Dreamstate
by: Tovah Ann Veats


I awoke to the golden rays of the rising sun streaming between the curtains, directly into my eyes. I groaned and rolled over, pulling the covers over my head. I used to love this time of day, when everything seemed fresh and new, as if the previous day's problems had been scrubbed clean by well-meaning elves in the night. Now, sunrise meant something different. Now it meant an all too temporary suspension of my nightmares.

"Hey, Jeanie, get up, you're going to be late."

Will's voice, floating down the hallway from the bathroom, dragged me the rest of the way to consciousness. I took a deep breath, breathing in the Will-scent of the sheets, and threw back the covers. "All right, I'm up." I tried to inject a note of cheeriness into my voice. I was exhausted though, despite the ten hours sleep I'd just had, and failed miserably. I stretched and shoved the last remnants of my dreams into the back corner of my mind. "I hope the coffee's nice and strong."

"Of course." Will poked his head into the doorway. "I wouldn't have it any other way." His smile faded as he focused on me. "Jesus, Jeanie, you look terrible. Are you feeling okay?"

I smiled, hoping didn't look too wan. "Yeah, just tired. I didn't sleep well last night."

"More dreams?"

I nodded and headed for the closet, pulling off my pyjama top. I knew exactly what he would say next. You really should see someone, you know.

"You really should see someone, you know. There's –"

The look I shot him over my bare shoulder stopped him dead. "They're only dreams." I wished he would leave it alone, but that was Will. I knew he was just worried, but that didn't stop it from rubbing me the wrong way. "Probably menopause, or something."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "At your age?"

I shrugged and turned back to the closet. "I was an early bloomer. Why not?"

He made no reply. After a moment, I heard him move down the hall, then down the stairs. It wasn't long before the air was filled with the scent of breakfast and the muffled sounds of clinking dishes.

***

"Jesus, Jeanie, you look terrible."

I rolled my eyes at Maggie and dropped my pencil onto the stack of papers on my desk. "I wish people would stop saying that."

"Will told me about the dreams. Maybe you should see some –" I shot her the same glare I had given Will earlier, and her voice trailed off. "– one." She crossed her arm under her breasts. "Well, you should."

I sighed. "Alright, I'll make an appointment this afternoon." I knew I wouldn't, but it would get her off my back. For a little while at least. "But right now, I'm starving. We still on for lunch?"

Maggie brightened, as always, at the mention of food. "Sure. Dino's?"

I nodded, grabbed my jacket and purse, and we were out the door.

The sunlight was bright, the air crisp with the coming winter. The trees in the park were aflame with a riot of colour. The sounds of humanity filled the air, honking horns, rumbling engines, shouting people. A single sparrow sat on the branch of a nearby potted palm, singing its joy.

Normally I would have taken pleasure in such a day. I was a city person, comforted by the sights and sounds and pungent smells of civilization. Now, however, it all seemed an assault on my senses. The traffic sounds grated in my ears, pounded in my skull. The odors of car exhaust and frying dough from the coffee shop nearby made me nauseous. The sunlight glared off the windows of cars and buildings, painfully blinding. I had time to wonder if maybe I really should make an appointment with the doctor.

A flash. The world changes. The people are ghoulish versions of themselves, rotting flesh hanging off protruding bones. Their voices are the wails of the dead, wafting on the sticky breeze. The sickly sweet scent of death and decay pervades the heavy air. The light is grey and diffuse, the sun a pale, bloated disk hanging low in the boiling sky. A pain blossoms in my head, I squeeze my eyes shut and scream.

***

". . . don't know what to say. I've never seen anything like it before. I mean, you would expect something after . . ."

". . . bring her out of it? Anything at all?"

"No, it might . . . . keep waiting, see . . ."

". . . take it any more. There must be . . ."

". . . sorry."

***

"Jean? Jeanie, are you alright?"

I opened my eyes just as a house cat, let out by its callous owner, pounced on the singing sparrow. Feathers and a small gout of blood sprayed the green of the leaves. Then, bell jingling, the cat disappeared, lost in the shadows of the alley.

"Jean. Hey, Jean, look at me."

I blinked slowly, turned my eyes. A familiar face was staring down at me, eyes filled with concern. The glaring sun turned her frizzy hair into a nimbus-like halo around her head, and I thought, for a moment, that I was dead and she was an angel.

"Maggie? What. . . ?"

She helped me into a sitting position. "You just screamed and collapsed. Come on, we're going to the hospital.

I tried to rise, needed Maggie's help to make it the whole way up. "No, no I'm fine. I just need to go home, get some sleep."

It was then I noticed the crowd of curious and concerned onlookers. A man was talking on a cell phone. ". . . an ambulance, yes. Yeah, she just collapsed. She's up now, but she doesn't look good."

