Dreamscape
Adrienne yawned widely, arching her back as she raised her arms over her head and stretched the sleep out of her muscles. Then she rubbed her eyes and laid in a half-conscious state, leafing idly through her dreams from the night before. She could vividly remember a scandalous sexual dream she'd had about a musician she'd seen the night before at The Rusty Nail. A half-smile played on her lips as she poured over the details of the dream in slow motion. It really was a shame that she had resisted the urge to go speak to him when he had been at the bar alone. She was afraid that she was too drunk to have a respectable conversation with the darkly handsome guitarist, so she'd gone home defeated.
Now she stretched languidly once again and rolled over in her bed. Maybe she'd sleep for another couple of hours- after all, it was...
When she opened her eyes to look at the clock, she had to slap her palm over her mouth to keep from screaming.
It hadn't been a dream, after all. Only inches from her face, his slow and even breathing stirring the wisps of hair around her face, slept the peaceful guitarist. Stubble shaded his jaw and his soft brown hair exploded in matted tufts on his head like a halo. His bare golden-colored skin disappeared under the powder blue comforter at his waist, but she knew with certainty that he was naked underneath the blanket. After all, in the dream...
But it hadn't been a dream, she silently admonished herself. It had been real- as real as his warm body next to her was now.
Adrienne reached forward and brushed her fingers over the thin silver ring in the cartilage of his ear, sighing. She didn't think she had been drunk enough to blackout, but apparently she must have asked this stranger to come home with her.
The sharply featured guitarist began to stir and with a few heavy blinks, finally focused on the woman in front of him. Shock flooded his eyes and he sat up, his eyes devouring his new surroundings. He turned back to face her after a moment, the crystal blue of his eyes growing cloudy.
"Where am I?" he asked, his voice still clogged with sleep. "And who are you?"
"This is my house. I'm Adrienne."
He stared at her blankly. "I have no idea who you are. And yet," he scowled, casting a dark look at the pile of clothes on the floor, "I'm naked in bed with you."
She shrugged. "I'm as clueless as you. I have no idea how you got here. I mean, I saw you last night..."
"What? Where?"
"At the Rusty Nail. You're an unbelievable musician," she blurted, trying to ease the anger on his face. "But I'm not sure I remember your name..."
"Brent." He cocked his head to one side inquisitively. "I could have sworn I went home last night."
"Well, I thought I went home alone, but..." she shrugged.
Brent's eyes looked pained. "I had a dream about you. Maybe it wasn't a dream."
"A sex dream?"
"Yeah."
"I had one too." Adrienne attempted to smooth her tangled mop of auburn hair in vain. "This is really weird."
"No kidding." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, reaching for his clothes. Adrienne watched him quietly, trying to understand what had happened. The faint red welts across his back from her fingernails assured her that she was not still dreaming.
Brent buried his face in his hands. "What am I going to tell Julie?"
"Julie?"
He turned to face her with a fierce expression, thrusting his left hand toward her. A thin golden band encircled his finger. "My wife."
"Oh... my god." And there was no woman on earth who would believe a man if he said he didn't know how he got into bed with some strange woman- he just woke up and was suddenly there. Totally naked.
His jaw clenched and unclenched for several excruciating minutes. "Can I use your phone?"
"Absolutely."
Brent picked up the phone on the bedside table next to him. He dialed and turned away from Adrienne once again. "Jules? It's me." He paused. "So I was there?" Another pause. "I don't know... something very strange happened last night. I'll be home soon." He cringed. "I love you, too." His voice barely reached a whisper.
As Brent hung up the phone, he turned to face Adrienne. "I did go home last night. Julie said we went to bed together, but I was gone when she woke up this morning." His fingers grabbed a fistful of his hair. "This doesn't make any sense. How did I get here if neither of us remembers?"
She shook her head, shoving her head through a t-shirt and yanking a pair of boxer shorts over her hips. "If you weren't sitting right next to me, I'd believe that it had never happened."
"It still feels like a dream to me. One of the most vivid dreams of my life." His hand reached forward and brushed a bruised bite mark on her throat.
She winced. "What are you going to tell your wife?"
