Just then the enemy soldier flashed by at the end of the aisle. She lost Lee's attention as it shifted to his objective. She knew what came next. She peeled herself away from Lee, which was actually painful this time, a separation that felt unnatural. She watched his back turn at the end of the aisle. She followed close behind. She had to see with her own eyes what happened.
There was the girl in the cart, the enemy behind her. But then suddenly, everything shifted. The grocery store aisle became a narrow alley. The girl turned into a young boy, sitting in the back of a wagon. The enemy soldier was behind the boy. He was trailing a wire from the boy, the wire connected to a pack secured around his chest with heavy black tape. The boy was a bomb.
Lee knew logically he should stay back, he knew in his head what this was, but he kept running toward the boy. He wanted to grab the bomb off his chest and fling it away, but it went off too soon, and Lee was knocked back. Cat covered her eyes. It was a sight too horrible to witness.
Then she opened them and ran over to Lee, imagining herself standing next to his hospital bed, holding his hand, the tubes coming out of his nose and veins, the beeping of the monitors. She wanted him to see her, and she wanted to be able to touch him there in the dream world, just as she had with Ruthie in her dream about Anita. She concentrated hard, imagining Lee's physical form in the real world, and in the dream she knelt down beside him. There was blood and a mash of flesh on one side of his face. His eyes were closed. She called to him, "Lee, I'm here."
He opened his eyes. "Kitty Cat," he said, reaching up to touch her. "The kid?" he asked.
"Listen to me, Lee," she said. "It was too late for the kid. You tried to save him, but it was too late. There was nothing you could do. You have to let him go."
Tears began to stream out of Lee's eyes. He moaned and sobbed. She touched him, stroked his forehead, squeezed his hand as he let out all the pain and loss he'd been keeping inside for so long.
Cat leaned over and kissed him and then kept her face close to his, looking deep into his eyes.
"Lee, you saved my life," she told him. "That awful woman appeared out of nowhere and tried to shoot me. She wanted me dead, Lee. But you were there. You jumped in front of the bullet. You saved my life."
"I'd do it again," Lee said, kissing her hand. Then, after a beat, he looked up at her and said, "I've been in love with you since day one, Kitty Cat."
"I love you, too, Lee," she said in return.
He nodded acceptance.
Then he said this: "That's a pretty neat trick you've got there with the dreams."
So he understood about her gift. Cat felt a flush of recognition and acceptance, something she'd been craving her whole life. She smiled, and Lee smiled back.
Suddenly there was the sound of alarms going off in the distance, and then it came closer. A Humvee arrived with a red light on the top, as if it were an ambulance in the States, and paramedics in scrubs jumped out. But then they all disappeared, and Cat and Lee were back in the grocery store, the sound coming from the cash registers, which were going haywire with malfunctions.
"I have to go, Cat," Lee said. "No more dreams."
"No," Cat cried. "Don't leave me!"
"It's time for me to go," Lee said. "Good-bye, dear, sweet Cat."
He closed his eyes, and she tried to hang onto him, but she was knocked out of the dream, awaking at Lee's bedside, where his monitors were beeping and flashing alarms. People in scrubs rushed in and pushed her aside.
They couldn't save him. They worked a long time, and they couldn't save him. Soon his room was filled with a hushed quiet: no beeps, no pumps and hisses, no sounds from Lee. She stood next to his bed and held his hand for a long time, and all she could say was, "I'm sorry," over and over again. Granny Grace found her there and led her to the waiting room so his parents could have some time with him alone.
Cat felt only pain, and through that thick cotton of pain, there was Granny Grace's cool touch. Cat's cell phone kept buzzing in her pocket, so she took it out and shut it off. She and Granny Grace sat in the waiting room outside Lee's room, where they could hear the terrible grieving sounds of his mother and father wailing against the injustice and shock of having to lose a son so young.
And there on the TV screen appeared Jim Plantation himself, announcing that he was filing for divorce, freeing his two perfect angels at last.
