A Dreamer's Nights

Our thanks to Patrick Childress, who has graciously allowed us to share here the first chapter of his psychological thriller/dark fantasy novel, The Dreamer's Nights. 

 

 

1

 

Awake, Asleep, Dreamer, or dream; these things mean little anymore.  There comes a point when the distinction fades into the fog of rationalization. Shapes and shades of physical reality drunk on fermented dreams hold no comfort for me. 

Am I awake? 

Is this reality? 

Does it truly matter? 

It did in the beginning.  In the beginning it was all that mattered.  I was a man no longer of flesh and blood, but one of questions without answers.  My mind was wound so tight with seeking truth that a simple precognition, or guiding voice; a single word changed everything.

"Hello."

I almost cried out in fear, at the abrupt disruption of my train of thought, and invasion into my space.  My heart raced, as my eyes searched the clearing for my unexpected company.  I felt the blood roaring in my ears, and my mind rapidly replaced all of my current thoughts with the dusty files from my archive on conversation.

"Hi." I said quietly, and sent a shallow wave in the general direction of the voice.  I saw movement, and quickly narrowed my focus.

"Isn't it all grand?"  A slender figure stepped into the clearing, with arms spread wide.  She spun, and tilted back her head.  Her black skirt lifted slightly, revealing black, laced stockings.  Her straight, red hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, and leapt as she swirled beneath the vast cosmos.  She looked like a gothic fairy, and to this day I still picture her with gossamer wings...

When I think of her...

"What, the sky?"  I found myself instantly attracted to her, though the night veiled her features.  Her steps carried her fluidly through an aura of warmth.  I warned myself not to chase her off, acting stupid.

"No, that's a little too grand," she answered, looking at me intensely.  "Focus lower."

"You?"  I could not restrain a sheepish grin.  Admittedly there was nothing grander within my sight.

"No (but I like where you're heading)." she answered with a sly smile.    

"The forest then." I decided, wishing I could see her more clearly, or that she would come closer.  She seemed to read this, and came over to sit beside me, on the lateral tree trunk, just to left of the clearing's center.

"By now, the point is lost, don't you think? Now... what was I talking about? Oh, yes, that's right, your name then?" she smiled, and Found myself lost in her spectral, gray eyes.

"Michael... and yours?"

Her head followed a quickly moving shape that I could not see.  When she turned back around, her eyes, and expression were transformed.  Crystal tears welled to the rim, and she became unfocused, trying to remember.  For much longer than I expected, my answer sat just out of reach.  There, deeper than the hum of the Earth, I sensed a sadness like I had never experienced.  It quickly faded, and the girl I felt I always knew, and only just met returned.

"Anya," she said, seeming more to have decided this, than remembered it.

"What has brought you out, on such a cold night?" She asked, folding legs, and turning to face me fully.  I found myself struggling not to follow the tangle of her legs to their source.

"I...um..." I jerked my gaze up to her eyes, realizing that I had indeed been pursuing my curiosity.  "I come here to think.  Being all the way out here helps."

"Doesn't seem to me as though you need any help; quite the opposite in fact.  You know, if you let it, your thinking can be done for you?" 

"I don't like that mentality."

"What mentality?"

"Exactly." I answered, amused with my own cleverness only as long as it took to realize that she could have been insulted by my words..

"Dear, Jade, you need to relax." she sighed, at last. 

"What?" 

"What?  Did I spit?" she answered, covering her mouth, suddenly self-conscious.

"What?" I repeated.

"You know, sometimes when you talk, you spit? I don't know.  I don't have conversations like this every day, you know."

I shook my head, and blinked twice. "You mean you don't walk up to complete strangers in the forest, just before dawn every day?" 

"I just don't talk to..." she paused, searching for an appropriate word, or making one up, I was not sure which. Slowly, I found myself wondering about her sanity.  "...People." she decided, was the best word.

"I'm offended."  I declared jokingly.  "Don't put me in with that bunch."

Anya seemed lost in the sights and sounds of the forest.  Her eyes were wide with awe, as though she had never seen such beauty.  She followed invisible objects with her eyes, and rubbed the dead bark of the fallen maple as though it were a pet.

"Well, if you don't talk to people, who do you talk to?" I asked, when she failed to respond.  I feared I had upset her, and cursed myself for my pitiful social graces.

"The others," she answered distantly. "Such things don't happen there."

"What, no one spits where you live?"  She is crazy, I decided, and oddly enough felt more comfortable in her company.

"I think we've spoken enough about me, dear, Jade."  She became suddenly focused and turned to me.

