Sam O’Riley and the Dream Catchers

Special Smashwords Edition

By

Tony Worden

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

BOOK ONE: SAM O’RILEY AND THE DREAM CATCHERS

Special Smashwords Edition

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

Copyright © 2014 Tony Worden. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Cover designed by Liz Amini-Holmes

Published by Telemachus Press, LLC at Smashwords

http://www.smashwords.com

http://www.telemachuspress.com

Visit the author website:

http://www.samoriley.com

ISBN: 978-1-941536-58-2 (eBook)

Version 2014.11.26

For Jake and Katie

Contents

1

Be Warned

2

Dog Gone Wild

3

Carlos The Head Ripper

4

Grave Mistakes

5

Down the Rabbit Hole

6

Chatty Dead Girls

7

Show & Tell

8

Red

9

When Pigs Fly

10

Dear Diary

11

No Shoes, No Body, No Problem

12

A Big Mack

13

Field of Dreams

14

Blues Brothers

15

Butkis Her

16

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary

17

Bargain Basement

18

Frozen In Time

19

Flying Rats

20

Killer Clown

21

A Bizarre Collection of Curiosities

22

Body Snatching for Fun and Profit

23

Saturday in the Park

24

Strangers in the Ground

25

Editor and Chief

26

The Friendly Confines

Acknowledgements

About the Author

"All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them."

–Walt Disney

"Reality leaves a lot to the imagination."

–John Lennon

Chapter 1

Be Warned

I’ve been staring at this page trying to decide how to begin. Sitting here in my room listening to this old house bend to a fierce Chicago wind, some of its creaks and groans are familiar to me, but others I’m no longer sure about. As I stare at the full moon and the glowing clouds racing across its face, I feel small as if the wind has snapped my anchor line and sent me adrift in a great dark sea. Lost are the bearings of where my story really begins. Perhaps this is not the best night for a telling.

My name is Sam O’Riley. I’m no one special believe me, just a teenager with a secret. Not one I sought out, but one I can’t give back. And knowing it has made all the difference. I have been told to keep silent about what still remains a mystery to me. But things have taken a decidedly bad turn. This account is to remind myself that what’s happening to me is real and to leave something behind so that you (assuming there is a ‘you’) will know what happened to me.

So be warned. This story is not about witches, wizards or wands. This story is not about everyone living happily ever after either. This story is about what’s already in the room with you and unseen. This story is about them.

Chapter 2

Dog Gone Wild

Remember, you were warned.

It started on the worst possible day—the first day of summer vacation. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, my whole life would be changed by two people I had never met; a crazy recluse and a young woman who was already dead. And trust me when I tell you that this is as normal as this story is going to get.

Gabriel was a man unknown to me then, but was in his forties and average looking in every way; the kind of man you would pass on the sidewalk and then immediately forget. But I later learned about his reclusive habits and the strange things that jetted through his mind. He was the oddest man I would ever meet.

On that first strange day, he started his day in his room as he always did … alone and brooding.

His room was small and sparsely furnished with only the simplest of items. The morning light squeezed through the tiny window and pressed against the stale air of the room to cast weak rays across a sagging bed and an ancient desk. Spotlighted by the rising sun, dust hung in the air and danced in the promise of a new day and a sense of freedom it did not possess. The morning ritual ended as it always did when the dust inevitably settled to the old wood floor and paneled walls that marked the boundaries of its existence. Nothing new was offered.

This was how Gabriel now saw his own life. And he too would one day be dust; a certainty that awaits us all but sooner still for Gabriel.

The thick walls extinguished all signs of life outside. The only sound to be heard was the scratching of pen on paper from a man entering the winter of his life despite his younger years. His age measured not in time, but in the terrible burden he carried. His journal is his only confessor.

I have for some time neglected to mark these entries with dates as it seems unnecessary given the sameness of each and the fading distinction between day and night. I had for so long considered not filling these pages at all as there seems to be nothing new to confess, a stagnant existence.

But I know that some record of what is happening must be left behind should I fail and others take up the quest.

He paused, remembering the doubt he felt in even continuing this daily ritual. Remembering that though the boundaries of his existence extended beyond these four walls, the dancing dust possessed more optimism about the future than he did. Remembering that until his search came to an end, this was all life would have to offer.

But last night he saw them.

The dreams still come unbidden and my search continues. Father Timothy is of great assistance to me in this work, but still believes he can help lift my plague. He does not realize how far out of his depth he is. There are so few who know the truth.

