"Watercolors In the Rain"
Apr. 27th, 2023 08:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Watercolors In the Rain"
3/27/1985
I.
Standing in the doorway to the KDF rec room, Jeremy Bane said, "I have no idea what you're doing."
Cindy Brunner twisted her head around to give him a chagrined smile that had melted many hearts. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of two VCRs that had dubbing cables running between them and then from each of them up to the big wall-mounted TV. Three separate remote controls, a stack of six VHS tapes and a manual added to the confusing sight. "Drat, neither do I."
"It looks as if you're trying to make copies of movies," ventured the Dire Wolf. As always, he was wearing what amounted to his uniform of all black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket which made him look even taller and leaner than he was.
The telepath jumped up to her feet with the ease of both youth and perfect physical conditioning. At twenty-six, an inch over five feet tall and maybe a hundred pounds even, she had never looked better. The long straight blonde hair was glossy and the dark blue eyes bright. Both the Tagra tea diet and her Kumundu training had gotten her blazing with life. "Yeah. Well, it's taking a while. Somehow I keep recording what's on TV instead of from the store tape to the blank. I think I should unhook everything and start over again slowly."
For once, Bane's pale grey eyes were not cold but relaxed, even mellow. She was one of a small handful of people who ever saw him that way. "Good luck. Anyway, I came to tell you we're going to have a visitor in a few minutes."
Cindy glanced past him. "Um. He's at the door now, actually."
A second after she spoke, the buzzer sounded out in the hall. Bane wheeled and strode out of the rec room at a walk faster than most people could run. He went past the row of bookshelves which lined the front hall, past the wide staircase leading up, past the office where he met visitors to the Kenneth Dred Foundation.
Stopping by the solid oak front door, he slid open a panel set at eye level to reveal a bank of controls. He pressed the speaker button.
"Good morning, please come in. We'll be with you in a moment," the Dire Wolf said. He hit a second switch which unlocked the outer street door, allowing the visitor to enter the foyer. Bane activated the advanced Trom sensors and watched as the monitor screen lit up.
Cindy had come up behind him, tugging down her loose grey swearshirt that read SCARABS WORLD TOUR 1983 across its front and back. "His mind is calm but worried. I'm picking up he has long-term stress from responsibility. Not anger, not tenseness from impending action. He's not here to attack us."
"Thanks, Cin." Bane was studying the image on the monitor screen of a sturdy man in middle-age, well-dressed in a light brown suit and tie. A neatly kept goatee and mustache, plus touches of grey in the dark hair, added to the professional impression. Along one side of the screen, pale green letters rolled off details about the man.. exact height and weight, heartbeat and blood pressure, EKG results, levels of adrenalin in trace perspiration. All these factors had been scanned within a second.
Most importantly, the sensors showed no weapons. Nothing of metal other than some keys, no chemical signatures of possible poisons or explosions. The Trom security system had cleared their visitor. Bane swung the inner door open and said, "Come right in, Dr Fairchild."
Cindy caught Bane's eye for a second and she nodded approval. Her telepathy was skimming over the surface of Fairchild's mind, too lightly for him to be aware of it but she had found nothing to alarm her.
Stepping into the hall, Dr Benjamin Fairchild extended a hand which Bane shook. The man did appeared worried, with dark circles under his deepset eyes and a general worn down expression. "I'm glad you agreed to see me right away. I came at once."
"Let's see if we can help. Dr Fairchild, this is Cynthia Brunner, my partner at the Kenneth Dred Foundation. Come on, let's get started." He gestured for the man to enter the open office to their right, where Cindy touched the back of a chair for the man.
Bane himself circled around behind a massive desk and took his own seat under a gorgeous hand-painted map of the world as it had been in 1937. As Dr Fairchild got himself settled in the plain wooden chair facing the desk, Cindy remained standing. She folded her arms over her bust and gave the visitor a reassuring half-smile.
"First, let me mention that I've been doing research into the effects of sleep deprivation on dreams," Fairchild began. "I'm attached to the Osborne Medical Institute in Jersey City. So I have all the proper credentials. The staff and the scientific community see me as a solid, responsible professional."
Bane said nothing, merely raising a feral eyebrow to indicate the doctor should go on.
"But, and there's always a 'but,'" continued Fairchild, "Despite all my atheism and materialism and skepticism, I have increasingly encountered phenomena which I simply can not explain and can not ignore. I have heard of your Kenneth Dred Foundation and the work you do. In fact, I have learned quite a bit about the Midnight War."
"That's not something the general public ever hears about," Bane said. "It's probably better that way."
"Yes. The world is scary enough without adding awareness of the Midnight War to it. Be that as it may, right now we have a patient at the Institute. She volunteered for some deprivation experiments but something went wrong. Mr Bane, Miss Brunner, it's quite inexplicable but Joan Brunswick has been asleep for forty-eight hours as of this morning. Physicians have been tentatively trying to wake her with medications but with no results. And according to her EEGs, she has been having strong dreams the whole time."
Leaning a narrow hip against the desk, Cindy interrupted. "There's something more than natural causes for this, then. That's why you came to us?"
"Yes. I hesitate to say this, it sounds ridiculous, and yet... I have been gathering folklore data on something or someone called Meremoth. A living, intelligent presence that preys on sleeping victims."
Something changed in that office. Bane was already sitting up straight, his face alert and interested but suddenly those pale eyes lit with intensity. "Preys on them how?"
"In their dreams," replied Dr Fairchild. "Meremoth is a dream parasite."
II.