"No." He looked up at me, eyes unfocused, still listening to the voice in his ear. "No, I'm okay." I tried a smile. "I've had the flu, I guess I'm just not fully recovered yet." Don't call me on this one, Maggie, please.

The man relayed the information, then punched off the phone. "It's already on the way." He shrugged, turned his back and walked away.

I was starting to feel a little stronger as the crowd dispersed around me. I hailed a cab and retrieved my purse from the sidewalk. The cat emerged from the alley, a self-satisfied smirk on its furry face.

"Wait for the ambulance, Jean. Please."

I turned back to Maggie and tried my smile on her. Though I would not, could not, admit it to her, I was frightened. I had no idea what was happening. It was fine when they were just dreams, but this was something more. "I'm okay, really. I just need sleep."

She sighed, but didn't argue as I got into the cab. I gave the driver my address and waved to Maggie as we pulled away. She waved back, eyebrows lowered in a V of concern.

***

I had cranked every drippy tap off as far as it would go and closed the door, all the windows and curtains. I burrowed myself under the covers, a pillow over my head, trying in vain to block out all sound. My head pounded. It was more than just a headache, it was a physical sensation, as if someone were hammering nails into my skull.

Despite what I had said to Maggie, I dreaded the thought of falling asleep. If my dreams were creeping into my waking life, what would they be like when I was really asleep? I was exhausted, though, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I slept. I fought to stay awake, but the pounding continued, rhythmic, lulling me with pain.

***

I can see Will in the distance. He looks different, though I cannot say how. He is moving away from me, getting lost in the mist. It is difficult to see in the grey light. I try to follow, but a man blocks my way. He is tall, taller than Will, and lean. I think he might be handsome, if he bathed and shaved more than once every few months. He is familiar, though I cannot place him. I take a step forward and he holds up his hand. If I try to move around him, he moves to stay in my path. I turn to go the other way, but there is another man, this one short and stocky, with curly dark hair, a crooked nose and a lazy eye. He grins at me, revealing yellow, uneven teeth. This one is familiar too, but in the same half-remembered way as his companion. I draw back, then run blindly away from them, away from Will.

I trip over something hard and slimy. It is a grave stone, coated in thick film of wet moss. I can't make out the name, so I scrape the moss away with my nails. When I read the name, I reel back in horror. William H. Bauer. Will. He can't be dead. He can't be.

I scramble to my feet and continue running, find the street again. The two men are nowhere in sight, but neither is Will. The buildings seem to lean in over the street, closing me in. Fear creeps up my spine. I can feel panic squeezing my throat, my breath coming in gasps. I see a flash of movement. Relief flows through me and I follow it.

Will is standing on a bridge, leaning against the railing. His back is to me. I come up behind him quietly, afraid of startling him, afraid of what he might do. I reach out, lay my hand on his shoulder. He turns to me. His face is grey, cheeks hollow. His lips are parted in a death's head grin. One eye is missing and there is a deep gash in his neck. I can see the jagged ends of his trachea protruding from the vivid redness.

I can only back away, mouth open in a silent scream of mindless revulsion. As I watch, his half-severed head tips back, and his body follows, over the railing and into the misty darkness below.

I scream then, and cannot stop.

***

". . . happening?"

"I don't know, she just . . ."

"Get a sedative, two doses. She can't . . ."

". . . mean, doctor? Is she awake?"

". . . don't know. Her brain waves say yes, but look at her eyes. It's as if she's dreaming all the time, even when . . ."

". . . an escape, maybe? After . . ."

"Perhaps. If so, then . . . might help."

"Should we tell her? It might . . ."

"No, not yet, not until we . . ."

***

"I don't want to go to the hospital, Will." I knew it sounded childish, but I didn't like hospitals. I tried to convince myself that it was nothing serious, but fear niggled at my mind.

Will ran a hand through his hair, a sign that he was worried sick. I wished I could say something to ease his mind.

"You were screaming like . . . like nothing I've ever heard before. It took me ten minutes to wake you up. At least see a doctor. I'll call Mike, he'll come over and –"

"Okay. Okay, whatever. But tomorrow, alright? Right now, I just . . . I don't know what. I just need to sleep."

The pain in his eyes, the worry and love, made me want to cry. I could feel the tears welling up, forced them back. I held out my hand and he took it, sat beside me on the bed. He held me, I hugged him fiercely. I cried then, silent tears of fear and frustration.

A long while later, I released him and sat up. He let go too, but kept hold of my hand. He closed his eyes, let out a breath. "Let me help you then, until tomorrow?"

I nodded, felt a tear run down my cheek. He reached up and wiped it away. "Tell me."

I told him everything. I told him about how my dreams looked, the darkness and mist, the rotting people. I told him about seeing him, seeing him walking away, about how he looked. About the grave stone, and the two men. How I'd only seen the walking dead before, never him or the men, and how the dreams had come when I was awake. Told him of the voices in the darkness, familiar yet strange, the speakers unseen.

