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

by Shawn Mackey

  Near the road, a hunched-over figure dashed across the field toward the trees at the edge of Brian’s property. It seemed about to trip, its clumsy gait more simian than human. We watched the figure disappear behind the massive trunk of the nearest tree and a moment later poke its head from the hiding spot. It then weaved across the other trees at an immense speed.

  “Can we go inside now,” Kenny said. Without a word, they all headed toward the house. Brian used a water bottle to douse the torches, leaving us in utter darkness until we reached the manor.

  Brian mentioned something about a generator and electronically locked doors. I couldn’t keep track of it all of all the loud conversations going on at once. Somebody named Miguel was talking about being clean for six months, saying that sobriety had been the worst decision in his life because there was nothing cleaner than alcohol, though his friend reminded him that he was a coke fiend, and that he and Cindy had a few spare lines with his name on it.

  Once inside, I could tell the manor’s owner was not an antiquarian—newly furnished marble floors and lavish furniture, so gaudy only a madman could consider it tasteful. Rainbow sofa cushions, a diamond encrusted glass table, a wooden chandelier shaped like octopus tentacles, chairs shaped like men, phallic-shaped couches with vaginal pillows, rusty barstools that looked like they belonged in some medieval torture chamber, and carpets of various animals, the strangest being a saber-toothed tiger that appeared too realistic for my tastes. All the furniture pointed toward the television, which took up nearly half the wall. Behind us was a bar equipped with enough liquor to serve us all a hundred times over. I was ready to put my estimation to the test.

  Kenny and a busty brunette were kissing furiously on the phallic couch. He held the neck of a whiskey bottle in one hand and her rear end in another. Good for him. I reached over the bar counter and snatched a bottle of rum. I poured a shot for myself and Beatrice, who decided to join me. After my third round, she finally gathered the courage to drink it.

  “I don’t taste anything,” she said.

  “Why would you?” I laughed, downing half the bottle in one swig. I pushed it to her and grabbed a jug of tequila with a sombrero cap. “I’ve got someone to share a drink with for once. Don’t ruin the moment.”

  “Okay,” she said, pouring another shot. She spilled plenty before it reached her lips.

  “Good girl. Now, tell me about yourself.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Why would you?” I laughed again, pouring her a shot of tequila. “Down the hatch, sweetie.”

  “Okay,” she muttered, sipping the next one with a sour face. “It’s like water until it gets to my throat. Then it’s like swallowing air.”

  “That’s liquor. At least as far as I can remember.”

  “I’m not stupid,” she snapped. Her lips quivered as she buried her face into her arm against the bar counter.

  “Sorry,” I said. The apology was more of an attempt to get her to stay than something sincere. This girl was too interesting to blow off. She seemed to be the brightest of the bunch, but in reality was the most empty-headed of them all. The others were enjoying themselves, snorting lines off the diamond table or taking turns puffing the smoke pipe. This one was following me like a lost puppy because she was the weakest link—a defect, though that may sound a bit cruel. “You’re too pretty to cry. Come on, smile or something. You can manage that much, right?”

  “I don’t want to smile.”

  “Then drink until you taste it. Who knows? There might be enough to get us both buzzed. You’ll never know if you keep pouting.”

  “If it’ll get you to stop pestering,” she said, reaching for the whiskey bottle. She poured a shot with a sigh, pinched her nose, and downed it. “I hate whiskey. Even if I can’t taste it.”

  “What’s your poison? You’ve got to have some kind of preference, Beatrice. Don’t be shy.”

  “My name isn’t Beatrice.”

  Those words were like a punch to the gut. Her blank stare no longer appeared idiotic. She was scared and confused. I always thought this sort of revelation would be the first step on the road to relief, yet I couldn’t keep my hands from shaking. I tried to tell myself it was nervous excitement as I stared at the mirror behind the line of liquor bottles. The smile in my reflection was not of joy, but of a sudden surge of madness.