Acknowledgements
First, foremost, and above all, a tremendous wave of gratitude to the love of my life, Tino. His constant support, encouragement, and space-clearing over far too many weekends and vacations spent writing this book—instead of walking on a beach—deserves the greatest recognition. Thank you for believing in me even when I didn't believe in myself.
Second is his son, Zander, AKA the rapper "Zar," who proved every other weekend and in between that blended families can be whole, and wonderfully so.
Third, thank you to the talented, astute readers who pored through early drafts, championed the project, and kept me on my toes. Anne Harrington, I'm blessed to have your support. Mary K McBride, your spirited feedback sings to me still. Elisa Mader, you pushed me in the best directions, and your editorial care made me feel pampered. Chrysanne Taull, thanks for the dreamslipping.
I'm grateful to my friends and family for lending their support, even when they didn't understand what I was doing or why. Shout-outs to Kathy Samuelson for her friendship and cover art assistance and to Camille Carnahan and Kim Harleaux, who are like family to me. Love to my sister, Amy, my brothers Chris and Jason, and to my mother, Pat, whose own religious path I greatly respect. Also to my dear Grandma Pete, may she rest in peace and beans, and to the whole cantankerous Brunette clan, especially those who lost their boys, like Lee, too soon.
Thanks to Eric O'del, Colette Mercier, and their flock at the Amazing Grace Spiritual Center, which came into my life after I wrote this first draft, as if I'd written my own perfect church into being.
Finally, thanks to my posse at the day job for letting me be one of your game story "experts." It's a tall order, and I doubt I've lived up to it, but I'm glad I get to exercise my plot muscles on your games. Let the mystery be.
About the Author
In some form or another, Lisa Brunette has been earning a living with her words for more than twenty years.
She's the story designer behind hundreds of bestselling computer games published by Big Fish, including the following series: Final Cut, Mystery Case Files, Mystery Trackers, Dark Tales, Myths of the World, and Off the Record. Brunette has also written scripts for games that you can play on the Nintendo Wii and DS, Xbox Kinect, and Sony PlayStation.
Prior to joining the gaming industry, Brunette was a journalist whose work appeared in newspapers and magazines such as the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, Boston Globe, Seattle Woman, Poets & Writers, and elsewhere. She's interviewed novelists, a sex expert, homeless women, and the designer of the Batmobile, among others.
Brunette holds a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing from University of Miami, where she was a Michener Fellow. Her short stories and poetry have appeared in numerous publications, including Bellingham Review, The Comstock Review, Icarus International, and Spire. She's also received many honors for her writing, such as a major grant from the Tacoma Arts Commission, the William Stafford Award, and the Associated Writing Programs Intro Journals Project Award.
Brunette also researched and wrote text for the St. Louis Science Center's Cyberville exhibit, when she wasn't helping the Science Center tell its story to donors.
Cat in the Flock is the first in the Dreamslippers Series.
For updates on upcoming publications, sample chapters, early drafts of Cat in the Flock, as well as links to her Twitter profile, Facebook page, Pinterest, Instagram, and numerous other hideouts on the Interwebs, visit the author’s blog at: http://www.catintheflock.com.
Book Club Discussion Questions
Chapter 1
1. What kind of relationships does Cat have with
her mother and grandmother?
2. What is the nature of their "dreamslipping" ability? What are its strengths and limitations?
3. Describe Cat's emotional state at the close of the chapter.
Chapter 2
4. How did Cat violate Granny Grace's rules regarding dreamslipping? Why is this important?
5. Discuss the first two chapters in terms of the economic situation that both Cat and Granny Grace are experiencing.
Chapter 3
6. Who do you think is hiding in the condo building?
7. What real life experience is Cat learning on the job?
Chapter 4
8. What kind of man is Lee Stone? Contrast him with Cat.
9. Compare and contrast the Fletcher-Bander household with Lee Stone's. What does each dwelling reveal about its owners, and about the larger Seattle culture?
