by Lucas Alpay
“How the attack happened?”
Fritz summarized to him the events, suddenly feeling like he was being questioned by, well, an investigator, just like what he had done to Lara.
“A dog, a big one? That’s a myth…” Erik said.
“And he did it in daylight.”
Erik seemed to think, “… I know what you want,” and nodded ever so slightly, “And you’ll have it.”
They talked a little, more about on how Fritz wanted their protectors; would they be strong, big, basically monsters? But in the end, even though Fritz wanted everything that he had suggested, he wanted their protectors to be tactical and fast and stealthy.
“And there’s the question on where they’d be going after all of this is done. Where they’ll be stated with such talents I’d be giving them.”
“Send them to our office, I’ll work for their papers myself if you want.”
And with that, an agreement. They shook hands and Erik said that expect their protectors tomorrow morning. That they would be strong and efficient. Fritz said he was happy to hear it and left the room.
A cigarette between his lips, the battalion of sandmen in his sight, Fritz looked at the field of dark trees and the desolate landmarks be alive tonight. On his ear was his phone. He was ringing Mark. Fritz wanted to check on his friends, to ask if there was another attack. He wondered if they were still alive. Maybe, because if not then there would have been a call from the office earlier, or there could’ve been an update from Erik himself, so there was a strong possibility that they were fine.
“Miss me already?” Mark said with an energized tone.
“By the sound of that I take that there has been no attack,” he said, thankful that he was right.
“Yeah, none last night, but we’re still preparing for later. Shouldn’t be too careful… How about there? I’ve heard there was no attack as well.”
“Yesterday… We still don’t know now. We’re waiting…” he reached for the glass of scotch next to him. “But we were attacked, only me and this girl that has been assigned with me.”
“Attack?”
“Yeah. There was a fucking dog too.”
Chapter 17
There were many things sandmen knew a little about in the world of the elects. One of them was an institution that chose talented people that were capable of creating complex dreams, and sometimes, nightmares. And in that institution they were taught how to create beings of quantity and quality, how to give them talents, and how to control their lucid dreaming efficiently. There were about 160 places like this around the world. Those who knew of them called them many names, but in California they called it an odd one, they called it Mr. Dreamt Asylum.
Erik was going to the asylum to give the one who would replace him as California elect warning, because if this rogue elect could create a nearly impossible combination of quantity and quality of dreams, then he might know about the asylum, he could be a student from it, he could be one of those more gifted than others. The impossible kind. In the back of his limo, he was thinking about if he would grant Fritz access in entering the asylum. Only a few dreams, or in this case ‘kinds of dream’, were allowed in such halls. Those who were allowed were the teaching kind, the nurturing kind, the moral—all carefully chosen to provide an exemplary training for all the next elects. They were the Yin, and the sandmen were the Yang in their secret world.
With his eyes looking outside the road, and his palm over his face, he thought of what he would say to the one who would inherit his position. He didn’t know how that child would react because her mind wasn’t of a child in the first place. She was this person that some people would say had an old soul, wise beyond her years (a trait that could be from her mother). And that was the main thought why Erik had chosen her: someone that was preemptive, and moral, someone that had no problem in deciding the right thing, of choosing between the lesser of two evils. Basically, she wasn’t a bad person, unlike him, an old man who couldn’t control his urges with the young dreams. Oh yes, he had seen the look on Fritz’s face, his disgust. But it was his nature. Besides, they were not real people, they were figments of his imagination that came true.
He now saw a sign saying ‘one-mile to Mr. Dreamt Asylum’, and with that he readied himself on their meeting like a boy emitting politeness in a counseling schedule with the psychiatrist.
Once they were there, they parked on the side of this castle-like building. It looked like one of those manors that had been converted into a prison estate. There were even bars on its entrance. Yet all of them were just a complex con.
Leaving his chauffeur in the car, Erik walked towards the archway and pressed the call button. A nurse then welcomed him with a good morning and opened the barred door. She was a dream, all the employees in this building were dreams; the janitors and the doctors included. Even the gardener, for that matter.
They passed a hallway that was both dark and bright, the light was coming from these yellow light bulbs on the ceiling, they were dim and covered with cobs both old and new. On the end of this hall, Erik could see another barred door that had a big sign saying no trespassing. There was also a guard sitting near it, he was reading a newspaper and seemed to be deeply in thought with it.
The nurse smiled at the guard and called for his attention. The guard stood up and greeted Erik a good day, “how are things in your jurisdiction?” Erik just said they were still the same, he was still surviving.
“Melissa is in the garden,” the nurse just said and instructed Erik to follow her.
Fritz almost cursed on what their protectors looked like as he opened the door that morning. One was tall, the other was small. Both of them were wearing these straw hats that didn’t look (in any way) American, but Japanese, both in the shape of a conical mountain. They were also wearing black shiny masks that had dark-tinted goggles for their eyes. Boots were for their footwear, and for their clothing, gray tattered traveling cloaks. It seemed that Erik had been dreaming of a desert when he made these two.