  -

  A distant memory sprouted from my foggy mind. I was sitting in a diner, shoveling a pile of food in my mouth. Forkful after forkful of cheddar mashed potatoes and steak. I occasionally reached behind the glass counter for a slice of lemon meringue pie. The waitress smiled and told me to slow down. I promised to double her tip if she could tell me where the diner was located. She stopped smiling and walked away.

  “What do you put in this slop? I can’t taste a thing!”

  I was stuck in a world without pleasure or consequence. Why must it be one without the other? I couldn’t pinpoint the time period of this memory, since I had no real starting point. I was a misfit who couldn’t care less about dreams and happiness and nightmares. Had I given up the foolish crusade at this point? The memory reeked of resentment and failure.

  “You okay?” a man sitting at the table behind me asked.

  “No,” I said without turning around.

  “Lost?”

  “No shit.”

  “Where you from?”

  “How about you tell me where I am first?” I asked, spinning around with a snarl.

  “I’m not going to tell you a damn thing with that attitude!”

  My memory became even fuzzier at that point. I remembered launching across the table and holding his face into a big bowl of scalding soup until he stopped breathing. The waitress came running out and stopped me, but I stuck her in the gut with a fork a few times because there was nothing I hated more than meddlers. She lay there bleeding out while I finished the lemon meringue pie. Last thing I remembered was the bitter taste of blood on the tip of my finger.

  -

  “My name isn’t Michael,” I said. Beatrice nodded her head.

  “You were really looking at that mirror in the car. Nobody’s that vain.”

  “This is a bit overwhelming for me.”

  “Me too.”

  “This never happened to you?”

  “No,” she said, drinking another shot of whiskey. “It seems like I was a nurse a few minutes ago. And an astronaut yesterday. Before that, I was in a weird desert. Then an office secretary, a dancer, a circus clown, a beautician. I remember walking a dog in a park.”

  “Anything before that?”

  “No. What about you?”

  “I’m pretty sure I can sit here all night and reminisce, and that’d be just the tip of the iceberg. I know what this is all about, but I don’t know how it all started.”

  “What do you mean, ‘what this is all about?’”

  “It’s hard to explain. I think it would be easier if you elaborated. Go back as far as you can remember and tell me a bit more. Don’t be afraid to leave out any details. Not just for your sake. We’re here to help each other.”

  “Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath before continuing: “I remember waking up groggy in a dark place. It was cold and quiet. At first, I thought I’d been sleepwalking and somehow ended up outside. But it was too dark. I remember standing up and rubbing my eyes, only my eyes were gone. My whole face was gone. ‘It has to be a dream,’ I thought, so I started walking around, even though I didn’t have any legs. I tried calling out for help, but my voice was gone. It was just numbness and silence. ‘How could this happen? Did I die?’ The moment I tried to recollect, it felt like my memories were torn from my invisible head. Then, like a blink, I was in a grassy field. I remember seeing the sun and crying because I knew all that darkness was just a bad dream. Then I realized this wasn’t a familiar place. Luckily, there was a person not too far off. I asked the man where we were. He just tipped his straw hat and kept on walking. I figured he didn�
�t hear me so I asked for his name. He turned around and told me to stop playing games. It ticked me off so I started yelling. He said: ‘Stop screaming, Milly. You can’t scream. You can’t even talk. You’re dead. I don’t got time for ghosts.’ I started crying and begging for his help but he kept on walking. Next thing I knew, I was in a subway station. There were men and women and children without faces getting on and off the trains. I just sat on a bench and hoped it would all end.”

  “About how long ago was this?”

  “If I had to estimate, I’d say a few months ago. Maybe half a year. Who knows?”

  “Have you noticed any patterns? Anything that shows up more frequently than others? Sort of like the faceless people.”

  “That darkness. Before I go to the next place, I’m back there for a split second, almost like it’s trying to pull me back in, like its home. Recently, it’s become a bit of a relief, a way to know that I’m moving to the next place. As long as it’s not permanent.”