Chapter 5
10. What makes Lee's dream different than the other dreams Cat has slipped into? What will be Cat's main challenge in her relationship with Lee?
11. Describe Cat's soul-searching. What does she find helpful in Granny Grace's spiritual instruction, and what's missing for her?
Chapter 6
12. Discuss Cat's decisions in this chapter as she approaches the dreamer in the car, talks to Ruth and her mother, visits the rental car agency, and plans to travel to St. Louis. Do you agree with her? If not, what should she have done differently?
13. What do you think about the coincidence that the mother and girl are the same people Cat saw on the plane? Discuss in terms of the concept of kismet, or fate.
Chapter 7
14. What is the state of Cat's relationship with her mother? Contrast Mercy McCormick and Granny Grace.
15. One of the author's favorite characters is Cat's father, Joe McCormick. What type of man is he? Does he remind you of anyone you know? How would you describe his relationship with Cat?
Chapter 8
16. What challenges does Cat's dreamslipping ability pose in her relationships with her parents?
17. How does your impression of Jim Plantation change after hearing about him through the eyes of the young adult women in the church?
18. Describe Anita Briggs. What kind of woman is she?
Chapter 9
19. At this point in the story, how are Cat's adult relationships developing? Discuss her tie to Lee, as well as her connection with Wendy.
20. How has the Plantation Church reacted to Larry Price's death?
21. Contrast Anita Briggs and Rev. Chambers.
Chapter 10
22. How does Cat maintain her identity while playing along as her undercover persona?
23. What is Cat learning about the church community and church leadership?
24. What are the facts in the case so far?
Chapter 11
25. What do you think about Wendy's campaign to save her mother? Do you think she'll succeed?
26. Discuss the revelation that Jim and Larry are gay.
Chapter 12
27. Try playing PI and, assessing the clues so far, deduct what really happened the night Larry Price died.
28. Were you surprised to find that Greg Swenson is Sherrie's brother? Why do you think he lied to Cat?
29. Do you think the friendship between Cat and Wendy is salvageable?
Chapter 13
30. Discuss Larry's motivation for creating the sculpture and keeping the biblical quote a surprise.
31. Is Anita onto Cat? What do you think she knows about Larry's death?
Chapter 14
32. Did Jim really kill Larry?
Chapter 15
33. Jim says he loved Larry Price but that he "loved the church more." What does that mean?
34. Are you Team Lee or Team Greg? Why?
Chapter 16
35. What might Wendy have actually been through to cause her nightmares?
36. What is your impression of Rev. Chambers? Will he be able to salvage the church?
Chapter 17
37. Discuss Cat's final dreamslipping experience with Lee. How does she help him? What does she get in return?
38. How do you feel about Cat losing Lee?
General Questions
What does the story have to say about one's spiritual path?
Discuss the story in terms of the ideal of family.
How does Cat come of age in this story?
Which character has the greatest impact on Cat?
Read on for an exciting glimpse of the next book in the Dreamslippers Series:
Framed and Burning
Flames licked across the floor, attracted to an unrolled canvas, its painting half-finished. Then the fire leapt to the framed paintings stacked against the wall like oversized dominoes, first eating their stretched cloth and then attacking their hardier wooden frames. Now fed, the fire grew even more powerful, its flames leaping and dancing, lighting up the darkness of the studio at night.
In a far corner behind a curtain, a man lay sleeping. Smoke flowed over, under, and around the drape, filling the cubbyhole where he slept. On the floor next to him was an open bottle of Bushmill’s whiskey, three-quarters of it gone. The man did not stir.
The insatiable flames found fuel in the form of alcohol, most meant for painting or thinning paint, but some meant for drinking. Fire caught the bottom of a curtain covering the warehouse loft windows and stretching the height of two stories. It raged up the length of the drape in a bright orange column, giving off intense heat.