"I don't know." He sighed. "I can't even begin to explain this fiasco to myself. But one thing's for sure- I can't go home smelling like sex and another woman's perfume. This may be asking a lot, but do you think I could use your shower?"
"Go right ahead." She pointed him in the right direction and fell backwards on the bed, pressing her palms against her temples. She heard the water turn on in the bathroom across the hall, the soft pattering beginning to drone the shock out of her weary limbs. Without the smell of Brent's sweet skin seeping into her pores, she could almost pretend he wasn't really there. That this complete stranger wasn't naked in her shower, washing off the distinct aroma of their seemingly unconscious act of sin. She sighed, letting the sound of the water continue to soothe her ragged nerves.
The dream swept over her in a silent black wave. In her sleeping mind, she saw Brent in the shower. She watched with a small smile as she scanned his gleaming, sun-kissed muscles, following the meandering trail of soap bubbles to the side of the bathtub. She noticed idly that the tub was full to the brim with water. The steady torrent from the showerhead caused the water to lap against the sides, threatening to spill onto the blue linoleum floor below. Brent didn't seem to notice this predicament, his face leaning into the hot spray. While his eyes remained closed, the water began to sputter, turning a crimson color.
Adrienne began to call out to him, but she could only stare in silent horror when Brent opened his mouth and blood spewed forth like a fountain, looking like a grotesque version of a water garden ornament. His eyes widened in shock, but he was frozen as the blood pounded from the showerhead and poured out of his mouth. He fell to knees and pink, soapy water sloshed over the side of the tub in a wave and splashed onto the floor. She wasn't sure if he was screaming or if she was.
Brent fumbled for the side of the tub, looking for a way to pull himself out. The blood spattered all over the walls of the bathroom as his head jerked around, trying to stop the expulsion of liquid from his mouth.
Just as he had nearly regained his footing, his hand slipped on the slick ceramic and he smashed his forehead off the wall in front of him. He slid lifelessly back into the cotton candy colored water, floating face down.
Adrienne sat bolt upright in bed, her hand pressing against her pounding heart. She immediately ran to the bathroom, needing to assure herself that her nightmare hadn't happened. She knocked a few times, and when there was no answer, she pushed the door open.
Now she knew without a doubt that it was she who was screaming, because Brent couldn't possibly make so much noise with a mouthful of bloody water. Her feet splashed in the huge puddle on the floor as she ran over to pull his face out of the flooded tub. She yanked his slippery body out of the tub and laid him on his back on the soaking floor.
Shaking him and crying out his name, she leaned down, straining to hear if his lungs were filling with air. When she heard a raspy rattle in his throat, she sighed in relief. It was then that she realized he was naked, and with a sheepish grin, tossed a towel over his hips.
Brent regained consciousness suddenly, a look of sheer horror still marring his features as he coughed blood and water out of his lungs. He looked at the blood-spattered walls and at the water pooled around them with a sort of dazed amazement.
"What just happened?" he whispered, pushing away from Adrienne and getting to his feet. He wavered a bit unsteadily, wrapping the towel tightly around his waist.
"I had a dream that this happened," she said, watching as the bathtub inexplicably began to drain. They stood silently, side by side, watching the pinkish water spin in circles around the drain. Within moments, it was empty again.
"You did this."
Adrienne's head lowered and swished her foot in the water on the floor, causing ripples to lick the sides of Brent's bare feet. "I know. I'm just not sure how."
"Do you think I would have died if you didn't wake up?" His voice was calm, but his eyes betrayed his terror.
She shook her head slowly. "I don't know." She turned to him, taking his icy hand in both of hers. "I didn't try to kill you. It was a nightmare and I..."
Brent held up his other hand and the sentence died in her throat. He pulled his other hand out of her grasp and scooped up his clothes.
"I need to get dressed... excuse me," he said curtly, his eyes looking first at her and then at the door.
"Oh. Of course," she stammered, feeling the sting of his cold tone bring a blush to her cheeks. Her lip quivered as she walked into the kitchen, turning on the coffeepot. She had almost killed a man. If she had continued to sleep for even a few more minutes...
