Killing Normal

copyright 2005 Brian Wade

// one


  The sign on the door said "CROSS."

  It described the man standing in front of it.

  The office door always stuck in the wintertime. Normally this wasn't
something worth getting mad about, but there was a new tenant across
the hall, and...

  "Hey, Billy-boy!" The voice from behind dripped with derisive
friendliness. 

  "My name is William." He'd only made the correction every day this
week...
  "Sure, Billy, Willy, whatever. So you're here bright and early for
another hard day's nap?"

  William Cross' fist clenched tighter around the doorknob, imagining
it was the other man's neck...
  The door popped open with a wooden grunt.

  "So, Cross, do you actually have a desk in there, or just a couch?"
  As if Will hadn't heard every lame joke about the way he worked a
hundred times before.
  "So, *Bob*, did Miss Johnson ever find that locket?"
  Bob got suddenly sheepish. "Uh, yeah."
  "Behind the piano, right?"
  "Yeah."
  "So you'll be paying me now."
  "Soon as Miss Johnson pays me."


  Will retreated into his office. "Yeah."
  Bob was suddenly in the doorway, joviality gone for the first time.
He looked a little weirded out. "Hey man, doesn't it bother you that
you dream about other people's stuff?"
  Will shrugged. "Not as long as it pays the bills."
  "Well, it gives *me* the creeps. --Oh, hey, some dame was looking for
you earlier."

  Dame? Who was the weird one here? "Did you get a name?"
  "Nah, she just said she'd try back later."
  "Thanks."
  "Anyway, have a good day." Bob's next words seemed uncomfortable,
like a straight man wishing a gay friend good luck on a date. "Pleasant
dreams."

  It wasn't exactly respect, but it would do. "Thanks." 

  Bob retreated. The door groaned shut under the weight of Will's
shoulder.

  A woman, looking for him? Definitely not a social call. A fellow
professional? No, the whole building would have been abuzz with such
news, so it couldn't be that; it had to be a client. 

  Will didn't generally get *clients*. Almost all of his work was for
other private investigators. He liked it better when he didn't have to
meet anyone. At least, not in the real world -- it made seeing them in
Dream a little weird. 

  In fact, it had been so long since someone outside the business had
stopped by that he wasn't sure he'd remember how to talk. Especially to
a woman.
  He'd probably just refer her to somebody. Maybe Bob.
  Then again, if he didn't entertain the occasional conversation with a
woman -- not counting Fran at the supermarket and the receptionist in
Dale Harvey's building and the widow Fredrickson in his apartment
building -- he might become completely dysfunctional around them. And
while he didn't have any room in his life for such diversions at
present, he'd been getting the itch again. Talking to a client -- safe,
neutral, professional -- it would be good practice.
  But what if she was attractive? He didn't need that.
  Maybe he'd just wait and see.

  No sense dwelling on it. There was work to do.

  Papers covered the desk -- neat stacks. 
  Nine inches of bills paid. They'd get shoeboxed, just as soon as he
bought another pair of shoes. 
  An inch of new bills. Six inches of credit card offers.
  Two inches of cases Closed Pending Payment.
  Two thin manila folders of Open Cases, nestled next to the phone. One
of which now needed to be moved.

  Will picked up the other folder.

  From Cawthorne Investigations across town. Alec Cawthorne always paid
up front. Will should have worked Cawthorne's case before Bob's, but
for some reason he thought he should give his new neighbor a break.

  Well, Cawthorne's had just come by messenger yesterday. If Will got
right to work on it, he'd probably come up with something today.

  There was no chair behind the desk -- he'd fallen asleep one too many
times in it, always waking up with a stiff neck. The couch beckoned.

  Eight feet long. Four cushions. Pillowed armrests. Synthetic suede
fabric. Scotchguard. The garish floral pattern had made it cheap. Will
solved most of his cases on it.

  He sat down on the left-middle cushion, skimming through the pages in
the file. Ladies' wedding ring. First noticed missing two days ago.
Connie Carlisle, husband Drew. Snapshot from a family dinner. Probably
Thanksgiving. Both a little heavy, but he could see they'd both been
good-looking in their youth. Smartly but not extravagantly dressed.
Home address. Only removed the ring to cook and clean house. The ring.
Description: size 7, simple band, one-caret brilliant cut center stone,
soldered wrap with a pair of fifth-caret stones...

  Will put the file down. More details wouldn't help. It was all about
the connection. Things were easy to find if someone cared about them
enough.

  Pivot. Feet up. Head back. Eyes closed.

  Time for a nap.

  Will took deep breaths, each one slower than the last. He focused on
his heartbeat, letting its rhythm soothe him. The world faded.

  And then it refocused. Will was in Dream.

  He's in front of the Carlisle house. Numbers painted on the curb.
  Inside. Connie, on the couch, watching... a home improvement show.
She can't see him. 

  Will shifts.

  He sees her hand. Up close. No ring.
  Blinks.
  A memory. The ring. On her hand. Glowing bright, making everything
around darken by comparison.
  More memory. Ring tugged off. Set down on tile. Kitchen.

  Will shifts.
  He's in the kitchen. He peers through the sink. The trap is dark. If
the ring was here he would see it glow -- he would sense it.

  Jewelry box? Dark. The whole house dark. The ring is not here.

  So this would not be quite the cakewalk. Will would actually have to
work.

  Back to Connie. He crouches next to her; she is of course oblivious.
His hand rises to her face; with contact, a faint tingling.
  Be gentle.
  It's trickier when they're awake. On the other hand, there's a lot
less outside distraction in Dream in the daytime, and he doesn't know
where the trail is going to lead.

  Wine glass. Cloth napkin. A restaurant booth. A handsome young man,
puffed up and smiling, trying and failing to be at ease. Drew Carlisle.
  His hand touches hers on the table.
  No ring. Connie's hand is smoother, younger.

  Garden. Awful dresses -- the thin friend looks flat-chested and the
buxom friend looks fat.
  Drew in a tuxedo. Crying and smiling. The two smaller stones join the
large one on her finger.

  Will takes it slow, letting the images wash over him, waiting for
context to form on its own. There are a lot of memes connected to the
ring here, and if he touches anything now, the contact might make the
whole subject rise to consciousness, and then he'd lose them.
  Besides, if he pushes too hard and she thinks she's remembered on her
own, he won't get paid.

  Shift.
  Darkness. Ceiling. Boredom. Hand on her breast. Mechanical. Drew over
her, looking serious. The diamonds there on the ring on her finger on
his shoulder, glinting in the moonlight. Raw warmth. Gasping beside
her. A quiet tear.

  Bump -- Shift. 
  The ring glinting in the sun as a doorknob turns. A motel room. A man
sitting on the bed, looking sheepish. Not Drew. Attractiveness.
Youthful excitement. Uncertainty. Thrill. Climax.

  Shift.
  Mailbox. Envelope. Photographs. The world suddenly dims, constricts.
A note in aggressive block letters. Not Drew. A number. A dollar sign.
A date. A betrayal.

  He knows where this is leading, but he tries to let it come to him.
It approaches with the subtlety of a parade.

  Ring off. Held carefully. Eyed closely. Surrendered. Cash on the
table. The receipt -- what does it say? Out of focus; pocketed. Which
coat? Retreating. Look back. Look *back*. The sign: Pawn Shop. Name?
Name! There. Sign. It says:

  "Hey, quit sleeping on the job."

  Will yanked out of Dream; eyes snapped open.
  A woman was shaking him.
  A beautiful woman.

  Will looked away, mad -- he'd almost solved the case. He hated
interruptions. How'd she get in? She was really beautiful -- must have
bribed the landlord? He'd have to have a talk with him again.

  He stood up, crossing to his desk as an excuse not to look at her. He
cursed the brief look he'd gotten: slender, gentle feminine curves in a
pale summer dress, flowing dirty-blond curls around a wry smirk and
piercing-but-playful eyes. Papers shuffled; he stared at them without
seeing, waiting for the image of an angel with attitude to fade.
  "How'd you get in here?" 
  "Does it matter?"
  "What do you want?" 
  Her heels clicked around to his left; his peripheral vision caught a
damning glimpse of flared skirt dancing about smooth thighs.

  "I'd like you to make eye contact, for starters." She touched his
cheek; he pulled away. 

  "Come back later."
  "I..." Her toughness fell away. "I can't. I'm taking a chance just
being here now." 

  Great, a damsel in distress; this was getting worse by the second.
"I'm busy."
  "Obviously." The biting tone covered something; Will did his best to
ignore it.
  "Look, I don't come to your work and tell you how to do your job." A
quick glance at her attire told him that might be... *interesting*.
  "I charge extra for that." Now he looked -- not just a peek, but a
full-on stare: was she...? 

  Her look was quite serious.

  But then it cracked. "Gotcha."

  And how. Now he was doubly mad -- she was *beautiful*. He'd be
thinking about her for days. Maybe weeks. He wouldn't be able to work.
He might not find the other woman's ring before it got sold. He
wouldn't be able to work on anything else, either. The faster he got
rid of this Jezebel the better. 

  "I'm not taking new cases right now. Why don't you go see Jackson on
the first floor; infidelity is more his thing anyway."

  "I need you." 
  Like *that* wouldn't be echoing in his fantasies for *weeks*... 
  "I heard about you -- about how you find things." 
  About *how*, or just that he did? 
  "I need you to find something for me. Something I lost. It actually
belongs to my husband."

  "Is it personal?"
  "Why?"
  He hesitated -- mystery worked better than truth. "It helps. What is
it?"
  "I'm not sure."
  "Describe it."
  "I'm not sure I can."
  She probably didn't mean to be frustrating, but... "Well... how big?"
  "Small, I think." Think? 
  "What color is it? What's it made of?"
  "I'm not sure what it looks like."
  Will gave a big sigh for effect. "You want me to find something, but
it's your... husband's. And you don't know what it looks like. So how
do you know it's lost?"
  "It's... complicated."
  "According to you, I don't have anything better to do." Looking like
that, she was going to monopolize his time whether she was here or not,
so she might as well tell him her story...
  "You wouldn't understand if I told you."
  "Try me."

  She hesitated. Was she trembling? "Never mind. This was a mistake."
She turned to go.

  Something in him clicked. "Hold on." He quickly grabbed her hand. The
move was instinctive, almost desperate. She looked at him, scared; he
let go. 

  An uncharacteristic smile covered his tactile retreat. "You hungry? I
was thinking about getting a bite to eat. You can join me if you like."

  Her fear held for a moment, shifting from the immediate to something
bigger. But then it melted. Whatever her hesitation, she seemed to
harden against it, her face brightening with a defiant grin.  "Yeah,
okay."


   

================================================================


// two


  Her name was Janelle.

  It was a melody he couldn't stop singing despite himself.

