The Fog of Dreams: from the beginning
A short story that kind of stretched into a novella. I hope you enjoy.
There was something sticky in the sound of the tires rolling down the wet asphalt. I pulled my coat collar up against the wind and driving rain. Blowing on my fingers, I looked up the grey sidewalk and squinted. Several blocks up ahead, I could see the lights of the grungy Holiday Oil gas station through the dark, wet afternoon.
I shoved my hands back in my pockets and bent my head forward to keep the rain out of my eyes. Three doors around the corner from the gas station was a tiny green house with a red roof. The paint was chipped and peeling; the yard full of weeds and abandoned toys. That was where she lived. Behind windows covered with wrought iron bars and a door with two dead bolt locks.
She had been in my dreams for days. I could see her frazzled red hair and her piercing pale blue eyes. Her skin bore the telltale signs of a smoker. Little wrinkle lines around her lips and eyes, a tinge of yellow in the whites of her eyes. Her once feminine voice, now rough and groveled.
It was as if I couldn’t escape the memory of her. In my sleep, I kept bumping into her. So real. She spoke to me, but always in phrases that had no meaning.
A red Nissan sloshed through a deep pot hole, splashing water across the sidewalk in front of me. I jumped back slightly to avoid getting soaked. Then I chuckled at myself. The rain had long since penetrated my jacket and pants.
“Why am I walking 12 blocks to see this woman?” I asked myself. But I kept walking, trudging on through the freezing rain.
Her voice on the phone had startled me. Almost as if I were still dreaming. But she said she needed help. And she sounded so hopeless and depressed, I found myself saying yes before she’d even finished.
The rain had slowed some by the time I reached her house. I fumbled with the rusty latch on the chain link gate and walked up to the door. I pushed the doorbell, but heard nothing. So I rapped on the door. Shoving my hands back in my pockets, I stepped back and waited for her to answer the door.
Nothing. Not a sound inside the house. I glanced at the front window. No lights on. No rustling of the curtains. I knocked again, louder. She must be home. Where would she have gone?
The sound of a passing car caused me to look over my shoulder. A police cruiser rolled slowly by the house. The officer was obviously looking me up and down. I tried to act natural. I reached to knock again, but slowly the knob started to turn. The door opened just a crack. I could see the faintest glimpse of her pale blue eyes.
“I don’t know why you’ve come,” she said with no emotion.
I shrugged my shoulders. “You asked,” I answered.
“I suppose you want to come in.”
“No. I walked twelve blocks in the freezing rain for my freakin’ health.” I was already losing my patience.
“Did anyone follow you?” she asked.
“What? No, nobody even knew I was coming here—except you!”
With that she swung the door open. I wiped my feet on the mat and stepped into the darkness of her home.
I glanced around the room. She motioned toward a green sofa that sadly sagged in the middle. The end table was covered with stacks of newspapers. In one corner was a small tv.
As she closed the door, I made my way to the sofa and carefully lowered myself down. I could feel the springs under the badly worn cushion groan as I leaned back into the scratchy fabric.
She sat down in a wooden chair directly across from me. Her back was toward the front window and the little light that filtered through made it almost impossible for me to make out any detail of her face. She was a large woman with a head of unruly strawberry blonde hair that curled in every direction. She twisted a strand of hair with a stubby finger as she shifted her weight uncomfortably in the chair.
I waited for her to say something, but the moments dragged by in silence. Looking around at the carpet, I noticed it was the same dark green as the sofa. But it was so thread bear and filthy that it looked almost black.
My chest began to feel tight and my eyes itched. Suddenly, I was incredibly uncomfortable.
“What!” I blurted out.
“You’re not sleeping,” she said to me in a voice that seemed too calm.
“What is that supposed to mean? You said you needed help.”
“You know my brother, right?”
“Well, I’ve met him,” I answered as I shifted and tilted my head to try to see her face.
“He’s trapped,” she said but her voice bore no sign of urgency or panic.
“Trapped? Where? In what?”
She leaned forward and suddenly I could see her pale blue eyes. They were red and swollen. She spoke in a whisper that was barely audible. “Underground.”
