Loe raamatut: «Dream a Little Dream»

It began, as it almost always did, on the sand. Black shifting sand sprinkled with glittering shells that Mariella didn’t bother to pick up. They’d probably fall into dust at her first touch. She let her feet sift through the sand, cool though the greenish sun overhead blazed in a purple-tinted sky.

This was the Ephemeros. The land of dreams. And for the moment, Mariella was still alone, though she knew that could and would change at any moment.

For now, though, it was enough to lift her face to the scent of salt water blowing off the black ocean. The breeze blew her long white dress around her ankles and molded it to her thighs. It lifted her hair, which fell to her hips, longer than she wore it in real life, but the same dark red as her waking self. Tonight she was representing almost exactly as she really looked, at least so far. Though who knew what the night would bring?

She always started here on the sand because in the waking world, she lived too far from the ocean to make it a daily trip. At least in dreams she could always find the sea. Breathe it in. Bathe in it. Cool blue tropical waters, frigid green depths, or this, the black and violet swirling, heated waters now lapping at her toes. If she waded in, she’d be buoyant. Floating. Her hair would spread out all around her, delicate as spider’s filament, and her white dress would turn transparent. She could drown in a sea like that. Drown and be reborn.

But not tonight.

Tonight, Mariella had other things in mind. She’d spent the day at work, then running errands, hitting the gym. She’d been a good daughter and checked in on her parents, who lived a few hours away, and paid her bills. Cleaned her bathroom. By the time she’d slipped into bed, her eyes had already been closing. She deserved a night of fun and intended to have one.

“Music,” she murmured. “Dancing.”

She hadn’t been dancing in the real world in months, not since she’d gone clubbing with her best friend, Janice, to celebrate their birthdays, only a week apart. They’d spent the weekend in Baltimore, hitting up the Power Plant Live’s multiple bars. Janice had been drunk enough to ride the mechanical bull in one of the clubs. Mariella had taken pictures that they’d laughed themselves silly over the next day, but though they’d danced with a bunch of different men, they’d gone back to their hotel room with only each other.

Mariella hadn’t had a date in six months or so. Too busy at work, no good prospects... She had a lot of excuses, but a big part of the truth was that it was hard to find someone in the waking world. Hard to make it work. At least in dreams she could, as Adam Ant had said, get in, on, down, off, up, dressed and out. No hassles. No worries.

No love, either, though.

Mariella had never even come close to exploring the entire Ephemeros, but she’d learned that there were a few places in the dream world that stayed constant. Built by the collective unconscious, the decor and locale might appear different from visit to visit, but the place itself would always be the same. One of them was a dance club. Sometimes it looked like a discotheque. Sometimes, an industrial club. Others, an Irish pub, a WWII-era dance hall, and once, Mariella had found it as a ballroom in a Jane Austen–type country estate. But there was always music and dancing, always people looking for romance. It wasn’t one of her favorite places to explore in the Ephemeros, but she knew how to find it, and tonight it would be just the place to get what she was looking for.

Sex. Straight up, plain and simple, nothing complicated or too kinky. Just some good old-fashioned fucking and a half-dozen or so orgasms. Her expectations weren’t too high, Mariella thought with a laugh as the landscape in front of her changed according to the push of her will. The sand in front of each step became clear glass that formed a path snaking through the beach and toward the jagged Cimmerian mountains in the distance. Getting to the dance house wasn’t so much about following a path as it was about following a feeling.

She could’ve imagined a car for herself. Or a horse. A unicorn. Hell, Mariella could’ve flown to the dance club if she wanted to, but at the moment she was content to walk. One foot in front of the other, and though the distance she traveled was much farther than it would ever have been in the real world, it took her only a few steps before she’d almost reached it. The landscape changed as she walked. She could’ve shaped it herself, but instead let it morph on its own. She liked to see what the dreamers did.