My searching has brought me closer to It. I know this because I can feel it nearing me again, its vengeance palpable. I must find it before it finds me and then make ready. Without enough time to prepare, our meeting would decidedly go its way again, but this time It will not make the mistake of leaving me for dead.

It won’t be long now. I can feel the approaching storm.

Feeling the chill of anticipation down his spine, he closed the journal. Easing the chair back, he slowly stood and retrieved a satchel and duffel bag containing all his meager possessions, all he truly needed. It was time to move on again, another practiced ritual of staying on the move to stay alive. For a man who once reveled in all that life had to offer, he was now paying a heavy price for his sin. He lived now as though he were already dead. It was the only way he could muster the courage to do what must be done, what would likely take his life. A dead man does not fear death.

He made his way past the heavy oak door and creaked down the darkened hallway, laboring under the collective burden of his bags and his past. When he finally made it outside, he marveled at the beauty he had denied himself for so long.

The sun rose in a cloudless Chicago sky and shone on the greenery all around him, its warmth an embrace that brought tears to his eyes. Summer had burst upon him all at once.

He had learned to live without so much, to deny himself so many of life’s riches. And when he experienced them in moments like this, it amplified the emptiness he knew he would be forced to return to in order to stay alive. But this morning was also evidence of God; those rare moments when unexpected beauty is glimpsed among the sameness of day to day existence. Those moments that spark our hearts, that there is more to life than just what we find under the sun. A purpose beyond the sun.