###
It was raining even harder when I climbed into bed that night. I was exhausted from turning the events of the day over and over in my mind. Her bulging bloodshot eyes. The coldness of her voice. The mystery of the underground.
I didn’t want to get involved. I hardly knew her. I had only met her brother a couple of times. But I couldn’t explain why she had been in my dreams. And when she asked for help, it was like I answered before I even heard the words.
It had been at a party, the first time I met her brother. She came up behind me and grabbed my arm with both hands. She was giggling. Her wild hair brushed against my shoulder and I remember I smelled a hint of her perfume. “Come meet my brother,” she laughed. I had wondered if she’d been drinking.
Her brother was nice enough. Tall and lanky. His dark complexion matched his dark eyes. A flash of his white teeth when he smiled and nodded at me. We spoke only a moment—something about his job. But then a man wearing dark glasses and a black leather jacket caught his attention. The man subtly motioned with his head toward the door. With that, the brother excused himself and was gone.
What was his name? Had she even said his name today? Or had she only called him brother?
Sleep eventually overcame me. But I found no rest. A constant sinking feeling haunted me. Hands reached out to me and faces appeared from nowhere. None of the pieces fit and my mind struggled to make sense of it.
At first, I thought the ringing phone was in my dream. But by the fourth ring, consciousness began to return. I lifted the receiver to my ear.
“Hello.”
“His name is Pervis.”
“What? Who is this?”
“The situation is … beyond hope.”
Click.
I turned the water colder than usual in the shower to try to wake up. I needed to start putting things together. Someone out there knew that she had talked to me. Someone out there knew my phone number, which meant they probably knew my name … and my address.
I dressed as quickly as I could, not taking time to shave or comb my hair. Glancing out the window, I could see the storm had finally passed. White clouds dotted the brightening sky. I grabbed a jacket just in case.
It was already 7:30 and I needed to get to work. Opening a kitchen cupboard, I pulled out two Pop Tarts and stuffed them in my pocket. My keys were on the counter. I scooped them up and hurried out the door.
As I locked the deadbolt, something on the cement of my front porch caught my eye. I froze. Below each of my front windows, I could see wet boot prints. I spun around, looking for anyone walking away. The prints couldn’t have been more than a few minutes old.
My heart skipped a beat as I hurried to the corner of the house and looked in the bushes. Then around to the other side of the house. Nothing. No sign of my recent visitor. The whole street was quiet. Not a sign of anyone.
I went back to my front door and double-checked the locks. My head was spinning now. I slowly backed away from my house, looking for any further signs. I checked my watch and knew if I waited any longer I’d miss my bus.
The bus stop was only a half a block away but my legs felt like lead. Each step seemed to take enormous effort. I felt a little dizzy when I finally reached the stop. I leaned against the metal post for support.
The bus was later than usual. I fidgeted nervously and glanced down the street at my house. I stared, expecting any moment to see someone dart down the street. Finally, the bus arrived. I climbed aboard and turned down the aisle.
There were only five people on the bus. In the very front row sat Ed, who worked in the oil, lube, and filter shop next door to where I worked. Three older women sat in three separate seats on the left side. They all stared out the window. I had seen each of them on the bus before.
But on the very last row sat a stranger. He wore dark glasses even though the sun had yet to rise above the mountains. His face was emotionless and his arms were folded across his chest. I hesitated for a moment and the bus lurched forward knocking me off balance. I stumbled toward the back of the bus, catching myself only after I was past all three women. I pulled myself up and found myself looking the stranger right in the face. He didn’t move or flinch or say a word. I quickly sat down.
Sitting just two rows from the back, I could feel the stranger’s eyes burning into the back of my head. I wanted to turn around and scream at him, but my stomach was in knots and I felt almost paralyzed.
When the bus stopped in front of the supermarket, all three women got up from their seats and exited the bus. I tried not to show any outward sign that I was nervous or uncomfortable. If this guy was indeed my early morning porch visitor, I didn’t want him to think that I knew anything. Not yet, anyway.