"That!"  I jumped on the opportunity.

"What?"

""Dear, Jade", you've called me Jade twice now. I wasn't sure what you had said at first, but I heard it that time."

"I did not.  Besides, you didn't answer my question."  She crossed her arms in defiance.  There was a mischievous sparkle in her eyes that I found irresistible.

"What question?"

"I don't know.  How am I supposed to keep up with these things?"

I looked at her, not knowing how to respond. I was not sure how to take her. She did not react in any discernible pattern.  Perhaps she was mocking me.

"You know, I don't think I've had a conversation this good in years."  Anya informed me, out of nowhere, adding to my suspicion of mockery.  A slight hesitation hinted at uncertainty.

"I don't even know that I've followed this conversation."  I muttered under my breath.  I wondered about the time.  The sky remained very dark, as if no time had passed, and the morning would not come. I wondered if I should sit and talk with her until the sun rose.  I considered the ideal of two strangers meeting in the dark of night, far from the world, and falling in love.

Love?  I criticized the dreamer within for putting such hope in fantasy.  Past interactions with women warned me of my poor emotional strength, and Anya, (if not insane) was most certainly the type to play mind games with me.

"What?"  Anya asked, quickly turning back to me, having been lost, as I had been, inside her own world.  For this, I felt suddenly closer to her.

"Oh, I didn't say anything," I responded. Maybe she wasn't crazy.  Perhaps she found it hard, as I did, to interact with others.

"Yes that's how it is," she answered my thought, or perhaps one of her own.  Cautiously, I examined her anew.  I looked into her eyes, and found innocence, desperately craving understanding, and the mournful song of one whom has dealt too long with the harsh world alone.

She turned abruptly and said, "Well, I guess we should just get down to business then."

"What business would that be?"

"How much do you know about all this?"

"All what?"  Now I became concerned that perhaps she had expected to meet someone else in that dark and empty night.

"Are you not him?"  My heart sunk.

"Not who?"

"You looked the way I pictured you, or is that because I pictured you?"  Anya looked around the clearing at the trees, and tall grasses.  When she returned again to me I could see that same sadness welling up in her eyes, as though she could not remember something important, or she remembered and it was too painful to think about.

"Look, don't take offense here, but I don't think I've understood a single thing you've said this entire time." 

"And I can't blame you with all of this spitting I've probably been doing."  She turned away, obviously upset with herself.

"Are you trying to make this hard?"  I decided that she was indeed crazy... or playing with me.  For a moment I simply sat and considered the alternatives.  Then, my attention was drawn back to the sprite-like maiden beside me.

They were quiet at first, merely a tremble in her breath.  Then, I noticed her shoulders shake in shades of gray as she cried.  I had truly upset her somehow.

"Are you okay?" I slid closer to her, placing my hand lightly upon her shoulder.  I felt an instant elation in the contact.  It had been a long time since I had actually touched another person. I could feel the warmth of her skin beneath the dress, and longed to explore further with my hands.

"... I mean, you always tell yourself you can..." she said haltingly struggling against her sadness, "... like this silvery veil of delusion, but when you see them... they're all weird.  You hate me, don't you?"

I was struck by her words.  She was truly as intimidated by this interaction as I. "No." I answered honestly, "… A little frightened of you, perhaps."

"That's worse!" she began to twirl her hair and look at the ground, no longer crying at least.

"You seemed like you had a purpose when you came here.  Perhaps, if you told me I could help you out."  I suggested, hoping to change the subject.

"Well, there's only so much I'm supposed to tell." her eyes became drawn to the tree line behind me.

"What are you looking at?"  I turned around to look for accomplices, paranoid that this was some sort of a setup.

"No, we're not there yet."  Her answer was far from reassuring.

"Not where?  Is someone else here?" I turned to look again to the clearing's edge, determined not to be an easy victim.

"Not exactly... I'm making you mad aren't I?" Anya bit her lip, and looked to me sheepishly.  I fought the urge to melt into her arms, as though her attention was worth the tragedy I feared.

"Well, you're being very vague.  It's just frustrating."  I answered honestly, struggling with a rich assortment of conflicting emotions.

"I'll tell you what they told me."

"Who... never mind, just tell me." 

"There are three realms," she recited, closing her eyes, "and the path between them is Asaranne."

Suddenly I knew I was the one she was looking for. "That word..." I said, in shock.

"You ARE the one!"  She grinned ecstatically.  "I was so hoping."