He looked back at the church that had housed him for so long, thankful for the help Father Timothy sought to provide. He was leaving with a renewed sense of determination, that he might soon have his life back or forfeit it completely. Either way, his forced way of living was coming to an end.

~~~

And while Gabriel was struggling, I was across town having a very different take on the day. That first day was the last good day I’ve had.

When I closed my eyes and faced the sky, I felt the long awaited warmth of the sun soaking into my bones after a lengthy winter and chilly spring. My ears captured the sounds of birds mixed with conversation, laughter and soft traffic, all of which having fully emerged from hibernation. Taking a contented breath, the smell of flowers, fresh cut grass and the wet earth from last night’s rain washed over me, carried on the gentle breeze from the lake.

All of this seemed to create a strange electricity within me, a sense of being grounded in the right place at the right time. When I opened my eyes, I was filled by the sights of Lincoln Park on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

Basking in it, my mind drifted back to a time of running barefoot through the summer grass, arms spread wide and fueled by the pure energy of youth. To a time freed from the worries that drag on us as we grow older, in those early years where laughter comes from deep within and scatters the fireflies before you can reach them, when you run with unabashed joy for no other reason than to do it. I remembered the fading day giving way to twilight and the promise of another warm night of make-believe and self-made mysteries. All things seemed possible except imagining that it could ever end. But end it did, bringing with it new thoughts and dreams, pushing the old into memory.

I’m only fourteen but I know what it means, how it feels to have a connectedness to a place. I have never lived anywhere else and can’t imagine why I would ever leave. I belonged to Chicago and Chicago belonged to me.

By all accounts I considered myself a typical teenager; I hung out with my friends, did well enough in school, tried to stay out of trouble (well, any serious trouble that is), had a growing interest in girls, and I worked to make sense of my ever changing world. I had always been a good swimmer and staying with it competitively had produced a healthy physique, so no real issues there. All in all, I knew who I was, but I didn’t know how I fit into the world around me.

After my older brother Colin died five years ago, my only lead on how to be a teenager came from my best friend Joe Bronski who had grown up next door. He was an only child and had always been a big kid with shaggy dark hair and a lust for life. Even though we’re the same age, Joe carried it with more buoyancy and maturity. And he could talk himself into and out of just about any problem that came along. Being with Joe was often times an adventure all its own. Earlier that first day had been one of those times.

Spending a great afternoon at the lakefront beach would have been enough for most people and counted as just that … a great day. But when Joe found a twenty dollar bill bobbing in the Lake Michigan surf, I saw it as someone’s loss while Joe saw it as something else entirely.

Someone must be sick about losing that, I said as I licked the salt from my parched lips.

"Maybe, but our day is about to get very interesting," Joe answered as he turned on his heel.

I watched him push himself through the soft sand towards an ice cream vendor. I thought I knew his intentions, but he surprised me by waving along strangers to follow in his wake. By the time he reached the vendor, a small crowd had been towed to the walkway and began happily ordering snow cones.

Sam, you’d better hurry! I’d hate for you to miss your Summer Kick Off Party!

I had been a spectator while Joe had taken confident action, not just for himself but for me, too. For reasons I’ll never fully understand, Joe knew how to reach inside me and spark new life like a mechanic under the hood of a reluctant car.

Warming in the sun among the grass and flowers, my thoughts turned to how lucky I was to have the family and friends that orbited my life. And I thought of the role chance seemed to play in my daily existence. How would the day have unfolded had Joe not discovered the twenty dollar bill? What would the day have been like if I hadn’t gone to the lake at all? More importantly, where would I be if not for the stranger yesterday?

I realized I was still shaken by yesterday’s near miss.

I was walking home from the DePaul University pool as I had a thousand times after swim practice. But just before crossing the street, a woman had stopped me, seemingly to ask for directions. The next moment a roaring engine powered a big car through the intersection right in front of me and sped off without ever slowing down. I would’ve certainly been struck by the vehicle if not for the simple random act of a stranger. Shaken and out of breath, I turned back to the woman to thank her but she was gone, presumably having made her way around the corner. I stood rocking on weak legs slowly gathering up the strength that had spilled out of me before I was able to make my way home. The incident had left its mark.

But that was yesterday. Today, my only real concern was the competition between my comfortable surroundings and my growling stomach. With the contest settled, I put on my flip flops, shouldered my backpack and headed for home, easily devouring the few blocks required to reach my mother’s cooking.

I live with my parents on Belden Avenue on the near-north side of Chicago not far from the park. There we occupy the top floor of an old three-story brownstone on a quiet corner. It has stood for more than a hundred and forty years like many of the buildings in the tree-lined Lincoln Park district.

Dad had worked with his father in the family restaurant for as long as he could remember and naturally took over the business after the death of his father. When Colin was born, my parents agreed that having Mom home full time would be their labor of love, so Mom left her job at an advertising agency downtown to take care of Colin. When I arrived, my parents felt doubly blessed. And once I learned to sleep through the night, it became a simple matter of having us boys share a room because, unlike many siblings, we had become the best of friends.

As the years passed, the restaurant prospered and our roots grew ever deeper. To anyone asking, we would have been proud to say we were as normal as can be. But everything changed five years ago. Colin, at the age of fifteen, died suddenly from an undiagnosed heart problem. Colin’s pain then became ours … our hearts were broken, too.

As time tends to do, we began to heal and life gradually resumed. Not back to normal of course, but anew. Dad continued to run the restaurant and became more active in local politics. Using his natural way with people, he helped to get problems solved that improved the lives of the people of Chicago. My mom also soldiered through her pain, knowing she had another son who needed her now more than ever.