Finally, the bus pulled up in front of the oil, lube, and filter place where Ed works. Ed hurried down the steps and off the bus. I stood up and immediately the stranger stood up too. I slowly made my way up the aisle with the stranger following tightly behind me. I could almost feel his breath on the back of my neck. I knew I had to do something.
When I reached the front row, I stepped to the side, right behind the driver. “Hey, Bob,” I said to our driver, “I’ve got a question for you.” Bob glanced up in his mirror to look at me. The stranger hesitated for a moment, glanced at me once, then stepped down the steps and off the bus.
“Yeah, what?” Bob said a little impatiently.
“I think I’ll just ride to the next stop, if that’s OK.”
“Whatever,” Bob said as he pulled the lever and the doors shut.
I watched the side mirror intently to see where the stranger would go. He paused on the sidewalk, looked up and down the street a couple of times. Then he turned and started walking slowly away. I leaned back in my seat and rubbed my eyes.
When I finally got to work, my boss yelled at me for being late. I didn’t even try to offer an explanation. The restless night and the adrenaline of the morning left me feeling completely exhausted before I’d even started to work.
The orders for the day were to replace burned out light bulbs on the second and third floors of the building. I grabbed a box of fluorescent tubes and the ladder and headed for the elevator.
###
It wasn’t until I was home that night that it hit me. I had been on a ladder changing burned out lights on the second floor. One man who was waiting for me to finish so that he could return to his desk was talking to his coworker. He spoke in quiet tones. But I heard him mention “the Society.” I’d heard a little about this group. They were kind of secretive. A “self-help” group. I’d known someone once who went to their meetings for a while—meetings that lasted hours and hours. Often she’d get home just before dawn.
But it was something else the man on the second floor said that suddenly clicked. “I’m about to graduate to the next level of the order.” The next level. There was something my friend had said once about the Society. The reason she left. Something frightened her. I couldn’t remember all the details.
Suddenly there were three loud raps at my front door. I nearly fell out of my chair. After I gathered myself, I carefully made my way to the window. Peeking through the curtain, I could see her unruly strawberry blonde curls.
What was she doing here?
I opened the door a crack. “Oh, good, you’re home,” she said in that same monotone voice.
I glanced at my driveway. There was a black compact car, the engine running, the headlights on and the driver’s door open. “When did you buy a car?” I asked, opening the door further.
“It’s borrowed. And I need you to come with me,” she said as she extended her hand out to me. “Right now.”
“Uh, I don’t know.”
“Please,” she begged, her voice now giving that same pathetic desperation that had been there when she called on the phone.
“This is messed up,” I said, not knowing what I should do. “I think someone was following me this morning!”
“That’s why I need you to come,” she said with her hand still extended.
What is it about her? Why do I feel … compelled? I wrestled with my thoughts. But she remained motionless, waiting for me.
“Fine,” I heard myself say, “but only if I drive.”
She took a half step backward and twisted a chubby finger in a lock of hair as she turned her eyes to the ground.
“Well?” I said impatiently.
She glanced at the car. “OK,” she answered hesitantly, “but we have to leave now.”
I stepped onto the porch and pulled the door shut behind me. By the time I had locked the deadbolt, she was already standing at the passenger door of the car. I walked to the driver’s door and glanced in the back seat. The car was filthy and reeked of cigarette smoke. My eyes burned and my skin began to crawl.
“We need to get out to Dayton before ten o’clock,” she said softly as she climbed in.
“Dayton? Is that where your brother is?” I asked as I backed out and headed for the main highway.
“I—I’m not sure. … Maybe,” she said unconvincingly.
I merged the car into the highway traffic and accelerated. There were few cars on the road. I checked the rear view mirror frequently for anyone who might be following us. We drove in silence as the highway wound its way to the outskirts of town.
I broke the silence and asked, “So, is your brother part of The Society?”
“What do you know about The Society?” She responded in her monotone voice.
“No,” I said firmly, “for just a minute, I’m going to ask questions and you’re going to answer.”
She turned her head and glared at me. “I thought you were my friend.”
“Is your brother part of The Society?” I asked again, louder than the first time.
“The Society is …” she paused and turned away from me. “… good.”
“Aaand?” I prodded.
“And, yes, my brother belongs to The Society.”