She shivered. Suddenly, she remembered why this had happened.
The box was empty.
Adrienne sat on her knees, shivering in spite of the stale summer heat that lay stagnant on her skin. She stared blankly at the box as it seemed the intricate carvings on the glistening oak sides seemed to dance before her eyes. Her skin rose in a wave of prickling goose bumps. She shook her head violently for a moment and slammed the lid shut, but the rusty hinges squealed their disapproval and a sudden cold wind blew the box back open for a minute, the icy air slapping her in the face. A glaring green light from inside the box blinded her momentarily, then the lid slammed shut once again. Her arms wrapped unconsciously around her quivering body.
The box had been discovered in the basement of Adrienne's ancient Victorian home. A large pile of old furniture and knick-knacks had been shoved in one corner of the musty smelling room since she'd moved in. On one sweltering August afternoon, a visit to the damp chill of her basement seemed overwhelmingly appealing. The aged, rotting walls of her home had never held air conditioning well.
But now she regretted the decision to do some cleaning. She had been drawn instantly to the box, desperately needing to see what was hidden inside. She had to tug roughly on the latch of the large, stately chest before it screeched open.
And now she could only gape at the leering figures carved into the wood, her blood turning to ice. She shrugged the entire event off as an optical illusion, a delusion from the heat. But her body wasn't convinced, her limbs beginning to shake as she stumbled up the stairs. It was then that she decided she needed to get a drink at the bar. She hadn't intended to stay long, but when she crossed the threshold of the doorway and saw Brent curled up on a stool, a worn acoustic in his lap, she had been drawn in.
As she finished explaining the story to Brent, he insisted on seeing the box. He hunched down in front of it and his long fingers traced over the intricate carvings for several moments. Then he shrugged.
"So you think this box caused your dreams to become reality?" he asked quietly. He nodded- a slow, sarcastic bob of his head, a cynical feigning of understanding flooding his eyes. "Wow. Well," he said, standing up and dusting off his jeans, "good luck with that."
"Wait a second!" she cried, grabbing his arm. "You're leaving?"
"Do you expect me to stick around and see if your unconscious mind tries to kill me again?" he snapped, yanking his arm away. "I have a wife to go home to."
She nodded in defeat. "I understand. I guess I won't be seeing you again, so..."
He smiled a small, thin smile. "Unless you have another dream about me. Try to dream that you see me on the white beaches of the Caribbean, not becoming some kind of blood fire hose, okay?"
"I'll give it my best shot." She returned his tense grin and he headed for the door.
When she was alone, she drained four cups of coffee and cleaned the bathroom, the caffeine making her hands tremble. She had to stay awake- it was as simple as that. She needed six towels to soak up the flood on the floor. She paced back and forth and back and forth to the washer and dryer with each towel, wringing her hands together. She could kill someone. She thought of all the strange, terrifying dreams she had had in the course of her life- being chased by masked men, being devoured by wild dogs, falling twenty stories only to jolt awake inches from the pavement. Except now, there would be no soothing herself with the fact that it was only a dream. Now she'd smash into the asphalt and every bone in her body would turn to dust inside her.
She shuddered involuntarily as she poured another cup of coffee. She settled down onto the couch and nearly spilled her drink as she tried to place it on the table with shaking hands. Was she shaking from the excess caffeine or from the terror overload she'd experienced in the last few hours? Maybe this was all a dream. She could wake up at any time.
Adrienne could feel her veins pulsing with caffeine, chugging at an increased speed due to her pounding heart. She took deep breaths, closing her eyes and trying to slow the heart that threatened to pound through her ribcage. She turned on the television and was sucked in by the mindlessness of an old game show, forgetting all about the coffee that was cooling next to her. The next sip she took was only lukewarm as she watched excited contestants compete for big, shiny new prizes with limp disinterest. She spat the liquid back into the cup, not noticing that her eyelids were beginning to feel like lead as the coffee ran its course through her body. Her eyes began to lose focus as a woman in a bright blue dress ran across the stage to leap into her brand new Jeep. Her mind wandered from the numbing hum of the screen to thoughts of the insane events of that morning.