  Will, what are you thinking? You know what this'll do to you. How are
you going to make rent next month? She's... *gorgeous.* Not to mention
*married* -- and not to the nicest guy in the world, if the vibe you're
getting about this mystery object is any indication. Get up. Run. Never
look back. Change your locks -- to hell with what the landlord says, if
he can't respect your privacy...

  "Relax. I won't bite." She'd lost any trace of that fear as they'd
talked. Lightweight stuff -- weather, the food, the decor, going on
about each thing between brief bouts of silence the way strangers do.

  "Sorry," he said. "I just... I'm not good at small talk."
  "That's okay, neither am I."

  The silence was worse than the chit-chat. He could only stare at his
food or at the car parked outside for so long, and then he had to look
at her. And he began to notice things. Like the slightest tinge of
color to her skin, something between mocha and olive. There was a
not-quite-caucasian look to her features, a hint of something exotic,
too subtle to identify, something in the slight cant of her doe-eyes,
the round broadening of her nose, the curved pout of her lips, the
slivers of amethyst in her gray eyes.

  And she seemed to radiate in his attention. Most women didn't like
being stared at, at least not the way Will did it. He'd never mastered
the art of the brief friendly appraisal or the sly appreciative glance.
Maybe because he spent so little time with people and so much time with
objects. Maybe because most of the time that he *was* around people was
in the safety of Dream, intimitely disconnected.

  But the more he looked at her, the more she seemed to glow. And that
was a problem. Women like Janelle operated on a different plane. They
wanted things. They made men stupid; whether by nature or intent didn't
matter.

  "You're not like Randy at all."
  The comment came out of the blue, on the tail end of a shared laugh
about the waitress' upside-down nametag.
  It stopped Will's heart for a moment, like that sliver of silence
that came before an explosion.
  She'd dropped a bomb, all right -- complimenting Will, alluding to
the connection he'd made with her, and bringing up her husband all at
once. It was the kind of comment designed to suss a man out, at once
disclaimer and enticement. A siren's song sung to separate salacious
from sedentary. Go big or stay home.

  Will rationalized a third option.

  "Why do you say that?"
  "Well, for one, you're... interested." Gulp. Busted. "I mean in
things, people, life."
  "That's a lot to get from a two-minute conversation on the way to a
diner." It was flattering, but at the same time, it was like she was
trying *way* too hard. It made him feel like it wasn't about him at
all, but just about grabbing the nearest floating debris after a
shipwreck.
  "And five minutes waiting for our food," she corrected. "But it's
enough. Randy barely even talks anymore, and when he does it's always
about dominating somebody."
  Gulp. "What does he do?"
  "You mean when he does anything? His new thing is sales. Industrial
equipment, I think. Before that he did private security work. But when
he first got here it was football. Mean sport -- and he was the
meanest. He got off on people cheering after a big hit, 'rhino, rhino,
rhino'..."
  "Wait... Rhino? Randy -- Randall. Randall Holden? The football
player?"
  "That's what I said."
  "No, I mean, *the* football player, *the* Randall Holden, played for
the Raiders."
  "Yeah. So?"
  "God, I used to watch him play when I was a kid. Middle linebacker,
Number 54. The Rhino. All-Pro six years running, until that collision
with what's-his-name, McManis." Will remembered the incident --
open-field tackle at full-speed, a good clean hit, but so hard and at
just the wrong angle that it snapped McManis' neck. Some said he was
dead before he hit the carpet. "Man, that had to be rough. No wonder he
retired. --Oh, sorry. Went into Sports Mode for a sec there."

  He looked at her -- another good look, despite his earlier
declinations. Rhino Holden would have to be about forty by now, but
Janelle... not a day over twenty-five. And if she'd been around him
when he was playing, some... ten? twelve years ago? then... Hmm. So it
was like that.

  Janelle had been looking out the window -- apparently even a few
seconds of Sports Fan Reminiscence bored her, even if, probably
especially if it was about her husband. But she looked at Will now. "He
didn't want to retire. They forced him."

  Will wasn't sure what to make of that. Except that his imagination
began drawing exaggerated images of a hulking rhino of a man in full
football armor bearing down on him...

  "He still takes his aggression out on other people. He's just more
subtle about it now." Janelle looked down at her hands, one rubbing the
other.
  Will caught a glimmer of something in the statement, and her
movement, and then the ugliness of Janelle's meaning became clear.

  Will felt suddenly hot. He found few things more reprehensible than- 

  But Janelle deflected it, her demeanor lightened. "He's always
bragging about his latest conquest -- what competitor he stole his
latest customer from, how bad he beat another rep in the monthly
numbers." Her previous implication seemed withdrawn. "They're all so
competitive." She shrugged. "Men..."
  Will relaxed a bit, smiling as he put up an obligatory defense of his
gender. "We have to know where we stand."

  "Randy stands wherever he wants," she smirked.

  Randy. There was an evocative name. Will imagined it having something
to do with how they'd gotten together. 
  He imagined Janelle being attracted to the man at first despite and
then because of his macho gruffness. 
  He imagined Janelle staying with Randy longer than she should because
the sex was great. 
  He imagined Janelle feeling intense physical satisfaction in Randy's
rough riding. 

  He imagined it vividly.

  "Hello? Up here."
  "Hmm?"
  "You were staring at my chest."
  He blushed so fiercely that the noise in the diner faded beneath the
dull roar of surging blood.
  She leaned close to whisper, a stray blond curl bungeeing to touch
the tabletop. "I don't mind, really," she excused, "but I think the
waitress is jealous."

  She was blushing too. He had to close his eyes before her loveliness
made his stare a permanent condition.
  He had to find some control.
  He had to cut the bullshit.

  "You could leave him."

  Boom.

  She hadn't said anything about wanting to leave Randy, or even being
unhappy.
  But she'd dropped a bomb on him with the "you're not like Randy"
comment, and Will's only chance at escape was to return the favor.
  Go big or stay home.

  If he was wrong, this was where she got pissed.
  If he was right, this was where she equivocated, where she said Randy
wasn't such a terrible guy, it was just that they'd grown apart. This
was where lightheartedness drew him into... whatever her scheme might
be, some dangerous liaison, some twisted tease, some deadly
doublecross, downplaying the risk, emphasizing the reward. Or, reining
in the delusions of male grandeur, where she just got him to work for
free finding whatever sentimentally-valued trinket she'd lost. 

  This was where she either slapped him or soothed him.

  Only she took a third option.

  "That's just it -- I can't. Not without..." She trailed off, breaking
eye contact, drawing her hands back across the table in startled
reserve, staring at them dully, affecting a secret vulnerability.

  And it almost worked. But Will had a thing for femme fatale movies as
much as he had a thing for femmes fatale, and he knew this move was
calculated. It had to be.
  And if it wasn't, well, a damsel in distress was a romantic notion
but a real nightmare. He'd been on the back end of enough cases of
girls in trouble, nice guys from the suburban middle class drawn to and
used up by girls with abusive fathers or psychotic boyfriends or mean
pimps or wicked drug habits or... Fuck.

  Footage of the McManis hit replayed in his mind.
  Fuck.

  Fear iced him. He lashed out, desperation calling down the thunder of
every cliche he'd seen come true.

  "Now I get it. He's got money tied up in... *something*... and you
think if you could just find it, you'd have enough to make it on your
own for a while, just until you get settled -- and of course whatever
this *thing* is, it's surely worth enough that you can afford to pay me
handsomely. Or maybe we could just run away together, get away from
this terrible place... until I let you out of my sight just once, and
then you and the money are gone and I'm left in a lurch in some faraway
place. Or maybe we don't even get out of town, and you leave me behind
for your husband to take out his frustrations. I've heard this story
before. No thanks."

  He had to get up now -- if she was as good as she looked, she'd start
to cry, and even when he knew she was just a big faker it was always
harder to walk away when they were crying -- not because you gave a
shit about them, but this was his regular hang-out and he didn't want
everybody thinking he was some kind of heel.

  "Sit down." She grabbed his hand.
  Her touch was hot against his skin.
  "Let go of my hand."
  "Not until you let me pay you."
  Did she still expect him to help her find... this thing she couldn't
-- wouldn't -- even describe? "Not a chance." Every second her skin
touched his he felt his resolve weaken.
  Her tone was suddenly acerbic. "Don't be an idiot. You're going to
dream about me anyway; you might as well get paid for it." 
  She had him there. Still, he didn't like... encumbrances. 

  "Anyway," she added, "the money wasn't easy to get, and I might not
have it later." Her tone was all tough, but from the words alone she
was obviously trying to work his sympathy. He was supposed to say,
"that's okay, keep the money" but he was nobody's fool. 

  "Fine." He took the folded bills and stormed away from the table.
Eyes tunneled straight ahead.

  A part of him argued against walking out. A very hard part of him. He
shifted the way he carried his coat. He wasn't falling for it. A girl
like that wouldn't *actually* sleep with him, and if she would, it was
just that much more trouble. 

  But right now it wasn't cynical self-preservation that motivated his
legs. It was fear. Fear that he wasn't in control. Fear that she'd
already played him.

  He barely remembered to pay the check before running out.


   

================================================================


// three


  Janelle bounced up and down on Will's stiff dick, sweaty and naked.
  No, not naked -- her blouse was still hanging on her arms.
  So they'd been in a hurry.
  She started to moan. No, grunt. No, chant: "Oh oh oh oh yeah yeah
yeah yeah..."
  She was close.
  Will was closer.

  "Ngh, ngh, ngh, NGH! NGH! ... NGH! ... Ngh..."

  It took less than five minutes. 
  And more than five Kleenex to get it all off of his chest.

  He'd used her. Actually, just the fresh memory of her. An intense and
angry rub, twisting her as far away as he could manage from the person
he thought she really was. He'd turned her into a reckless club girl
out for a speed screw, and then he'd obliged her -- behavior as much
unlike him as it seemed unlike her.

  It was spiteful and mean, a private revenge for what she'd done--
*tried* to do to him. It made him feel dirty and guilty and mad. It was
the mad that he fostered. He needed it as much as he needed the quick
release to keep thoughts of her at bay. At least for a little while,
long enough to finish the Carlisle case. All he had to do was find out
where she'd pawned the ring; the rest of the sordid business was
someone else's problem.

  That's the way Will liked it. Get the item, don't get involved.

  His heart hadn't yet slowed, but Will could already feel the
post-climactic calm lowering him. He didn't make a habit of using a
'manual release' to prepare for Dream -- after so many years, he could
get to Dream faster than he could get to climax -- but sometimes the
endorphins made it easier. 

  And Will knew he couldn't dive straight in with his usual aplomb.
Even after (ahem) releasing Janelle, she had influence. If he took an
active role in Dream, his subconscious would wander and he'd end up
locking on to her, and then she'd be everywhere. So he had to go back
to the way he did it in the beginning, before he'd realized all he
could do. He had to let it flow. It took more time -- more wandering
than searching -- but people being people eventually a subject's
thoughts would turn to the matter at hand and take him right to it. It
was better than nothing. And right now, it was all he had.