Before I could respond, I noticed flashing lights in my mirror. I checked my speedometer. I was driving the speed limit. I pulled the car to the side of the road and the flashing lights followed me.
“Crap!” I exclaimed.
I rolled down the window as the officer approached. His hand was firmly on the grip of his handgun. “Sir, put both hands on the wheel where I can see them!” he ordered sternly.
I carefully raised both my hands and placed them on the steering wheel. The officer cautiously approached my door and put his hand on the handle.
“What’s the problem, officer?” I asked.
“I need you to step out of the vehicle,” the officer ordered as he opened the door for me.
“Of course,” I said keeping my hands in plain sight. “Is there a problem?”
“I need you to turn and face the vehicle,” he ordered.
I turned and placed my hands on the roof of the car. “Sir,” I began again.
The officer began to pat me down without saying a word. Then I heard him take his handcuffs from his belt. My head was spinning. What is going on!
“Officer, can you please tell me what I did?” I asked desperately.
“This vehicle was reported stolen a couple of hours ago.” The officer coolly grabbed my left wrist and twisted it behind my back. I felt the cold steel clamp around my wrist. Then my right hand.
“Sir,” I pled, “that woman—she told me she had borrowed it.”
He didn’t respond. Before I knew it, I was sitting in the back of the cruiser. I watched as he walked back to the black car. He leaned down and spoke with her for several minutes. His hand was never on his handgun again. He didn’t seem agitated or upset. He almost seemed friendly.
Maybe she’s explaining it all, I thought.
Finally, the officer started back for the cruiser. I tried to get a read from his face, but it was too dark. He got in the car without a word and put the car into gear. As we passed the black car, I caught a glimpse of her, both hands covering her face. It looked like she was sobbing.
I twisted around in the seat and tried to watch the small black car as long as I could. I never saw her door open or the car move. I wondered what she was thinking. Where had she been taking me anyway? She had been acting so strange.
As I turned back around in my seat, a wave of panic washed over me. The officer hadn’t turned the car around. Instead of heading back into town, we were continuing on the highway away from town. It made no sense at all. I felt the darkness of the night closing in on me. I squirmed in my seat.
A brilliant flash of lightning on the horizon lit up the inside of the car for a moment. I caught the profile of the officer’s emotionless face. He reached down and flicked on the windshield wipers as a light rain began to fall.
“Sir,” I said as forcefully as I dared, “if I am under arrest, then I want you take me to the police station now.”
He said nothing. The rain began falling harder. We were now beyond the edge of town. Open fields lined both sides of the road.
Without warning, the officer slammed on the brakes and swerved to the side of the road. He put the car into park and turned around in his seat.
“Are you really trying to help Pervis?” His eyes searched mine.
I felt frozen for a moment. My mind was clouded with murky thoughts. “I—I don’t know,” I finally said.
The officer sat up higher and reached his arm over the back of the seat. He grabbed the front of my shirt forcefully and drove the knuckles of his fist into my chest. “They’ve got him trapped,” the officer said desperately.
“Who’s got him trapped?” I asked.
“You don’t know?” The officer let go of my shirt and ran his hand trough his hair. “I thought you knew.”
“I was only trying to help a friend. That’s all.”
“Pervis is a good friend,” the officer agreed.
“No. I really don’t know Pervis. It’s his sister—she’s sort of my friend,” I explained.
“Oh,” the officer said as his eyes grew wide, “oh, I see. … Turn around.”
I turned to look out the back window. There was nothing but empty road and pouring rain. Suddenly I felt the key turn in the handcuffs and the lock released. I turned back around and rubbed my wrists.
The officer reached down and unsnapped his revolver. In one motion, he pulled it out and turned the handle toward me. “Here,” he said as he held the gun out to me.
“What? No, I don’t need a gun,” I said as I squirmed away from the gun.
“You don’t even know who to trust. Take the gun.”
“I don’t want a gun!” I reached over and grabbed the door handle. “Look, you’re a cop. Why don’t you save Pervis, huh? Why me?”
“I’m telling you right now, take the gun.” He extended the revolver toward me emphatically.