She yawned widely, her mind drifting to Brent once again. A smile flickered across her face as she thought about him lounging on the white beaches of the Caribbean. Unfortunately, that also meant that her mind began to envision the sun making his sunscreen-slicked skin shimmer, water droplets drying on his bare chest. What a shame that this married man was so beautiful. She remembered how soft his skin had been against her fingertips, how gently he had kissed her... it had been weeks since she'd last had sex (ah the trials and tribulations of being single and alone) and months since she'd had sex that good. What a lucky woman his wife must be. She reminded herself that he probably had thought he was making love to his wife. Though, she recalled suddenly, he had said that he remembered having a dream about her.
A smile danced across her sleepy features and she unconsciously wriggled into a more comfortable position on the couch. Biting her lip with an evil little grin, she imagined his hands traveling up her skin, the hardened calluses on the guitarist's long thin fingers grazing across her shoulders and back, pulling her closer to him.
She realized she was dreaming before she even knew she had fallen asleep. A helpless passenger riding through the dark passages of her unconscious mind, she tried to stay alert enough to try to end the dream if it went wrong.
All she could see were two silhouettes in bed, wild sexual noises filling the room. Her mind's eye traveled around the room, straining to see their faces.
When she saw it was, in fact, Brent and her tangled together, she felt something catch in her stomach. Whether it was shock or joy, she wasn't sure, but she realized very quickly what it meant.
"No!" she cried, her eyes snapping open. She pulled away from Brent's passionate kiss, but he didn't respond, moving instead to kiss her neck. His eyes never opened and it occurred to her suddenly that he was still sleeping.
"Brent," she said gently (too gently), shaking his shoulder. She was reluctant to wake him- partly because she knew he'd be furious when he realized where he was, and partly because she didn't want him to stop. She shook his shoulder a little harder. She gave in to temptation briefly, leaning up to kiss the place where his neck and shoulder met, breathing in the scent of his skin. But she saw a glimpse of his wedding ring out of the corner of her eyes and the guilt that gnawed at her heart was too much to bear.
Adrienne gave him a hard shake and startled, his eyes shot open. He gave her a soft, tender look as he floated out of his dream, making her heart flutter a little. But that loving glance was quickly replaced by one of bewilderment and anger.
"How did I..." his eyes darkened to a deep blue. "God damn it, Adrienne." He pulled away from her, the sweat on their skin cool against the breeze from her small fan beside the bed.
"I'm sorry!" she cried to the ceiling. "I didn't want to have that dream again."
"Well you did," he snarled. "And now..." He threw his hands in the air, at a complete loss for words. "Christ."
"Brent, I swear that this-"
He held up his hand. "I know that it was an accident. I just want to go home and forget that this happened. Again." He sighed, laying on his back with a sad sigh.
They laid there side-by-side but miles away. Neither of them spoke for so long that the droning of the fan caused Adrienne to start to drift back to sleep.
"Oh no, no way," Brent cried, grabbing her shoulder. "You can't sleep. Who knows what sort of sordid sexual rendezvous your subconscious has planned... or worse." His eyes got a faraway look of horror and it was clear he was thinking of the bloodbath in the shower. He shuddered inadvertently.
"I can't stay awake for the rest of my life," she grumbled, rolling away from him. "All my dreams can't be this bad."
"Don't you want to find a way to cure this?" he asked, grabbing her shoulder again.
"Gee, Brent, I don't think there is a cure," she sneered sourly. "But I'd love to be locked away somewhere for the rest of my life so I can become the one and only case study."
"You're a danger to yourself and to others," he replied. "And you're becoming a danger to my marriage as well."
"I'm sorry!" she shouted, sliding away from him again. "Feel free to leave at any time."
"Adrienne." The ice in his voice had all but melted. "I want to help you."
She looked over her shoulder at him, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. It was quickly extinguished, replaced instead with an anguish that chilled the room.
"You can't help me. No one can," she sighed dramatically. Her hand lifted to brush his face, but at the last moment she yanked her fingers away, pressing them instead against her temple. "I'll end up killing you. I can't be responsible for that. You have a wife."