Forty minutes later, after seeing their visitor out, Bane and Cindy turned to each other. "You look like you have a few things to say," the Dire Wolf remarked.
"Yeah. Absolutely." The little blonde was frowning at the closed door as if she could see through it to watch Fairchild on the street. "First, he was telling the truth as he knows it. I'm sure of that. I couldn't pick up any deception or misleading intentions."
"But?"
Cindy looked up into Bane's eyes and shrugged. "There's something funny going on under the surface of his mind," she went on. "I was getting hints. Telepathy is hard to explain, hon. This time, it was catching a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye or thinking you heard something in the next room. I definitely say we should keep a close eye on him."
"I've learned to trust your instincts," Bane said. "What about all that dream dimension stuff?"
"Eh. It doesn't ring true with me." Cindy turned and started toward the staircase in the center of the front hall. "I dunno, we've seen a lot of crazy things in our careers, but a separate dimension made up of dreams? And it's inhabited by nonhuman spirits and demons who interact with us while we're dreaming. My reaction is, 'oh come ON!'"
Moving with her, Bane said, "I don't remember ever hearing anything about a dimension of dreams. You'd think it would be a big deal in Midnight War lore if there was such a thing. So, you're going to change?"
"I think something a little more respectable looking than my favorite grimy sweatshirt and ten year old jeans is called for," she replied, starting to trot up the stairs.
Bane said, "I'll prep the Mustang for you," and walked across the hall into the walk-in closet by the front door. A panel in the rear wall slid aside to reveal steps going down. The Dire Wolf went past the Trom power generator, water tank and heater to move briskly down a long narrow corridor. At its end, steep concrete steps revealed a garage large enough for two cars at a time. Open wooden shelves held tools and supplies, as well as a row of knapsacks. These were kept ready by the KDF members for instant use when they left hurriedly on missions. Bane stowed the one kept by Cindy in the trunk of the dark green Ford Mustang. Then he inspected the car's tires, checked the oil and coolant levels, and wiped the windows inside and out. The gas tank was full.
Coming through the door into the garage, Cindy said, "You know, we give our cars an rundown whenever we bring them back in here. I don't know if it's necessary to do it again when taking off."
"Only takes a few minutes," said the Dire Wolf. He glanced up to see his partner had changed into a Navy blue pantsuit outfit with a white silk blouse and a single thin-linked gold chain around her neck. She was carrying the usual tools and weapons in a black leather handbag. "You look very professional."
"Every bit helps. When you're a cute little blonde, it's hard to get people to take you seriously. Have you remembered anything about dream dimensions or nightmares being real, anything like that?"
"Nothing. But then, nobody knows all there is to know about Midnight War. Even the Archivist at Tel Shai admits there are a lot of mysteries and forgotten knowledge. Too bad I have to go down to NYPD today and sign all those statements about the Chiller case but Donna says I'm honestly lucky to not be signing them from inside a cell. I'd rather go with you."
"So it goes, hon." She tilted up her face to be kissed, then pressed close to him briefly. "But this looks like just a preliminary fact-finding today. I'll call you if anything seems significant. And remember, we're going to the Hungry Bambino tonight! We're going to pile spaghetti on our plates until we can't stand up."
Sliding in behind the wheel, she started up the car and eased gingerly up the ramp, where the angle into the exit alley was uncomfortably acute. Nearly every KDF member had scraped paint a few times. Cindy eased out onto Lexington Avenue.
III.
One wing of the four-story Osborne Institute was set up like a hospital ward, complete with central nursing station. Patients with sleep disorders or volunteers testing new treatments stayed here. Wearing an orange VISITOR tag on her lapel, Cindy met with Dr Fairchild as he spotted them emerging from the elevator.
"I'm glad you got here so promptly," he said.
"Sorry that Jeremy couldn't come with me," Cindy replied before the doctor could ask, "But let me see what the situation is and I'll confer with him when I get back to Manhattan. Where's Mrs Brunswick?"
"Right this way." That floor was almost completely silent. At the nursing station, a man and a woman in white uniforms were seated behind piles of paperwork. Four different phones were color-coded and there was a row of small closed-circuit TV screen visible, showing the interiors of different experiment rooms. The staff members glanced up and nodded politely as Cindy was escorted by, but did not say anything.
The heavy glass door to Room 6 slid open, and Dr Fairchild pulled aside the curtain which hung from runners in the ceiling to reveal a typical ER examination room. Brightly lit, clean and white-tiled, with cabinets holding equipment, there was nothing remarkable about it. In the center was a narrow bed, adjustable so that the occupant was slightly sitting up.
Under a thin sheet up to her waist, her upper body in a sleeveless cotton gown that tied in the back, Joan Brunswick slept. She was a middle-aged woman, thick around the middle, with a pleasant roundish face surrounded by black curls. Wire leads ran up from tabs attached to her chest to show her vitals and an IV drip was attached from her left wrist up to a clear plastic bag hanging off a stainless-steel tree.
"We're feeding her some nutrients and a saline solution so she doesn't dehydrate," Dr Fairchild began. "She is resting comfortably, turning over by herself occassionally and shifting around. So bedsores are not likely to be a problem. You know about REM states, of course, but she is not going through the usual stages...."
"Excuse me, doctor," said Cindy, walking over to stand right next to the sleeping woman. "Please let me think for a minute."
Without replying out loud, Fairchild moved back a step. Since he knew about the KDF, he must have heard about the unusual gifts its members possessed. Possibly he thought Cindy was using some sort of ESP or mystic ability and he was flexible enough to give her a chance.
