The Experiment of Dreams

by Brandon Zenner

  But they were running out of ideas, and possibly time. If Ben was currently experiencing dementia and hallucinations—if he was going crazy—in public, they had to find him soon. Before the police did.

  “I guess it makes the most sense.” Iain stood in the van, hunched over, and opened the back door. Michael followed. “Aaron, patch the video feed from the apartment to my phone, and don’t stop listening to the tapes and checking his charge cards. You hear anything, if he buys a fucking cup of coffee in Calcutta, I need to know. Immediately.”

  Aaron nodded, shielding his eyes from the sun pouring in through the open door.

  Michael and Iain jumped to the ground, slamming the door shut behind them. They walked around the block to their car and started the engine.

  “Should we get a map?” Michael asked. They wouldn’t dare look up the directions on their phones. Digital paper trails were harder to burn.

  “I remember how to get there.”

  In the back of Iain’s anxious mind, the image of Ben’s phone flashing on the couch, loaded with missed calls and voice messages, gave him concern. If Ben did not return to his apartment—if they found him in Drapery Falls, or anywhere else—he would have to break into his apartment again and destroy the phone.

  “It seems fitting if this comes to an end in Drapery Falls, doesn’t it?” Michael asked.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “It’s come full circle.”

  They hit traffic as they neared New York, but soon after, the road cleared up and Iain sped along the interstate. He kept his phone on a standing charger, the video feed from Ben’s apartment transmitting bright on the screen. The fisheye lens kept a vigil on the entire living room, from front door to kitchen.

  Iain looked from the image on the screen to the road, his eyes darting back and forth. His forehead furrowed.

  “Shit!” he shouted, startling Michael who was near sleep.

  “Wha-what’s the matter?”

  “I can’t believe it! Jesus Christ!”

  “What, Iain, what?”

  “He’s not going to Drapery Falls!” He smacked the steering wheel. “There, Michael! Right there.” He pointed to the edge of the video feed.

  Michael picked up the phone, squinting, and removed a pair of wire-frame glasses from an inner pocket.

  Iain snatched the phone away and dialed into the keypad. It rang twice on speakerphone.

  “Hello?”

  “Aaron, listen to me, this is important. What’s the name of the town Ben used to live in, with Emily?”

  “It’s umm …” The muffled sound of movement came over the speakers. “One second, It’s right here … Sutton Lake.”

  “Right. That’s where he’s headed. I need you to find every cabin, every little shithole wooden cabin anywhere in the vicinity of Sutton Lake.”

  “Yes, sir. But, umm … that’s upstate New York? There’s got to be thousands of cabins up there.”

  “Yes, but we’re only looking for one. I’ll have Dr. Wulfric fax you a picture. And Aaron—keep your eye on the camera.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Iain hung up.

  “Aaron is never going to find it. He’s right; there are thousands of cabins upstate,” Michael went on. “Why are you suddenly certain that’s where he’s going? I don’t see anything to suggest—”

  “Look, Michael.” He brought the live feed from Ben’s apartment back on his phone. “That spot on the wall, right there.”

  Michael squinted. The wall was blank. “Iain, I don’t see anything.”

  “Exactly my point. There on the wall—that’s where he kept that painting of the cabin.” Iain pointed again to the live feed. “Right above the shattered mug and whiskey glass, by the door.”

  “The painting is right there, Iain.” Michael pointed to the screen. “On the ground. See it? It’s leaning against the wall.”

  Iain shook his head. “That’s not the painting. That’s the copy we made for him at the lab. See, it’s not framed. The real one is gone. Before he left his apartment, he must have taken it off the wall. It’s the only thing he took with him when he left. Not his cell phone, not a jacket, not his keys—nothing. Only the painting. Not only is the painting meaningful to Ben, it’s an obsession. His wife painted it years ago. It’s come up in his dreams during every test. In his dreams we see him standing atop some hill looking down to a clearing in the woods where the cabin sits surrounded by trees.”