“Can you speak?” he asked, thinking that with their looks they were mute. Cool assassins in the movies were like that.
“Yes we can,” the tall one said, “we were also given the knowledge of what is happening in the city and yours. Concentrations of talents were gifted to us, specifically killing silently and evading attacks efficiently. The elect told us that after this mission we will be reinstated to your custody, to one of the San Francisco offices. We are expecting that following of contract…”
It seemed to Fritz that his last sentence was incomplete. It was as if there should be an ‘or else’ right around on the last part.
“And you have the right to do so,” he said. “Stay there, I’m just going to change. You go meet the other one you’ll be protecting, her name is Natasha, she is on the door next to the—”
“We have already met her,” the small one said, a voice of a woman. “She’s waiting downstairs for you, and that is why we knocked at your door in the first place. To call you, sir, as ordered by the other master.”
“Nice.” Fritz then hurried, but before that— “What do you want to be called?”
“Cynthia,” said the small one.
“Jack,” said the tall.
There had been no attack, which made Fritz more nervous than before. This could be the silence before the next storm. If he were as powerful as this rogue elect, then he would strike immediately when the enemy was still weak. But it seemed that whoever was conducting these attacks was taking his time. Why? ‘Why’ was always the question here.
And in this silence, he and Natasha took most of the opportunity to interview the last two offices of Los Angeles. They were more confident this time with the two seemingly efficient dreams protecting their lives. Seemingly because he hadn’t seen them in action still, he wanted to but if that happened then there would be a violent event that had the possibility of death in their part, so he took it back and assumed blindly that they were really capable.
They first went to the place where the first attack had happened. It was almost in the heart of Los Angeles, surrounded by people working in true office buildings and fast-food chains and signature branded things.
They met up with the office head and asked the same questions they had asked Bruce. It was all the same. Even the other sandmen they interviewed said the same thing as Lara did (in general terms). They'd seen these black-clad assassins that were very apt in killing. They also had their fair share of killed enemies, but the deaths among them outnumbered it. To balance the situation, the office now was filled with newborn sandmen in training. The old ones were resting in the infirmary, wondering if their amputated limbs could be dreamed once again. Fritz doubted it.
After a few goodbyes and thank-yous, they drove to the next office.
He found her sitting on a bench and reading a thick book, one of those tomes that intellectual adults would commonly read. Old soul. But she was only an eleven-year-old girl; Erik wondered what she could be when she got older. Her hair was dark, her skin fair, and her eyes when they looked at you were thoughtful. Her name was Melissa. There was a woman behind her, she was tall and was wearing a crimson cloak, her skin pale and she had this gray colored pupils. She was blind.
With his hand gesturing a wave, Erik called the attention of this old soul. The girl smiled at him and closed her book, and the woman behind her tilted her head towards Erik’s way.
“Have you thought of fixing Tora’s eyes?” he asked once he reached them. He wanted to ask it for the longest time but couldn’t because she was her dream, and the person’s dream was none of other people’s business. He wasn’t sure why he asked it now.
“I’ve chosen to be blind, master Erik. I can see better with it,” Tora said.
“Yes, she insisted to me and I couldn’t say no.” She giggled. “Help yourself beside me, sir Erik,” she said, patting the place next to her. Erik sat and said thank you. “Why a surprise visit? Is everything okay?”
There were other candidate elects roaming around; a little boy, a teenage girl wearing a T-shirt from a mainstream band, and a boy in glasses dangling his feet while sitting and reading a book on the balcony. Most of them had a dream following behind; they were the prime dreams, created to protect the one who had made them.
“I’m here to update you on what is happening in my state of responsibility,” he looked away, carefully constructing what he would say. “There is a pause in the major attacks, but there has been a minor attack in daylight. I’m afraid that this elect is possibly staying in Los Angeles. I’ve already hired an investigator to deal with it, but I think… I feel… this person is after me.”
Melissa held her book closer. “Hmmm—then why he attacked San Francisco too? He could take San Mateo, there are many sandmen there unlike here. Or why not Palo Alto? All the older sandmen are there, correct? They are more powerful, more skilled, and they know most of the secrets of the elects.”
And right there, Erik thought of something. “I want you to meet someone…”
Chapter 18
A few hours before the sun finally dipped down, they went to the last office, but this time it had a more interesting surprise other than the usual reports Fritz and Natasha had gathered from the last two.
“It’s in the basement,” said the office head, Jacob, a man in medium built that had these aviator glasses even indoors.
He said it as a thing, it, and Fritz suddenly and somehow questioned how they were different from it. It was a dream just like them, a creature that came from a human mind, from imagination and fantasy. But when they reached their destination, ‘it’ was the right call for the dream.