I pulled up on the door handle and tumbled out of the car. Gathering myself, I slammed the door and backed away from the car. I heard the officer shout something at me, then he threw the cruiser into gear and sped away.
I stood in the pouring rain and watched his tail lights fade into the darkness.
I turned and started the long walk back into town. The rain was icy cold and I wasn’t even wearing a jacket. I considered trying to jog to stay warmer, but it was simply too far. I had to be 10 or 15 miles outside of town.
When I saw the headlights approaching in the distance, I froze for a moment. The cop’s words rang in my ears, “You don’t know who to trust.” I thought about running into the field and trying to get out of sight.
I shook my head at myself. I’ve got to get a grip, I thought. Shoving both hands in my pockets, I pressed on through the rain.
The headlights continued to approach. When they were a hundred yards away, suddenly they began to slow down. As the car eased onto the shoulder, I was caught directly in the headlights. I held my hand up to try to see through the blinding light.
The driver’s door flew open and I saw her strawberry blonde curls. She ran in short choppy steps toward me. She threw her arms out and slammed into me, catching me in an awkward embrace.
“Oh, you did it,” she said excitedly.
“Did what?” I asked as I lifted both my hands up, trying to step out of her embrace.
“You passed the first test.”
######
I didn’t speak another word to her after I demanded that she take me home. I felt betrayed and manipulated, but the last thing I wanted to do was to hash this whole thing out in the middle of the night. Standing on my porch, I could barely get my key in the lock because my hands were shaking so badly.
In the middle of my dark bedroom, I considered taking a hot shower to warm up. But exhaustion was rapidly overtaking my whole body. I changed into some dry sweats and a sweatshirt and climbed into bed.
When I have a lot on my mind, I usually have a hard time falling asleep. But it was as if I was in deep sleep the moment my head touched the pillow.
Then the dream began.
I found myself in a large building, like a warehouse. It was dimly lit. I could hear some distant muffled voices. Carefully, I made my way down a walkway in front of a row of offices that lined one side of the building. I studied my surroundings, looking for some clue about where I was.
As I turned my head back around, there she was. Standing right in front of me. She said something I couldn’t understand. Just like in previous dreams. Was it gibberish? A foreign language? Some kind of code? I couldn’t tell for sure.
But what she said next was perfectly clear.
“We know your secret.”
I spun my head around. Three men in leather jackets and dark glasses stood right behind me, their arms folded across their chests. I knew I was trapped.
One of the men extended one hand and pointed to a small room with the light on. Afraid to do anything else, I began walking toward the room. The distant muffled voices I had heard before were coming from the room. As I got closer, I could see a whole crowd of people milling about.
When I reached the doorway, I paused. I glanced over my shoulder. The three men were still right behind me, one of them nodded toward the room and I knew I had to go in.
Once inside the room, no one spoke to me. All the people slowly swirled around me. Every one of them was constantly talking, but whether they were talking to themselves or to me I couldn’t tell. At first, I could only catch a word or two. Then it became clearer. Each person was telling their secrets.
“I once planned to rob a bank.”
“I always knew where my brother hid his money.”
“I never passed a test without cheating.”
Their eyes were glassy and stared right through me. I stood motionless, but everyone else in the room was in constant, plodding motion. It was almost as if the movement was choreographed. No one touched anyone else, always passing each other within an inch or two.
And no one touched me. Even though I was not part of the “dance.” I stood perfectly still in the middle of them all.
But then a man threw his shoulder into the middle of my back. I stumbled forward, narrowly missing those passing in front of me. I spun around, fists clenched. When I saw who had slammed into me, I knew him at once.
It was Pervis.
I woke to find my hair and pillow soaked with sweat. I was trembling and my heart thumped heavily in my chest.
Pervis’ face was eerily vivid in my mind’s eye. It was so real. So haunting. Unlike the glassy look of everyone else in my dream, his eyes were pleading … frightened … desperate.
It’s just a dream, I told myself. Just a dream.
Yet somehow I knew. I knew that they knew.
Then my mind began to turn. Slowly, the full weight of the situation pressed down on me. I felt a tightness in my chest and for a moment it seemed I couldn’t catch my breath.