"What is it?"  I could still not get over the reality of my situation.  Pieces of my strange night began falling into place. Earlier that very night the strange word had come into my head so very clearly I had looked it up in a dictionary.

"There will be time for all of that," she said taking my hand.  Everything seemed so surreal.

"Who are you really?"

"Just a child," she told me, and I could see no fault in her gaze, and no tremor in her voice.

"You are certainly not a child.  Who are the others, and why don't you answer me straight?"  I grasped her hand firmly to retain her eyes upon mine.  I felt the familiar anger born of fear and frustration, rising in my stomach.

"I can't walk you down the path!  You must know that at least, dear Jade."  She placed her other hand on mine. "Some of the answers will seem crazy now."

"All of the answers seem crazy now."  I retrieved my hand and turned to the forest. What was going on?  I tried to consider my situation from an outside point, and found no more sanity than through my own eyes.

"You have to trust me, there's time.  Time is all there is..." She placed her palm on my shoulder, and again came the elation of physical contact.

"Wait a minute, you called me Jade again." I said, in sudden realization, turning around.

"Now you're being crazy," she returned with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. 

I sighed, frustrated, but amused.  The evidence was in her knowledge of the word. "Okay, I'll go along with you for now.  There are three realms, you say, but Plato only described two; one of the mind, and one of the physical." 

"Yes," she answered quickly, "and in which one are you?"

I considered her question carefully, at last relaxed with the topic.  I did indeed interact, if only a little, with the physical realm.  After all I had to eat and sleep.  And there was no question that I at least touched the realm of ideal form.  "Both, I think," I decided aloud.

"Then that would make it two facets of one realm, wouldn't it?  Or are you omnipresent?"  She answered again quickly. 

The intelligence of her response threw me, and shook my assurance.  I always assumed that we all existed in many realms at once, and it never even crossed my mind that there was no basis for this ideal.  I felt in my brain, the abandonment of old pathways for new, an almost permanent if subtle change in my rational core.  Something was happening.  It felt like a distant and foggy destination to my train of thought.

"Wait a minute..." I said, trying to trace my thoughts, while an anxious ball burned deep within me, telling me I was close. I was so close.  There are three realms.  One of them must be the realm of the mind, and one of the physical, both of which obviously existed through my interaction with them.  Both could be proven, not so much the physical, as all of our senses are merely thoughts at their root.  I could not exist in both, but I interacted with each.  The physical world could be proven with its consistency...

I caught a sudden flash of light in my peripheral vision.

"Oooh!” Anya blurted.

"What?"  I looked up and around to find that she was watching me.

"Your Isaranne!  I mean... um... go on."  She turned away sheepishly.

"Asaranne," I corrected her cautiously.

"I told you, there will be time."  She turned back around, accepting the opportunity to shift the subject.

"No, you pronounced it wrong... just now."

"Asaranne, and Isaranne are two different things, dear Jade.  One is the definition, and the other is a category." she defended vaguely as always.

"I don't know what to make of you." I told her honestly.  I realized how closely she sat next to me.  My mind shifted to arousing thoughts, and I was finally comfortable enough to allow the dreamer some room. 

"I'm already made." she returned slyly, crossing her arms to shield them from the cold of night.  I felt a hot rush as she inched a little closer to me. "It's getting cold.  Can we make a fire?"

"I don't think so.  This is federal land, we'd get arrested." I sighed, feeling guilty for denying her request.  I searched her eyes for disappointment.  "My car is not too far from here," I suggested trying not to think about the rejection that would come, "I can drive us to some twenty-four hour place for some coffee."

She looked at me, and then looked away.  Both of us remained silent for a long time.  I feared with each moment the rejection that was to surely emerge.  I wanted to say something, anything to reverse my suggestion, and be perhaps a little less forward.

Finally, she looked up to me, through long loose strands of shimmering red.  She bit her lip nervously and asked me if there would be many people there.  I recognized her fear, as I often felt it myself. For some, daily interaction is simple and natural.  For the rest, it is a chore and a constant source of anxiety.

"Probably not too many people this early," I told her.  "But they may get a little busy once the sun rises."

"Okay." she said, and my heart leapt.  The dreamer could no longer be restrained. "But you must leave if I say." she continued, and I of course assented.  Reexamining her, I saw the wild distance in her eyes and the fluid beauty in her slender form when she moved.  Her bangs, slipping from its ponytail, fell over one side of her face

"Just think... a true adventure, just like the others!" she said, suddenly excited, staring at the trees, and grasses lightly veiled in gray.  Her focus turned to me, and for an eternity we sat, gazing into each other's eyes. She seemed closer than she had been. Then, before the dreamer within could even voice an urge, she kissed me.  I felt the velvet warmth of her lips against mine, and, as suddenly as it had begun, she strode away to the path leaving me wanting more.  "Come on, I'll explain some along the way."