It was in chains, it was guarded by sandmen with huge muscles with even larger guns and swords. But the dream didn’t struggle, it just sat there, meditating while the chains surrounded it in a whirlpool-like way. There was blood on the floor, and it could only be its. No creature with intellect could stay calm like this. The characteristics described by earlier reports were close to perfect. It was wearing a mask made with the likeness of a smiling face of a man, a samurai helmet was its protection for the head, and other than that it had no armor, only black cloth was covering its torso and lower body. Its arms and legs were wearing leather, all in which snugged tightly around each lower extremity. It really looked like a ninja. Fritz thought that it seemed that people here preferred assassin because the term Ninja had been Americanized not in a good way, and maybe they would laugh if they would also call it Ninja (just like what he and Mark had done). That’s capitalization for you, thought Fritz.
With focus suddenly coming back to them, the sandmen stood straighter and sat properly as Jacob presented the assassin to Fritz and Natasha and their equally scary masked bodyguards. It was Natasha who was in the lead, and Fritz was the one who was now falling behind. This was on purpose. He had promised her earlier that he would give her a shot in interrogating someone, but this time that someone would be called an IT.
“May I?” Natasha asked Jacob with that small smile and those heavenly eyes. Jacob had no choice but to say yes.
“But I must warn you, Miss Natasha,” called Jacob. “It doesn’t talk—”
“You tortured it?” Fritz asked, his eyes not leaving how Natasha was approaching the assassin. Behind him, Cynthia and Jack seemed to be flustered.
“We did… and cooperation seems to be in no place in this dream’s lexicon.”
Natasha sat on her feet a safe distance from it. “Can you talk?” she asked as if she were talking to a monkey that abruptly attained human intelligence, not a toddler, but that—that was how she sounded to Fritz.
The assassin’s head moved towards her way. Natasha was still steady, not intimidated on what was in front of her. “Can you understand me?” she asked again.
“I do,” it said.
Everyone gave their own gesture of surprise, Fritz included. Natasha then looked behind her and flashed everybody a face that basked with glory from what just happened. Beginner’s luck, Fritz thought in spite.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“I’m born without a name, but in my mission, I found these words on… billboards… I chose my name for myself… Penny, I want to be called that.”
She nodded. “Okay, Penny, who sent you?” the question was in a tone of an equal measure of a good cop and bad.
“I cannot tell who he is, but I can tell that what he is doing has a purpose, how even small and random. His attacks are just a small part on what is about to happen.” He paused, he moved his head as if he were searching for something in his mind. “I think I’m also allowed to say that he was once good, a dreamer that would like to make things better, to help all the elects and sandmen be free, to live a whole life, a life that they want with each other or with humans… but something went wrong, something caused by the same people he wanted to do nothing with but good.”
“Is there any way you can tell us where he is?”
“… He is near.”
It was exactly 6:47 when the sun disappeared, and it went down in a sick orange, turning the sky a confusing red and violet. This was the time when Erik got back home, when the hours got closer and closer to the sleeping world. He wondered if there would be another assault tonight; he wondered if this villain would penetrate the walls he had built for himself and his dreams.
At first he’d thought that whoever was doing this against their secret society was weak, was just playing to prove something, but not now, not in this current moment. He had no reason to stop thinking he was weak, but something deep down inside was telling him that there would be something big coming. Bigger than anything in their history.
The attacks were at first chaotic, but as the time of attacks unfolded to him in his city, he was seeing a pattern. This rogue elect was getting close, nearing him. And what if he reached him, what then? What did he want of him? Only a few things an elect would want in this world, commonly they were the things that one could
only feel, never touchable, never physical. Elects could dream up money of quality, they could dream up lust in the form of Adonis-like men or nymph-like women to fill the void of their need for love. If they wanted someone to take care of, they could dream of children in the most detail possible, complete with personality and the talent to age with them. They could be anything… so, to think of what an another elect could possibly want from him, it was horror. It gave him the fear of the unknown, a fear that was drilling his insides until he hurt.
Then the clock turned 7:39, the darkness completely covering the whole city. He could now see his home, darkened by trees and the landmarks he had dreamt. The gates were opened by the sandmen he had kept for himself, and their car entered with the upper headlight alight. There would be no escaping now, a thought he gave himself as he saw the moon, floating and glowing like a light that could never be reached.
When he went down the car, he was assisted inside by the Giant Man. He needed him close now, if ever the rogue elect finally reached him there would be someone to protect him, to die for him.
Once they entered the welcoming quarters of the Mansion, Erik laid his eyes on Cynthia, Jack, Fritz and Natasha discussing about using the fantasia. When they saw him, they straightened up and suddenly stared at him with inquiring eyes.
“What is it?” Erik asked.
Fritz stood up. “We brought here a dream created by the rogue. We’ll be using the fantasia on him.”
“Okay. What are you waiting for?” he said.
“I just want to know something first…” he stopped, his movements almost apologetic.
“What?”
“Can a dream have a soul?”
He got the thought, its meaning, but it immediately went out of his head. Can a dream have a soul? he repeated in his mind to keep the words. He wanted to tell them that that question didn’t matter because it was a joke, absurd, nothing but fairytales made by romantic sandmen and dreams in the institutions.