Gazing down thoughtfully at Mrs Brunswick, Cindy placed her hands on the railing which had been lifted on that side of the bed. She relaxed her awareness and opened her own perception to focus on what was going on in the woman's mind. Strong, potent energy swirled beneath that physical head. Under skull and within grey tissue, a different reality flowed at its own rate. She felt this with everyone she contacted, but Joan Brunswick was different somehow. Cindy let her thoughts drift toward the sleeping woman.
She felt sucked up violently, against her will, by a force like a tornado wind. Before she could put her defenses back up, Cindy found herself standing outside. Not by the Institute, but on a windy slope with sparse dry grass underfoot. Across a darkening sky, heavy rainclouds swept along. Nothing else was in sight.
The blonde telepath drew herself up straight. She didn't feel like she was in any immediate danger herself but she was unhappy about being affected so strongly by a power she hadn't detected. Now, her choice was whether to explore the situation and see if this relocation meant an opening to help Mrs Brunswick, or whether to escape and propel herself back into the world of sharp edges and hard angles.
Being drawn so completely into someone's mind was a new experience. But Cindy wasn't alarmed so much as curious. Evidently this was a step beyond her usual mental communications, and she felt confident she could handle it.
A harsh rasping whisper sounded from behind her, "Welcome."
Cindy wheeled about to face a tall, unhealthily thin figure wrapped in a ragged cloak which reached to the grass. Under a tangle of wild straggly hair was a bony face with a beaked nose and extended chin like a traditional witch, although the stranger was male. The eyes could not be seen from within concealing shadows under the brows.
"I think I'd remember you if we'd met before," she said casually.
"Behold! Into the misty realm of Dreams have you entered, and none who come here may return. I am Meremoth, your new Lord and Master, you will serve me until the world is unmade."
"Oh brother. You don't know me at ALL. Meremoth, huh? What's the situation here?"
"Long ages have I ruled in the Dreamlands, relishing nightmares and doling out pleasant whimsies as I please." The shrouded finger raised a clawing hand. "As I have done many times before, I will take a servant. You shall cater to my pleasures until your essence dissipates."
Cindy braced her legs well apart and placed her fists on her hips. "So, anyway, you claim we're in some sort of separate dimension? Is that it?"
"Such defiance does not please me," said Meremoth.
The ground fell away around Cindy, leaving her only a tiny circle barely enough for her feet. She swayed, caught her balance and gaped down in shock. The narrow pillar of rock where she stood was surrounded by a chasm stretching down into darkness. Far below, water trickled.
"Oh, very cute!" she snapped. "What's wrong with you anyway?"
The weird apparition was still standing on solid ground beyond the abyss. He swept a thin arm in a dismissive gesture. "This realm is all the stuff that dreams are made of, insubstantial as a hope, impermanent as love. I can make of it whatever I wish, melting it all like watercolors in the rain."
All around them, everything faded and swirled. The landscape became dark and foreboding, all bare granite underfoot and jagged peaks looming up over them. From between the rough-edged boulders, lean serpentine forms could be glimpsed sliding past. High overhead, thunder rumbled.
"I've seen worse places," Cindy told him. "I was on the island of Maroch. I went to Fanedral. And honestly, this isn't as bad as Camden, New Jersey."
A bellow of rage rolled from Meremoth, startlingly deep from such a gaunt form. "You will be broken! I can leave you in a pit where vermin gnaw at your flesh. I can hang you over undying flames to sear away your body. You will suffer unspeakable tortures for a thousand years."
"Eh. I don't think so." The blonde leaned up against a chest-high boulder and crossed her ankles insolently. "Right now, my real body is safe and sound, enjoying a well-deserved little nap. Sooner or later, the doctors will find a way to wake me up. You know dreams fade after we wake up, right? You're nothing permanent."
Massive chains, stout enough to restrain a bear, fell wrapped across her narrow shoulders. Her hands were bound in front of her with iron cuffs thicker than her forearms. The weight of it all dropped her to her knees with a thump.
"You will never awaken!" cackled Meremoth. "You will be my plaything in this dream until the world is unmade."
But Cindy lifted her head and smiled. The chains slid off her with a clatter. She rose to her feet and wagged a reproving finger side to side. "This is NOT a dream."
IV.
The laughter had quite ceased.
"I get it now," Cindy went on, stepping out from among the pile of chains. "Why didn't I catch on before? You're another telepath. You've been sending all these images and experiences into my mind. No, wait. That's not quite right."
Meremoth gestured furiously and a stream of white-hot flame roared from his arms but it passed harmlessly over Cindy. She didn't even blink.
"It's even nastier than that," she said. "We're in the victim's mind. Yes, that's it. You pulled me in here and you thought you could keep me prisoner in her awareness. I bet right now, the doctors have me on a bed and are examining me and taking my vitals, but they have nothing to worry about. I'm fine."
"Little fool! I am a hundred years old. I was luring my prey into dreams before the parents of your parents were born." This time, the Dream Parasite launched a dozen red and black snakes toward Cindy, but they slowed and faded into nothing before getting near her.
The little blonde made a scoffing noise. "It wouldn't matter if you were a thousand years old. I have studied under Teacher Anulka of Tel Shai. My mind works in a unified harmony and you're all messed up with pride and doubts and guilt. Come here." She held out her open hand, palm up.
Against his will, shrieking like a gale winter wind, Meremoth dwindled and shrank. He was yanked off his feet and drawn irresistably to land on Cindy's hand. Now he was only an inch tall, trembling and helpless. In her other hand, a clear glass bottle had appeared. Cindy thrust Meremoth inside and stoppered the bottle with a cork.