I had continued to grow in both mind and body, as had my admiration for the strength my parents had shown over the last five years. We had all built special places in our hearts where we keep our memories of Colin, and I could now safely reflect on those good times without tears; pouncing on Colin in the morning to get him up, my big brother’s help and advice when I had a problem, and a thousand other memories that made me smile. I miss him still.

After everything the family had endured, I became a big believer in ‘keep moving forward’. It wasn’t easy and carried with it sacrifices. There was much I had to bury and forget. But I couldn’t argue with the results; a kind of happiness was returning to our home.

I bounded two at a time up the limestone steps of my home and quickly up the narrow stairwell to the third floor. My arrival into our humble home was immediately greeted with the smell of shepherd’s pie.

Hey, I’m home! I called as my mother’s head peeked out of the kitchen. When’s dinner? I’m starved.

Oh, ‘hi’ to you too and my day was great—thanks for asking, she said smiling.

I loved my mother’s wry sense of humor almost as much as her cooking. I was now the same height as her and had inherited both her blonde hair and the quiet determination she used to tackle life. I could always gauge how her day went by the twinkle she carried in her crystal blue eyes … and today had clearly been a good one.

Where’s Dad? I asked as I dropped my backpack by the door next to Dad’s ever present stacks of newspapers and community readers.

He should be home any second. Go wash up and I’ll get everything on the table … and don’t leave that backpack by the door. You know where it goes, she said just as Dad walked in the door.

Perfect timing, go wash up and we’ll be ready to sit, she called to her husband.

Oh, well good to see you too, my day was great—thanks for asking, said Dad with an engaging smile.

Dad shared her sense of humor and that was one of the things that had first attracted them to each other. Dad gave me a conspiratorial wink, playfully tossed Mrs. O’Riley a fresh loaf of soda bread from the restaurant, and gave her a quick kiss on his way to wash up.

As usual, we sat around our small dining room table flavoring our dinner with spices and lively conversation. I told them about my day at the lake and we shared our amazement of how Joe always seems to be at the center of something. Dad liked to discuss the latest issues affecting the neighborhood, and although I didn’t quite understand all the topics, I smiled and nodded all the same. Mom talked about her volunteer work for the upcoming flower shows in the park; a fondness we all shared and where many family memories had been forged.

It was by any measure a typical evening. But there was a secret hiding just below the surface.

With dinner wrapped up and a shower to wash away the remains of the day, I finally made it into bed and the clean cool sheets soothed a now obvious sunburn. I took a deep breath and let my tired muscles relax. Through half closed eyes I surveyed my room and the checkered pattern of moonlight that shone on the hardwood floor. It reflected a faint glow that reached into the dark corners to create strange but familiar shadows off the trappings of a boy-turned-teenager. My framed family photos became shadow boxes hiding ghostly figures, the posters on the wall created blackened windows like portals to nowhere, and my little league trophies cast giant Olympians across the old plaster walls. The creaks of the old building settling in for the night served as a reminder that it would continue to hold tight as it had every night for over a hundred years. These had been comforts I had known my whole life.

I took in the empty bed across the room that used to be Colin’s and now served as a place where the mementos and small treasures, seemingly still holding a small part of his spirit, now resided. I noticed that Colin’s favorite rock, a good luck piece of pyrite or ‘fool’s gold’, was lying on the floor lit by moonlight, apparent evidence that Mom had probably spent some time in here today.

I had seen her once just sitting quietly on Colin’s bed, looking out the window as if waiting for him to come home from school. Although her strength masked her pain, I knew she needed that time to be alone, to remember.

I was used to living in the same room as Colin’s memories, so it didn’t affect me the way it did my parents. For me, this was where I always felt I belonged. It was home. So I got up, wincing from the sunburn, and replaced the cold rock on the shelf over Colin’s bed. When I returned to the comfort of my bed, I closed my eyes and my thoughts began to drift towards the long summer ahead and the endless possibilities that both Joe and the city had to offer. It promised to be the fun and relaxation I deserved after a long grueling school year.

I could not have been more wrong.

I knew I was dreaming but it was one of those dreams where ‘knowing it’ didn’t seem to matter; you were in it whether you liked it or not. And I most definitely did not like this one. Everything came to me like film clips … disjointed and abbreviated. I was there, but ‘there’ was not well defined or filled in. My surroundings were dark and I was walking … down a road? No, across a street that I seemed to know well, but couldn’t place. In the next moment, the roar of an engine and headlights came barreling towards me. I turned towards the sound and lights, and a bolt of terror ripped through me, turning my bones to ice and holding me frozen in my tracks. It’s the same car from yesterday!

But this time I was too late. I felt no pain, just my body hurtling through thin air and blackness.

I opened my eyes expecting, hoping to be back in my bed. But an intense disappointment swept over me when I found myself in some kind of cave or tunnel. There was a heavy oppressive smell of dirt and decay. Was I buried alive!?

The taste of coppery panic bubbled into my throat before I realized I was standing in mud and my shoes were wet.

A hand grasped my shoulder from behind, sending electricity through my skin and weakening my knees. The cold grip of terror seized my heart and stung my lungs when I turned to see a muddy, blood streaked maniac racing at me with his mouth spread wide in a silent scream. I quickly turned and tried to run, but my legs felt like lead sinking in mud, slowing me down. My stomach clenched when I looked over my shoulder. He almost has me!

Then I bolted awake, this time in my room and this time I was really awake.

I sat up, chilled but sweating. As I caught my breath, I rubbed my eyes and fully returned to the waking world, my heart still galloping. As the tension began to bleed off, I tried to replay what I had seen. It felt so real. Apparently, the near miss with the car yesterday had had more of an effect on me than I thought. But the man chasing me?

It was just a dream, I reminded myself. With a sigh, I swung my legs out of bed, my mouth a cottony desert thirsting for a cold glass of water. But before my feet could find the floor, I had knocked something out of bed and heard it hit the wooden floor. I watched in complete confusion as it tumbled across the bedroom. I could only stare in disbelief.

Coming to rest in the moonlight was Colin’s rock.

