Dreamrise

Dreamrise

Book One of the Last Dreamer Trilogy

by Benjamin Snyder

Copyright 2012 Benjamin Snyder

Smashwords Edition

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Prologue

The woman thought the young man sitting two booths away from her in the diner was too small. She didn’t know why she thought it. There was nothing to tell her what size the Last Dreamer would be. But he felt wrong. She sighed. Her husband would be disappointed. Then she felt the cold shiver of déjà vu, and she realized it came from the young man in the booth. A half-smile creased her face, and she bent over the plate of eggs still steaming in front of her.

He has it. Although I can’t tell if he knows it, she whispered into the concealed microphone beneath her collar.

I knew it, her husband’s voice came through a small receiver in her ear. This one was worthless.

He had been tracking another.

I’ll be there shortly, he said.

What do you want me to do?

Follow him, if he leaves. Otherwise, we will take him in the diner.

She sat back, she didn’t need to say goodbye, the line was always open, and besides, after all the years they had been together, goodbyes were meaningless or, at best, boring.

She let her gaze fall back upon the young man eating his breakfast. There was nothing in his mannerisms to mark him as special in any way. But he was. She had felt it. And soon, he would realize that being special isn’t always a good thing.

***

The bell rang. He looked up from his plate. No one at the door. He glanced around. There were fewer customers than he would have expected on a Saturday morning. He liked to come here though, busy or not. It was a quiet place, less noise—even when it was packed with people. The woman in the other booth was still checking him out. He smiled. It had been awhile.

Hello, a voice said behind him.

He turned, dropping his fork filled with hash-browns out of surprise.

Hello, he said, Do I know you?

Not yet, the man said. The young man could see timelessness about his face.

Oh, did I—

No, you didn’t do anything. I just wanted to ask you some questions.

An alarm bell went off in the young man’s mind. This was a strange situation, no matter how innocent the man seemed.

Well, I don’t know, I’m just eating breakfast, and I have to go to work.

If I’m right, you won’t have to go to work for a very long time.

What? he asked, clutching his fork tight. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but then again, he had no idea why he would need a weapon anyway.

Look around you. What do you see?

All right, look, I don’t know who you are, and I don’t know what you want with me, but this is getting just a little bit too strange for a weekend. Even in this town. He was still trying to make light of the situation, if he could, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding. He glanced toward the door. It wasn’t far, and the older man was basically trapped by the seat back behind him. He turned back to the man, and gasped. He was gone.

Neat trick, right? The voice came from behind him, on the cushion across the table. He turned back to see the man sitting across from him in the booth.

How?

It doesn’t matter. The question is, did you feel it?

He realized he almost had. A shiver ran down his spine, and something else.

I guess.

Good.

The young man arched his brow, How so?

The old man ignored him. How often would you say that happens to you?

What?

That feeling.

He was sick of the game, he stood up. I’m leaving, he said as he started for the door.

No, friend, I’m sorry, the voice said behind him, You’re not.

Without warning, everything around him froze.

***

After, she could only stare at her husband as dawn light finally peaked through the curtains.

What was that?

He wasn’t the one.

What if he was? she countered, You let him answer one question. He didn’t even answer that. God’s ire, love, you let your impatience get the best of you.

He glowered at her, but let out a sigh. Maybe. It’s been so long. Everything has to happen this year. Now. If we don’t find him soon… he trailed off.

We’ll find him. Come on, let’s clear this mess up.

Chapter One

It was no surprise to him to look out the window to the darkness of an early morning. He hadn’t been sleeping well in months. The clock next to his bed was blinking eights, so he couldn’t know for sure, but he guessed that it was around four. Work was still five hours away, but he knew better than to try and get back to sleep. There wasn’t much to do so early, but he got himself out of bed any way.

His apartment was small, but not too small. The whole space was four rooms, which included the bathroom and kitchen. A giant window pane filled most of the living room, an avant garde renovation at the time it was built that had faded into fashion-obscurity like JNCO jeans or orange shag. The window divided the room into a television area and something that resembled a Japanese tea house.