"That should hold you," she said. "It works for Djinns, after all. Come on, settle down. It's no use yelling. All I can hear is a buzzing like a fly."
Cindy turned around to regard the dismal dark landscape which closed in around them.
"I think we need something brighter and more wholesome, don't you?" As she spoke, the grimy rock cliffs melted and dropped away like a watercolor painting in the rain. The ominous clouds rolled. Far on the horizon, a golden sun was rising over fresh green plains and a warm dry breeze swept over her. "That's better..." she began to say.
V.
Cindy sat up with a gasp as if she had been holding her breath as long as possible. A nurse standing close by gave a start and leaned over to press a comforting hand to her shoulder. It was a room in the hospital floor of the Osbourne Institute, Cindy could tell by looking out through the sliding glass door. She glanced down. Her blouse had been removed and she was wearing one of the thin cotton gowns, under which leads ran up to a monitor showing her heartbeat, blood pressure and blood oxygen levels.
"Whew, that's better," said the blonde telepath as she took in what had happened. "How is Joan Brunswick doing?"
"Let's worry about you first," the nurse answered. "Vitals look good. Any pain? Any dizziness or vision problems?"
"No, no, I'm fine. Don't worry about me. I need to see Dr Fairchild. He was with a volunteer named Joan Brunswick."
"I'll see if I can reach him." The nurse was an older woman who still seemed very worried. "You know you passed out, don't you? You were with Dr Fairchild when you slid to the floor. We've been monitoring your situation, you apparently were in a very deep sleep stage."
"Yeah, exhaustion will do that. I see by this bandage on my arm that you did some blood work. It'll come back fine, trust me. Listen. You may not think I'm ready to run up and down the hall, so can I get a wheelchair?"
There was no unkindness in the nurse's voice, only concern, "Let's see what the doctor says. Please be patient a few minutes."
"Fine. I'm not arguing with you, I know you have my safety in mind." Lying back down on the narrow bed, Cindy watched the nurse step out into the hall and slid the glass door closed behind her. This was not a hospital Emergency Ward by any means. The urgent driving pace of lives in imminent danger was absent. The minds here were disciplined, cool, professional. Well, one staff member filling out a report was nursing a grudge about long hours and she harbored hostile thoughts about the administration. But that was hardly unusual in a workplace.
Her suit jacket and blouse had been placed neatly folded on a wheeled table off against the wall. Cindy was glad she had left her anesthetic dart gun hidden in the Mustang and just as glad she wasn't wearing the flexible Trom armor for once. Finding that skin-tight silk-thin leotard of metallic fabric on her would have spurred the staff to many questions she didn't want to address.
In only another minute, Dr Fairchild rushed into the room with relief in every line of his face. "Oh. I'm so glad to see you're awake. You gave us quite a jolt."
"And Mrs Brunswick is all right?"
The doctor exhaled, lowered his shoulders and seemed to lose the tension he had been struggling with all day. "Yes. Not ten minutes ago, she yawned and stretched and asked what time it was. She thought today was still Monday. When I left her a second ago, she was sipping some water and nibbling on a cookie. The nursing staff actually cheered when they saw she was back to normal."
"Me, too. I mean, I'm glad for her and I'm back to normal as well." Cindy swung her legs over to the side of regulation hospital bed and sat up. "I would like to see her for a moment, doctor."
"Of course. Of course. I'll approve it. Here, I'll let you get dressed." After he stepped out into the hall and drew the light curtains over the door, Cindy quickly shrugged off the gown and unhooked the leads to the monitor. The dozen little pads glued over her chest and arms would have to remain for the moment, she didn't feel like yanking them free. Hopping up, she put her white blouse on and tucked it in, then shrugged into the suit jacket. After brushing back her hair with her fingers, Cindy felt completely normal and ready for any situation.
Out in the hall, the nurse was waiting with a clipboard, "We need you sign these, please. This authorizes us to charge your insurance company. This is a recommendation to follow up with your primary physician within two to three days. And this is a statement you are not being prescribed any mediations today."
Cindy took a second to actually read the pages before signing them, then turned to Dr Fairchild. The two of them walked only a few feet to reach the room where Joan Brunswick was sitting up and finishing a Dixie Cup of vanilla ice cream. "Hello?" she began tentatively, giving Cindy a perplexed stare. "Don't I know you? Did we meet when I signed in?"
"Oh no," the telepath said with a smile. "I'm just another researcher. How do you feel?"
"Fine. They tell me I was asleep for fifty-one hours straight. That today is starting the third day. I don't know what to make of it."
"Questions like that are why we're here at this Institute," Fairchild replied. "I'm afraid your legs are going to be a bit wobbly, Joan. Someone from Physical Therapy will be coming in to help you get back on your feet. That shouldn't take long."
The older woman was shifting her gaze back and forth between Cindy and Fairchild with a frown. "You both were in my dreams. I'm sure of it. And you were arguing. Isn't that strange?"
"The more we learn about dreams, the more we realize how little we know," Dr Fairchild told her. We're just setting foot on the shores of an uncharted continent. Volunteers like you are pointing which way to go, Joan."
"Glad to be useful," the woman said. "Still... It's funny how you, doctor, and this nice young lady were both in my dream right before I woke up."
Smiling reassuringly, Cindy Brunner did not look over at Dr Benjamin Fairchild. Her telepathy was picking up nothing but honest relief and compassion from his mind. What she suspected about Meremoth would have to wait.