The man, Donnie, did not wake up. In his sleep, this is what he dreamed:
That crazy new broccoli they serve in fancy restaurants, the kind with the swirled florets. But this bunch is sitting in a bowl on his parents’s Formica kitchen table. He feels drawn to the fractal shapes of the lime green florets. They’re like the fractals he saw as a kid, when his dad took him to the science center in Cleveland. A scientist showed the crowd how to find fractals in nature, in clouds and crystals and snowflakes. Ever since that day, Donnie sees them everywhere.
As fractals, the broccoli whorls could spiral in the exact same pattern over and over again at smaller and smaller scales. They would keep repeating into infinity, so small his eye wouldn’t be able to see them. If he found a way to paint that infinite rhythm, capture that impossibly beautiful 3-D patterning on a 2-D canvas, then he would feel like he had finally done something with his life.
But they’re sitting there in the bowl, steam rising, and he’s hungry. So he eats them, swallowing each floret whole.
And since the florets are made of the energy of fractals, they keep repeating inside him. He can feel them spiraling through his gut. Soon he can only watch as they emerge from his belly, bursting out of the core of his body, rippling in space, turning him inside out so that he is now part of the fractal, too, a vibrating, swirling entity of math and matter. His body dissolves.
But he still exists—in a larger way, even, his spirit flowing as part of the energy that is everything in the universe at once, the largest supernova and the smallest quark and everything in between.
In this way, Donnie both ceases to exist and will always exist.
If any of our dreamslippers had been there to pick it up, they would have known what this particular man, this artist, dreamt of as his body was consumed by fire.
__
About twenty minutes away, past the neon Art Deco lights and the swishing palm trees and the line of shiny cars ambling between the scene on the street and the dark quiet of the beach at night, a party raged. The artists in attendance were oblivious to the fact that one of their own was now dead.
Holding a sweaty gin and tonic in one hand, the napkin under the glass damp, Amazing Grace watched her granddaughter out of the corner of her eye.
Cat had lost too much weight. The young woman’s cocktail dress seemed to hang on her, and her face lacked color, her spunk gone. It had been more than a year since Cat’s childhood sweetheart was killed. Amazing Grace thought the trip to Miami wo
uld knock her out of the Seattle doldrums—the weather in winter there hardly helped matters. But here in Miami, surrounded by vibrant art and tropical sights, sounds, and smells, Cat had remained sullen, non-communicative. It was all Grace could do to get Cat to attend the party tonight. Her granddaughter had wanted to stay in the hotel, reading statutes and case law.
“You’re worried about her, I can see,” said a voice at Grace’s elbow.
She turned to find Ernesto Ruíz, an old Miami flame of hers she’d bumped into a few days ago. He’d been hovering around her ever since, trying to get her alone for a bit of the nostalgic, trade-wind-fueled romance they always enjoyed. At seventy-eight, Grace commanded as much attention from men as she had in her twenties. Even more, in fact. She was much more self-possessed now, and she understood that this quality radiated from her, drawing men like Ernesto to her despite the wrinkles, the grey hair, the natural aging of her physique. A smart man like Ernesto knew he would find Grace a much more satisfying partner than anyone from the throngs of young, inexperienced, waifish artists in line for the bar.
Ernesto cut a dashing figure, his hair perfectly trimmed, his freshly shaven face giving off a musky aftershave scent. His impeccable suit appeared tailor-made. His shoes reflected the light of the crystal chandeliers as if a source of illumination themselves. Grace had to hand it to Miami men. No matter how hot the weather, they turned out as if every event were red carpet.
But she knew she was too distracted to take full advantage of Ernesto’s charms this time. Grace allowed his arm to nestle her waist, drawing her toward a nearby alcove. But Grace’s gaze returned over his shoulder to Cat, who was slumped against a balcony railing opposite them, a plump Miami full moon hanging overhead.
“It is simple.” Ernesto’s speech was correct but inflected with Cuban rhythm. “She still thinks the shooting was her fault. That’s what we do. Blame ourselves for that which we cannot control.”
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