His kitchen was really only for the utility of having somewhere to cook and wash dishes. The refrigerator was a small model that usually only lived in college dorm rooms and with the kids who stayed at home not wanting the party to end. He made do with cereal and milk, plus the occasional box of microwavable macaroni and cheese packets.

He pushed the playback button on his answering machine.

Intrigued by what he heard, he wrote a note to himself and stuck it in his wallet. There were some strange phone calls, but not any stranger than the stuff that had been happening to him the last few days. Déjà vu kept happening more often than he had ever felt it happen before.

At first he chalked it up to a lack of sleep. Then he realized that it was causing his lack of sleep. Then he decided not to worry about it anymore.

He poured a bowl of cereal, checking to make sure the milk hadn’t expired yet before he added it. He downed the bowl while reading the back of the box and thinking about his schedule. It was the first of the month, and he had a lot to do during his lunch break, including paying rent. He poured another bowl.

After he finished, he rinsed the bowl out in the sink and put the box away in the cupboard above the stove. He put on his running shoes and jogged outside into the heavy morning air, thick with spring dew. He made the usual circuit, a five-block run that ended back at the doorstep of his apartment complex. The whole distance was actually close to two miles, which he enjoyed, and relatively safe, although he had read about some assault or another not too far from where he turned around to come home.

When he got home he threw his clothes in the hamper by the bathroom door and hopped in the shower, eager for the hot water to clear his mind and wash him down. Today the water was merely tepid, good enough to wake him up, but he still felt dirty as he toweled off.

His red-rimmed eyes stared out at him from the mirror, reminding him of the insomnia and making him worry about what his boss was going to say. He worked as a fact-checker slash journalist at a fast-paced newsblog that kept most of its readership by being up-to-the-minute up-to-date, which required him to work even faster than the position normally required. It wasn’t exactly the kind of job that had a strict dress code, but enough hypes and alcoholics had worked in the office to make the frontline management at least a little nervous.

As far as websites went, the one he worked for was sophisticated, with more than just a vitriol-spouting talking-head behind the reins. The whole operation was complex, requiring ad executives and a PR stable that matched most of the big papers in New York.

He was not in a position to get fired, either, and he was running dangerously close to the edge with his recent tardiness and exhaustion. His job wasn’t one that permitted mistakes, not when the journalist and the online paper were responsible for the accuracy of their reporting. Not that they were really held accountable, just that the competition was always watching, always ready to fire back a salvo of discrediting ads and banners. The readership on the internet was wider than even any international paper had ever experienced before, but it was a fickle market, with thousands of sites competing for the millions of eyes that were intensely discerning and highly opinionated.

So that left him with a decision. He could try and sleep or opt for another dose of Visine. He knew it didn’t make much sense to lie in bed, accompanied only by his idle thoughts and the barking of a neighbor’s dog. He dressed and headed out, walking towards the corner drugstore and his favorite breakfast stop.

***

Adam had walked into the shop to the sound of a bell, and looked around at the white-washed walls and the aisles lined with drugs. He spotted the eye-drops and moved to grab a box. Behind the counter, the pretty young pharmacist was reading a book, eyeing him over the wrinkled pages. He motioned her over to the cash register, intent on making his purchase as fast as he could so he could grab some coffee.

A moment later, he watched her glance at him over the wrinkled pages of her book, and he motioned to her again. And again she seemed to ignore him.

Ma’am, I really have to be going, he had said. Finally she set the book down and came up to the counter.

Did you find everything all right? she said with a light, bright tone.

Well, yes, but I’ve been waiting for you to ring me up.

You just came up to the counter a moment ago, she said, still smiling, but strained.

Whatever, thank you, he said as he grabbed the bag and turned to walk out.

Sorry if you felt I was being rude, I watched you walk up to the counter, and I came as soon as you were ready, she explained.