4/30/2023
3/27/1985
I.
Standing in the doorway to the KDF rec room, Jeremy Bane said, "I have no idea what you're doing."
Cindy Brunner twisted her head around to give him a chagrined smile that had melted many hearts. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of two VCRs that had dubbing cables running between them and then from each of them up to the big wall-mounted TV. Three separate remote controls, a stack of six VHS tapes and a manual added to the confusing sight. "Drat, neither do I."
"It looks as if you're trying to make copies of movies," ventured the Dire Wolf. As always, he was wearing what amounted to his uniform of all black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket which made him look even taller and leaner than he was.
The telepath jumped up to her feet with the ease of both youth and perfect physical conditioning. At twenty-six, an inch over five feet tall and maybe a hundred pounds even, she had never looked better. The long straight blonde hair was glossy and the dark blue eyes bright. Both the Tagra tea diet and her Kumundu training had gotten her blazing with life. "Yeah. Well, it's taking a while. Somehow I keep recording what's on TV instead of from the store tape to the blank. I think I should unhook everything and start over again slowly."
For once, Bane's pale grey eyes were not cold but relaxed, even mellow. She was one of a small handful of people who ever saw him that way. "Good luck. Anyway, I came to tell you we're going to have a visitor in a few minutes."
Cindy glanced past him. "Um. He's at the door now, actually."
A second after she spoke, the buzzer sounded out in the hall. Bane wheeled and strode out of the rec room at a walk faster than most people could run. He went past the row of bookshelves which lined the front hall, past the wide staircase leading up, past the office where he met visitors to the Kenneth Dred Foundation.
Stopping by the solid oak front door, he slid open a panel set at eye level to reveal a bank of controls. He pressed the speaker button.
"Good morning, please come in. We'll be with you in a moment," the Dire Wolf said. He hit a second switch which unlocked the outer street door, allowing the visitor to enter the foyer. Bane activated the advanced Trom sensors and watched as the monitor screen lit up.
Cindy had come up behind him, tugging down her loose grey swearshirt that read SCARABS WORLD TOUR 1983 across its front and back. "His mind is calm but worried. I'm picking up he has long-term stress from responsibility. Not anger, not tenseness from impending action. He's not here to attack us."
"Thanks, Cin." Bane was studying the image on the monitor screen of a sturdy man in middle-age, well-dressed in a light brown suit and tie. A neatly kept goatee and mustache, plus touches of grey in the dark hair, added to the professional impression. Along one side of the screen, pale green letters rolled off details about the man.. exact height and weight, heartbeat and blood pressure, EKG results, levels of adrenalin in trace perspiration. All these factors had been scanned within a second.
Most importantly, the sensors showed no weapons. Nothing of metal other than some keys, no chemical signatures of possible poisons or explosions. The Trom security system had cleared their visitor. Bane swung the inner door open and said, "Come right in, Dr Fairchild."
Cindy caught Bane's eye for a second and she nodded approval. Her telepathy was skimming over the surface of Fairchild's mind, too lightly for him to be aware of it but she had found nothing to alarm her.
Stepping into the hall, Dr Benjamin Fairchild extended a hand which Bane shook. The man did appeared worried, with dark circles under his deepset eyes and a general worn down expression. "I'm glad you agreed to see me right away. I came at once."
"Let's see if we can help. Dr Fairchild, this is Cynthia Brunner, my partner at the Kenneth Dred Foundation. Come on, let's get started." He gestured for the man to enter the open office to their right, where Cindy touched the back of a chair for the man.
Bane himself circled around behind a massive desk and took his own seat under a gorgeous hand-painted map of the world as it had been in 1937. As Dr Fairchild got himself settled in the plain wooden chair facing the desk, Cindy remained standing. She folded her arms over her bust and gave the visitor a reassuring half-smile.
"First, let me mention that I've been doing research into the effects of sleep deprivation on dreams," Fairchild began. "I'm attached to the Osborne Medical Institute in Jersey City. So I have all the proper credentials. The staff and the scientific community see me as a solid, responsible professional."
Bane said nothing, merely raising a feral eyebrow to indicate the doctor should go on.
"But, and there's always a 'but,'" continued Fairchild, "Despite all my atheism and materialism and skepticism, I have increasingly encountered phenomena which I simply can not explain and can not ignore. I have heard of your Kenneth Dred Foundation and the work you do. In fact, I have learned quite a bit about the Midnight War."
"That's not something the general public ever hears about," Bane said. "It's probably better that way."
"Yes. The world is scary enough without adding awareness of the Midnight War to it. Be that as it may, right now we have a patient at the Institute. She volunteered for some deprivation experiments but something went wrong. Mr Bane, Miss Brunner, it's quite inexplicable but Joan Brunswick has been asleep for forty-eight hours as of this morning. Physicians have been tentatively trying to wake her with medications but with no results. And according to her EEGs, she has been having strong dreams the whole time."
Leaning a narrow hip against the desk, Cindy interrupted. "There's something more than natural causes for this, then. That's why you came to us?"
"Yes. I hesitate to say this, it sounds ridiculous, and yet... I have been gathering folklore data on something or someone called Meremoth. A living, intelligent presence that preys on sleeping victims."
Something changed in that office. Bane was already sitting up straight, his face alert and interested but suddenly those pale eyes lit with intensity. "Preys on them how?"
"In their dreams," replied Dr Fairchild. "Meremoth is a dream parasite."
II.