  “We still can’t rule out Drapery Falls.”

  “No, we can’t. However, if Ben did suddenly remember everything that happened in Drapery Falls, and not just the little fragments, he would have gone to the authorities. We would have heard something over the wire; the police would be looking for us. This cabin, that’s where he’s heading. I don’t know why he’s going there, but I’m certain that he is.”

  “Okay, okay.” Michael paused to think. “You might be right. Still though, how is Aaron going to find one cabin in all of upstate New York?”

  “He may not find anything, but we’re not searching all of upstate New York. There aren’t thousands of cabins in Sutton Lake. Only dozens, maybe.”

  “So what’s the plan? We’re going to drive six hours upstate, and if Aaron doesn’t find anything by the time we get there, we’re just going to ask around?”

  “Look up Sutton Lake. The population is probably in the hundreds. In a small town like that, we have a better chance asking the locals than finding anything on our own. So yes, that is exactly what we’re going to do, Michael.”

  ***

  Being mindful of the speed limit, Iain and Michael still made excellent time. The sky grew dark as they drove across miles of broad farmlands and homes amidst acres of heavily wooded terrain, until they arrived in Sutton Lake.

  The center of town was nothing more than a strip of old and somewhat dilapidated buildings that might have looked acceptable in the ’60s or ’70s. The popularity of the town plummeted in the late ’80s, after the paper mill just outside of town closed, and the population decreased. Most visitors today describe Sutton Lake as charming and quaint, but Iain didn’t see anything charming about the peeling paint on the storefronts, or the slabs of sidewalk moved askew or broken by ever-widening tree roots.

  They parked and walked into the first establishment they came to—a dusty old watering hole named Tyson’s. After a quick conversation with the bartender and the single patron sitting at the sour smelling ten-seat bar, they moved on.

  There were three bars total in Sutton Lake; a very high number, Iain thought, for such a small town. But he doubted the local residents had very much else to do. They walked a few buildings over to the second bar, looking like tired businessmen, which wasn’t far from the truth. A number of people were gathered around a sand-filled bucket, smoking—a promising sign. They entered.

  On a table by the front door were stacks of local business cards, flyers, and newspapers. Iain glanced them over and picked up a card. They took a seat at the battered wood bar. About a dozen or so middle-aged and older men sat hunched over with their elbows on the spill guard rail, sipping beer from thick mugs and watching the ball game. The regulars looked to have claimed their barstools many years ago. It was exactly the kind of place Iain was looking for.

  The bartender walked over, resting his hairy forearms and large belly on the counter. “Gentlemen, what can I do you for?” He tossed two coasters on the bar that advertised Budweiser on them.

  “I’ll have one of those.” Iain pointed at a coaster.

  “I’ll have the same.”

  “Two Buds.” The bartender walked to the cooler.

  They paid, then after a moment turned to the old man sitting beside them.

  “Yanks tied it up, huh?” Michael asked. “They were down two, top of the inning last I heard on the radio.”

  “Yep, they sure did,” the old man answered.

  Iain knew nothing of baseball, so he let Michael steer the conversation. They bought the old man
a beer, and they all clinked glasses in cheers.

  “Thank you kindly,” The old man said with a genuine air of gratitude.

  “You live here, in Sutton Lake?” Michael asked.

  The man nodded. “Sure do. Born and raised. Guessing you boys are just passing through? There ain’t much to see in Sutton Lake.”

  “How’d you guess?” Michael laughed.

  “Actually,” Iain chimed in, “we’re here on business. We’re investors.”

  “Investors?” The man laughed. “Investing in what, corn? There ain’t nothing to invest in around here.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. We have a meeting with this company tomorrow.” Iain fished the business card he took from the front table out of his pocket. The man squinted to read the fine print:

  Sutton Property

  Upstate New York’s Premier Real Estate

  Iain held his breath. This was the tough part about telling a lie—not getting caught. Did the man work for the company, or did someone else at the bar? Would he know Iain was full of shit? The old man shrugged and looked back at the television. So far so good.