Explanations!  I found I had opened a chest and there were two treasures hidden inside.  I sat, awe-struck for a long moment. "Okay." I agreed, still stunned from the sudden shift in our odd meeting.  Then I hopped to my feet and began to pace her.  "Start with Asaranne."

"Oooh, you had to choose the hardest one first." She stepped lightly through the forest along the path, navigating it as easily as I had.  More easily, I noted, tripping over a root and grabbing a tree for support.  My mind was torn between my desire for knowledge, and the desperate need I suddenly felt, for physical intimacy.  Neither part seemed focused on the task of navigation.

"Sorry." 

"Okay, there are three realms (well, I'm sure more than that, but that will just get confusing)... Um... Three..." Anya paused to pick up a stick, and work the branches from it.  She stopped and turned her attention to me saying, "I don't know that I'm the best to learn from."

"You're all I have."  I grinned.

"True..." Anya spun around and began to trek along the darkened path once again.  "After all, I can't expect you to go back and read the book."

"What book?" I asked, suddenly feeling that perhaps there was a solid source to our shared madness.  The dreamer fell victim to my desire to learn, and my attention focused.

"The book of Asaranne."

"So the Asaranne is a book like “Seth’s Cog” or something?"  I searched my memory for titles of my collected philosophical and new age texts. Perhaps I had bought that one. That would explain why I knew the word. On the other hand, the coincidence of her using the same nonsense word I spontaneously verbalized earlier that night seemed pretty amazing.  Perhaps it had been some sort of precognition.

"Seth’s what?"  Anya turned looking at me confused.

It took me a moment to respond, as my mind had slipped into memories of my studies.  I retraced my thoughts to the ones before.  "Never mind... seems to me it’s all fiction anyway."

"I didn't lie!" she protested adamantly, placing her fists on her hips.

"No.  Not you… Seth’s Cog.  It is supposed to be a true journal of a dark priest, but I could never really buy into it. Who knows though, stranger things have happened." I explained quickly, before she could become angry. I wondered, as I often due, if I had missed part of the conversation.  My attention was such a fickle thing anymore.

"Um... okay... Hey, look at the sunset!" Anya stepped from the forest to the top of the marble staircase, and pointed to the horizon.  There, hugging the mountains peeked the first rays of the morning.

"I think that's the sunrise."  I sighed, knowing that the night was finally ending.  I feared that in the day things would change.  I had to go to work in a few hours, and Anya would disappear into her mysterious world.  "... Which probably means that there will be people at the restaurant." I silently cursed my constant enemy time.

"Nope, it’s on the wrong side.  That's the west," she told me, smiling.  I took her denial as a positive sign that she wished to spend more time with me.

"It can't be.  Up here on the mountain, my directions get mixed up a bit, but it's been night all along.  It can't be night again."

"Not me.  I always know my direction, just not my location.  And, besides, it's getting darker."

I again examined the sky.  It did indeed appear as though the sun were slowly dipping below the horizon.  I knew it had to be just a cloud though, or had I blacked out for an entire day?

"How can it be night again, though?  It's obviously been dark all this time." I argued, trying to reason with her.

"Perhaps we needed more time."  She smiled and strode to the passenger side of my car.

 

2

 

Perhaps this is not the beginning.  In many ways it was, but to hope to understand, you must know my place; my mind.  Though I dread the thought of exposing the horror of monotony and denial that had been my life until that magical moment where I met Anya, it must be done. Hopeless as it seems to explain, I must begin earlier that night.

I sat awake, but not awakened.  It seems like forever that I had searched, digging through new age texts, and older lore; studying religions, and picking pieces of each, for my endlessly shifting philosophy.  Nothing fit easily, and each shaped thought had to be trimmed, until the whole of my mind was warped with the chaos of a thousand ideals.  Still I held no manifestations.  Still, reality would not bend to my will.

Occasionally, I conjured up a wild coincidence.  I would cast a spell for healing, and the next day, my cold would be gone.  The exuberance I always felt fell quickly dead when I tried again to accomplish the same goal, and failed.

I blamed my faith.  I accused my willpower.  Often I fell beside my exuberance, praying for an end.