What if … what if they know everyone’s secrets?
I thought of the cop who had me in hand cuffs—who shoved his gun in my face. What kind of secret must he be hiding? Could they really have ordered him to do those things?
The boot prints on my porch. The stranger on the bus. Are these people everywhere?
And who else do they control? Business leaders? Politicians? Clergy?
“You don’t even know who to trust,” I said aloud, repeating the cop’s words. “Was he warning me? … Or setting me up?”
I knew that sleep would not return. I rubbed my eyes and looked at my clock, 4:12 a.m. I pulled a pillow over my face and let out a long groan. Then I slowly sat up. I scratched my head and stretched my stiff neck.
“There must be someone I can talk to. But who?” I said under my breath.
Finally, I stood up, thinking that perhaps some mindless TV might help me fall asleep. I walked down the dark hallway toward my front room. I reached for the light switch. Just before my finger flipped the switch, I heard it. It sounded like someone breathing. I hesitated for a second. Adrenaline flooded my body causing the hairs on my neck to stand up. I hit the switch and as the room flooded with light, I yelled, “HEY!”
She was standing against the wall and she didn’t flinch. Her pale blue eyes didn’t blink or seem to adjust to the light. Her wild curls cast a freakish shadow on the wall. She just stared at me and took one step forward.
I stumbled backward and then scrambled to my room, slamming the door. Quickly I locked the knob. I didn’t understand how she could be inside my house. But now I was certain of one thing: I had to get away from her.
As I pulled on my shoes, I heard her walking down the hall. Then I thought I heard other voices. I made my way to the front window and glanced out. The black car was back in my driveway. I hurried to the back window. Carefully, I pulled the curtains back. It was hard to see anything in the darkness, but I knew it was my best chance.
Making as little noise as possible, I slid the window open. I pulled out the screen and dropped it into the back yard. I put one foot on the ledge and then jumped down onto the lawn. Crouching in the darkness, I glanced around. All seemed still. Carefully, I stood up and pulled the window shut. Just then, I heard a loud bang on the bedroom door inside the house.
Quickly, I pulled myself over the back fence and landed softly in my neighbor’s yard. I slipped silently through their gate and out onto the street. Doing my best to stay in the shadows, I hurried down the block and around the corner.
Where can I go? Who can I trust?
In the back of my mind, I already knew it. But when the thought became conscious, I stopped dead in my tracks.
“I have to go to someone who already knows my secret.”
######
It was still cold outside. But the rain had become very light. I continued to walk through the dark streets for two and a half hours. I never saw a sign of the black car or anyone following. I worried what they might be doing in my home.
But what could I do? Go to the cops?
Under the twisted freeway bridges in the heart of downtown was an old railroad yard. Long-abandoned rail cars and scrap metal made it a refuge for the homeless. Shanty huts built of rusted scraps and soggy cardboard were tucked around every corner. It was a place that outsiders never visited. Except for an occasional cop. Dirty faces. Rotted teeth. Ragged clothes. And mud, mud everywhere.
It had been years since I had been there. Yet I knew he’d still be there. Huddled in the same place. The same bottle in his bony, filthy fingers.
The sky was beginning to show the first signs of dawn. I stepped into the thick, muddy slop and my stomach turned over. I caught the unmistakable, rancid scent in the air. Memories flooded over me and I had to fight the urge to turn and run.
He had added a few more scraps to his “home” in the years since I’d left. It seemed to almost have some substance to it. A rusted Chevy hood with blotches of 1970s green paint still formed the front wall. A thin blanket hung in the makeshift doorway.
I took a deep breath and pulled the thin blanket aside. His frail frame was curled up on a stack of cardboard that served as his mattress. A black jacket lay over his shoulders in a feeble attempt to protect him from the cold. His right hand hung out from under the jacket and clung to the neck of a brown bottle.
I cleared my throat. He didn’t flinch.
I looked down at my hands and they were shaking nervously. Maybe this is a bad idea.
Just then the sun broke through the clouds, casting barely enough light for me to see the outline of his face. There were more wrinkles now in his leathered skin. His scraggy beard was still trimmed short but it was now almost completely gray.