Forty minutes later, after seeing their visitor out, Bane and Cindy turned to each other. "You look like you have a few things to say," the Dire Wolf remarked.
"Yeah. Absolutely." The little blonde was frowning at the closed door as if she could see through it to watch Fairchild on the street. "First, he was telling the truth as he knows it. I'm sure of that. I couldn't pick up any deception or misleading intentions."
"But?"
Cindy looked up into Bane's eyes and shrugged. "There's something funny going on under the surface of his mind," she went on. "I was getting hints. Telepathy is hard to explain, hon. This time, it was catching a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye or thinking you heard something in the next room. I definitely say we should keep a close eye on him."
"I've learned to trust your instincts," Bane said. "What about all that dream dimension stuff?"
"Eh. It doesn't ring true with me." Cindy turned and started toward the staircase in the center of the front hall. "I dunno, we've seen a lot of crazy things in our careers, but a separate dimension made up of dreams? And it's inhabited by nonhuman spirits and demons who interact with us while we're dreaming. My reaction is, 'oh come ON!'"
Moving with her, Bane said, "I don't remember ever hearing anything about a dimension of dreams. You'd think it would be a big deal in Midnight War lore if there was such a thing. So, you're going to change?"
"I think something a little more respectable looking than my favorite grimy sweatshirt and ten year old jeans is called for," she replied, starting to trot up the stairs.
Bane said, "I'll prep the Mustang for you," and walked across the hall into the walk-in closet by the front door. A panel in the rear wall slid aside to reveal steps going down. The Dire Wolf went past the Trom power generator, water tank and heater to move briskly down a long narrow corridor. At its end, steep concrete steps revealed a garage large enough for two cars at a time. Open wooden shelves held tools and supplies, as well as a row of knapsacks. These were kept ready by the KDF members for instant use when they left hurriedly on missions. Bane stowed the one kept by Cindy in the trunk of the dark green Ford Mustang. Then he inspected the car's tires, checked the oil and coolant levels, and wiped the windows inside and out. The gas tank was full.
Coming through the door into the garage, Cindy said, "You know, we give our cars an rundown whenever we bring them back in here. I don't know if it's necessary to do it again when taking off."
"Only takes a few minutes," said the Dire Wolf. He glanced up to see his partner had changed into a Navy blue pantsuit outfit with a white silk blouse and a single thin-linked gold chain around her neck. She was carrying the usual tools and weapons in a black leather handbag. "You look very professional."
"Every bit helps. When you're a cute little blonde, it's hard to get people to take you seriously. Have you remembered anything about dream dimensions or nightmares being real, anything like that?"
"Nothing. But then, nobody knows all there is to know about Midnight War. Even the Archivist at Tel Shai admits there are a lot of mysteries and forgotten knowledge. Too bad I have to go down to NYPD today and sign all those statements about the Chiller case but Donna says I'm honestly lucky to not be signing them from inside a cell. I'd rather go with you."
"So it goes, hon." She tilted up her face to be kissed, then pressed close to him briefly. "But this looks like just a preliminary fact-finding today. I'll call you if anything seems significant. And remember, we're going to the Hungry Bambino tonight! We're going to pile spaghetti on our plates until we can't stand up."
Sliding in behind the wheel, she started up the car and eased gingerly up the ramp, where the angle into the exit alley was uncomfortably acute. Nearly every KDF member had scraped paint a few times. Cindy eased out onto Lexington Avenue.
III.
One wing of the four-story Osborne Institute was set up like a hospital ward, complete with central nursing station. Patients with sleep disorders or volunteers testing new treatments stayed here. Wearing an orange VISITOR tag on her lapel, Cindy met with Dr Fairchild as he spotted them emerging from the elevator.
"I'm glad you got here so promptly," he said.
"Sorry that Jeremy couldn't come with me," Cindy replied before the doctor could ask, "But let me see what the situation is and I'll confer with him when I get back to Manhattan. Where's Mrs Brunswick?"
"Right this way." That floor was almost completely silent. At the nursing station, a man and a woman in white uniforms were seated behind piles of paperwork. Four different phones were color-coded and there was a row of small closed-circuit TV screen visible, showing the interiors of different experiment rooms. The staff members glanced up and nodded politely as Cindy was escorted by, but did not say anything.
The heavy glass door to Room 6 slid open, and Dr Fairchild pulled aside the curtain which hung from runners in the ceiling to reveal a typical ER examination room. Brightly lit, clean and white-tiled, with cabinets holding equipment, there was nothing remarkable about it. In the center was a narrow bed, adjustable so that the occupant was slightly sitting up.
Under a thin sheet up to her waist, her upper body in a sleeveless cotton gown that tied in the back, Joan Brunswick slept. She was a middle-aged woman, thick around the middle, with a pleasant roundish face surrounded by black curls. Wire leads ran up from tabs attached to her chest to show her vitals and an IV drip was attached from her left wrist up to a clear plastic bag hanging off a stainless-steel tree.
"We're feeding her some nutrients and a saline solution so she doesn't dehydrate," Dr Fairchild began. "She is resting comfortably, turning over by herself occassionally and shifting around. So bedsores are not likely to be a problem. You know about REM states, of course, but she is not going through the usual stages...."
"Excuse me, doctor," said Cindy, walking over to stand right next to the sleeping woman. "Please let me think for a minute."
Without replying out loud, Fairchild moved back a step. Since he knew about the KDF, he must have heard about the unusual gifts its members possessed. Possibly he thought Cindy was using some sort of ESP or mystic ability and he was flexible enough to give her a chance.