It’s not a big deal, it just seemed like I was waiting there for a while, I kept motioning to you.

I didn’t even notice, sorry, she said. Must have been déjà vu.

Must have been, he muttered, and pulled open the door to the ringing of a bell.

***

His favorite coffee bistro was across the street from the drugstore, it was one of those hole-in-the-wall joints covered in glass and filled with daylight even at five in the morning. Trash littered the sidewalk as he waited to cross traffic. He stared off towards the sunrise, thinking about the weird girl in the drug store. Across the street, a young mother was pushing a bright red stroller through the weaving pedestrians. As his mind wandered, he realized that the cars had stopped, probably waiting for him to cross. He meandered across the road, half-aware of what was going on, and more focused on solving the problem of what to do about the mysterious phone call on his answering machine. The city noise returned, drowning out his thoughts, and he side-stepped to avoid the woman with the red stroller. He turned, confused, as she walked by, shaking his head.

The coffee shop was his favorite place to go to relax. He felt an air of tranquility the second he walked in the door, a momentary respite from the constant pressure of life in the city and in a century when everything moved faster than a cabbie dodging pedestrians during rush hour. He loved the smell of fresh baked goods, all sorts of bizarre gourmet offerings that he half-expected were made up by an R&D team that consisted of a pot-head and a culinary-school drop-out mixing random ingredients together shrouded by a dense cloud of smoke and engulfed in a marijuana haze.

Can I get a grande mocha latte with whip and one of your butterscotch-pecan-peanut brittle biscuit-cookies?

That’ll be six ninety-five, the clerk behind the counter was new, but she looked cute, and he couldn’t help but smile at her as he handed her the ten-dollar bill, even though she seemed annoyed by his enthusiasm.

I’ve been having a bad day, and you are the best part of it so far, so you’ll have to forgive me if I can’t help smiling, he winked and grabbed his order. He had the strange feeling she stuck her tongue out at him as he walked away.

***

He noticed the stranger immediately. The man stood out among the milling morning crowd. Even in the heart of a city like Minneapolis, five thousand dollar suits were a rarity, especially near a hub of the layperson’s version of the seven dollar coffee drink joint. The man didn’t look like the kind of guy who had to settle for a knock-off brand.

Adam shook his head and started walking the other way, back towards his apartment, and he put the man out of his mind, focusing instead on getting to work on time. His morning jaunt had taken longer than he expected, and it was close to eight. It was days like today that made him wish his car could be used for something more than just weekend trips out of the city. Driving downtown to his job didn’t make much sense, not every day, and not when he factored in the rising cost at the pumps added to the ridiculously high prices at the ramps.

As he stepped up to the door of his apartment, he felt strange again. As though someone were ignoring all the hundreds of other people and focusing solely on him. He looked around, but didn’t see anyone who seemed out of place. Even the man in the suit was gone. He shook off the feeling and ran up stairs to grab his gear.

***

When he came back down, the man in the suit was waiting outside his door. Adam nodded towards him, more a motion of dismissal than an invitation to talk.

Where are you off to? the man said.

This close, Adam could see that the man was much younger than he had thought although he still looked like he could be older. Probably a recent MBA, no doubt new to the city. That still didn’t explain why the guy thought he needed to talk to him.

Um, just walking to work, Adam said, picking up his pace.

Mind if I come with you? the man said.

Look, you obviously don’t need money, why are you bothering me?

You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.

Adam didn’t have a reply to that, so he just kept walking. The man in the suit didn’t slow, or turn to leave.

It’s going to be a long walk if we are not going to talk.

Adam stopped. I don’t need Jesus in my life; I’m not interested in buying anything, and just because I noticed you across the street, it doesn’t mean I want to take you home tonight.

The man in the suit laughed. I suppose that sums up ninety-nine percent of random guys who might try to talk to you in this city, huh?

Adam started walking again, silent.