I felt as though I was so close, to something. Cryptic symbols haunted my dreams, whispering truths that I could no more hold in my mind than the world around me. The years measured as months, and I found myself losing connection to the world around me. Withdrawn and awkward, I no longer knew who I was.  I could no longer function in public.

When my studies initiated, I noticed myself being guarded, because the thoughts of novice philosophers can often be taken as madness.  I disguised my distance in a rich facade of the boy I once was.  I had a shell of personality around a blank rationality, constantly searching for that misty something forever out of reach that would secure my beliefs and recognize my ideals.  By then even the facade dropped away, as maturity issues left it useless. That left me only my quests, my dreams, and the distant fear that perhaps it was madness all along.

And this is how I remember it.  This was reality back when I understood what that meant. In truth, reality probably abandoned me long before.  These were the final offenses leading to the war.

It started on my night off, and like many of that life it was squandered on endless pondering.  Philosophy is a potent drug when life is hard.

I stood up, feeling the aches of a back idle for too long.  "It is death I fear," I thought, stepping over a mound of dirty clothes, to the door.  This was no revelation.  At the heart of my quest lived the driving need to know that this is not all.  I had to know that all of my joys and pains; all of my memories and loves would not be simply a few chemicals mixing eventually to evolve into me.  I feared the endless oblivion, and the end of myself.  I feared allowing the injustice of such a teasing taste of the vast, expanding universe.  I wanted a piece of it before I left something that could never end.

I strolled through my cramped and cluttered apartment, reminding myself to clean, as I did every day.  I told myself today would be the day that I began the long task of regaining myself, (also, as I did every day) knowing that the sweet gossamer chimes of lethargy would draw me back into the realm of my mind.

Plato was right.  There were two worlds, one of the mind, and one of the physical.  For me, they would not cross, and I could exist in only one at a time.

Again, an excited pang ran through me, as though my thoughts had brushed that intangible barrier that separated me from my goal.  I felt betrayed by these flashes of comprehension determined to leave me eternally disoriented.  I was so close.

I reached the bathroom, and answered the anxious call of my bladder, lost in a daydream of impending manifestation.  In my mind I could reach the apex of my ideals, and could only be limited by a short attention span.

My eyes crossed the mirror, and the man reflected struck me.  My hair grew long, and stringy, shining, and knotted with neglect.  Grains of whiskers had stretched into a beard.  Fine lines etched from nowhere beside my eyes.

Always I pictured myself as the child I remembered, eager for the changes of nature.  I saw myself innocent and young, striving for an understanding that everyone else seemed to know, or not to care about at all.  I saw an infinite time ahead to achieve my goals and experience my dreams.

There, in the mirror, reflected a warning. There, across from me stood a man with weary eyes and a finite future.  Worse, I saw the man that was to come.  I saw the old dreamer closed away from the world, awaiting his final sleep.

It crossed my mind that, perhaps, while striving to understand death, I was bypassing life. I never even gave myself the choice of observance, and interaction, focused, as I was, on the inevitable.

How long had it been since I felt intimacy? 

Had I ever known the closeness of another's soul?

I was, as always alone.

I removed my tinted goggles, and reality tumbled clearly into view, crushing my sheltered convictions.  A simple glimpse into the mirror assaulted me with a thousand submerged anxieties, never given a voice, never allowed the room to expand. A little piece of the dreamer inside of me died then.

My nose acknowledged the smells of the house. I turned to the mildew-coated shower screen.  Torn and stained vinyl pressed into my feet.  One light bulb of three, flickered, (the only remaining illumination) warning of its imminent demise.  Dirty clothes huddled close to one another in a pile beneath the only towel I owned.

I flushed the toilet, and rushed from the bathroom, as though the outside would present a more hospitable representation of my life. My feet encountered a rich patch of carpet, one of few available spaces to step, and I could not remember if that were its true color, or if I had spilled something there.  The walls bore the yellow stain of nicotine, etched with cracks.  The floor lay decorated with everything, from Camel dollars to discarded pieces of broken CD cases.

I sighed, and began the fruitless ritual of false conviction, picking up clothes and placing them in separate piles.  My mind went over the trivialities of whether I would have enough change for the laundry mat.

Once the clothes were gathered, I discovered how much this little bit of work improved the appearance of my apartment. It frustrated me that the trash in the living room detracted from my recent efforts.  I found myself gathering the trash, and then scrubbing.

At one in the morning, I looked to the clock, cursing myself for wasting my night off.  I felt dirty, and tired, exhausted from my attempt to restore reality as the proper ruler of my world.  Apathy lured me to lapse into relaxation.

