it. I guess it also has a hold over me.”

  "What if I were to take it? Hypothetically, of course. Don't go freaking out."

  "Damn it, Mike! You better not—"

  "Relax," Michael said, chuckling. "I'm not about to do anything rash. You think I want anything to do with that thing? Hell no! I was just wondering what you'd do."

  "Hypothetically," Jake said, sighing before finishing, "I really don't know, Mike."

  "Come on, pal," Michael said, watching his friend warily. He appeared utterly despondent. "If it makes you feel better, leave it in the lab. Just keep it covered."

  "I stare at it for hours," he mumbled. "I sometimes wish I could touch it."

  "That'd be suicidal."

  "No," he said, shaking his head. "It's too small to do any damage. The substance isn't acidic in the slightest.”

  "Leave it in the lab, and keep it covered. That's my advice. Stare at it all day. As long as you don't open it."

  "I know," Jake said, rising to his feet. "The urge isn't hard to fight. It's just a nagging feeling. I shouldn't have even mentioned it."

  "Curiosity," Michael said, smiling. "You're overthinking. Best thing you can do is get some sleep."

  "Yeah, I'll take you home first. Or did you have somewhere else to go?"

  "Screw it," Michael said with a wave of his hand. "Couldn't have been that important. Besides, I'm getting tired

  The ride home was silent and awkward. Michael could tell by his friend's blank stare and weary eyes that he wasn't well. However, there was no use discussing the matter any further. It was a problem Jake would have to deal with on his own. The circumstances were unfortunate, but not futile. Michael had no reason to interfere. Jake was an intelligent man; fixing the situation would be easy for someone of his aptitude.

  The
y pulled up to Angela's house. Michael almost left the car without saying goodbye. Jake merely nodded and pulled away the moment his friend stepped outside. Michael shook off the abrupt exit and checked under the doormat for the key, half expecting it to be gone.

  "Good girl," he whispered, retrieving the key and unlocking the door.

  As he entered the house, the night's horrific events had already become a distant memory. Walking through the doorway always had a cleansing effect. No matter how bad his day, he knew Angela would be waiting for him. Michael quietly crept through the dark house, past the sleeping cat, and toward the hallway before the kitchen. The furthermost room was wide open. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  Angela slept peacefully on the right side of the bed. Michael took off his jeans and lay next to her. Careful not to disturb her rest, he ensconced himself under the blanket. She mumbled something incoherently and rolled onto her back.

  "How did it go?" she muttered, eyes still closed.

  "What?" he stammered. He assumed she meant the events at Jake's house, and then remembered the canceled meeting with Jimmy. "I didn't go. Screw it. I'd rather spend the night with my girl."

  "That’s nice," she said, flipping back to her side.

  "Go back to sleep."

  She was softly snoring within a minute. Michael inched closer, softly pressing his forehead against her back. He closed his eyes and found himself entranced by Angela's steady breathing, but he found it impossible to relax otherwise. Literally, he had gone days without rest. To come home and find her bedroom door locked would’ve meant another sleepless night.

  He had never experienced fatigue. Consuming mass amounts of liquor didn't faze him. Lying at Angela's side, he would close his eyes, and by some miracle he would find slumber and wake up in the morning. This pitiful behavior had gone on for months. No matter how pathetic it seemed to him, he felt solace in knowing that he truly loved the woman. As long as she reciprocated the sentiment, all was well in the world.

  But Michael found his thoughts returning to Jake's basement. A sleepless hour soared by, leaving him restless and aggravated. How does one witness such a sight and go about their life normally? It wasn't possible. He found himself mechanically rising out of bed, utterly sober and wide awake, ready to face the monstrosity again. As Jake had described, now Michael merely wished to stare at it for a while. A fleeting glimpse wasn't enough to satiate his growing curiosity.

  In less than a minute, he was fully clothed and out the door. Jake usually left a key in a coffee can behind a bush in his front yard for emergencies. This situation seemed urgent enough. He absolutely needed to see the black ooze.

  Michael rode to Jake's house in a frantic stupor. Whatever trance had enraptured his friend may have also stricken him. It was like an unscratchable itch. Fully aware of this tinge of madness, he hoped a simple glance would suffice. If not, he fully intended to destroy the creature.

  He noticed another car in the driveway. It didn't take a long inspection to recognize the vehicle as Jimmy's. Did the bastard actually mean to track Michael's every step? Was their meeting that urgent? Doubtful. Something was wrong. As he opened the unlocked door, his suspicions were confirmed by the sound of a gunshot.

  Michael raced in its direction and found the basement door wide open. With a curse, he rushed down the stairs to find his friend in a bloody pool, and Jimmy standing over him with a smoking gun in hand. As Michael approached, he pointed his weapon, only to lower it instantly. His eyes were wide in horror.

  "Mike," Jimmy said. He sounded on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry, man. When I realized he was your friend, I wasn't gonna shoot him. He didn't leave me a choice. He came at me with this crazy look in his eyes."

  "Drop it, pal," Michael said, slowly inching toward Jimmy with his hands outstretched. "No one has to find out about this. We can clean this up together. Just drop the gun."

  "I knew I shouldn't have done this without you," he whined. "The boss was real worried about this one. He really needed it done."

  "What did he need done?" Michael asked, still moving closer to a shivering Jimmy.