  “What else?”

  “The people. I try to get to know them as best I can. They belong to each one of these little places, and most of them are pretty friendly. Sometimes they seem to recognize me. I’m not the person they think I am, but it makes me feel less lonely to pretend. I’m probably not telling you anything useful. It all seems so routine to you. Seriously, you have no idea how much you stand out.”

  “That’s not exactly my intention. See Kenny over there? Does he stand out at all?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “This is all just a dream. Not yours or mine. It’s Kenny’s.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Not quite sure. Probably that routine you’re talking about. I sort of sense them out the way you sensed me. As long as he’s okay, everything here remains calm. Just the way I like it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s nothing else that stands out?”

  “I asked you first.”

  “Remember the guy lumbering around outside? He’s going to be extremely dangerous. I’m no better than your average fortune teller when it comes to these things, so I can’t tell you how exactly. Kenny takes priority over everyone except us.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “I’ve done this a million times, Beatrice. Maybe more. I’m allowed to be cocky.”

  “The others seem like okay people. A bit odd, but decent. And they’re Kenny’s friends.”

  “They’re not real.”

  “Not real?”

  “Rob?” I called out. He was sharing a joint with Brian and some blonde girl. “Rob! Come here, pal. Get a load of this story Beatrice just told me.”

  He took a long pull and stumbled toward us. Judging by his baked expression, the idiot probably thought he was floating. Rob sat on my left, licking his lips and rubbing his pink eyes, spaced out for about a minute, seemingly forgetting why he had come here.

  “Where you from, Rob?” I asked. He spun around the stool and chuckled. “Where are you from?”

  “Out here,” he said, cackling while pointing toward the window. “Out here. Outer space, man!”

  “That’s a good one. Where in outer space?”

  “Where?”

  “Where are you from?” I said, grabbing him roughly by the arm. His wide smile wilted and his eyes looked tired. “Where are you from?”

  “You? From?”

  “Who’s Kenny?”

  “Kenny?”

  “Where are you from, Kenny?”

  “Kenny? Around here.”

  “You’re from around here?”

  “Yeah,” he said, back to laughing, then called out to Kenny: “I’m from around here, Kenny.”

  “No you’re not,” Kenny responded, still making out with the brunette on the phallic couch.

  “The hell?” Rob muttered.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, patting him on the back. “Go back over by Brian.”

  “I have to pee.”

  “Then go pee!” I said, gently pushing him off the stool.

  “What was that all about?” Beatrice whispered as Rob wandered into the adjacent hallway.

  “I convinced him he was Kenny for a second. Technically, all these people are just bits of him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not. Not at all.”

  “Would it be considered rude if I said you have no idea what you’re talking about?”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “My experience trumps your intuition.”

  “I don’t think it works like that, pal.”

  “Okay, Beatrice,” I said, returning to the whiskey bottle. I took a swig and handed it to her. She shook her head with a grimace. “What’s on your mind?”

  “How do you know these are dreams?”

  “I’ve had dreamers tell me they’re dreaming.”

  “Maybe they’re wrong? Why take their word for it?”

  “They could be wrong. What’s your theory?”

  “You and I are no different than the others. We just got the funny idea that we’re special. Knowing we go from place to place and a shoddy memory of them doesn’t count as much as you think it does.”

  “I see.”

  “That’s never crossed your mind?”

  “Too many times. It seems the most likely scenario, and though I’d continue to believe in my personal theory because it suits me, there’s a wildcard that backs it up: the danger I warned you about. I make it my business to protect the people like Kenny at any costs. On the other hand, there’s someone hell bent on making my life as difficult as possible. Call it the third man. He’s no man, though.”

  “The thing outside?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s he going to do?”

  “He’s become more and more unpredictable. Bastard almost killed me. Tried getting into my head too. Let’s just say he has the wrong idea about me and leave it at that.”