I looked to the couch, free of discarded trash, and invariably, I found myself admiring my work around the rest of the apartment.  I strolled between the three rooms that were my castle, straightening, and adjusting as I passed.  I knew that if I sat down, I would be done, and my night would be over.

Thoughts of rest, and apathy drifted away with the success I had already achieved.  I wondered why I had allowed everything to slip for so long.  This was not so hard, after all.

I can see it clearly now in retrospect. There is no need for my enhanced sight. Here was my opportunity.  Here was my final chance to rejoin the world as you know it.  The physical had called to me and I had answered.  Its path stretched out before me with all the joys and pains that such a life could offer.  Even in hindsight, I know it was a path I could never take.  I did not understand how even then, and cannot imagine it now. It seems so alien… so dead.

Before I even noticed the lapse in time, it was nearing four in the morning.  I had accomplished quite a lot in the physical realm.  The clothes sat in their baskets in the hall (not folded but clean, at least).  Once again, the back seat of my car could be seen, no longer disguised with piles of thoughtlessly discarded trash, and random possessions.  Sighing, finally, I could think of nothing more urgent to do than to sit and allow myself the mindless entertainment provided through the television.

While the constant flashing visions across the screen devoured one part of my mind, another part became urgently active, trying to capture the essence of the day.  It seemed truly odd that my initiative overwhelmed my apathy.  The two battled constantly, draining my will (or at least that was my excuse to allow a lethargic victor).  I tried to focus on the impetus that spawned my action.

Slowly it dawned on me that time was of the essence. My actions were symbolic, as reality lured me towards intangible goals.  Some invisible force whispered urgent symbols of action upon me, and a single word.  "Asaranne".

"Asaranne."  I repeated it.  Surely, such a foreign word did not originate within my head.  Soon, I convinced myself that I had merely enunciated a nonsense word, perhaps a label to save this train of thought within my subconscious. I thought that maybe I had even read the word somewhere, as I read often, and rarely researched words I did not know.

Still, a sense of urgency burned like an electric ball in my stomach.  I needed to be somewhere.  My house, around me felt like an alien landscape.  The vacant, open spaces seemed foreign, as my world of late had been cluttered and cumbersome.  Now, with the clutter and mess gone, I found I no longer wanted to be there.  It was perhaps a small epiphany, but the lesson remained within my head; another piece to the endless puzzle that was me. 

Immediately, a destination came to mind, which was no surprise, as it was a place I visited often. My thinking spot resided just a few miles from the city, on a quiet road.  There was a pullover, and a set of stairs up the embankment that seemingly ended in solid forest.  Once you approached closely enough, you could see over the underbrush at the tree line where a clean and secret path led into the dark womb of nature.

In fifteen minutes, I arrived.  To the horizons of my vision, the forest's foliage framed in the vast and open sky.  Fiercely shining stars leapt forward, proclaiming their superiority over the calmly swirling galaxy. 

My mind vaguely framed the constellations in their stick-figure likenesses, but I was no astrologer. Their positions were meaningless to me.  Perhaps, the urgent call I had felt was to remind me of the various occult options left for my study.  I dismissed this quickly.  There is little more to astrology than complicated divinations.  I had delved into it before, but never deeply.  Why contemplate the future when you do not understand the now?

I drew my coat in close, as I strode over to the path, crossing the white, marble stairs, hardly paying attention to the oddity of their placement.  Many days I pondered over their construction in the middle of nowhere, but after a while, I realized that I did not really want to know.  It was better that they retain their mystery in my mind.  I liked to think that there once stood a great mansion lost to time, and guarded by the spirits of its history, forever trapped in their spectral womb.  Better to create my own truth, than be disappointed in another’s.

I paused at the forest’s edge, allowing my eyes the time to adjust to the darkness beneath the foliage.  Leaves rustled quietly in an unfelt breeze. Miles away a car drove down the road. Something roamed the forest on the other side of the highway.  I heard my heartbeat, falling out of its rhythmic pattern at my interest.  Below all of that, just beyond the smallest of ant's footsteps I could hear a deep and calming hum.

I considered the cold, while I waited, and wondered when the leaves would change colors.  Autumn fast approached, and soon I would be captured by the fast paced world of holiday intrusions.  Perhaps, this was the reason for my stomach's churning.  Perhaps, this was the reason I needed hurry.  Goals left idle, at this juncture, would remain so for quite some time.

The trail snaked into the harsh world of silhouettes, fading into complete blackness.  The rich smell of fertile soil filled my nose, and brought the crisp air in my lungs.  My feet fell confidently along the path, memory needing no help from my eyes.  The creek fell behind me, crossed with similar confidence, though a misstep caused the cold water to embrace one foot in the passage.