So how long have you been here? the man in the suit said with a strange emphasis on the last word. Adam ignored him.

Have you ever had a feeling that no matter what you do, you can’t change anything, that the world wants nothing more than to crush you in a deluge of work and completely unconquerable foes?

What the hell kind of question is that?

Just curious, the man said. Think about it.

Adam turned, then, to look at the man, but stopped mid-stride when he realized that the other was no longer there. He glanced around, up and down the street, but the closest any of the pedestrians came to a hand-made Italian suit was the homeless guy’s homemade trash-bag and tattered blanket ensemble.

This day could not get any weirder.

***

Good morning, Adam, the white-haired receptionist behind the front desk said as he stepped through the revolving doors.

Eh, he muttered as he walked by, ’morning, Lil.

The bank of elevators stood against the far wall like golden sentinels, the desk flanked by security stations with far more real guards scanning briefcases and laptop bags. Adam slung his knapsack onto the rubber track and stepped through the metal detector.

You look ready for the weekend, Linsey was the cute security guard who only worked on Fridays and Mondays.

You look ready for happy hour at Lacy’s bar, Adam replied. Her hideously colored security blouse was haphazardly unbuttoned near the collar, and no one wondered why her line was always twice as long as Ron’s.

Linsey grinned, You know me too well.

See you tonight, Linz, he said as he collected his bag and walked towards the rear, jogging after a second to catch the open car.

***

He stepped out of the elevator into the chaos of a twenty-five hour a day newsroom. Vaguely resembling a typical office cubicle layout, the reality of the floor was such that no one actually had a desk, and none of the twenty phone lines were ever available any way. Laptops, desktops, and palm tops were strewn about on cheap plastic tables, cluttered with AP briefs and wires from across the globe. Sophisticated scanning equipment monitored police agencies worldwide, and a blade server room took up at least a third of the office floor. The rest was left to the scuttling mass of twentysomethings bustling around the tables and chatting on cellphones while trying to find an open terminal to upload a news update to their particular section of responsibility.

Adam had always felt that the place reminded him most of the floor of any random stock exchange, but most definitely the NYSE depicted in movies and books. There was no end to the noise, and no way to have an actual conversation. At least not in the pit.

As he usually did when he first arrived at the office, Adam made his way to the Silent Room. Stepping inside the soundproof walls was like entering a different world. It was in this exquisitely appointed office that the important interviews were conducted, along with conference calls, or high-level staff meetings. Normally, then, the room was empty.

Adam took a few minutes to relax, calling up his schedule on his phone, checking for any relevant memos. He was assigned to the sports desk again for the next two weeks, still doing fact-checking for any developments on the story that involved a prominent retired quarterback and his unquenchable desire to return to professional football.

It was actually a fairly complicated story, and he had been busy chasing down rumors and hearsay, while trying to coalesce what was actually known into readable copy. Gritting his teeth, he collected his thoughts and his phone, and grabbed the door handle; he could only shake his head as the drowning cacophony returned, and he plunged into his workday.

***

He uploaded the news file to the sports section of the page, pasting a quick headline that would be tidied up by the roving editors who scanned each new addition to the site. It wasn’t bad work, but it left him tired. He stood up and headed out of the office, nodding to one of his friends who was busy trying to finish his own story so he could get to lunch, too.

The elevator took forever, even if the clock wasn’t cooperating with its imperceptible countdown. Adam shook his head; damn company wouldn’t even pay to have working clocks in the newsroom.

Linsey was still working the desk when he got down to the lobby.

Hey, Linz, he said, as he walked towards the revolving door.

Wow that was fast. Already got your first blurb up?

To his amazement, the clock downstairs read 9:45.

I guess, I must have been totally zoned in.

Are you getting coffee?

He was still confused. Yeah. Want anything?

If you can, she reached under the desk for her purse.

Adam stopped her by waving his hand, I got it. Espresso?

Yeah, thanks, she smiled.

I’ll be right back.