~~~

On that same night, unknown to me but not far from my home, walked a tall bowlegged man and his dog. By all outward appearances there was nothing unusual about the pair except given the hour of night. Then again, Chicago was big enough and unassuming enough that most observers would simply write it off as someone having trouble sleeping and deciding to take the night air with his best friend. At least that was the image the man hoped to project. The truth was anything but.

Cyrus MacGruder was a thin man with coal black eyes and a heart to match. His scraggily graying hair was as unkempt as his thin patchy beard. But he was a capable man … capable of anything if it paid well enough. He had made a career out of doing other people’s dirty work and had lived in the city for many years, frequently on the move living in one apartment after another, never staying in one place too long. In his line of work, one made enemies and you never knew when you might become someone else’s ‘dirty work’ to be cleaned up. He had no living family or close friends and saw this as an advantage; he lived by the adage that life was less complicated and safer when you’re alone. But a lifetime of misdeeds had twisted itself into the nervous tick of picking at his beard. When his conscience picked at him, he picked back.

As for the dog, it was as scruffy as MacGruder, but a well-behaved beagle whose owner hadn’t even bothered to give it a name. MacGruder felt the dog was a constant nuisance, but a necessary prop to disguise his true purpose on nights like tonight. MacGruder had an appointment to keep.

Anxiously running late, he concentrated on keeping a leisurely pace to avoid attracting attention. This did not, however, prevent him from cruelly jerking the dog’s leash when it did not keep up. His eyes and ears took in everything but just as quickly discarded anything not deemed a threat. He took no pleasure in the fact that the night was comfortably warm and the air was filled with nature’s fragrance as he neared the park. He was aware, but did not care.

They reached North Clark Street along the western border of the park and stopped. Satisfied that no one was watching, they entered the park well north of their final destination. Keeping to his routine, his bent legs took them deep into the park towards the lake before heading south across the now darkened softball fields. This large open expanse was used to ensure he was not being followed; he occasionally stopped to look around under the guise of the beagle taking its leave on a patch of grass. All that could be heard was the hoot of an owl and the hum of crickets.

He continued moving south on the short paved walkway under North Avenue and waited on the other side, quietly knocking the dew and loose grass off his shoes. This was not his first meeting here and he hoped it would not be his last. The jobs, though seemingly odd, were simple enough tasks for a determined man such as himself, and it paid quite well. And payment was why he was here.

He was considering his due when the dog suddenly became still, then began to quake, quickly cowering behind a bush. What followed was a warm breeze rustling the trees and footfalls approaching from the west. He checked his watch. It was precisely midnight.

Alastor was in many ways the opposite of MacGruder; he was well-dressed with the polished manners and clipped formal speech from an era gone by. His hair was wavy black and worn combed back to show his handsome features, and his fit frame was always complimented by a fashionable wardrobe. He had an air of authority and influence but used an open, friendly disposition to disarm his acquaintances.

He was known to MacGruder only as Alastor; no last name was ever given or expected presuming he wished to maintain some degree of privacy and discretion on MacGruder’s part. Aside from this, MacGruder knew very little about this gregarious gentleman.

Cyrus, my good man! Thank you for coming on such a glorious night. Everyday above ground is a good one you know! he laughed while taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it with clear satisfaction as he firmly shook MacGruder’s hand.

Of course, Alastor, he replied with as much friendliness as he could muster. If you’re ready to do business, then perhaps we could begin with payment for services rendered?

Oh, of course, of course, right down to business. Here you are and let me also compliment you on your level of proficiency regarding the woman. Your efforts have aided me greatly, Alastor gushed as he handed him an envelope.

Thank you for the compliment. It means a great deal to me, he lied. Taking care of the woman last night was straight forward enough and I gave her the message as instructed. I did, however, fail to complete the other assignment. I had the boy in my sights, but my timing was fouled by another pedestrian. I should have him taken care of within forty-eight hours. MacGruder began picking at his whiskers.

Ah, yes, I know. It is of no consequence now, I assure you.

He already knew I failed … is he having me watched? MacGruder wondered, swallowing hard.

I appreciate your candor Cyrus, but trust me; all is as it should be. Now, with that bit of business squared away, I have both a question and possibly a proposition for you. May I?

Please.

Forgive my boldness, but may I inquire about your family and friends?

I don’t have any family. As for friends, I know people but I find it best to keep my distance.

Excellent. Now, if you would indulge me with one more question, what is it you want to do with your life Cyrus?

Shocked by such an intimate question, MacGruder hesitated. Apologies, Alastor, but I don’t understand your line of questioning.

Alastor sighed and shook his head. It is I who should apologize to you for being too forward. Alastor clasped his hands behind his back and paused thoughtfully before continuing.

"Cyrus, I see great potential in you. You are both proficient and discreet; two qualities I value greatly. And your