This dreamer in front of her now stood on the side of her path and kept his gaze focused toward the ocean. Not the dance club. He wore a pair of khaki cargo pants and a white oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A thick brown belt matched his heavy brown work boots. He didn’t wear a fedora or have a gun or a whip curled on his belt, but it was clear he was representing as some kind of adventurer in the style of Indiana Jones. She found him utterly charming, though not exactly what she was looking for.

Still, he was the only one in the dreamscape with her at the moment, and definitely a dreamer, not a shaper. Mariella had learned to pay attention to being the only shaper in the dreamscape. She’d met other shapers who believed it was their duty to help out the dreamers who needed them to guide their dreams, but she usually tried to avoid that task.

“Hello,” the man said as she passed.

Wary, Mariella nodded. “Hi.”

“You should be careful,” the man said mildly, using his chin to point at a place somewhere off the path. “Someone over there is dangerous.”

Though there was very little in the Ephemeros that could truly hurt her, at least not permanently, Mariella paused to look in the direction he’d pointed. “What are they doing?”

“I’m not sure.” The man gave her his full attention. He had kind, greenish-hazel eyes and thick dark hair. A little silver glinted at the temples, a nice touch and probably close to, if not exactly how he looked in the waking world. People who represented to assuage their vanity never gave themselves gray hair or wrinkles like the ones crinkling at the corners of his eyes now when he smiled at her. They made themselves taller, too, she thought as she eyed his height, an inch or three taller than her five foot five. “Hi. I’m Butler Meadows.”

Mariella laughed. “Oh. Okay.”

He tilted his head to look at her, eyes narrowing, but not in a mean way. More like he was used to getting that reaction. “It was my mother’s maiden name.”

“Oh,” Mariella repeated, surprised. “It’s your real name.”

“Of course it’s my real—” Butler began, but in the next moment the low, purring rumble of something curled out at them from the darkness.

Something big.

Without waiting, Butler grabbed her elbow and pushed her behind him. Mariella, taken off guard, stumbled a bit, but quickly gained her balance. She wasn’t scared, not really. If this was going to be a nightmare, it wasn’t hers but his, and she’d just been unfortunate enough to be passing by. She could make it go away, if she tried hard enough, by gathering her will and pushing and shaping. Or she could duck away and leave him to it.

It was sweet, though, how he’d tried to protect her. And he still was, standing up straight to block whatever was coming toward them. Mariella peeked over his shoulder, expecting a tiger, maybe. Or a leopard. Some sort of jungle cat to match his adventurer’s outfit. What came out of the darkness, backlit by the distant glow from the dance club she’d been trying to reach, was something else altogether.

“Holy shit,” Mariella said. “What in the holy fuck is that?”

“Monster,” Butler told her in a low voice.

She could see that, no doubt. The thing shambling from the shadows stood at least ten feet tall. Its fingertips brushed the ground, occasionally providing support to the creature as it loped along almost on all fours before standing upright again to scent the wind. Thick plated skin sloughed off as she watched, leaving behind suppurating bands of flesh. The stench was horrible. The monster glared at them from red, oozing eyes writhing with maggots, and its mouth...

“Oh, God, what a horror.” Mariella shuddered, even as she had to admire the imagination that had put that thing together. “Disgusting.”

“It feeds on the souls of the guilty,” Butler said in a dreamy, dazed voice.

“Are you going to fight it?”

He looked at her as though she’d snapped him out of his reverie. “What? Hell, no! You can’t fight that thing! If you’ve ever done anything wrong, one thing, even something minor, it will rip off your face and feast on your guts!”

Mariella could never claim not to have done anything wrong in her life, but this beast wasn’t hers. It had come from Butler’s brain, and therefore couldn’t possibly have any idea what Mariella had done or not. Still, she took a step backward.

“So...what are you going to do, Butler?”

“We run,” he said in a low voice. “I hope you can run.”

“Of course I can run.”

He glanced at her. A slow grin tipped his mouth, crinkling the corners of his eyes again. He was a lot better-looking than she’d thought upon first glance. In fact, Butler was downright handsome.