  “You’re starting to scare me, Michael. Will he try to kill us?”

  “He’ll try. Stick with me and we’ll be okay. Hopefully, when this is through, we’ll meet up on the other side. I got the funny idea we’ve met before. Who knows?”

  “Let’s make a code.”

  “I like that. You say ‘lightning’ and I’ll say ‘thunder.’”

  “How about something easier? You go by Michael and I go by Beatrice. I doubt I’ll forget you anytime soon. Just in case, I’d like to have a name to the man.”

  “Okay,” I said, pouring two shots of whiskey. We drank them down. “My world got a little bit brighter today, Beatrice. If you were a blonde, I’d chalk it up to fate.”

  “If that’s your preference, there’s always next time.”

  “And plenty after that.”

  “Michael,” she said with an uneasy sigh. “I still can’t shake the feeling you’re lying to me.”

  “About what? Oh, you think I’m a sham? Same could go for you.”

  “No. I’m talking about your friend. There must be a better explanation. I wouldn’t lie to you, and I was hoping it’d be reciprocal. I wouldn’t hold back either. We’re a team now. Your problems are going to be my problems.”

  “I call him the Nightmare.”

  “That’s nice, but it doesn’t explain anything beyond what you’ve said so far.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know a whole lot, and I’m not used to talking to other people about this stuff. It all sounds so absurd,” I said. “When it’s alone, it’s a crawling puddle of black goo, thick like oil. Once it latches onto you, it’s more like tar. Then it takes over you like a parasite.”

  “Has that happened before?”

  “A few times. Not too long ago, as a matter of fact. It came pretty close.”

  “Close to what?”

  “Eating me,” I said. “That’s what it does to the ones he doesn’t need. Uses them up and then gulps them down. He can’t take control of me. Not that he wants to. No, he claims I
have something that belongs to him.”

  “Go on,” Beatrice said. I stared into the empty whiskey bottle, unable to find the right words.

  “I used to be that monster. Don’t put too much thought into that, because I sure as hell haven’t. Whether he truly believes it or not, I still don’t trust him. It doesn’t matter. He won’t stop until I’m dead. Problem is, neither of us can die, so we’re going to be at this for a long time. Sorry you got dragged in. I wish I could assure your safety, but this grudge has gone way past personal.”

  “I’m starting to wish I hadn’t asked. Now I’m just confused.”

  “And scared?”

  “No,” she said, smiling. “It actually sounds silly.”

  “That’s because it is silly. Let me worry about the grunt work. You just stand there and look pretty from now on.”

  “You mean watch you drink another one of those bottles?”

  “I’m going to scout the place out. We’ve been here for a while now. I don’t often go looking for trouble, but if that bastard has something planned, there’s no doubt he’s waiting for me to confront him. I bet he think the stakes are higher because of last time. I’ll show him nothing’s changed. In the meantime, stay here and keep an eye on Kenny.”

  He was sprawled out on the phallic couch, talking to the group seated near the diamond table. I couldn’t hear their conversation, nor did I really care. I stepped out of the living room and made a left down the long hallway. The end led to an outdoor patio, and a light was on in that room, so I figured it’d be the first place I’d look, since it would likely give me a decent view of the property.

  All the doors in the hallway were closed except one—the bathroom. Other than a few droplets of piss on the floor, it looked fine, but something seemed off in my periphery. As I turned to leave, I saw a patch of blood where the mirror had been cracked, a wet trail still trickling into the sink. Whatever violence occurred here couldn’t have happened more than a few minutes ago.

  I left the bathroom, fully prepared to find Rob on the patio. The idiot may have head-butted the mirror, but most likely he had been abducted. A tiny droplet of blood on the hardwood floor confirmed my suspicion. A few steps toward the end of the hall, I heard the sound of wet celery snapped in half. Again and again, occasionally with a sickening sloshing noise mixed in. I carefully peered into the end room.