  He knew he could let the Carlisle solution come naturally. It had
been a while since he'd done that. Maybe he was working too hard. Maybe
that's all it was...

  So Will let himself drift, the most tenuous of thoughts flowing him
through Dream toward the Carlisle house...

  Connie Carlisle is here. She is thinking of the ring. She's always
thinking of it. She feels guilty.
  He lingers; no need to nudge, she's already heading that way.

  Memory, made bolder and darker with meaning. The letter in her hand.
The ring still on her finger. The SUV rolling down the road, slow but
still too fast. 
  Will finds himself in the back seat. See, this isn't so hard. 
  An address scribbled, directions added. No, don't look; let it happen.

  We'll be there soon enough.

  It's dark; how long have they been driving? Did he nod off?

  The SUV rocks gently with the undulations of the road; he always used
to find riding in the car soothing, before- 

  He's just a passenger. He's not driving this time.
  He's not old enough.

  "Dad?"
  "We're almost home."
  His mom turns around. "Shh. Go back to sleep, honey."

  No. This is why he doesn't let go. It brings him back here.
  It's been a long time. But he always ends up here. He always closes
his eyes. And the ending is always the same.

  But before he closes his eyes, he looks to the seat next to him.

  A young woman is there.
  *Janelle* is there.

  And then everything goes sideways. The first instant of crunching
metal is so loud it wakes him.

  Like it always does.

  But this time when Will snapped awake, heart pounding, chest heaving,
lungs burning, this time he didn't relax so quickly.

  This time was different. The nightmare never changed, but it was
*different*. Janelle wasn't supposed to be there, but she *was* there,
sitting next to him at the end.

  This was bad. Really bad. She'd put a spell on him. If she could
penetrate such a deeply guarded memory, such a traumatic moment, it
meant he was *obsessed*.

  This had happened once before. Not this bad -- not all the way into
The Accident -- but then he hadn't given himself so much hanging rope
before.

  There was only one thing he could do. Only one thing worked before;
he hoped it would work this time, before it wrecked him.

  He'd have to stop sleeping.


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  Will stepped out of the office building. It was a cool day, and he
hadn't worn a coat, but still he turned down a cab. It was better to
walk, even if it was all the way across town.

  It would keep him awake.

  The security envelopes tucked themselves more tightly under his arm.
He was lucky -- Truman had almost twenty hours worth of dictation saved
up. Bless the man, because Will needed it to keep busy. Most people
found legal transcription to have a narcoleptic effect, but it kept
Will awake. It also kept Will from starving when P.I. work was light.

  And now it would keep him out of trouble.

  "Hey."

  Or not.

  It was Janelle. What was she doing here? How did she find him? Why
did she have to?
  Well, he had taken her money... which he'd gladly return now, only he
didn't have it on him.

  "Hey," he answered, pretending to focus on the crosswalk. It didn't
last. She moved so she was in his line of sight. He'd have to look at
her unless he was going to be a complete asshole, and he just didn't
have the energy for that...

  "You look like I feel," she said.
  "I wish I could say the same -- you look beautiful."
  It was a sweet lie. She looked haggard. "Thanks. I haven't been
sleeping well lately."
  Her too? "Why not?" came out of his mouth before he could stop it. He
didn't really want to know...
  "Randy hasn't been letting me dream- I mean, he keeps waking me up in
the middle of the night."
  So thanks to Randy, Janelle couldn't sleep -- and thanks to Janelle,
Will didn't want to.
  "Why?"
  The light changed. She glanced over her shoulder before stepping off
the curb, backpedaling to stay in front of him. She may have been
mentally frazzled, but not so much that she stopped trying to push his
buttons. Will just let her -- at this point it didn't much matter.

  "It's his way of punishing me for being a bad wife."
  "Bad how?" Again, a question he didn't want to ask. He'd forgotten
how uncoordinated he got when he didn't sleep.
  "I forgot to drop off the dry cleaning. He didn't have his power suit
for a big meeting, so he didn't close the deal."
  "And I suppose it's all your fault." That was fucked up.
  "It's okay. I did it on purpose." 

  She saw his puzzled look; her eyes darted up for a moment before
finding an explanation: "If I was suddenly the perfect wife he'd know
something was up."
  So Will wasn't the only man she was manipulating.

  She was walking next to him now, his height and her high heels
combining to stretch her strides further than modesty might dictate,
but she kept pace anyway. Actually she kept just a quarter-step ahead,
no doubt to make sure he could see her. He couldn't help but fixate on
the way her long strides made her hips sway and her breasts jostle and
her hair bounce...

  Fuck. If he didn't get some sleep soon, she'd have him doing tricks
in the street. Of course, if he did sleep he'd just be dreaming about
doing tricks in the street -- or something much more stupid, like
getting between her and a rhino...

  "How'd you find me?" It was a question of despair more than curiosity.
  "I followed you, and just kind of hung out."
  Followed? Will looked around casually, trying to be cool about it.
  "Oh, he doesn't care where I go. Or who I see. Actually, I think he
enjoys it when some guy tries to help me." 
  Oh, great. Will had visions of Randy hiring some unibrowed
barrel-chested wrestling fan to demonstrate how to beat someone with a
folding chair. 

  "So, any luck?"
  Yeah. Thanks to you, lots of it, and all of it bad. 

  But if she was asking, it probably meant she really did have
something she wanted him to find. That wasn't good, but it was...
something. At least she was using him because of what he could do. At
least he wasn't just a warm body.

  In his exhaustion he finally relented. If she was willing to follow
him... if she was willing to provoke her husband -- her husband The
Rhino -- to throw off suspicions... was that why? he couldn't quite
make sense of that one, but whatever... if she was willing to pay him
up front, and flirt with him, and... well, it didn't look like she was
going to leave him alone, in reality *or* in Dream, until he helped
her, so he might as well help her.

  "It would help a lot if I knew what I was looking for."

  "I told you I don't know what it looks like."
  "That's okay; actually it's not how I find things most of the time. I
need to know about its significance. What does it mean to you? And to
him?"

  Janelle suddenly stopped walking. It took him a couple of steps to
react.
  Whatever it was, it seemed to hit her pretty hard. Her playfulness
was gone.

  "Do you know what you do to a pet bird to make sure it doesn't fly
away?"
  "You put it in a cage."

  "No, you clip its wings." She turned to leave. "You're looking for
his scissors."


































   

================================================================


// four


  Will should have gone home. He needed a drink. He needed a shower.
But he was afraid to. Thoughts of Janelle clung to him like a bad
smell, and he didn't want to go home until he was rid of her. His
apartment was one place she hadn't infected yet, and he was going to
keep it that way.

  He wandered around for a while, trying to settle down. As the sun set
he found himself in the park downtown. The sound of the fountain drew
him to sit down. When he was younger, he used to use the sound of water
to clear his mind and relax him for Dream. He found it still worked. He
imagined the water washing away his troubles, carrying him away to a
happy place. Corny, but effective. So much so that it was after ten
when he finally left.

  No one was in the building when he arrived; the squeak in the
floorboard echoed down the hall.

  The pastrami on dutch crunch sucked, but it was portable; he dropped
what was left of it on the desk, and immediately plopped down on the
couch.

  They would be asleep by now. Time to get it over with.

  Will closed his eyes.

  His heartbeat was still fast. But his mind was focused. It only took
three breaths, and he was in Dream.

  An upscale-ugly apartment complex. Gated entrance behind him. Number
Four in front of him. Some sports car under a cover parked in front of
it.
  Inside. Dark. Spacious. Spartan.

  To the right, the dining room. To the left, the soft glow of a huge
TV screen outlines a recliner.

  Will shifts.

  The bedroom. Janelle is there -- alone. She's sleeping -- an
exhausted, dead sleep. She casts only the faintest shadows of
subconscious, mere shimmers in Dream. But Will finds them and tugs.

  He gets only fleeting images.

  Randall Holden, looking huge and angry, charging across an open
field, dipping slightly to deliver a bone-crunching hit that sends a
man flying.

  A train wreck, ominous billowing smoke sprawling overhead to block
the moonlight.

  A waitress, her nametag upside-down.
  Himself, sleeping/working on the couch in his office.
  A young boy, sleeping in the back of a car.

  No, these are not all her memories. He's projecting. She is so on his
mind, the very idea of her is a maelstrom in Dream, swirling and
spinning, pulling all thoughts toward it, homogenizing history and hope.

  Will must withdraw from her. Which leaves... *him*.

  Will slides down through the floor and walls to the living room.
Randy is there, sprawled in the recliner. Will stands behind it,
sneering as he begins attuning to the threads of thought coiling around
the ex-athelete and soon-to-be-ex-husband.

  In the real world, Randy Holden would intimidate Will. But Dream is
Will's sport -- he is the athlete here. He is in control here. And he
sees no need to be gentle.

  Ordinarily, Will is careful when he treads through others' thoughts
in Dream. Finding and following particular thoughts in others' heads
isn't hard -- he's been doing it ever since the acc... ever since he
stumbled on Dream. But if done too directly or too vigorously or for
too long, it can be hard on the brain chemistry, and leave the person
he's shadowing with a wicked headache, or worse. Will doesn't normally
like the idea of hurting people as he's trying to help.

  But his aggravation with Janelle transfers to Randy. He just wants
this to be over quickly, so he can forget it all and move on with his
life.

  So he grabs a thread that heads in Janelle's direction and gives it a
hard, almost cruel yank.

  And Randy wakes up.

  Will jumps back -- doesn't know his own strength -- but hangs onto
the thread, ready to follow it into Randy's memories and thoughts of
Janelle. Only it isn't coiling the way it should. Did he pull so hard
he broke it? Can he even do that?

  Randy straightens up in his chair. Stands. Threads fade as Randy's
consciousness focuses. Will waits to follow him; after such a vicious
tug, there's almost no way Randy can avoid dwelling on Janelle -- and
if he suspects she's up to something, his own guilt will bullseye the
thing she's after.

  Will smiles. It can be so easy when subtlety isn't a prerequisite.

  Randy moves to the fishtank.
  How cliche. Why didn't Janelle ever look there?
  She said she didn't know what she's looking for. That's why she needs
him.

  Randy looks inside for a moment.
  If the thing is in there, why can't Will see a glow?
  Then Randy seems to spot something, and the water in the tank
shimmers. Something in the bottom lights up with Randy's recognition.
The bottom of the tank is full of round balls of glass. They remind
Will of the marbles he used to play with as a kid. Light reflects and
refracts with dazzling brightness as Randy's hand digs into the mound,
throwing sparkles around the room like a disco ball. And then Randy has
it, a small orb of pure-white light, brighter than Will has ever seen
in Dream before; he shields his eyes.