The monster dug its claws into the earth, its body hunching as the powerful legs twisted. It let out a long, purring roar that sent another blast of stink toward them. Then it launched itself toward them.

“Run!”

Mariella ran. She didn’t stop to see if Butler was following her—this was his dream, and if he got eaten by the monster, he’d wake up anyway, leaving her behind with nothing but empty space. So, why was she running?

Because, she thought with a glance behind her, when a monster chased her, even if she knew it wasn’t real, she ran.

“This way!” Butler grabbed her hand and pulled, leading her over a small, sloping hill that hadn’t been there before.

Mariella hadn’t made that hill, which meant it had come instead from Butler’s subconscious. She had time to note that as interesting before she crested the hill and started down the other side. Much steeper on this one, and jagged with rocks. She’d been barefoot while walking on the sand, but with a small shift of her will, she now wore knee-high black boots with thick, ridged soles. Instead of the white flowing gown she wore black cargo pants and a black tank top—she was now her own version of an adventurer. But Mariella also had a weapon, a serrated hunting knife in a sheath on her belt. It bounced as she ran, and she couldn’t remember shaping it into existence.

Maybe Butler had done it for her the way he’d built this hilly, rocky terrain that made it hard for them to run, but also kept the monster from catching up to them. Mariella looked at him, trying to sense if he’d added to her outfit, but there was too much going on for her to concentrate. Instead, she gave herself up to the running and the jumping, letting her body work in ways it never would in real life, no matter how many hours she spent at the gym. She let out a yell, prompting an answering screech from the monster in pursuit and earning her a startled look from Butler.

“What are you doing?”

She wanted to tell him that it would all be all right, that it was only a dream, but before she could, the terrain changed again. They’d been running toward the dance club that had been her original destination, but Butler wasn’t focusing on that place. The mountains that were always in the distance had caught his attention, and he tugged her that way. The club beckoned her, fairy lights in the sky and the beating throb of some really great techno she could feel in her pulse points even at this distance. She could duck away from Butler’s nightmare and head back to what she’d been seeking, the heat and press of flesh on hers. A hungry mouth and hands. She’d started the night wanting to get laid, not star in some B-movie scenario that looked like it could end in an explosion of severed limbs and a river of gore.

“It’s only—” Mariella began, but stopped herself as Butler slipped on a patch of pebbles and went sprawling.

A dream.

But dreams were powerful business, even if you weren’t able to shape them. Maybe particularly when you couldn’t, because being able to control the Ephemeros meant never having a nightmare you didn’t build for yourself. Butler was a dreamer, not a shaper, and the pain he’d be feeling in his scraped and bleeding palms and knees would be as real to him as anything that had ever happened.

He rolled, scrambling to his feet just as the monster leaped past Mariella and took a swipe at him. The thing’s claws shredded Butler’s shirt and caught the flesh beneath, opening it in long, thin stripes that quickly swelled with crimson. Butler ducked away from the monster’s next swing, but staggered and went down again.

“Hey!” Mariella screamed, turning the creature’s attention to her. “Hey, ugly!”

She waved her arms, dancing away so that it would follow her and not go after Butler. One problem. This was Butler’s dream, Mariella a player in it, and clearly he was meant to be the hero of his own story. The monster gave her no more than a sniffle and a glance before lunging toward Butler again. This time, the monster’s swiping claws took out a chunk of Butler’s thigh, sending him to the ground again.

She had two choices. Leave him to his battle and try to sneak in at least a dance or two before the morning came. Or, help him fight. She chose to fight.

With a simple shift of her will, a sword formed in her fist. Big enough to stab a monster in the back, it broke on the first blow, but that didn’t matter. The thing gushed black blood and reared to face her, its reaching claws snagging and tearing her clothes before she could stumble away. From behind it, Butler rose with a weapon of his own. He stabbed the monster in the side, sending another spurt of smoking blood that sizzled and dissolved the rocks beneath them. The blow barely stopped the thing, which had grown bigger, its body changing into something even more hideous, if that were possible.