"But how can I just walk out again?" he asked, his hand fisting the comforter. "I couldn't stop thinking about you all day today... the guilt will kill me."
She shrugged and remained silent. She was too afraid to say anything either way- she desperately wanted him to stay, but she wasn't selfish enough to expect anyone to risk their life for her. Especially not a stranger.
Brent knew, though, that it was far too late to turn back now.
"Do you have a gun?"
Adrienne was startled by the question, her eyebrows bouncing to the middle of her forehead. "Yes- why?"
He looked a little sheepish. "In case you happen to dream about flesh-eating wolves while I'm still awake."
She laughed in spite of the grim reality of his joke. "If you ever need it, it's in the top drawer of my dresser." She yawned, stretching her arms over her head. "I'm still so exhausted."
"Are you going back to sleep?" he frowned.
"I can't..."
"...stay awake for the rest of your life, I know. I know." He mulled over the situation for a moment, rubbing one of his sideburns thoughtfully. "Make sure you get as much rest as you can... I'm going to try to figure out a way to keep you awake while I think of a way to cure this."
"I'm cursed," she moaned, falling face first into her pillow. "I'm sorry I ever got you into this mess." Her voice was muffled and she was glad he couldn't hear the tears that choked her words.
He laid back down next to her. "Go ahead and sleep." A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'll stand guard."
She smiled faintly, her heavy eyelids drifting closed.
Her mind floated over the bed, watching herself sleep. She rolled over a little until she was snuggled up next to Brent and her mind froze for a second, wondering what his reaction would be. She saw him sigh and put his arm around her, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his free hand..
It was then, in the drunken exhaustion of her mind that she heard glass shattering. Adrienne continued to sleep peacefully, but Brent leapt to his feet, scrambling to find the gun in the drawer of her dresser. His fingers finally closed over the cold metal and he pointed it towards the bedroom door. Her sleeping brain couldn't help but laugh at the spectacle of a naked Brent standing guard by her bed.
"Adrienne," he hissed, nudging her with the gun. "Get up." She rolled away from him.
The bedroom door swung open and at the sight of the man in a ski mask, Adrienne's breath caught in her throat.
"Wake up, Adrienne!" Brent shouted when the huge, muscular man dressed in black raised his gun at him.
But it seemed that she was unable to rouse herself from his nightmare. The heaviness of sleep weighed down on her body and mind, keeping her in a near-comatose state. She started to yell at her own dreaming mind, urging it to stir from this sleep- anything to save Brent from this masked gunman she had created.
It wasn't until Brent tried to pull the trigger on his gun that she realized she had never loaded it. The hollow click seemed to echo in the small room and he could only stare in gaping horror at the useless weapon in his hand.
"ADRIENNE!" he screamed hysterically, his eyes never leaving the barrel of the intruder's gun. "Wake up! Wake up! Please, please Jesus just wake up!"
Her mind began to echo Brent's frenzied tone, pleading with her to open her eyes.
This isn't a dream- Brent could be shot. He could die. You have to wake up NOW. Adrienne, wake up before you get both of you killed. Wake up!
"Adrienne, please..."
It wasn't until the gunshot roared through the room that she was able to pull herself out of the unconsciousness.
Too late.
Brent's body was blown backwards onto the bed, his torso landing in Adrienne's lap. His blank eyes stared at her, his face still twisted in an expression of screaming horror. Blood poured out of the mangled remnants of his skull, soaking into the comforter. The bullet hole that ripped through his forehead trickled a thin crimson trail of blood that ran down the side of his nose like a tear.
She had killed him. It may as well have been her own hand that pulled the trigger. Nevertheless, she stared up at the gunman with a hatred that burned like fire in her eyes. The hapless would-be burglar stared in shock at the crumpled corpse on the bed and then at his smoking gun.
"What the hell?" he asked, dazed. "How did I get here?"
"Get out of my house!" she roared, clutching Brent to her protectively.
It took a moment before the situation fully sunk in for the confused man, but when it finally did he took off running. Adrienne knew she couldn't call the police- she couldn't bear the guilt of another person going to jail for an event that she had conjured in her own mind.