  The light dulls slightly; Randy has dropped it back into the tank,
where it quickly settles to the bottom. The tank's top is carefully
replaced, and Randy turns back toward his chair.

  Will sees the look on Randy's face -- one of sadistic conquest.

  But then the look changes to... curious surprise.

  Will sees threads multiply and strengthen in the direction of the
bedroom where Janelle sleeps. A few slink back toward the fishtank. And
then they all... pulse. Randy's form seems to shimmer. His expression
hardens. What is he thinking? Will looks down to select one of the
threads, when he notices something strange.

  The thickest thread ends right in front of him.

  He looks up. Randy's eyes darting down and back up. Will blinks; it's
almost as if Randy can see him.

  "Who the fuck are you?"

  Will freezes stiff, afraid to move. Can Randy sense him?

  The big man's hard look becomes a sneer. "I suggest you run."

  A part of Will wants to take the suggestion. But he is in Dream; he
is only here in thought. And he is angry. He wants Randy to know that
whatever power he thinks he has over Janelle is about to be challenged
and broken.

  Will straightens up and throws his shoulders back defiantly. He
doesn't know just how much Randy can sense or see, but Will's body
language can't be any clearer.

  Neither can Randy's. The ex-football star steps forward menacingly.
And yet he doesn't -- a shadow is left behind.

  Randy's pace quickens; he quickly closes the distance between them.
And yet his... shadow? ghost? hasn't moved.

  Will raises an eyebrow. Strange...

  Randy's shoulder lowers. Arms come out wide. Will can't help but
flinch.

  And then a rhino hits him.

  He's crashing to the ground, a hot heavy mass crushing the breath out
of him, vision rattled.
  Something is very wrong.
  It *hurts*.
  The shock should wake him up, but as he blinks, he feels Randy push
up off his chest. The hulking vision looms over him, seeming at once
ethereal and corporeal. Why is he still in Dream? And where does this
nightmare come from?

  "I told you to run," Randy spits, coming to his feet.

  Will closes his eyes. And reopens them. Randy is still here -- Will
is still *there*.

  "Run!" Randy barks.

  Will runs.
  Scrambling to his feet, feeling the world tilt as he finds his
balance, feeling the remnant fire in his chest from the hit, feeling
the shooting pain in the back of his neck...

  Feeling fear.

  Will hears thumping footfalls behind him. He turns down the hallway,
heading for the front door. This isn't right. None of this is right.
Why is he running? He isn't bound by anything here. He can be anywhere
he wants to be.

  He Shifts -- and he is outside, in the park, in the dark.
  He hears the fountain.
  Calm down. It's just a nightmare. Wake up.

  "I didn't say to stop running."

  Whack! Will's world cocks sideways; the next thing he sees is grass.
And a heavy boot.
  "Get up."
  He's yanked up by the back of his shirt. Another yank throws him
upright; he struggles to keep his feet. He wants to be somewhere else,
but his head is ringing and he can't for the life of him focus on a
single place to be.

  "You can't run, can you?" Randy laughs. "Can't believe it's
happening, can you?"
  Will feels a fist try to pierce his midsection; he doubles over. 
  "Thought you were alone." A punch to the side of the head; Will folds
to the ground.
  "Thought you were untouchable. So did she." A kick to the thigh
undoes his partial rise.
  Find a place...
  "But she was sloppy. Always meddling. I got *her* number." A foot to
the ribs makes him see red.
  Any place...
  "And now I got yours." 
  *That* place.

  Darkness. Faint shadows of trees ahead.
  "Shh. Go back to sleep, honey."
  But Will doesn't want to sleep. He wants to wake up.

  Janelle is there, sitting next to him. Smiling. Glowing. Leaning over
him. Kissing his forehead.
  "It's going to be okay."
  He looks out the window. Bright lights approach from the side. He
hears his parents gasp.
  The world whips suddenly sideways.
  Will swears he sees a glowing rhino's horn ripping through the side
of the SUV...


  "Aaaghhh!!!"


  Will leaped up off the couch, his whole body taut with fear, spasming
toward upright; he bounced off the side of the couch and crashed to the
floor, limbs pistoning uselessly as his chest burned with gasping
breaths.

  Adrenaline masked the pain, but he knew he was hurt when he tried to
stand. Arms, legs, and back seemed to get stuck halfway, and he settled
for a half-sit half-lay on the end of the couch.

  His mind raced back and forth over what had just happened. Randy had
seen him. Randy had *followed* him. Randy had *beaten* him.
  And it *hurt*.

  It had to be some kind of twisted instinct that helped him escape
through his own nightmare. The very thing that had tortured him for
years, the terrible memory of the moment he'd lost his parents,
magnified in retrospect by survivor's guilt -- the one train of thought
he could never control or derail, always wrecking him into shattered
wakefulness, had just saved him.

  And again Janelle had found a way inside it.

  It was unsettling.

  But not as unsettling as her appearing on his doorstep just fifteen
minutes later.


   

================================================================


// five


  Janelle looked frightened.

  "I... I had a nightmare about you; I wanted to make sure you were
okay."

  He let her in. She wasn't even dressed -- short-hem long-sleeve white
satin robe and slip-on running shoes.

  "I'm okay," he lied. For the last fifteen minutes he'd been thinking
about not telling her about the marble -- about any of it -- but if he
didn't, it wouldn't be over, and he wanted it to be over. He was tired
of trying to figure her out, and things were only getting weirder, and
if he spent any more time around her he was likely to do something
stupid.
  Well, more stupid.

  "I found it," he said. "It's a marble. He hides it in the fishtank."
Will didn't understand it, but he didn't really want to.

  He thought vaguely about what would happen now. She'd grab the thing
-- some heirloom? some precious ancient artifact? maybe its value would
buy her freedom, maybe she had to return it to someone to clear her
name? -- Stop it, Will, if it makes sense it might make you care. She'd
grab the thing and go, and her furious husband would come looking for
her. It would get ugly. Will was fucked.

  Better clean the gun.

  Will couldn't shoot worth a shit, but the old snub-nose revolver
looked serious enough and made plenty of noise, and that might be
enough to get through to a man nicknamed Rhino.

  He sat down behind his desk; the desk lamp was cocked too high and
blinded him -- the rest of the office was still dark -- but he didn't
bother to adjust it. It was probably better that he couldn't see her
very well.

  "Ohmygod, what happened to your face?" Janelle sounded concerned, but
not alarmed. She flipped on the office lights, casting a bright
greenish glow over everything that made Will squint, which made his
cheek hurt. It was already swelling.

  "Nothing. I fell." The contradiction made the lie obvious, but he
tried to sell it anyway. "Off the couch. When I woke up." She stood
across the desk from him now, and leaned across to touch his cheek; he
winced. "He just startled me." He assumed she knew about Randy's
ability to Dream. In retrospect, it was obvious -- it was why she'd
approached him in the first place.

  "He startled you?"
  "Yeah. I asked for it -- I yanked a thread pretty hard." She seemed
to understand what he meant. "At first I thought I woke him up, but
then he saw me, and-"

  "*What?* He *saw* you?"

  Wait, what? She didn't know? Or was this another game? She was so
damned convincing...

  "Well, yeah," he said dumbly.
  "Are you *sure*?"
  "He asked me who I was." Actually, who the fuck he was, but close
enough. "Then he asked me to leave." Then there was the ass-kicking,
and being trapped in Dream, and escaping through his own nightmare, and
seeing her where she'd never been... but if she didn't even know Randy
could *see* someone else in Dream, it was probably better he stop short
for now.

  Her face paled. She felt behind her for the couch and unsteadily took
a seat. She mumbled something he couldn't quite make out, but sounded a
little like "goddess help them."

  "What's wrong?"

  Janelle stood up, a sudden grim determination on her face. "I'm
sorry, Will. I shouldn't have involved you. Just... forget I ever came
here."
  "What are you going to do?"
  "I'm going to go home to my husband." It was the most... tragic thing
Will had ever heard.

  Was this part of her act? Was he supposed to jump in now? He felt
played, and yet he made a half-hearted attempt anyway. Maybe it was a
sense of professionalism, maybe it was something else. "Wait... Don't
just give up. If you need help... I mean, if he moves it and you need
me to find it again, I don't mind. I mean, it's what you paid for. And
if you need help with anything else, like... I mean..." don't be a
hero, Will, "there are programs, or I could refer you to someone who
specializes-"

  She cut him off. "Will." At first he thought she was offended at his
unheroic offer, but her withering look meant something else. "This is
my problem, not yours." She turned to go, her hand gripping the
doorknob, muscles tensing as she tugged on the sticking door...

  "Wait," Will said desperately.
  What are you doing?
  I don't know. I deserve some answers...
  You deserve not to get your ass beat in Dream by a man named Rhino.
  But none of this makes any sense. How will I ever let any of this go
if it doesn't make any sense?

  Janelle had paused, but wasn't waiting.
  Will's words tumbled out, emotion turned to words without intervening
thought. "What are you trying to do to me? What do you want from me?
You come to me to find something, you hardly tell me anything, but all
the signals... pulling and pushing... and then there's somebody else
who can Dream, and I find the thing you said you wanted only you say
'never mind'... and you keep showing up at the end... I don't
understand. Why? Why did you even come here in the first place? Is it
just torture? I just..."

  Janelle looked down, ashamed. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll leave
now." She resumed her struggle with the sticky door, her whole body
jostling and shaking as the tug-of-war escalated...

  ...until her robe fell off her shoulder, exposing the slender
spaghetti strap of her low-cut nightgown. 

  And the huge scars that ran the length of her shoulder blades.

  "Oh my God," Will breathed.

  The flesh was dark and twisted and rough and angry, cruel contrast to
Janelle's beauty. Will knew the monster who'd inflicted such wounds was
no different.

  Will had suspected some kind of physical fallout, but this... Nothing
distanced like a broken bone or diffuse like a bruise, but jagged and
ugly and sick with violence, Will felt his humanity sucked into its
shocking gravity.

  The scars were only exposed for a moment: as quickly as the robe had
fallen, Janelle pulled it back up. She continued tugging on the
doorknob, now with only one hand, but using all of her weight,
desperate to escape.

  "Janelle." Will rushed across the room, his hands coming gently to
her shoulders. "Stop..." His hand fell to hers on the doorknob,
stilling her, pulling her away from it. Her struggles stopped, and she
turned, slipping free of his hold only to collapse back against the
door, exasperated. He stepped closer, arms wrapping around her, feeling
her fall into his embrace. 

  He wasn't letting her go. Not now. Not after seeing *that*. Confusion
fell to the clarity of purpose. Details didn't matter. What mattered
was that she was in trouble, she needed help, and she'd come to him.
All of Janelle's games, the flirting, the manipulation, the dishonesty
-- if any of it was ever a game at all -- all were forvigen in a
heartbeat.