I cleared my throat again, louder than at first.
He stirred and let out a mournful groan.
I knew that I had to talk to him. Even though he had told me to never come back. Even though he told me that to him I was dead. I knew. Because he knew.
I stepped into the dark hut. I reached out hesitantly toward his shoulder. I nudged him gently.
I tried to talk but the words caught in my throat. I swallowed hard and then whispered quietly, “Dad … Dad, wake up.”
His eyes opened slowly. He wasn’t alarmed or surprised. At first, I wasn’t even sure if he recognized me. But as he sat up, he nodded his head knowingly at me.
“Dad,” I said.
He held his hand up to stop me. “My son is dead,” he said in his unsteady voice.
“No, Dad,” I said firmly, “I think someone knows. Someone found out.”
He looked at me—stared right through me. His bony hand rubbed his beard, then ran up through his matted hair. His eyes went from me down to the bottle on the ground. As he reached for it, I quickly grabbed the bottle and pulled it away from him.
“You said this could never happen. That it was impossible,” I said trying to stay calm.
His eyes were still on the bottle. He grunted and gave an almost imperceptible shrug.
“Dad, I need your help.” I leaned down to meet his eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”
He paused for a long time. “You are who you are,” he finally said.
“But I’m telling you …” I began.
“It worked!” he interrupted. “Just like I told you. … You, you got a chance, a life.”
My head was spinning. Being back beside the tracks was too real. The dreams of the mud and the crying and the fear and the desperation and the cold had haunted me for so long. Now here I was in the middle of it again.
“But I did just what you said,” I said accusingly.
“Did what?”
“Help people,” I answered. “You promised me. You said that what happened wouldn’t matter—there would never be no trouble. If I just helped them that needed help.”
“And now after all these years, you’re gonna say it’s all my fault.” He pointed a bony finger at the middle of my chest.
“There are people out there—this group. It’s messed up and it’s like they’re everywhere. They know, Dad, they know.”
His eyes were emotionless. He motioned for me to come closer. Then he leaned forward until his face was next to my ear.
“Sterling Brown,” he whispered. “Charlington Place.”
I leaned back and looked at his gaunt face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He nodded. “You have to go now.”
I wanted to leave. I wanted to get out of that place. But I sat frozen. I am homeless again. I have no where to go.
He reached out and pulled the bottle from my hand. He twisted off the cap and swallowed deeply.
“Go,” he said. “You have to go.”
I stood up and stepped out of his shanty. I felt like there was something else to be said, but I had no words. Slowly I shook my head.
A few heavy clouds filtered the early sunlight giving a misty air to the morning. I looked all around. All was quiet. In the far distance, I could hear a train whistle.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and headed down the tracks. Sterling Brown? What did he mean?
As I picked my steps carefully, trying to stay on the rail ties and avoid the sloppiest mud, I happened to glance up ahead. I caught a glimpse of a black car going over the tracks on the cross street about 100 yards in front of me. I paused for a moment and I saw the car pause too. Then it sped off.
I looked all around me. I remembered a small footpath that squeezed between two curving off ramps and then lead into an alley between the buildings on Jensen Street. I glanced over my shoulder and then made a quick dash around a large support pillar.
The mud sloshed over my shoes making me feel like I was running in slow motion. My heart was pounding as I entered the shadows between the two off ramps. The ground was drier and I ran harder. I cut underneath the elevated road and squeezed through a gap in the chainlink fence. I was behind a large brick building with huge industrial fans all along the back wall.
I glanced over my shoulder again and saw no one. Quietly I made my way to the corner of the building. I turned down the alley that lead out to the street. Suddenly, right there in the early morning light coming from the street into the alley was a man with dark glasses and a leather jacket. He calmly came towards me.
I turned to run only to find another man following right behind me. I was trapped.
Instinctively, I raised my hands up. And then I surprised myself. I smiled at them. Just smiled.
“Are you guys everywhere?” I said with a bit of a chuckle.
They didn’t respond. Slowly, they closed in on me. Not really in an aggressive way. They were calm. Stepping carefully down the alley, cutting off any retreat.Then they stopped, like they were waiting.