He walked through the door and stepped into the street, the loudness of the city not nearly enough to drown out the cloud of voices in his head. What the hell was happening lately? It was probably time to get to the doctor. But that meant filling out a whole mess of unnecessary paperwork, including the insipid request forms the company demanded in non-emergency cases. He told himself he would do it.

You aren’t sick.

What the hell? he turned to see the man in the suit leaning against the building.

Have you thought about what I said?

Why are you following me?

It’s not your turn to ask questions yet. We’ll get there, I think, soon enough. Coffee?

I think I’m going to call the police, he said and headed back towards the office.

And I think you know that would be worthless.

Somehow, he did. What were the police going to do if he called about a man stalking him in a five-thousand dollar suit who could apparently vanish into thin air?

Whatever, he said, and started back towards the coffee shop on the corner two blocks away.

So. You might as well think about what I said.

Have I ever felt like that?

You remember, at least.

No, I haven’t. You can always find time.

Yes, you can, the man said. There was a strange emphasis in his words.

So what’s the point of asking me that?

Just curious I suppose.

Adam felt the strange, disorienting feeling of momentary déjà vu, and then the man was gone. He hadn’t disappeared, Adam knew it, but somehow, he had left. Adam looked around, searching but knowing that there wasn’t going to be any sign of the man.

It’s a neat trick, I guess, he said to no one in particular, then walked into the coffee shop to the ringing of a bell.

Chapter Two

The trip to the coffee shop wasn’t enough to get him focused, so Adam left work early. He kicked a few plans around in his head but settled on waiting for Linsey at her favorite bar. The building was musty and nearly empty when he stepped inside, throwing his knapsack on a stool and taking up a place next to it. He held his head in his hands for a moment, waiting for the bartender to come back from whatever she was doing in the kitchen behind the bar.

Hi there, Lacy said. Oh, hey Adam, what brings you in so early? You never get here before nine.

Have you ever had a feeling that no matter what you do, you can’t change anything, that the world wants nothing more than to crush you in a deluge of work and completely indefatigable foes?

I can’t say I have, handsome, she winked.

Neither have I, he said, much more seriously. Does that mean there is something wrong with me?

The bartender looked at him, confused.

Someone called me out on it today, that’s all.

She poured him two fingers of scotch, neat, and slid it to him across the bar.

Well, I guess, I kinda always thought we all had those days, but I suppose maybe you are just lucky, she said before she shrugged at him.

Yeah. Lucky.

The door swung open, admitting a pair of young women carrying something that looked like a tupperware bucket filled with cookies.

Hey, Lacy, want a cookie? The perky blond dressed in a low-cut peasant blouse offered the bartender a pull from the bucket.

How is it going? the bartender asked as she grabbed a pair of what looked like homemade chocolate chunk cookies.

Great, we just felt like baking today, needed to find a way to get rid of some of the extras, she smiled and looked at Adam. What about you, do you want a cookie?

Sure, babe, he nodded, and took one. She gave him a quick peck on his cheek.

Is everything ok? she asked.

Adam nodded.

She turned back towards her friend and the two sat talking quietly while Adam and the bartender munched on their snacks.

The girl looked at him, Well, what do you think?

It tasted like burnt popcorn and moldy chocolate.

Amazing, you really made these yourselves?

The girl beamed, apparently pleased with herself.

Do you have any plans tonight? Evelyn asked him.

Not yet, I was just going to head home.

Ok, I’ll call, Evelyn said, grinning.

Bye Adam, the other girl said as she grabbed the bucket of cookies.

One more for the road, girls? Adam asked.

Evelyn handed him a cookie and her friend leaned in close to his ear, You really are kinda cute, she whispered.

What, did you not believe her? he said, tilting his head toward Evelyn.

Bye, Adam, we’ll see you later, she said, grabbing her friend’s arm and leading her out of the bar.

The door whistled shut behind them, and Adam turned back to the bar and his double scotch. The bartender gave him a look out of the corner of her eye.