  It didn't matter how he got here, only where he went next.
  And Will was ready to go all the way.

  "It's gonna be okay," he soothed. "I'm not gonna let him hurt you
again."

  She pulled back, looking up into his eyes with tragic amusement; her
hand brushed his cheek. "Oh, Will, that's... sweet. But I can't let you
get involved. He's my problem."

  "He doesn't have to be. Leave him."
  "It's not that simple."
  "Sure it is."
  "No." She slipped past him, stepping to the window, looking up at the
sky. "You don't know what he can do."

  "You don't know what *I* can do." Of course, neither did Will. But
he'd always felt something in Dream, a vibe whenever he Shifted that
there was more, much more. He'd never dared explore it before -- he'd
always been afraid, either of hurting someone or of going so deep he
didn't want to wake up. But now with Randy out there, and Janelle here,
he wasn't afraid of those things anymore.

  She turned and look at him. Hard. Like she was sizing him up. Or
maybe like she was seeing something in him for the first time. "Sit
down, Will."

  He moved to the couch, but hesitated in front of it. "I'm not gonna
let-"
  "Sit *down*."
  Will sat, tense but silent.

  Janelle settled back, half-sitting on the window ledge. The
streetlight outside seemed to hang like a halo over her head. She
looked down at the floor for a long time, her lips occasionally parting
but never quite forming words, as if she kept thinking she'd figured
out where to begin and then reconsidered. Finally she just tsk-tsked
and shook her head; she had to start somewhere...

  "When I first heard about you, I thought you were the answer -- my
ticket out of here. I was tired -- we've been here almost ten years now
-- and I thought, how much trouble could he cause here if I left him?
After all, he was just a man here. Ten years was enough penance.

  "You have to understand, I thought it was hopeless. He bound me, just
like they warned us would happen if we got careless. Binding is
forever, unless you can take the object that binds you. Only two wagons
ever escaped their towel lids, and they were long before my time. So-"

  "Wait," Will interrupted. "Only two wagons escaped a what's-it?"

  Janelle smiled; shoulders shook with a little chuckle. "No, Wi'gens."
She enunciated more carefully. "I'm Wi'gen. And Randy is Tal'id. We're
from tu'Ress."

  "Why-gginn and Tao-led."
  "Close enough."
  "From Tourette's."
  "Tu-RESS. Yes."

  Will cocked an eyebrow. "Never heard of it. Is that like a Balkan
state?"

  Janelle hesitated, deciding what to tell him. Then she sighed, "it's
on the other side of Dream."

  Will just stared at her for a long moment as a thousand little
memories started to go off like popcorn. The shadows of nothing in
Dream, the phantom threads that ran off into nowhere, things Will had
long ago learned to ignore suddenly had a theory. The Other Side of
Dream.

  Well, Fuck Me Naked.

  Janelle wasn't waiting for Will to pick up his jaw. "Learning about
you suddenly gave me a purpose. I had a goal. I felt *alive* again. It
was so hard keeping it from Randy, but I didn't want to blow it. And
you came through for me, Will, you really did. Only now I can't go. I
can't just run away."

  "Sure you can," Will managed.

  "I can't. It's my mission to protect your world from the Tal'id. And
it's my fault he's here."

  Her mission?

  "I'm a Guardian. Or, I was a Guardian. --To become a full-fledged
Wi'gen citizen you have to serve the Council for four years. I didn't
have any particular talent, so I went for the Guardians. I barely made
it through training, but I made it. I thought I'd be assigned to
monument duty, but my elder must have seen something in me, because she
gave me a veil and sent me into Dream.

  "Being chosen as a Guardian of Dream is a great honor -- but it's
also hard. In training it seems simple, just a matter of discipline:
Look for pulled threads; Ignore the shadows; Don't lose your veil. But
nothing prepared me for what it was like. All alone in a big nothing,
and yet just beyond my reach I could sense so much happening. I went
for what seemed like forever, and I never saw a pulled thread... I
started to forget what I was looking for. My mind wandered, and
eventually I noticed the shadows.

  "Only they're not the twisted remnants of the insane or Tal'id traps
like all the stories I heard as a child -- they're the thoughts and
dreams of a whole other world. And they're strange and wonderful and
beautiful... and terrible. I convinced myself if Tal'id were going to
escape to Dream they wouldn't just poke around with Wi'gens, waiting to
get caught; they'd go deeper in Dream to interact with this other world.

  "But really I was just lonely, and tired, and angry. The mission was
stupid and pointless, just chasing a fairy tale. They'd abandoned me
out there, given me a gift and warned me not to use it."

  Janelle paused. "Do you know about pre-threads?"
  "I don't know. What's a pre-thread?"
  "It's how we're taught to catch Tal'id. A pre-thread is a hint of
where a thought or an object or a person is going. They're not always
there, or there are so many possibilities they spread out into nothing,
but sometimes a thread appears that connects to an event that hasn't
happened yet."
  "Like seeing the future?"
  "Just a glimpse of a likely future, rarely more than a few moments
ahead, but sometimes when something's almost inevitable, it can be
further. I think you sometimes call them self-fulfilling prophecies.
Anyway, if you really let go and just let someone's threads drape over
you, you can get a sense of where they're going. It's supposed to be a
lot easier with a pulled thread -- Tal'id manipulating something in
Dream to influence someone's thoughts -- which you can use to
anticipate a Tal'id's move, and then open a hole in Dream at just the
right place that sucks them out."

  "So is that what you did to Randy? Is that how he got here?"

  "Well..." Janelle didn't seem to know which way to answer.
"Technically, it leads to that, but... Let me finish. I was angry
because I hadn't seen a single sign of Tal'id in all the time I'd been
in Dream, but after just a little while observing people in this
strange new world, I started to see things, and I started to feel
pre-threads -- and it seemed wrong to just watch and not do anything,
especially when I knew something bad was going to happen to someone.

  "I had to help. But it wasn't my world. I couldn't cross over, not
fully; all I could do was pull threads, make suggestions, point things
out. I could help people avoid mistakes, or create coincidences that
kept them out of harm's way. Like whispering in their ear. But it
worked -- I helped find lost children, got sick people into programs,
kept drunk drivers off the road, led police to dangerous criminals,
prevented accidents... And it made me feel like I'd finally found a
purpose. I'm sure it's a lot like what you do."

  "I... I guess." Will suddenly felt like a heel for being so selfish
with his gift. Sure, he used it to help people, but it was always on
his terms, and it was always for a fee. And he was hardly saving lives.

  "I was so full of myself. I thought I was so smart, figuring out the
secrets of the universe, doing great things. But I was just setting
myself up for a fall. I was just setting myself up for Randy."

  "He wasn't supposed to come here. But I was careless. Stupid. Not
only was I not looking for Tal'id anymore, I didn't even feel him
coming. He yanked on someone's threads and it startled me, and I just
froze up... and then he hit me. He was just *there*, and I hurt so bad
I couldn't move. It was a textbook attack. 

  "I wish I could say I did what I was trained to do, but the truth is
I just panicked. The hole opened, and he fell into it, almost like he
wanted to. Then I felt..." Janelle paused with a gasp; the memory was
painful. "It was just an instant, but I knew what he'd done. He'd bound
me. The next thing I knew I was here. *We* were here. I never even knew
I'd lost my veil, but he must have known, or he wouldn't have been
so... so..."

  She shut her eyes tightly to let the moment pass. 
  Will remembered the scars; his hands balled into fists, knuckles
turning white. 

  "...he wouldn't have hit me so hard," she continued. "Of course, in
all the time since then, since he's kept me here, I can't say that he's
ever been subtle. Except that's not really true now..."

  Will was surprised to feel himself breathing hard, as if keeping up
with Janelle required physical effort. "Wait, so the marble, that's
what... binds you? And if you take it you break the bond?"
  "Yeah. At least that's what I was taught growing up -- what the
legends say. The elders just tell you not to let your veil slip or a
Tal'id could bind you and then it's over. I don't really know."
  "And what happens to Randy?"
  "If he was a normal Tal'id, nothing. I mean, without a bond to a
Wi'gen they're not tied to Dream anymore, so they start aging again and
eventually just grow old and die."
  "You mean while he's bound to you he doesn't grow old?"
  "He doesn't grow old, he can't be hurt, at least not on this plane,
and he can't be killed. Some say that's why Tal'id go into Dream in the
first place, just to bind a careless Wi'gen and live happily ever
after."
  "And what happens to you?"
  "If the legend is real, I go back to Dream. I can either stay in
Dream or go back home to live in shame."

  Janelle seemed to be done, or at least she needed to take a moment;
she cast her eyes to the floor.

  Will couldn't sit anymore. This was all so... *much*. He stood up,
moving toward her; her eyes darted up at him nervously. He wanted to
hold her, but only if she wanted him to. He stopped short, close but
leaving her space, leaning back to sit on the edge of the desk,
mirroring her stance against the edge of the window.

  "What do you want to do?" he said softly. He tilted his head but held
her gaze, supportive but not assertive. 

  "I wish I could just turn and run. That's what I'd do if..." she
reached toward his cheek, fingers tracing the empty space between them
as if caressing him; he remembered his shiner, which by now was
probably starting to look ugly. "If Randy hadn't done that," she
finished.

  "Don't worry about me," Will said bravely. "I'll be all right." After
all, it was nothing compared to what she must have endured. And if
Randy was just an ordinary guy once she was gone -- a huge mean guy in
a jilted rage maybe, but still just a guy -- well, Will could find a
way to handle that. There were people in the business who dealt with
guys like Randy...

  "You don't understand. I said that's what I'd do if Randy was a
normal Tal'id. But Tal'id don't Dream."

  But she said Tal'id went into Dream to bind a Wi'gen...?

  Janelle explained. "You are like Wi'gen -- a part of us is always in
Dream. Most never understand it as anything more than the subconscious,
or strange thoughts they have while they sleep. You see it as
full-fledged Wi'gen do, another plane, a place connected to and beyond
the physical world, where the mind lives. 

  "Tal'id are different. They don't have a presence in Dream, at least
not like that. But some have learned how to use Wi'gen to *leave* the
physical world for Dream. They call it the Leap. It's the same thing
that Guardians are trained to do on their own, only when Tal'id do it,
it kills the Wi'gen they use as a vessel."

  "But Randy saw me." So he was different, but...
  "He did more than that." She actually touched his cheek this time; he
winced. "You didn't fall off the couch, did you?" Busted.
  "I told you, I'm fine."

  "I know." Her voice was sweetly patronizing. "But if Randy can do
that, it means he can Dream -- he has a presence in Dream while he's
here. Which means I can't ever really take the marble from him, because
he'll still have a connection to it in Dream."

  "That's how I found the marble," Will affirmed. "Isn't there any way
to break it?"
  "Ironically, not when I'm bound -- I'm just a passive in Dream, I
can't do anything."