  "The box," he said. "I was just gonna take it and leave. The boss wanted your friend dead, but I wasn't gonna do it. Not when I found out who he was. I swear, Mike."

  "No need to swear. I believe you," Michael said reassuringly. "Just drop the gun. You're going into shock, pal. It's going to be okay."

  Jimmy bent over and placed the weapon on the floor. The moment his fingers left the gun's handle, Michael drove his knee into Jimmy's nose. He went flying backward with a grunt. Before he could rise to his feet, Michael was on top of him, pounding his fists into Jimmy's face with all his strength. Each blow would have been enough to subdue his opponent. In a moment of blind rage, he intended to bash Jimmy’s skull into mush. Even after he was beaten into unconsciousness, Michael relentlessly battered the wretch's face to an unrecognizable pulp.

  He grabbed Jimmy by the collar and raised him up like a lifeless doll. It took every ounce of willpower not to strangle the life out of him. Instead, he hurled the body across the room, smacking Jimmy's head against the edge of a table. The table toppled over, knocking its contents across the floor. The box smacked with enough force to nearly split it down the middle.

  The black substance oozed out of the crack. Michael watched in awe as it slithered across the floor like a puddle come to life. Every movement created a sloshing noise that turned his stomach. It truly was a repulsive creature.

  And suddenly, it went completely still. Michael assumed it either died or simply decided to stop moving. He stared at the black puddle for a long time, waiting for some sort of conformation.

  A tiny tendril formed, and before Michael could even process a thought, it extended with lightning speed and latched onto his mouth. The entire puddle of ooze shot down his throat and settled in his stomach. The substance was so cold, his insides felt as though they had frozen solid. Every nerve went numb. Though fully conscious of this all, he lacked any sort of feeling whatsoever.

  When his body fell face first onto the floor, he didn't feel the impact. His eyes seemingly closed on their own. A complete schism occurred between mind and body. He imagined this state to be a living death.

  An immeasurable amount of time passed. Michael truly thought himself dead until the sound of footsteps rushing down the stairs roused every fiber of his being. His eyes shot open with a jolt. He blinked several times to confirm his consciousness.

  "This one's alive," a gruff voice said. As Michael turned his body over, he found two policemen, one of which brandished a gun and shouted: "Don't move!"

  "Okay," he murmured, struggling to keep his eyes open. "I was just about to call the cops. How'd you guys get here so fast?"

  "Is that who I think it is?" the other officer asked with a chuckle. He was kneeling over Jimmy, shaking his head and grinning. "This guy again. Somebody did a number on him."

  "I did," Michael said. The officer gradually lowered his gun. "The one with the bullet in him is my best friend. Jake. I was here earlier. He seemed troubled by something, so I came back to check on him. Looks like I was too late."

  "He's still breathing," the officer said.

  "Is he okay?" Michael asked.

  "Are you kidding?" the officer chortled.

  Michael carefully rose to his knees with his arms behind his head. He took the opportunity to finally inspect his wounded friend. Blood poured profusely from his forehead. One of the officers placed his ear close to Jake's mouth, then nodded to his partner. Another set of footsteps raced down the stairs. As Michael watched two paramedics inspect his nearly departed friend, his body once again went numb.

  "The other one got beat pretty bad, and I'd bet my badge the guy over there is on drugs or something," one of the officers said.

  "Jake has constant surveillance of this place," Michael said wearily. "I know where the tapes are and everything. Don't you dare cuff me, you god damn sons of bitches!"

  Michael eyes
closed. He heard a group of different voices, and soon felt like he was being moved by some invisible force. When his eyes reopened, he found himself in the back of a paramedic’s truck. He raised his head with a sudden surge of energy. By his side was Jake, his eyes glazed open. He let out a horse moan.

  "Jake!" Michael shouted. One of the paramedics strongly seized him by the shoulders and forcefully laid him down.

  "I'm real sorry, Mike," Jimmy peeped on the other side of Jake. His face was practically swollen shut, his voice barely coherent. "I hope your friend doesn't die."

  Michael wanted to give the man another beating, but was too exhausted and didn't want to risk harming Jake. He turned his head and watched fresh blood drip from the crimson bandages wrapped across Jake’s face. The reality of the situation sunk in: Jake was going to die tonight.

  The substance he had ingested squirmed around in his gut, ice cold and distressed. The creature clearly wanted out. Michael grinned and rubbed his belly, silently laughing at its plight. He planned to harbor the monstrosity until his digestive juices thoroughly dissolved every last drop.

  When they arrived at the hospital, the paramedics rushed Jake out of the truck, leaving Michael and Jimmy. Without so much as a glance at the latter, Michael climbed out of the truck and followed his friend to the emergency ward. An attendant called out to him from the desk as he was about to enter.

  "Can I at least use the phone? Let me call his mother," Michael asked. She eyed the police officer who stood vigilantly at the doorway. He looked at Michael then gave a slight nod.

  "There's a payphone just outside. I'm afraid you can't use our line," she said.

  As Michael stepped outside, the officer tapped him on the shoulder and placed a quarter in his hand. Despite this gesture of kindness, his eyes never left Michael's sight as he slipped the coin in the phone's slot and called home. Since he didn't know Jake's mother's number, he figured Angela would be the next best.

  "Hello?" she replied after two rings.