  “We buy properties, fix them up, and then put them back on the market.”

  “Oh, like house flippers. My brother-in-law flipped a few houses in his day. Made some money doing so, but that was ten years ago.”

  “Oh yeah? Maybe you can help us. We’re scheduled to see a cabin tomorrow morning. Got offered a good price. We tried to do a drive-by tonight, but the directions they gave us must be wrong, and there’s no one in the office this late. Even the directions the company gave us to get here, to Sutton Lake, were wrong. We got lost twice. I had to stop at a gas station to get a map. You probably know the local roads better than most.”

  Iain removed a folded piece of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket.

  “Here, this is the cabin we’re looking for.” Iain called Dr. Wulfric earlier, and had him freeze frame an image of the cabin from one of Ben’s dreams and fax it over the mobile fax machine in the trunk of the car.

  The man studied the picture. “Hmm, is that Frank’s? No, not Frank’s.”

  Michael and Iain held their breaths.

  “You got an address? A street name?”

  “Not one that’s right. The address they gave me took us to a dead end.”

  “Hey, Jim,” the man called to the bartender. “This place look familiar to you? These boys are set to buy it.”

  “Well, we’re just checking it out. No decisions have been made.”

  The bartender walked over and glanced at the picture, stroking his chest-length beard. “Nope, sorry.” He shook his head. “Don’t think I know it.” He went back to watching the game.

  “Oh well. I’m sure we’ll get there just fine.”

  Iain took a sip from his beer. For a moment, things had looked promising. They stood to leave.

  “Thank you anyway,” Michael said to the man.

  “Nice meeting you, fellas. Good luck with everything. Thanks for the beer.”

  The front door opened and another even older man walked in.

  “Now wait a minute,” said the man at the bar. “Let Stevie here get a look at that picture. He’s worked on just about every house there is in Sutton Lake.”

  Iain stepped aside to let the slow-moving man take a seat at the bar.

  “Stevie, you know this place? These boys are looking to find it. They’re investors from the city. Got bad directions.”

  Did I say we’re from the city? Iain loved how stories had a way of perpetuating themselves.

  Iain unfolded the picture. Steve just glanced upward. “Sure, that’s Betty Kruger’s old place. She died a few years back; don’t know what’s going on with it now. Haven’t been up there in, gosh, I don’t know how long. Fixed the water heater for her, back, oh, maybe ten years or so ago, maybe more.”

  The blood in Iain’s veins pumped like rapids.

  “So you know where it is then?”

  “Sure, I know where it is. I used to know Betty Krueger, going back, oh, gosh, maybe ten years or so. I fixed the water heater for her back then.”

  Iain and Michael exchanged glances.

  The bartender walked over. “Hey, Stevie.” He placed a brownish looking drink on the bar.

  “Dewars and soda, Jimmy.”

  “I know, Stevie; I know.”

  “Let me get that,” Iain said, his hand going to his wallet. “On second thought, I think we’ll all have another round.”

  Chapter 24

  Ben’s eyes fluttered, and then they opened.

  There was no present moment. There was no later and no before. No time or reality. All was black and then it wasn’t. He blinked. One eye seemed to go one way, and the other did not quite follow. His eyelids flickered and strained, and he focused until his vision cleared. He was staring at the heavens above. A grey sky. The sun lost behind a sea of clouds.

  Where am I …?

  The tops of trees swayed in a light wind, and there was a face looking down at him. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

  “Shhh,” she said. “Rest.”

  So he did.

  When his eyes opened again, he was staring up at the same sky, only time must have become relevant again, because the grey clouds were now dark with the coming of night—or perhaps they were growing light with the coming of morning. Ben didn’t know how much time had passed. The same face was looking down at him: Emily, kneeling by his side. He was aware his head was on her lap. The warmth coming from her legs made him realize the rest of his body was very cold. His feet and hands were numb, tingling with spikes of pain like pinpricks. His fingers felt swollen, like he was wearing thick gloves, and he didn’t think he could form his hands into fists.