Cradling Brent's blown open head, she began to cry, wishing there was some way she could change what had just happened. This man had a wife who would soon be waking up, wondering where her husband was. How could she explain to a complete stranger that she had killed him inside of her dream world? And worse yet, how would she explain that no, he wasn't unfaithful to her... that it had been her fault that he ended up making love to another woman.
She had killed him! She had killed this poor innocent man who was there to protect her.
Adrienne screamed and cried simultaneously, hoarse shrieking sobs bursting like gunfire from her throat. She babbled apologies to Brent's empty eyed corpse, stroking his matted hair with shaking, bloody hands. Streams of blood pooled on her blanket, the liquid creeping like shadows of gore. She could feel the sticky warmth soaking onto her legs. It was his life pouring out of him.
"Please!" she screamed hysterically, pawing his face with her hands. "You can't die!"
She was a murderer. She had done what she feared and killed an innocent person. Was it possible that her own fears had manifested this dream? Had she unintentionally premeditated this murder?
Adrienne began to hyperventilate, sheer panic racing through her nerves. She pulled Brent's lifeless body into her arms, rocking him like a sleeping baby as she wheezed.
Maybe she could bring him back if she dreamed him back alive. Could it work in reverse? She had killed him in her mind... maybe she could undo what she had done while asleep.
But how could she ever sleep now? Her entire body was shaking... she was absolutely soaked in blood. Yet she had no choice.
Sliding Brent's body off of her legs, she pushed him back into the position he was in when she had first drifted off. She tried to ignore the chunks of brain matter that clung to the fabric of her bed.
Sleeping was easier than she had expected. Her mind had flatlined from the trauma of the murder she had just caused and the shock had weighed down her body. She stared at the ceiling until she drifted into an uneasy, anxious sleep.
But when the dream began, she saw what she most feared. Brent's corpse lay next to her. He was still dead. And unlike her last dream where she had floated above herself, she found herself in her own body.
But this was a dream. Maybe she could perform a miracle that wouldn't be possible in the world of the waking.
Placing her hands on his head, she closed her eyes and imagined him blinking and waking up as if it was he who had been in a deep slumber. The sleep of the dead.
But it didn't matter how long she sat there with him, her shaking hands against his exploded skull. He was still dead. There was nothing she could do. She had killed him and she couldn't take it back.
Frustrated and furious, she tried to shake herself out of the dream. She felt her body rise up out of the mist of her unconscious back into the real world, but when she opened her eyes, she found nothing had changed. She was still sitting next to Brent with her hands pressed against him.
Or was she awake?
She looked around the room for signs that this was a dream. Everything looked the way it should. She looked out the window. Everything looked the same out there as well.
So why did she still feel the fuzzy warmth of the dreamworld pressing against her mind?
Adrienne got out of bed and paced through her house, turning on faucets, flicking lights and breaking things. This felt like a dream, but it looked like reality. Which was it? Was she sleeping or awake?
She stepped outside and was deafened by the overwhelming silence. There were no cars on her normally busy street. There were no lights on in any house around her.
Then again, it was late. Everyone was still in bed.
She ran across the street to her neighbor's house and knocked on the door. At the weight of her fist on the wood, the door swung open.
The house was empty. Completely. She screamed until she was hoarse for anyone in the area to answer her. She tried the house next door and found it empty as well.
This was a dream. She tried to calm her pounding heart. All she had to do was wake up. She shook her head hard, pinching her arm. When that didn't work, she pinched herself harder. The pain barely registered.
As a last resort, and afraid of the consequences, she smashed her fist through the window on her front door. The sound was muffled in the resounding silence and when she withdrew her hand from the shattered shards of glass like knives in the wood, there was no blood.
She was trapped. She ran to the bedroom and found it empty. There was no blood on the bed, there were no pieces of brain, there was no Brent. Everything was in perfect order- her comforter was only pushed off to one side where she had left the bed.
This didn't make sense, this wasn't logical. Then again, none of it had been.
She was trapped in this strange bridge between worlds, neither awake nor asleep. For how long? Forever? Did time even exist in this place?
She screamed, but the noise that came out of her mouth was only a whisper.
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