Gazing down thoughtfully at Mrs Brunswick, Cindy placed her hands on the railing which had been lifted on that side of the bed. She relaxed her awareness and opened her own perception to focus on what was going on in the woman's mind. Strong, potent energy swirled beneath that physical head. Under skull and within grey tissue, a different reality flowed at its own rate. She felt this with everyone she contacted, but Joan Brunswick was different somehow. Cindy let her thoughts drift toward the sleeping woman.
She felt sucked up violently, against her will, by a force like a tornado wind. Before she could put her defenses back up, Cindy found herself standing outside. Not by the Institute, but on a windy slope with sparse dry grass underfoot. Across a darkening sky, heavy rainclouds swept along. Nothing else was in sight.
The blonde telepath drew herself up straight. She didn't feel like she was in any immediate danger herself but she was unhappy about being affected so strongly by a power she hadn't detected. Now, her choice was whether to explore the situation and see if this relocation meant an opening to help Mrs Brunswick, or whether to escape and propel herself back into the world of sharp edges and hard angles.
Being drawn so completely into someone's mind was a new experience. But Cindy wasn't alarmed so much as curious. Evidently this was a step beyond her usual mental communications, and she felt confident she could handle it.
A harsh rasping whisper sounded from behind her, "Welcome."
Cindy wheeled about to face a tall, unhealthily thin figure wrapped in a ragged cloak which reached to the grass. Under a tangle of wild straggly hair was a bony face with a beaked nose and extended chin like a traditional witch, although the stranger was male. The eyes could not be seen from within concealing shadows under the brows.
"I think I'd remember you if we'd met before," she said casually.
"Behold! Into the misty realm of Dreams have you entered, and none who come here may return. I am Meremoth, your new Lord and Master, you will serve me until the world is unmade."
"Oh brother. You don't know me at ALL. Meremoth, huh? What's the situation here?"
"Long ages have I ruled in the Dreamlands, relishing nightmares and doling out pleasant whimsies as I please." The shrouded finger raised a clawing hand. "As I have done many times before, I will take a servant. You shall cater to my pleasures until your essence dissipates."
Cindy braced her legs well apart and placed her fists on her hips. "So, anyway, you claim we're in some sort of separate dimension? Is that it?"
"Such defiance does not please me," said Meremoth.
The ground fell away around Cindy, leaving her only a tiny circle barely enough for her feet. She swayed, caught her balance and gaped down in shock. The narrow pillar of rock where she stood was surrounded by a chasm stretching down into darkness. Far below, water trickled.
"Oh, very cute!" she snapped. "What's wrong with you anyway?"
The weird apparition was still standing on solid ground beyond the abyss. He swept a thin arm in a dismissive gesture. "This realm is all the stuff that dreams are made of, insubstantial as a hope, impermanent as love. I can make of it whatever I wish, melting it all like watercolors in the rain."
All around them, everything faded and swirled. The landscape became dark and foreboding, all bare granite underfoot and jagged peaks looming up over them. From between the rough-edged boulders, lean serpentine forms could be glimpsed sliding past. High overhead, thunder rumbled.
"I've seen worse places," Cindy told him. "I was on the island of Maroch. I went to Fanedral. And honestly, this isn't as bad as Camden, New Jersey."
A bellow of rage rolled from Meremoth, startlingly deep from such a gaunt form. "You will be broken! I can leave you in a pit where vermin gnaw at your flesh. I can hang you over undying flames to sear away your body. You will suffer unspeakable tortures for a thousand years."
"Eh. I don't think so." The blonde leaned up against a chest-high boulder and crossed her ankles insolently. "Right now, my real body is safe and sound, enjoying a well-deserved little nap. Sooner or later, the doctors will find a way to wake me up. You know dreams fade after we wake up, right? You're nothing permanent."
Massive chains, stout enough to restrain a bear, fell wrapped across her narrow shoulders. Her hands were bound in front of her with iron cuffs thicker than her forearms. The weight of it all dropped her to her knees with a thump.
"You will never awaken!" cackled Meremoth. "You will be my plaything in this dream until the world is unmade."
But Cindy lifted her head and smiled. The chains slid off her with a clatter. She rose to her feet and wagged a reproving finger side to side. "This is NOT a dream."
IV.
The laughter had quite ceased.
"I get it now," Cindy went on, stepping out from among the pile of chains. "Why didn't I catch on before? You're another telepath. You've been sending all these images and experiences into my mind. No, wait. That's not quite right."
Meremoth gestured furiously and a stream of white-hot flame roared from his arms but it passed harmlessly over Cindy. She didn't even blink.
"It's even nastier than that," she said. "We're in the victim's mind. Yes, that's it. You pulled me in here and you thought you could keep me prisoner in her awareness. I bet right now, the doctors have me on a bed and are examining me and taking my vitals, but they have nothing to worry about. I'm fine."
"Little fool! I am a hundred years old. I was luring my prey into dreams before the parents of your parents were born." This time, the Dream Parasite launched a dozen red and black snakes toward Cindy, but they slowed and faded into nothing before getting near her.
The little blonde made a scoffing noise. "It wouldn't matter if you were a thousand years old. I have studied under Teacher Anulka of Tel Shai. My mind works in a unified harmony and you're all messed up with pride and doubts and guilt. Come here." She held out her open hand, palm up.
Against his will, shrieking like a gale winter wind, Meremoth dwindled and shrank. He was yanked off his feet and drawn irresistably to land on Cindy's hand. Now he was only an inch tall, trembling and helpless. In her other hand, a clear glass bottle had appeared. Cindy thrust Meremoth inside and stoppered the bottle with a cork.