  "Can I do it?"

  Janelle looked at him. "No. He'll just hurt you again." No, he
couldn't do it, or no, she didn't want him to try? "Besides, if he can
Dream, he'll know the moment I escape, and he'll just follow me and
bind me again."

  Janelle looked down at her feet; Will saw her face tighten up, her
breath strained, fighting to keep the tears at bay. "I'm sorry," she
said finally.

  Will straightened up, his hand finding hers, squeezing it gently in
frustration and sympathy and encouragement. 
  "There has to be some way out. There has to be some way you can
escape him."

  "There is." She slid her hand gently up to his neck. "At least for a
little while." And then she pulled him toward her and kissed him.

















   

================================================================


// six


  The couch wasn't really built for this.

  Janelle lay atop Will as much as next to him, one leg and one arm
stretched over him, soft breasts pressed against him. He felt his elbow
hanging off the edge of the couch, and protectively drew his arm more
tightly around her.

  Squeezed against the back of the couch, laying flat on his back,
unable to move for fear of knocking her off the couch, her head nestled
against his neck, her hair spilling over his chin and mouth... it was
uncomfortable. But Will didn't mind at all.

  He hadn't felt this *right* in a long time.

  She sighed sweetly as she stirred.

  "You cold?" He could feel goosebumps on her hip.
  "Hm-mm," she fibbed, squeezing him with her arm.
  "Liar," he retorted, sliding his hand across her bottom and giving it
a playful squeeze. "Let me get the blanket." His hand fell to the
floor, feeling around the cold wood like a drunken spider. He couldn't
reach very far, and after plucking up what turned out to be her panties
he suspended the search and called for reinforcements.

  Will pushed himself up on his other elbow, holding her to him so she
wouldn't fall off the couch, straining his neck to see over her to the
floor near the other end of the couch. The blanket he usually kept on
the back of the couch had started off covering the pair after their
first lovemaking, but it hadn't been more than a few minutes of slowing
breathing before giggling set in and they'd found themselves wrestling
and squirming and ready for another round, this time with her on top.
The blanket had been an immediate casualty, now a lonely wad draped off
the far end of the couch.

  "I'll get it," she said. She tried to squirm out from under his arm
but got caught and wound up landing somewhat ungracefully on the hard
floor with a thump. A moment of held breath -- did she hurt herself? --
was followed by a rising stream of giggles. "Just kick me out of bed,
why doncha," she managed before laughter overtook her. Will couldn't
help but join in.

  Janelle folded over and crawled to the other end of the couch,
grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around her as she stood and headed
for the bathroom.

  "Leaving already?" Will said, his tone casual and cocksure but his
anxiety growing.
  "Calm down, I just gotta pee," she chided before she closed the door.

  Will shifted on the couch, spreading out and stretching sore muscles.
It'd been a long time since he'd felt this way. Well, in some ways,
he'd *never* felt this way.

  But it wasn't all good. Anxiety was beginning to build over what
would happen next. It couldn't stay like this. Well, there was the
obvious, of course -- Janelle was another man's wife. Not just any
other man, but a former professional football player, a linebacker
known for his fierce playing style. Funny that that was the least of
his worries, almost not worth mentioning. But then, Janelle was no
ordinary woman. He would have wondered if she was a woman at all if it
hadn't been for what they'd done. No, not *done*, nothing so crude as
that -- what they'd *shared*.

  And now his brain was in problem-solving mode, trying its best to
figure out how he could get her to leave.

  He didn't want her to go, but he couldn't have her stay under Randy's
thumb. The image of her scars returned; he scrunched up his face at the
recollection. He'd only seen them for that one brief moment before
she'd covered them up, and he'd been afraid to touch them all night,
not wanting to remind either of them of what waited for her when she
went back home to Randy. No, not when, *if*. Will would figure out a
way to make this work. He reran everything Janelle had told him, about
Wi'gen and Tal'id and Dream and her mission as a Guardian and binding
and...

  Janelle came out of the bathroom, its light glowing around her like a
divine aura.

  "Your veil," Will said out loud.
  "What?" She flicked the light off and came back to the couch,
standing at the other end of it, looking down at him, her hands on her
hips beneath the blanket draped over her shoulders. The street light
leaking in from the window behind her made her a silhouette to Will's
eyes, the blanket looking a little like wings folded around her. Or
maybe a shield.

  "Your veil," he repeated. "It protects you, right? Like a shield, or
a... forcefield?"
  "I guess," she sighed. "At least, it would if I hadn't lost it." She
tapped at his foot to move so she could sit. Will guessed he'd spoiled
the mood and there'd be no more cuddling. He swung his feet around, the
rubbing fabric of the cushions reminding him as he sat upright that he
was naked. Somewhat self-consciously he reached down to find his boxers
as Janelle sat down next to him.
  "So what's this veil look like?" Will asked. He wiggled into his
boxers without standing.

  Janelle knew where he was going. "You can't find it. It's gone." Her
voice changed, as if she was quoting something out of a book. "'If a
Guardian becomes distracted and relaxes her hold on her veil, the swirl
of passing thoughts may slip it from her shoulders beneath her notice,
and then she is helpless against the Tal'id.' It's probably the
most-discussed line in the divine order. They drill it into you in
training. You can't see it, it's not even really physical, the only way
you know it's there is you get this *feeling*."

  Will frowned, but was only somewhat deterred. "What's it feel like?"
  Janelle turned inward a moment, obviously searching far back for a
memory. Then she smiled. "Happiness."

  That was... cryptic. And yet, after last night, he knew exactly what
she meant.

  "Maybe if you let me, I could find it through your memories."
  "Will, once I entered Dream, I pretty much forgot about my veil. I
didn't even know I'd lost it. I roamed around a lot before I was drawn
toward the other side --your side. You probably haven't even seen the
far side of Dream yet. And even if you could find the veil, how would
you pull it back here? It's actually *in* Dream, if it's anywhere at
all." Janelle reached out from underneath the blanket and took his
hand. "But it was a nice thought."

  He knew she was patronizing him, but his brain wasn't done yet.

  "Wait, I have another idea." He turned on the couch to face her,
pulling her hand to have her do the same. "You said you couldn't leave
because he'd just follow you and bind you again. So I'll keep him busy
until you're safely away." He didn't have any idea how long that would
have to be -- he knew when he Shifted in Dream he could go pretty much
anywhere in an instant, but maybe it was different for someone if they
actually crossed over. If they did, he'd hold Randy however long it
took...

  "No -- he'll hurt you."
  "I'm not made of glass."
  "Compared to him, you are." 
  "Maybe here, but not in Dream. And once you're unbound, that's the
only place he'll be."
  Janelle thought a moment, but... "I can't. I can't just run away and
leave you to deal with him."

  "And if you stay here, what can you do? You said yourself you can't
Dream. He's been Dreaming here at least ten years since he brought you
here, and who knows how long before that."
  "But it's different now. He knows about you."
  Will straightened up, shoulders thrown back. "So maybe now he'll
think twice before he goes messing around in Dream." It wasn't like
Will to puff up, but Dream was *his* world here, and he wasn't going to
let anybody mess with it -- or her.

  "But you're not like him, Will. He's... *mean*."
  "And I'm stubborn," Will said evenly, as much a rebuttal to Randy's
threat as to Janelle's reluctance. 

  "Look," he continued, "I know you feel like you're just dumping your
problem on me-"
  "That's right -- he's my problem. I was supposed to protect both our
worlds from him and instead I brought him here. And it's my duty to fix
it. I signed up for this, you didn't."
  Will continued. "-but I can handle it." He looked down at her hand in
his, the feeble glow from the window painting her smooth skin with
illuminance against his dark roughness. "I don't know if you believe in
fate -- I don't know if *I* believe in fate -- but you found me, and I
can help. You can finally break free of him. And I'd like to think my
life has more purpose than finding keys and keepsakes." He looked back
up, catching her eyes. "We'd be crazy to turn away from this."
  "But Will..."
  "And anyway it's not like you're leaving him here forever, right?
When you tell your... Elders about Randy, they'll send you back to take
care of him for good."

  Janelle sighed. "Will, I lost my veil. You don't know what a huge
deal that is. It's not the kind of thing where you get a second chance."

  That sucked. That *really* sucked. But Will bucked up; if he didn't
put a happy face on this, how would he talk her into it? "Well, they'll
send someone else then. Either way, the Randy problem gets solved. And
in the mean time, I'll have something to do." He gave her a wry smile.

  "What if he's already moved it?"
  "You just get in there, take all the marbles, and get out. You
remember the place you met me the other day, across town?"
  "Yeah."
  "If it doesn't work out, I mean, if you don't break free or whatever,
you just go there. A man named Davis has an office there. He's a good
man, and he owes me a favor; he'll take care of you until I get there,
and we can figure out our next move. Just remember, if he's moved it,
I'll find it. Randy can't hide anything from me."
  "When he wakes up, he's going to come for you."
  "I won't be here by the time he gets here."
  "What if he's keeping the marble with him? You can't-"
  "Then I'll get a couple of friends to help me. They find out what
he's done to you, I don't care how strong he is, we'll get him to cough
it up."
  "But Will, he can't be-"
  "Janelle, stop it. I'm not giving up on you. One way or another,
you're going home."

  Will stood up and began gathering Janelle's clothes. "You get
dressed; I'll dip into Dream and see if he's asleep. If he is, you can
go now and this'll all be over before the sun comes up."

  "I need to think about this," she put off.

  Will imagined her going back to that monster. No. "Now that he's seen
me, he knows something's up. Like you said, it's different now." He
pushed the clothes into her hands and then pulled her to her feet.
"Stay or go. Either way, I'm gonna go give Randy a piece of my mind."

  He could tell that she understood now. It *was* different. 

  The blanket fell from her shoulders as she stood and took the clothes
from him. "William Cross, you are something else."

  Will sat back down and then reclined on the couch. He was charged up,
but he also had a clarity he hadn't ever felt before. He had a mission.
He had a *purpose*.

  It only took a moment.
  Will shifted.


  Inside the house. Behind the recliner. Not there.
  Threads leading from the fishtank to the bedroom.
  Randy, in bed, asleep.

  A thread in Will's hand. Gentle...
  Shift.

  Randy's hulking frame, squatting in front of the fish tank, peering
into it, one marble glowing brightly, tracing hundreds of intersecting
curves of light all over the walls of the room. The faintest hints of
dozens of threads running away from Randy in every direction.

  Focus...

  Threads brighter now, thicker, the room fading away to leave the two
men in the middle of an endless space marked only by thick webs of mind
linking unseen souls and pasts and events, waiting to be touched.

  Shift.

  Will was back on his couch. His eyes remained closed, but he felt the
realness around him, the fabric on the cushions, the air in his lungs,
the tug of gravity, the scent of someone else...