Then, the forest fell away above me, and the trees stepped in retreat.  An oasis of sky greeted me with its vast, judging eyes, bringing my straining sight back into focus in its light.  Toward the center, just to the left sat the remains of a fallen titan embraced in tall grasses.  Finally, I had arrived.

 

3

 

"I still can't believe it." I said, staring over my coffee, at the window.  The dark of night had indeed descended once again.  I tried to rationalize this oddity, as if it was possible for me to have missed an entire day.  Certainly, though, it was more plausible than time itself shifting back just for us.

Even as I denied it, I felt an excited pang in my stomach, feeling that my destiny was finally rolling out before me.  Long nights dreaming impossible dreams of power and knowledge came to me, and I found myself unable to focus on my insecurities.  This had to be the real thing.

Anya seemed not to have noticed my comment, or was too distressed to respond.  The diner was not crowded, but still she stared in wide-eyed terror at some of the people.  Her attention appeared most of all, to be focused on a truck driver across the room.

Finally, I could take it no more.  "Are you okay?" I asked, taking her hand.

She glanced to me, and then looked into her coffee, allowing her long hair to hide her features.  "Yes." she responded unconvincingly and then looked up to see that I was indeed not convinced.

"What's wrong?  You've been quiet since we got here." I sipped the last of my coffee, and waved to the waitress when I found our pot empty.

"I don't know that I can explain... It deals with my Isaranne." Anya became quiet and cowered back as the waitress approached with a fresh pot of coffee.

"Miss..." I said quickly before she walked away.

"Anything else?" she asked.

"Yeah, do you know what day it is?"  Anya grinned, shielded behind her hair.

“It’s the sixth.”

“No, the day.”

"Oh, it'll be Thursday in a couple of hours." the waitress responded and waited only long enough to accept a thank you before disappearing into the kitchen with our empty pot. 

Still I could not accept that the night had turned back for me.  I began to wonder if perhaps it had been Anya who had actually reversed the clock.  Could it have been day when I left for the clearing?  Perhaps it was my memory that was fogged.

"Do you like the coffee?"  I attempted once again to draw my female companion into my world.

"I don't know, I haven't tried it."  She looked to me sheepishly, and then took a sip.  Anya stared into space, for a minute and then said, "It would be better hot."

"You were explaining earlier about the Isaranne..." I prodded her to continue.

"Yes I was, wasn't I?"

"What exactly is the Isaranne, and why is it a category of Asaranne?"  She certainly was not inclined to give out any free information.  I had a feeling that I would be asking a lot of questions in the next few hours.  I feared that I would annoy her, though she seemed more concerned with the terrifying people around her than our conversation.

"The Asaranne is the connection." she responded as she had before in the car.  "The Isaranne is the connection of the eyes."

"What is wrong with your eyes?" I asked, wishing she would look up so I could gaze into them.

"Nothing, why do you ask?"

"But you said you were having some sort of trouble with your Isaranne..." It seemed every time I was catching on I would get more confused. I had to agree that she was indeed not the best person to teach me.

"No trouble, just not liking what I am seeing."  She said, sneaking a peek at the man at across the room.

"What's wrong with him?"  I wondered what it was to have connected eyes.  Was she seeing through his eyes?  Was she seeing into his mind?

"Nothing, I guess.  It just disturbs me to see the dead ones."

"Dead?"  I almost choked on my coffee.  What was going on?  Was she seeing that this man would die, or that perhaps he wasn't truly there at all? I began once again, to suspect that she was crazy, or that we both were.

"Oooh, now it's too hot!" she blurted, holding her hand to her scalded lips.  I looked at her coffee and saw the steam rolling off of the top.  I wondered when she had refilled her cup, or for that matter, when she had emptied it.

"What do you mean the dead ones?" I insisted.

"He is forever lost in philoma," she said, looking once again to the man, as though he might hear her trembling voice.

"Philoma?  That's a new word, what is it?"  I wondered if I would ever understand what she talked about.  My biggest dilemma seemed the fact that I did not know whether I was truly following my quest for knowledge, or whether I was merely trying to see inside her intriguing reality.

"It's the chair, and the ceiling; the walls and the air.  It's your hand, and your arm, but only half of these things.” she attempted to explain.  I knew I would one day have to teach her to be comprehensible.

"It's the physical then?"  Plato’s duality was all I knew.  I had a fifty-percent chance of guessing correctly.