"That should hold you," she said. "It works for Djinns, after all. Come on, settle down. It's no use yelling. All I can hear is a buzzing like a fly."
Cindy turned around to regard the dismal dark landscape which closed in around them.
"I think we need something brighter and more wholesome, don't you?" As she spoke, the grimy rock cliffs melted and dropped away like a watercolor painting in the rain. The ominous clouds rolled. Far on the horizon, a golden sun was rising over fresh green plains and a warm dry breeze swept over her. "That's better..." she began to say.
V.
Cindy sat up with a gasp as if she had been holding her breath as long as possible. A nurse standing close by gave a start and leaned over to press a comforting hand to her shoulder. It was a room in the hospital floor of the Osbourne Institute, Cindy could tell by looking out through the sliding glass door. She glanced down. Her blouse had been removed and she was wearing one of the thin cotton gowns, under which leads ran up to a monitor showing her heartbeat, blood pressure and blood oxygen levels.
"Whew, that's better," said the blonde telepath as she took in what had happened. "How is Joan Brunswick doing?"
"Let's worry about you first," the nurse answered. "Vitals look good. Any pain? Any dizziness or vision problems?"
"No, no, I'm fine. Don't worry about me. I need to see Dr Fairchild. He was with a volunteer named Joan Brunswick."
"I'll see if I can reach him." The nurse was an older woman who still seemed very worried. "You know you passed out, don't you? You were with Dr Fairchild when you slid to the floor. We've been monitoring your situation, you apparently were in a very deep sleep stage."
"Yeah, exhaustion will do that. I see by this bandage on my arm that you did some blood work. It'll come back fine, trust me. Listen. You may not think I'm ready to run up and down the hall, so can I get a wheelchair?"
There was no unkindness in the nurse's voice, only concern, "Let's see what the doctor says. Please be patient a few minutes."
"Fine. I'm not arguing with you, I know you have my safety in mind." Lying back down on the narrow bed, Cindy watched the nurse step out into the hall and slid the glass door closed behind her. This was not a hospital Emergency Ward by any means. The urgent driving pace of lives in imminent danger was absent. The minds here were disciplined, cool, professional. Well, one staff member filling out a report was nursing a grudge about long hours and she harbored hostile thoughts about the administration. But that was hardly unusual in a workplace.
Her suit jacket and blouse had been placed neatly folded on a wheeled table off against the wall. Cindy was glad she had left her anesthetic dart gun hidden in the Mustang and just as glad she wasn't wearing the flexible Trom armor for once. Finding that skin-tight silk-thin leotard of metallic fabric on her would have spurred the staff to many questions she didn't want to address.
In only another minute, Dr Fairchild rushed into the room with relief in every line of his face. "Oh. I'm so glad to see you're awake. You gave us quite a jolt."
"And Mrs Brunswick is all right?"
The doctor exhaled, lowered his shoulders and seemed to lose the tension he had been struggling with all day. "Yes. Not ten minutes ago, she yawned and stretched and asked what time it was. She thought today was still Monday. When I left her a second ago, she was sipping some water and nibbling on a cookie. The nursing staff actually cheered when they saw she was back to normal."
"Me, too. I mean, I'm glad for her and I'm back to normal as well." Cindy swung her legs over to the side of regulation hospital bed and sat up. "I would like to see her for a moment, doctor."
"Of course. Of course. I'll approve it. Here, I'll let you get dressed." After he stepped out into the hall and drew the light curtains over the door, Cindy quickly shrugged off the gown and unhooked the leads to the monitor. The dozen little pads glued over her chest and arms would have to remain for the moment, she didn't feel like yanking them free. Hopping up, she put her white blouse on and tucked it in, then shrugged into the suit jacket. After brushing back her hair with her fingers, Cindy felt completely normal and ready for any situation.
Out in the hall, the nurse was waiting with a clipboard, "We need you sign these, please. This authorizes us to charge your insurance company. This is a recommendation to follow up with your primary physician within two to three days. And this is a statement you are not being prescribed any mediations today."
Cindy took a second to actually read the pages before signing them, then turned to Dr Fairchild. The two of them walked only a few feet to reach the room where Joan Brunswick was sitting up and finishing a Dixie Cup of vanilla ice cream. "Hello?" she began tentatively, giving Cindy a perplexed stare. "Don't I know you? Did we meet when I signed in?"
"Oh no," the telepath said with a smile. "I'm just another researcher. How do you feel?"
"Fine. They tell me I was asleep for fifty-one hours straight. That today is starting the third day. I don't know what to make of it."
"Questions like that are why we're here at this Institute," Fairchild replied. "I'm afraid your legs are going to be a bit wobbly, Joan. Someone from Physical Therapy will be coming in to help you get back on your feet. That shouldn't take long."
The older woman was shifting her gaze back and forth between Cindy and Fairchild with a frown. "You both were in my dreams. I'm sure of it. And you were arguing. Isn't that strange?"
"The more we learn about dreams, the more we realize how little we know," Dr Fairchild told her. We're just setting foot on the shores of an uncharted continent. Volunteers like you are pointing which way to go, Joan."
"Glad to be useful," the woman said. "Still... It's funny how you, doctor, and this nice young lady were both in my dream right before I woke up."
Smiling reassuringly, Cindy Brunner did not look over at Dr Benjamin Fairchild. Her telepathy was picking up nothing but honest relief and compassion from his mind. What she suspected about Meremoth would have to wait.
4/30/2023