  “Emm …” The mucus in his throat hindered words from escaping. He coughed. The skin around his nose felt tight.

  “Emily.”

  “Shhh,” she said. “Relax.”

  “I don’t … I can’t get up.”

  “Yes, you can. Just take your time.”

  Slowly he did, pushing himself up to a sitting position, and sat there for several minutes as waves of dizziness lapped over him. He coughed hard into his palm, and a ball of mucus came loose. He spat in the dirt and saw blood.

  “Emily … what happened?”

  “You fell, Benjamin. But you’re okay now.”

  He didn’t remember falling. He didn’t remember much of anything. One minute he was walking and the next minute he was opening his eyes.

  “Is it … am I okay?” He scratched the dry skin around his nose, flaking away pieces of dried blood. “Did I … have a seizure, or something?” Each word caused his head to throb. It throbbed as if he’d just meditated for an hour, or read an entire novel in one sitting. Reality was clouded—seemingly cartoonish—any movement followed by dull aches.

  “You’re fine now, Ben. Try getting to your feet.”

  He wasn’t sure he was fine; however, he couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t. He pushed himself up. His legs trembled and gave out, and he fell to his knees.

  “It’s okay, Bennie. It’s okay. Take your time.”

  The air smelled strange here, thick and awful—like shit; the air smelled like dirt and shit. He gagged and pushed himself up, steadying his nerves and muscles. The world wobbled under his feet.

  Emily asked, “How are you feeling?”

  “I … don’t know.”

  “Can you walk? We have a lot of ground to cover.”

  “I don’t know.” Thinking was hard, and answering questions was even harder. The tip of his tongue felt swollen and too large for his mouth.

  Ben looked at the crude path in the woods. The trail was overgrown and long untraveled. People just didn’t go into the woods as often as they once had. He took a few deep breaths, listening hard for the stream they were following before he collapsed. Somewhere out of sight, he could hear the gentle flow of moving water.

  Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe o
ut …

  He twisted his body from side to side; his bones and muscles popping and cracking, and he looked off into the woods, through the vertical slats of the dense trees.

  “Wait, who’s that?” He jumped, pointing behind him. There was a man standing several yards away, nearly invisible through the thicket. “Emily,” he whispered. “Emily, there’s someone there. Look.” The man was facing the opposite direction, walking slowly away. All Ben could see of the man was the back of his head. “Emily?”

  She hesitated. “That’s no one, Ben. There’s no one there. We have to keep going.”

  “But … am I imagining him? Do you know him?”

  “It wouldn’t matter if I did. Come on now.” She grabbed his shoulder and Ben nearly fell over.

  “Give me a second.” He looked back at the man, who stopped walking and stood staring off. A low noise rumbled through the air at a barely audible frequency, echoing in Ben’s eardrums.

  For a moment—just a moment—the confusion and fog that enveloped his senses cleared away.

  What the hell is going on? Jesus Christ, what’s happening to me?

  And then a thought popped in his head that he did not know he was thinking:

  If only Sophia were here.

  He was shocked and guilt ridden that he thought it. And even more shocked that he hadn’t thought about her at all since … how long has it been? He was further shocked when he realized that he hadn’t thought about anything—anything at all—since Emily first appeared. The last few hours, maybe days, weeks, was all a blur.

  “Let’s go, Ben. Don’t look at him.” Emily’s face was pursed with anger and something else—fear? The rumbling in his ears became louder, and slowly, he placed one foot in front of the other, and began to walk in the opposite direction. The rumbling grew in intensity and frequency, and his ears started to ring in pain.

  “Jesus Christ!” Ben covered his ears, and dropped to his knees. And just as suddenly as it started it stopped. The ringing went away, and the fog returned to blanket his mind.