"That's very close.  I don't know that it could be stated so simply.  I mean I've heard... I remember so little anymore.  Or maybe... I just don't try to remember.  I think I'm out of practice, it’s just so bright in here…" She let out a sigh of relief, as the truck driver got up to leave.  He would still have to pass our table to get to the door, but she was already prepared, having slid all the way into the corner of the booth, away from the isle. 

I found myself even holding my breath as he stepped by, hoping not to attract his attention.  A shadow fell across the table, and I tried not to look up.  The man passed and my rational mind quickly reasoned my fears into simple suggestion.  

"I don't want to be here." Anya said suddenly.  I looked up and around at the restaurant.  A few people populated the various booths and tables. Vague silhouettes moved behind textured, glass dividers.  I wished I could see through her eyes, if just to understand.  I wondered about the horrible things that she had experienced to bring her such anxieties.

"What's wrong?  Are there more dead people?"  I hoped the concern in my voice would mask my disbelief.

"A few... but I... I just want to go."  Tears welled up in her eyes.  I again sensed a deep sadness within her.  She had lost something very dear to her, I decided.

"Okay, just let me get the bill." I told her.  I wondered where we would go.  Perhaps this was the end, and she would disappear into her insane little world. 

I motioned to the waitress, and sipped my coffee.  Anya stared around, wide-eyed at the restaurant with no expression.  A bead of sweat formed on her pale forehead.  She almost glowed with intensity while I awaited the ticket, did not speak again until we stepped out the door.

Anya stopped me in the darkened lot.  "D-do you have a home?" she looked up to me with tear-clouded sight.  There was a tremble in her voice, and I knew she had nowhere to stay. 

"I have an apartment near the edge of town." She was, of course welcome to stay at my house, but etiquette warned of dangerous territory.

"I nnneed..." was all she could get out before the tremor in her voice interrupted her speech.  Great crystal tears slid down her pale cheeks.  She lowered her head, to hide her shame in the shadows behind her fine, red hair.

"Would you like to come to my place?" I stepped closer, as though my proximity would bring her comfort.  It seemed to, for she stepped in also, and tucked her head beneath my chin, as her answer.  "You smell like flowers." I whispered to her.

"I know." she responded.

 

4

 

The night was rich in velvet shades of red and blue; hints of shapes realized mainly in silhouette.  My conscious mind shifted briefly over forms made in flecks of gray, ever moving in the darkness.  A patch of moonlight drifted in increments across the bedroom floor, from the partially open window.  The curtains swung a light blue mist before the lunar radiance, with no more substance in the shadows.

I felt her soft skin, hot against my side, while my eyes drifted about the room.  The heavy quilt pressed down onto me, like a warm embrace, never relenting throughout the night.  Her breath was a whisper, as she bordered on slumber.  I wondered what she would dream.

For some reason, I could not question; I could not demoralize the night's events.  Such perfection and bliss leapt into my life that I knew I could not be in the wrong. Deep inside me, I feared this new power given to my dreamer, but for then at least, it could not damper the exultation I found in the company of another.

I discovered the grass was truly greener once I stood on the other side. I hid from interaction for so long in misery, and yet discovered such happiness in her presence beside me. There was joy in her slender arm draped across my chest, and more inside the warmth of her bare thigh against mine.

"Jade..." Anya muttered almost whispering, as sleep claimed her consciousness.

"Michael," I corrected softly, wondering at her nickname for me.

"They want you to come back to the house."

"Who does, Anya?"  I asked her absently, slowly drifting into sleep myself.  I considered the possibility of meeting with her parents. Certainly she must have had an odd childhood.  She never got to answer, as fatigue carried her off to the realm of the dream lord. I kissed her forehead and closed my eyes, content, for now, to join her.

That night I dreamed of flashing lights, and urgent voices calling my name.

 *     *     * 

Biographical Note: I am a dreamer. Not like the dreamer in my first book "the dreamer's nights". I am the type of dreamer who cant help but seek out the ideal. I've always wanted to be a writer. Before I knew how to write I remember scribbling on paper trying to imitate the letters I saw in books. When I was ten I made an advertising agency for local businesses, writing slogans and jingles to sell. As the years advance my passion for story telling has not faded. Professionally, I fix air conditioners (a job I fell into more than one i sought out). My father was a repairman and he opened the door for me. On the side I continue to write and paint pictures. All of my cover art are my paintings. I like to write horror, thrillers, fantasy, and science fiction. I hope you enjoy my work as much as I enjoyed creating it.