  But he held on to that last image of Randy, alone, all of his threads
lit up around him, connecting him to all of the things he'd done, all
of the people he'd touched.

  He wanted to take those threads and wrap them around the brute's
thick neck and squeeze the very essence out of him.

  Will felt something soft and moist on his cheek. He opened his eyes
to see Janelle kneeling over him. "I thought I'd lost you for a minute
there," she said with a smile.

  "He's in bed asleep," Will said, all business. "You should go now.
I'll keep him busy." It occurred to him that he had no idea how long
she'd need. "Does it take long?"

  "To break the binding? I don't know. I don't think so."
  "And to get home?"

  Home; the word seemed to strike her as bittersweet. "I only have to
imagine it, and I will be there. Don't worry, you won't have to stall
him long. Just a few moments."
  "What I have to say to him will take longer than that."
  "Will," she cautioned, "don't be a hero. You'll know when I'm gone.
Then you count to three, and you let him go and get far away."
  "I will," he said, neither one really sure whether he really meant it.

  Janelle stood up to go. Will followed her to the door, reaching past
her to give the knob just the right tug.

  Her hand caressed his good cheek. "Thank you," she said, her voice
breaking to a whisper.

  "I'll see you when you come back for him," Will replied earnestly.


  Will watched her leave from the window. A glass of water and two
Tylenol would help with the pain when he woke up.

  As he lay down, he felt his heart begin to beat faster. This would
not be an ordinary trip through Dream.

  He had to face another Dreamer -- one who'd held Will in Dream and
chased him across Shifts, who'd *hurt* him. Will had only escaped by
using his worst nightmare.

  But it was that scary meeting that showed Will what was possible. And
two could play at that game...

  Will clenched his fists tight, breathing deeply, counting ten, nine,
eight, seven...


  Will stands up. He sees himself on the couch, breathing deeply.

  He focuses.
  The world fades away, leaving only darkness.
  Will lets himself fade into it...
  ...and threads begin to appear. Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands. More
than he should be able to see. And he realizes he isn't seeing them.
This isn't a space of light, it is a space of mind, of feeling.
  He remembers as a child being afraid of the dark -- the darkness is
where crashes happen. He remembers feeling this sea of mind all around
him, being afraid of it, bouying himself above it in the visual.

  That thread of memory attenuates and hums, and he finds himself
there, crying out, the light coming on, the strange woman from the home
rushing in, trying to maintain a compassionate face but something
betraying her annoyance. Every detail is bright and crisp and subtle.

  Will blinks; the memory fades, and he is back in sightless mindspace.
The Shifts are effortless, almost subconscious. He doesn't need to be
afraid of this place. He doesn't need that memory anymore.

  Will thinks, and the thread falls to hand. A quick turn of the arm
wraps it once; fingers grip tightly.
  Will Pulls.

  Fierce fire singes the top of his neck; he curls up in reaction to
the pain, but it lasts only an instant.
  The thread around his arm dissolves into nothing.
  Will knows he used to be afraid of the dark, but he cannot remember
why.

  Soon, Randy will not remember why he keeps a marble in his fish tank.

  He Shifts.

  The fish tank. He has his own connection to it now, a shortcut
through Dream.
  The tank glows. The marble is here, but he cannot discern it
specifically.

  Will focuses, and the world drops away. There is only him, and the
marble. And Randy, still squatting in front of it, staring at it. He
must know they will be trying to take it.

  Will relaxes a bit; objects begin to come into view, but only just;
he sees Randy through semi-transparent walls, asleep in bed. Will hopes
Janelle can be quiet when she empties the tank; Will's hands will be
full keeping Randy's Dream self occupied.

  Not too soon; he doesn't know how long he can engage Randy, and
Janelle isn't here yet...

  Shift.

  Janelle is hard to find; her thoughts barely register. He wouldn't be
able to sort her out at all except for their connection. Will floats
next to her, above her, around her. She is almost here.

  Will knows he could pull a thread to let her know he is with her, but
he doesn't want to upset her concentration. But this may be the last he
sees of her. He draws close, his hand falling to a glowing thread
between them. He holds a thought near, knowing it will be no more than
a breath against her subconscious:

  You'll always be an angel in my dreams.

  Will pulls away and Shifts.

  He doesn't see Janelle's smile.


  Randy hasn't moved.
  Will focuses, and everything fades.
  Everything but Randy and the marble.
  And dozens of threads connecting them like thick ropes.
  This isn't going to be easy.

  But first he needs to draw the Tal'id away. Will needs Randy to focus
on him, not the marble.



  Will fades into the darkness, leaving Randy and everything else
behind.

  But he soon feels a tugging, and Randy appears before him.

  "So you're not just a tyro after all. Do you know any more tricks?
Because if you don't, this is gonna hurt even more than last time."

  "How did you...?"

  Randy sneers. "Oh yeah. It's gonna hurt a *lot*." He steps forward.
"What say I pick the venue this time." Randy closes his eyes; when he
opens them, he begins to fade; but before he is gone, the blackness
starts to shimmer, and brighten, and take shape, and Will is pulled
through it, until it suddenly takes focus.

  Will is standing in a field. The sky is dark, but the field is
brightly lit.
  All around, crushing white noise.
  Cheering.
  And huge angry armored men are running toward him.
  Will looks down -- he is holding a football.

  Oh, shit.

  He barely has time to brace for impact. His vision blurs; the breath
leaves his lungs; gravity takes a break, then reels him back in, with
what feels like a Buick coming down on top of him.

  As the weight is gradually lifted, Will hears the chanting crowd:
Rhino! Rhino! Rhino! Rhino!

  The gray helmet and muddy uniform makes the thing looming above him
look very much like a rhino, at least to his dizzied vision. He finds a
breath, but it comes with a sting.

  "How'd that feel, sport?" Randy taunts. "That was with pads. Just
wait till they come off." Will feels Randy smack him across the helmet;
protected or not, it rings his bell.

  "You think because you can Dream, you can match me here? You never
should have gotten involved."

  Will closes his eyes. He feels through Dream; the fish tank
overturned, Janelle on her knees, frantically scooping the glass orbs
into a tube sock. Only a few left. And the one that counts is already
corraled.

  "Wake up, sport, I didn't hit you that hard. The least you can do is
make this interesting."

  Will smiles -- even though it hurts to smile. He must have bit his
own lip; he tastes blood. Ironic that he's learned to focus in Dream
only to feel pain more intensely. But Randy is also showing him the
possibilites of this place.

  Will stands -- slowly, trying to overstate how much Randy's hit hurt
him, and finding little room for exaggeration.

  Randy smirks; he's surprised but pleased that Will isn't a quitter.

  "So he has a spine after all."

  Will pulls his helmet off, throwing it to the turf. He turns and
spits defiantly, then wipes the blood from his lips.

  "My turn."

  Will focuses, but never takes his eyes off Randy. The clarity of
darkness is right there; Will feels it without having to leave. He
finds the thread he wants, and takes a deep breath to pull it forth.
The world around the two combatants shimmers, but doesn't change.

  Randy smiles. "Whoops," he says with not a little sarcasm, "it's hard
to focus when someone's rattled your cage, isn't it?"
  "You shouldn't be worrying about me," Will shoots back. "You should
be watching out for that bus."

  Will can see the words form on Randy's sneering lips -- "What bus?"
-- but they don't escape before a Metro Transit Authority Bus breaks
through the sidelines. Randy turns toward it, dumbfounded, unable to
move before...

  Crunch!

  The bus skids to a halt, churning up great wads of green turf and
dark muck.
  And Randy skids and tumbles and flops, coming to rest some twenty
yards ahead of it.

  Will Shifts until he is standing just a few feet away. His football
uniform is gone, replaced by his usual jeans and polo shirt. Randy
slowly rolls over, huffing and wheezing as he rises to his hands and
knees.

  "I call your linebacker and raise you a Gillig."

  That jolts Randy out of his fog; he leaps to his feet, quickly
grabbing Will by the front of his shirt.

  "You think you can hurt me? You dumb fuck! Didn't she tell you? As
long as she's bound to me-"
  "You're breathing hard," Will observes wryly. It's more than he
expected, and anyway, it's just a set up...
  "You think that means anything? You think that means a *fucking*
thing? How your ribs feel, sport? That's only the beginning for you."
  "First you have to catch me," Will taunts. And then he Shifts.

  He's in the playground behind his childhood school. Not that it
matters -- he knows Randy will follow him. In fact, Will is counting on
it.

  Randy does not disappoint; time is not always easy to judge in Dream,
but Will knows it didn't take his adversary more than a few breaths,
despite the mentally-distant place.

  "We meet again," Will drolls. He supposes he should pretend to be
surprised, but he knows that Janelle is safely away from the house by
now, and he's tired of letting this brute think he has the upper hand.

  "Is this the part where you keep one step ahead of me until the
Wi'gen bitch takes her binding back and breaks free and I just
disappear? It doesn't work that way, sport."

  "You're right," Will answers, feeling down into the darkness for the
right threads, making sure he has a firm grip on the thickest one.
"This is the part where I hurt you back."

  Will lets the dreamworld fade; the instant he feels free of it, he
digs in and rips with all his might.

  Randy's scream precedes him into Will's darkness. Will focuses more
intently, reaching for another thread. He feels Randy and the marble
and knows its importance to him means he holds it by many threads.
Randy capturing Janelle, scarring her, hiding the key to her bondage in
the fish tank, checking on it, thinking of it every time she crossed
him, every time he hurt her, every time he fed the fish...

  It might take a long time to tear Randy's threads away, and Will
hopes every one hurts as much as the first.

  "Now I've got *your* number," Will spat.

  Randy is gasping, but he straightens up. "Neat trick," he breathes,
"but if you try that again I'll kill you."
  "Not here you won't," Will replies, snapping another thread with a
vicious tug. 
  Randy grimaces, but stands firm. "You think I don't know pain? You
think I can't find you and beat the life out of you no matter how much
you pull?" His whole body flexes, and the darkness around them takes
shape. They're in a small room, with no windows and only a single door
behind Randy. He's wearing heavy gloves...

  "You can try," Will says, "but it's only a matter of time before I
get them all. And then she'll be gone. And if you think I'll let you
chase her, you haven't learned a thing about what it means to be a man."

  Randy is suddenly upon Will, hand around neck, squeezing. "Where is
she?" he bellows. There is a hint of desperation in his eyes.

  Will closes his eyes. He feels Randy's grip tighten; he knows he
can't breathe. He wonders how contact in Dream manifests in the real
world -- he knows from his shiner and his sore ribs that it does, but
the nature of the connection eludes him. He wonders if Randy can kill
him here. But mostly he tries not to panic as he searches for a
thread...

  Will pulls; Randy grunts, his grip relaxing slightly, but it is
enough.

  Shift.

  The schoolbus he rode as a freshman in high school.
  Randy is there, two rows away, climbing over the seats.

