Brutal
Dreamer
by Mark Anthony Brennan
The woman was beautiful. She had dark, sultry looks. Her dark hair was long and straight.
Her short dress clung to the curves of her body.
I’m
dreaming.
The woman just stood there looking at James. One side of her mouth was curved up in a
fetching half-smile.
Suddenly there was
a screeching sound and the woman spun her head to one side in alarm.
Oh no.
I’ve got to wake up. Wake up!
James jerked his
body awake, but not before the image of the speeding bus crossed his vision. And not
before he heard the sickening thud.
James pounded the
mattress with his fists.
Too late,
goddamn it. Too late.
He threw
back the soaking sheets and blanket and stomped out of the tiny bedroom. There were no
curtains in the living room of his apartment. The steel-gray light of day assaulted his
eyes. He squinted and blinked until his eyes became accustomed. Then he leaned on the
window sill and peered out.
There was a
rickety fire escape outside the window. Below that was an alley way filled with wooden
hydro poles and a tangled web of overhead wires. Across the alley there was a filthy brown
apartment building – probably the mirror image of the building James stood in.
The sky,
what little James could see of it, was heavy with low clouds. It was raining. Dirty rivers
were forming on the asphalt of the alley. A huge puddle was building up on one side of the
commercial garbage container below James’s window.
James
realized he was shivering in the cold morning air. He didn’t care.
I wonder
who she is? Or was…
The accident
could have already occurred. Then again it might not be until later on in the day. James
didn’t want to listen to the radio or watch T.V. for fear of hearing the news. The
news that a young model had been struck by a bus on Main Street. Or East 54th.
Or wherever it was.
James took a
deep sigh before turning away to head to the bathroom. He should have known better. Once
he became aware that he was asleep he should have woken himself up then. Immediately. Like
he usually did.
He knew what
his therapist would have said about the dream. His sense of devotion to his wife was
offended by this temptress, and so he subconsciously created the bus to wipe out the
source of temptation. Subconsciously.
Of course,
they didn’t bother with therapy anymore. They just set him up in this rat-hole as an
out-patient and gave him a on-going prescription at the clinic.
James looked
at the reflection in the small, cracked mirror. His face had several days' stubble on it.
The stubble was starting to turn gray. There were dark bags under his eyes and the
crow’s feet were spreading. He was overweight, even though he never seemed to have
enough food in the apartment.
They were
always encouraging him to tidy himself up and go look for a job. But James couldn’t
face it. He rarely went out at all. Getting a job was out of the question. He
couldn’t face much of anything. Not since Laura died.
“You
have to accept that it wasn’t your fault,” his therapist once told him.
James always
hated those sessions. He would squirm in his seat nearly all the way through.
“I was
out drinking,” he muttered. “I should have gotten home hours earlier.”
“But, James,
you didn’t know she’d come looking for you. And it wasn’t your fault that
she got into the car accident. You have to learn to forgive yourself. I’m sure Laura
doesn’t blame you.”
That was
true, of course, Laura wouldn’t have blamed James for the accident. But that
didn’t matter. James could not forgive himself. Ever.
The
therapists were useless. Whenever James talked to them about his half-dream state they
would give him all the psychological clap-trap. The parts that he couldn’t control
were the result of pent-up emotions – emotions that he subconsciously manifested into
the uncontrolled parts of his half-dream state. James already knew that. He didn’t
need these so-called professionals to tell him. And they, like everyone else, refused to
believe that the events in his half-dream state came true.
James had
realized it from a very early age. At first it wasn’t a problem. When he got to that
state, that stage of sleep just before you wake up, he could manipulate his dream. And
whatever he dreamed in that state came true. If he dreamt of a huge chocolate bar at the
foot of his bed, he would wake up and there it was. If he dreamt that school was closed
for the day, then sure enough that day school would be cancelled.
But as he
got older he found it harder and harder to maintain control of his dreams. He once dreamt
that his father came to visit, but when his father came in the kitchen door he slipped and
fell heavily to the floor. James realized later that he was angry at his father for
abandoning him and his mother. And that anger manifested itself in the dream. James felt
terrible when his father actually fell that day badly bruising his back.
James knew
what it was that was causing him to lose conscious control of his dreams – it was
things like anger, frustration, jealousy and guilt. The manifestations were usually ugly,
and sometimes they were directed at him. One time James dreamt that his best friend, Mike,
returned back safely from the Gulf War. However, James had been seeing Mike’s
girlfriend while he was away. Mike knew nothing about it, but in the dream Mike attacked
James the minute he saw him, beating him in the face and stomach. Later on that day Mike
apologized profusely for beating up his best friend. He said he blacked out and
didn’t remember doing it. Doctors said it was the Gulf War syndrome. James knew
better. It was his own guilt lashing out at him.
So James
finally figured out that it was better to stay out of that half-sleep state. As soon as he
reached that point where he was aware that he was asleep he would jerk himself into
consciousness. But sometimes he slipped up. Like today.
The black
cloud of depression seeped through James’s body. He felt heavy. His mind was in a
fog. He felt drowsy.
Ah fuck
this. It’s too early anyway. I’m going back to bed.
*
* * * *
Laura stood
leaning against the brick wall of the house. Her right hand was propped behind her back.
She had that radiance of youth.
They were
back in Mountview. This was their first house – the one they bought soon after they
were married.
Laura was
not smiling at James. With her lips pressed together she had a pensive look. But she was
pretty. God, she was pretty.
I’m
asleep. I can’t stay, my love. I must go.
Just as
James shook himself awake his eye caught a flash of light from behind Laura’s back -
the gleam of a metal blade.
Within half an
hour the phone rang.
“H
– hello,” stammered James.
“It’s
me, Jimmy,” said Laura. “I’m over at the house in Mountview. Come and get
me, honey.”
“No,”
croaked James.
“What’s
wrong, Jimmy? Are you afraid?”
“Of
course I’m afraid.”
“Then
I’ll come and get you.” Laura hung up.
James
wandered back to the bedroom. Mountview was a suburb way over on the other side of town.
Even if she got a cab it would take Laura well over an hour to get to James’s
downtown apartment.
An hour
should be enough. Before his wife got there James had to get some sleep.
©2001 Mark Anthony Brennan
Mark Brennan doesn't
normally write horror. Most of his work is science fiction (although it is usually
"dark"). Stories of his have been featured in recent issues of On Spec,
Challenging Destiny and Waxing & Waning. His work will also be
appearing in upcoming issues of Foxfire and Hadrosaur Tales. Mark Brennan also has several
e-zine publishing credits including Anotherealm, Jackhammer, Millennium, Steel Caves,
ShadowKeep and Planet Magazine.
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