When I finished, I was exhausted, but felt lighter too, as if I'd relieved myself of a burden. Will looked more worried, his brows lowered, eyes troubled. I reached up, ran my hand along his cheek. He turned his head and kissed my palm. "We'll get you through this. I promise."

I sighed, slumped back on the pillows. "I know. It's just . . . I don't know what's real anymore. What if I'm going crazy?"

He rose and pulled off his shirt, face creased in concern. "It's late. Do you want me to stay in here tonight? I can take the couch if –"

"Stay. In case . . . I don't know, in case something happens."

He nodded and pulled off his pants, slipping into the happy-face boxers he always wore to bed, then under the covers beside me. "I'll be here if you need me. Try to sleep, if you can." He kissed my forehead then turned off the light and settled into the pillow. I stayed sitting up beside him, listened to his breathing. It was a long while before I heard the slow rhythmic breathing of sleep.

I slid down beside him, too tired to sit up any longer, too afraid to close my eyes. I knew I'd fall asleep sooner or later. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and, for the first time in years, I prayed.

***

When I awake, Will is still beside me. Though the curtains are still closed, I can sense the darkness behind them. The clock beside me reads 3:17.

I realize then that I had not dreamed. I am surprised, and not a little concerned about what that might mean. Mostly I am happy, happy that I've finally had some rest after months of exhaustion, that an end might be near.

I reach out and touch Will's bare shoulder. It is cold and clammy under my hand. I pull the covers over him, wondering if he's coming down with something. The air is warm in the room. I stretch, then lean over to kiss Will's cheek. As my lips touch his pale skin, I realize something is wrong. With a growing sense of horror, I grip Will's shoulder and roll him onto his back. A death's head grin greets me, lips pulled back as if frozen in a feral snarl. One eye is missing and his throat is a ragged mess of blood and cartilage.

I scream, scurry backwards, fall off the bed, scramble to my feet. I take a step back, am stopped by a hand on my shoulder. I scream again and spin around, hands raised, ready to fight or die.

I see myself. My clothing is ripped and dirty, my pants around my ankles. A trickle of blood runs from my nose and my right eye is swollen almost closed. One wrist is encircled with a tight bracelet of rough rope, the skin around it red and raw. "See. . ."

I shake my head, mouth moving but making no sound.

"See. You must see."

I turn and run from the room, into the bathroom, slam the door closed and lock it. I lean against it, slide down until I am sitting on the floor, head between my knees, fingers entwined in my hair. This can't be real. Can't be.

After a long, silent while, I raise my head, lean it back against the door. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I gasp at what I see, rise to get a better look. This isn't real.

My reflection is familiar. I saw it not long ago, but then it was not in a mirror. My right eye is swollen, nose bloody, clothes ripped and dirty. I look down at myself, to assure myself it's not real, I'm only imagining it.

I run from the bathroom, down the hall, tripping over my pants, pulled around my ankles. I fall in the doorway to the bedroom, crawl to the bed. "Oh, Will, no. No, please." He does not respond. It is real. It is all real, not a dream. I lean back against the bed, close my eyes and let the darkness take me.

***

"Jean?"

A familiar voice. I struggled to open my eyes, expecting to see visions of death and darkness. The room was brightly lit, painfully so. I groaned and closed my eyes, turned my head away.

"Jean? Oh Jean!" The voice faded. "Doctor, I think she's awake."

"Jean? Can you hear me?"

Another familiar voice, this one remembered from a dream. I cracked my eyes open again. A man was standing over me, a man with curly dark hair. For a moment I thought he was the man from the dream, and I tensed. Then I saw his kindly eyes and warm smile, and I knew it was not the same man. "Who . . . ?"

His smile widened. "I'm Dr. Westridge. You're in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?"

I frowned, trying to remember. The memories flit by on gossamer wings, coming almost within reach then darting away again before I can grasp them. "I don't . . . Will? Where's . . . ?"

Dr. Westridge glanced away. I followed his gaze. "Maggie? What . . . ?"

She hesitated, looked at the doctor, then back to me. "He's dead, Jean, I'm sorry."

I must be still dreaming. I have to be dreaming. "Is this real? Am I awake?"

Maggie nodded, eyes sad. The tears welled up then, and the memories. On our way home from the late movie, a shortcut through the alley. Two men, one, tall and greasy, in front, the other, short with a lazy eye, behind. Will fought, a knife, his eye, his screams, cut off suddenly. My screams as they stripped me, took their turns. The cat with the jingling bell and a dead bird in its mouth, sauntering by as I lay on the pavement.

I cried for a long time. Maggie held my hand, smoothed back my hair until I stopped. I smiled up at her through reddened eyes. "I miss him."

"I know."




© Tovah Ann Veats