Side by side with Butler, Mariella touched the shreds of her tank top and watched the thing in front of them open its jaws wide, wide, wider. Jagged teeth lined the gaping maw, and it would hurt like a son of a bitch when it bit them. Even though she knew the pain wasn’t real, she’d still feel it.

“Shit,” she cried. “This is not how I’d wanted to spend the night!”

Butler gave her another of those startled glances that told her he hadn’t planned on anything like this, either. Without a second thought, Mariella grabbed him by the hand and yanked him backward a step. Then another.

“Run,” she told him. “Run as fast as you can.”

And they did, leaving the monster behind them as the gravel road became grass and then sand and then dirt, and finally, rocks again as they reached the base of the mountains Mariella had never been able to get to before. There, a cave. Convenient, she thought, unsure if it was her will or his that had formed it, only glad for the chance to duck inside shelter and escape the horror that was chasing them.

Of course there was a small internal waterfall, the water cold and crystal-clear and lit by pale green phosphorescence. Of course there was soft moss on the cave floor. And of course when the two of them stared at each other, both of them panting, heat rose between them that offset any chill a real cave would’ve had.

“Let me take care of that.” Mariella pointed at his wounds. They were scabbing over, half-healed already. That was the way of dreams.

Butler let her strip him out of his tattered shirt, and when she dipped the cloth in the cold water to wash away the blood from his very, very warm skin, he shivered. They stared at each other in that weird half-light, and Mariella’s heart skipped two beats. This close, she could smell him. Rainwater. Dirt, but not mud. Butler smelled like a garden ready to be planted.

She put her hands flat on his chest to feel the thunder of his heart beneath her palm. He drew in a breath. Hers shivered out of her.

Of course, they leaned toward each other to kiss.

And of course, her alarm blared, waking her up.

* * *

Butler was late to the morning meeting.

He was never late to work, barring natural disasters or unexpected traffic that hadn’t been reported. This morning, however, he’d been so tired he must’ve shut off his alarm without realizing it. He’d woken twenty minutes late, rushed through his shower, skipped his morning coffee and daily newsfeed reading he normally did at his laptop while eating breakfast. Now he felt out of sorts, wearing a belt that didn’t match his shoes, and a shirt he hadn’t noticed was missing a button.

“Meadows. Glad to see you could make it.” This came from Lasenby with a smirk.

Like Butler was ever late. Ever. What a dick.

“Sorry,” Butler murmured as he slid into the empty chair next to Kacey. She must’ve saved it for him. He smiled at her. She passed him a copy of the notes.

It was barely worth his time to be there, since Lasenby had already covered everything for the week’s assignments. Of course he’d put Butler on a team that was most egregiously behind—allegedly to help bring the team up to speed, but mostly because Lasenby was a jerk who’d decided after the office holiday party last year, when Butler hadn’t laughed at his sexist jokes, that Butler needed to somehow be taught a lesson. It had been all shit assignments since then, along with snide comments on his work, even though Butler had never been marked lower than a nine and a half out of ten in any of his monthly evaluations. Still, Butler took the assignment with no more than a nod, not giving Lasenby the satisfaction of seeing him be upset.

“You okay?” Kacey asked on the way back to their cubicles.

Butler paused to look at her. “Yeah?”

“Well, you were late,” she said. “You’re never late. I wondered if maybe you were sick or something. I hope not. There’s some kind of nasty bug going around. I hope you don’t have it.”

“I’m fine. Didn’t sleep well. I had...weird dreams,” Butler said, remembering.

“What kind of dreams?” Kacey asked, but he didn’t want to tell her.

That was too personal, like revealing a secret. The idea of Butler being some kind of Indiana Jones was embarrassing enough, almost as bad as the time he’d dreamed he’d asked Kacey to marry him. He’d woken from that one bemused and definitely the opposite of turned on, unlike this morning with the memory of that woman still fresh in his brain. The gorgeous, auburn-haired woman, like someone out of a movie. No. A dream, he reminded himself. She was a dream.