Chapter 4

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.