  Shift.
  Junior college parking lot. Will's car wouldn't start.
  Randy smashes the windshield.
  Will relaxes long enough to feel the dark space. Randy reaches
through the windshield, grabbing Will's hair and slamming his head into
the steering wheel; Will loses his grip on Randy's threads, but finds
one again and pulls -- not hard enough to pull it loose, but...

  Shift.
  A pet store. The aquarium section.
  Will ducks as Randy throws an empty tank at him. The tank misses, but
bounces off the shelf behind and knocks Will forward, into the aquarium
decorations. Will closes his eyes, desperate to gain a little distance,
but in panic choosing the first thread that falls to hand...

  Shift.
  Amusement park. People everywhere.
  Randy grabs him from behind in a bear hug. Will's chest feels like
it's on fire. But he hangs in, pulling them both down into darkness,
feeling Randy resist, groping in his mind for the marble, tracing back,
ripping one, two, three threads, feeling Randy spasm with each one,
until one gives Will just enough room to...

  Shift.
  The park.
  It seems Randy is waiting for him, clearly winded and hurting but
still quick: the punch catches Will in the side of the head, and he
goes down. Will doesn't try to Shift again. This is it; he tears at
Randy's threads with abandon, stilling his attacker, reaching into the
dark again and again, knowing if he lets up for a moment he is
finished. There are so many threads, too many, and he is getting tired,
his grip faltering, his tugging less directed and more desperate. Randy
staggers before him, face twisted in agony, but his meaty paws find
Will's shoulder, and then his hair, and then Will feels a thread slip
from him, and Randy half-falls, half-shoves Will's face to the ground. 

  The sting is superficial, but Will has lost his momentum, and Randy
is on top of him now, pinning him. He tries to Shift, but Randy holds
him. He tries again, and...

  Shift.
  Davis' office. Will shouldn't be here. Randy will come here, and
he'll see Janelle...
  But Janelle isn't here. Where is she?
  He wants to find her, but he knows he shouldn't. He should leave
here, but he can't think of anywhere else to go. And Randy... Randy
isn't here yet. Why didn't Randy follow him? Why doesn't Randy finish
him? Confusion falls to self-preservation. Will breathes. It hurts. He
wonders how bad he looks. He thinks of Shifting to his office, but he's
so tired. No. He's not finished yet.
  Randy still isn't here. Maybe he's beaten. But he still has a hold on
Janelle.

  Will Shifts.
  Back in the park. But Randy is not here. It takes all of Will's
concentration to find Randy's thread. He takes a deep breath...

  Shift.
  Will's office.
  Where is Randy?
  There, just inside the door.
  Will sees himself on the couch. He doesn't look good. Still just in
his boxers, curled up now, almost fetal, coughing. He should wake up.
But it's hard to concentrate. He's never pushed this hard before. He's
tired, so tired. He's slipping.
  And then he sees Janelle, sitting on the floor, the sock full of
marbles next to her. She's stroking his cheek gently, her head on his
chest, whispering softly, over and over, "wake up, baby; wake up." He
can almost feel her touch.
  Why is she here? She is not supposed to be here. It is not safe for
her here. Randy will know she is here and he will come for her.
  Will wants to wake up. But he's so tired... and he's not finished.
  And then Randy, half-broken and leaning against the door, speaks to
him.
  "Neat... trick," he says, pausing to take a deep and pained breath,
"and it almost worked. But you have a problem."
  "What?" Will gasps, slipping halfway into the dark, seeing only a
half-dozen threads remaining between Randy and the marble, and knowing
he can't possibly pull hard enough to undo even one of them now. He
searches desperately for some final reserve, but it's hard to think at
all...

  Randy straightens up, nostrils flaring, lips curling up into a wicked
smile. "I don't have to sleep to be in Dream. Knock knock."

  Randy leans back, falling through the door...

  ...and then the door explodes off its hinges, skidding into the room
and falling underfoot of a very angry and very real Randall "Rhino"
Holden.


   

================================================================


// seven


  Randy is hunched and heaving and bloody, but he is here, and if the
splintered door beneath his feet is any indication, he is more than
capable of finishing the job he started in Dream.

  Will gropes desperately for the last threads as they fade out of
reach.

  Janelle leaps up, marble-filled sock in hand, swinging it at Randy's
head. It connects, splitting open, marbles flying everywhere, spilling
and bouncing and rolling. 

  The force of the blow makes Randy stagger a step, but he regains his
balance. He grabs Janelle by her robe, shaking her by the front of it;
the fabric rips, but not enough to free her from his grip. His other
hand swats across her face like a baseball bat, snapping her head
sideways. He then half-turns and throws her into the corner like a
broken toy discarded in a fit of rage. There's a glass table in the
corner; Will hears it shatter. 


  Will snapped awake. His body screamed at him; his head filled with
molten lead, heavy and dull and oozing.

  The gun.
  It won't do any good.
  It might. Look at him.

  Will rolled/fell off the side of the couch, crashing to the floor on
hands and knees. Coughing set fire to his midsection; he saw blood
spattered beneath him.

  It took all his concentration to remember the gun. The desk was too
far away.
  No, not the desk. Under the couch.

  Will forced his hand to the right. A little further...
  He collapsed to his side; his lungs wheezed.
  There, just reach...
  Got it.
  Now *LIFT*.

  Will sighted down the barrel, the world beyond a shifting blur. He
rolled onto his back, feeling every bone protest as it shifted and
settled. But his arms somehow came up, and the dark blur came to be
centered. Will blinked; his vision cleared somewhat.

  Randy was no longer bleeding, no longer hunched. He rolled his
shoulders back, his chest broadening. "Go ahead," he growled, "see if
it matters."

  Will pulled on the heavy trigger, and pulled, further...

  Something hard and fast swatted the gun away just as it fired.
  "You took too long," Randy spat.

  The shadow grew longer over Will as Randy dropped to one knee,
menacing over him. Will coughed a breath, feeling bloody spittle shower
his chin and neck.

  Randy lunged forward, slamming his fist against Will's temple.

  And everything faded to black as Will let go...


  The soft vibrating hum of the road is soothing. He was asleep, but
he's awake now.
  He's in the back of his parents' car. Before the accident.
  They said afterward that Will only survived because he was asleep,
totally relaxed, and even then it was some kind of miracle.
  But in the dream he's always awake. He always sees it coming.
  There is a faint glow in the car, not from the dashboard, or the
headlights beyond, but next to him.
  Janelle is here.
  She looks at him, worried. Her lips don't move, but he can hear her
speaking to him.

  Tell them to stop. There's going to be an accident.

  Will's brow furrows. This isn't the way it happened. But he's so
tired...

  She seems to blow a hazy glowing breath in his direction; suddenly
he's awake. So he wasn't awake before, he just thought he was -- a
dream. The car is dark now; she is no longer there. She was just a
dream. But he remembers her warning.

  "Dad, stop."
  "We're almost home."
  "Dad, *stop*. Something's going to happen."
  His mom. "Shh. Go back to sleep, honey."

  And then everything goes sideways. Metal crunches as the seats and
doors and pillars and roof realign themselves; he feels cold glass
pebbles pepper his face; then a hot wind suddenly fades to cool silence.

  He feeels a smooth stillness surround him; everything seems lit by a
faint glow. The car settles, the violence of impact played out. Janelle
is again sitting next to him, but the glow is no longer just around
her; it is like he is looking through it. She puts her finger to her
lips, then tells him to sleep, then touches her finger to his
forehead...

  "Wait, who-" Will whispers as his consciousness begins to fade; he
reaches for her, catching a trailing shimmer of light in his hand...


  "Wake up!" Randy yelled, shaking him, hauling him up to a sitting
position. "You can't hide anymore."

  Will opened his eyes and looked up. Randy towered over him,
snickering. "So fragile," he spat, "almost no fun at all." 

  Will's vision began to fade; the whole room seemed to brighten,
details becoming momentarily sharp before shimmering...

  Then the light focused, taking shape, casting Randy in shadow as a
spire of brilliance grew over his head. The spire broadened, splitting
in two, spreading, becoming real. Will blinked and they became wings
rising up from behind his attacker's shoulders, silently unfurling in a
beautiful menace. Their bright white shimmering feathers seemed to
light up the room, though only Will seemed to notice.

  Will smiled. They were too beautiful to be a demon's wings.

  Janelle's voice was regal. "You... are finished here." 
  Randy spun around to see her rising above him. "But how? I still hold
the binding."
  "My Veil."
  "Impossible! You lost it. It's not of this place, it can't be found,
not even by him."

  Will's voice was graveled by blood and pain and exhaustion, but
bouyed by knowing joy.
  "She didn't lose it. She just left it with me, years ago. And today,
I gave it back."

  Janelle's wings drew up, then spread wide, flexing, stretching,
casting their illuminance in a circle of light that caused the room
around them to fade. Randy fell to his knees, holding his head in his
hands, the muscles in his back bulging and twitching as the winged
light began to permeate him.

  Will covered his eyes as the light got brighter, impossibly bright .
. .


------------------------------------------------------------------------


  . . . and then it faded.

  Will looked up. The sun was shining, the sky a beautiful clear
cloudless blue.

  Janelle's wings flapped gently as she settled to earth.

  There was no sign of Randy, just an empty patch of wild grass.

  They were in a gently sloping field, between foothills overlooking a
wooded valley. Snow-capped mountains surrounded them.

  "Where am I?"
  "You're with me," Janelle said simply.

  "And where are you?"
  She looked up, surveying her surroundings. "Home," she answered with
a wistful smile.

  "How did I... Did you...?"
  "I don't know. It's not supposed to happen. Your kind isn't supposed
to be able to cross."

  Will looked up at Janelle. Her majestic wings remained
half-outstretched, flapping slowly, feathered irridescence.

  "They're... beautiful."

  Janelle beamed. "It feels so wonderful to be free again. And so
wonderful to be *home*."

  Will realized he was still sitting. He stood -- cautiously. Pretty
much everything still hurt like hell, but he didn't think anything was
broken.

  "So this is Tu'Ress." He took a deep breath, ignoring the stinging
feeling in his side. The fresh air would do him good. "I guess I could
be stuck in worse places." Or with worse people.

  "Oh no, Will... I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I didn't mean to drag
you here with me."

  "We don't know that you *dragged* me. Maybe..." his fingers touched
her shoulder, stroking gently down her arm. Maybe I'm supposed to be
here. "Hell, I don't know."

  Her tone became hopeful. "I know someone who might. We can ask Weaver
Danya; she doesn't live too far from here. And if she doesn't know, we
can go to the Citadel and consult the Great Ones." She took his hand.
"Come on. We'll get you home before you know it. I promise."

  Will held back for a moment; Janelle turned to look at him quizically.

  "We don't have to hurry," he said with a smile.


   

--end