In a moment, the black compact car appeared on the street at the end of the alley. Instantly, I felt a rage rising up inside my chest. I tried to think of what I should say to her. She had sucked me into this mess and I had only been trying to help. But as I searched for the words, the driver’s door opened. Instead of seeing her wild curls, I saw the perfectly white hair of an older gentleman.
He stood up and towered over the car. He was lean, his jaw sharply angled. He turned and looked down the alley way. His eyes were large and seemed … kind. It was as if I sensed compassion from him.He moved with a flowing grace. Buttoning his neatly tailored suit, he stepped around the car and headed toward me. He made a subtle gesture with his hand and the men in the leather jackets took a step away from me.
Then he nodded at me and smiled. “Are you Alexander Feldman?” he asked as he extended his hand.
I hesitated, then took his hand which completely enveloped my own. “I am.”
“I must apologize if we frightened you,” he said. His deep voice was warm and genuine.
“Yeah,” I answered with a little sarcasm.
“You are a clever man,” he said. “You outwitted these guys.” He motioned at the two still wearing their dark glasses.
My eyes studied his. My mind struggled to make sense of it all. “Who are you?” I finally asked.
“A man who cuts to the quick—I like that.” He smiled at me again.
I put my hands on my hips and waited.
“Then I’ll cut to the quick as well,” he said as the smile left his face. “We know who you are. And it’s time for the truth.”
He reached his enormous hand into his pocket and pulled out a wrapper. It looked like a bandage of some kind. Quickly, he peeled the backing off and stepped toward me. I took a step backward.
“What are you doing with that?” I demanded.
I heard the man behind me move toward me and I raised my hand as if I were going to surrender. But as I felt him come right behind me, I spun and smashed my elbow into his face with all my might.
In one movement, I spun past him and sprinted back toward the fence.
I rounded the corner of the building to head for the gap in the fence. But after only a few steps I saw six more leather jackets seemingly coming from every direction. I sprinted ahead, hoping to bowl them over. As I crashed into one of them, the others easily caught hold of me. Quickly, they had both my hands twisted behind my back and I was helpless.
The white-haired man soon emerged from the alley. He kept his calm, lanky pace and friendly smile as he approached me.It was in that moment that I remembered. My friend who had joined the Society and then left. The thing that had frightened her. The reason she left. It was mind drugs. She had accidentally discovered a stash of … what did she call them? Psychotic drugs.
“Alexander,” the white-haired man said, “I’m disappointed. In the Society, we always choose non-violence. And we had such great hopes for you. In the car in the middle of the night, you refused the gun. But now this. I’m afraid you’ll need to learn to be more submissive.”
He stepped closer, the bandage was still in his hand. I twisted my head away and tried to wriggle free. He raised the bandage toward my neck.
“You’ll feel much better in only a moment,” he said in his warmest voice as he pressed the bandage onto my neck.
I felt an immediate burning sensation on my skin. I began to feel dizzy. My eyes couldn’t seem to stay focused. The men released my arms and I nearly fell to the ground. Just before I lost consciousness, I turned and looked toward the rail yard. I saw my father hiding behind a huge support column. His eyes caught mine and then all went black.
######
The dream that came to me was an old dream. When I was younger, it came to me almost every night. As the years had passed, the dream had become a distant memory.I was only a boy. It was winter. The sky was low and heavy.
The wetness of the mud made my small feet ache. I could feel the tears in my eyes. I couldn’t hold still, I kept pacing. Rubbing my hands on the thin shirt on my shoulders, I tried to restore feeling to my fingers.Then there it was. Right there in the mud at my feet. A small box of matches.
My young heart seemed to stop. I glanced around. No one was watching. I picked up the box and slipped it in my pocket.
Two matches wasted. The breeze just blew them out. I had to find some place out of the wind.
The old metal door squeaked on its hinges. I only needed it open a couple of inches. I slipped inside the dark building. I was shaking.
I found a corner. I made a pile of torn cardboard and a few pieces of wood. My numb fingers could barely hold the match as I pulled it down the side of the matchbox.
It started so small, barely even glowing. I had seen my d