What? he said.

Nothing, she said.

Ok, his voice trailed off as he slammed the scotch home. I’m taking off, tell Linsey I’m sorry I missed her.

I will. Be careful, Adam.

Always, he said. Good night, Lacy.

He waved to the bartender and stepped out into the busy street.

***

By the time he got home, he had already checked his phone three times, worrying over whether or not he might accidently miss the call in the noisy hustle of the city. They had been dating for six months, and it still felt like she might change her mind at any point.

He slapped his keys down on the makeshift counter built from stacks of old books that had accumulated next to his front door over the last year. He pulled off his work clothes and jumped in the shower.

Feeling refreshed and revitalized for the first time all week, he got out of the shower and checked his messages again. No new calls, just a few saved ones. He glanced at his phone as he rummaged through his room looking for clean clothes. Somehow he had missed a call at 8:45. He quickly hit the callback button, but the computerized voice of his service provider picked up after a few moments, urging him to consider adding more minutes and a few new special options for select customers.

God damn it, he said, talking to no one in particular but somewhat hoping the cat might be secretly listening and nodding in frustrated agreement. He set the phone down and collapsed on the couch in front of the t.v.

As he flipped through the channels he couldn’t help but get the foreboding sense that he had already done this today, maybe just a few minutes ago. The FOX News at 9 was blaring at him to watch stories of liberal bias in the media and the evil ne’er-do-wells who perpetrated crimes against America from their terrorist strongholds at the Times and behind every anchor desk not papier-mâchéd with an obsessive-compulsive kindergartener’s Fourth of July art project.

The sharp chirping of his phone snapped him out of his revelry.

How’s it going? he said.

Some overly patriotic newswoman was chiming in about the effects of global warming on gas prices when the voice over informed him that there was breaking news now at 9:18.

He cradled the phone to his ear and turned the volume down on the television.

Sure, I’m up for it, he said, nodding as if anyone could see him besides the cat.

Let me grab a piece of paper, he said, although he just sat still in the couch. He could still remember an address, crazy déjà vu or no déjà vu.

I’ll be there in twenty minutes, he said and hung up the phone. The cat had crawled up on his lap.

Sorry, buddy, gotta go, he said, picking the cat up and heading towards the door. He stopped by the refrigerator to grab the cat food off of the top and fill up the bowl. That’ll have to do for now. He swiped his keys from their perch on Far from the Madding Crowd and locked the door behind him.

His car was still sitting right out in front of his building, the only sign that he lived in the heart of a big city was a small patch of graffiti that read, Tempus fugit. He barely noticed it as he got in and started the engine.

He pulled out into the street and made his way towards I-35, the thoroughfare that directed so much of the traffic in the Twin Cities. As he headed along the route that would take him to Lakeville, he felt himself drift off, the highway driving lulling him with the sounds of horns, screeching tires, and the occasional curse word or police siren.

Weird, he said, as he shook off the déjà vu that came when he saw the sign for County 5, the exit he would take to get to the bonfire somewhere on the outskirts of Farmington.

***

He walked up to the house a few minutes later, the place looked deserted save for a few lights on in the upstairs bedrooms and the glow of the flames behind the building. He thought about going inside, but decided to walk around back. The crinkle of leaves and dropped beer cans betrayed his steps, and the girl stood in front of him before he even realized he had come around to the backyard.

Hey there, she said, smiling. How did you get here so fast?

How’s it going? he said, dodging her question, since he didn’t understand it, himself.

Amanda is being a bitch, but that guy Trevor is distracting her now, she said.

He laughed.

So, Evie, where can I get a drink?

She pointed backwards to where she had walked from.

Beer is in the cooler, harder stuff is inside the house. I dunno if you really want to go in there, though.

He tilted his head just a bit, enough that she continued, Sometimes the parties here get a little wild.

Ah, he nodded.

A group of kids who couldn’t have been