Chapter One:
Enter Sandman
May 16, 1997
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Nothing leads to chronic insomnia like the chance of manifesting the stuff of nightmares each time you wake from dreams. With a lifetime of practice, I had trained my mind to pass through the threshold of sleep and grasp the reality of the waking world in mere seconds. There were still accidents, unfortunately, and so it wasn’t uncommon to abstain from sleep altogether. That was how I had pushed myself beyond my usual limits of sleep deprivation.
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Groggy and disoriented, I awoke from an unintended afternoon nap, the vivid hues of my dreams blending with the muted tones of my surroundings. Around me, the crisp autumnal colors of my fantasies merged with the faded upholstery of second-hand furniture. Outside my window, a riotous cacophony of blackbirds harmonized with the caws of a raven that had flown through the skies of my imagination moments before.
My thoughts lingered on the incandescent glint of its wings as it called out a message. What had it said? I wanted to remember, but I dutifully focused on the mundane details of my home; the sunlight filtering through the window, the rhythm of my breath as I expanded and contracted my lungs.
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With my mind firmly grounded in the waking world, I lifted my head from where it rested on my desk. A scribble-filled page briefly stuck to my cheek before I dislodged it with a swipe of ink-stained fingers.
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Blinking my gritty eyes, I reached to the corner of my desk where I usually left my glasses, only to find them missing. I’d slept with my contacts in. Across from me, the clock on my desk blinked 5:37PM.
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Damn. I knew I’d be late to meet Sara if I didn’t hustle.
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With a jolt of panic, I hurried into the bathroom, swapped my dehydrated lenses for glasses, and quickly checked my face for ink blots. While struggling to tame my unruly hair into a low ponytail, my mind wandered to a book passage where a particularly unremarkable character had been described as having “hair-colored hair and eye-colored eyes.” That description always came to mind when I caught a glimpse of my own mousey-brown hair and grey eyes in a mirror.
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Still wrangling my hair into a semblance of order, I stepped back into the living room and cast my eyes around for my backpack. The 600-square-foot bungalow had been built in the sixties, and it showed. Neither the stained carpet nor the yellowing wallpaper had been replaced in more than a few decades; a far cry from Aunt Emily’s lovely homespun curtains and hand-stitched quilts.
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Shaking myself free of melancholy ruminations, I located my bag where I’d last discarded it on the coffee table, and with a few short strides, I was through the front door. I made my way to the carport and hastily removed a tarp from my 10-speed, glancing at the motorcycle beside it with regret. The BMW R90S would have been more fun, but the Energon required to run it was pricey. With resignation, I clipped my backpack into the basket between my bicycle’s handlebars, nudged the kickstand, and walked the bike out of the carport.
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As I pulled out of the driveway, the blackbirds roosting outside my window took flight to join a mass of thousands of starlings wheeling through the sky. I observed the elegant and organic cloud as it churned and shifted through various shapes, filing the image away for some future tale. The flock flew toward the north and gracefully reversed direction as a fleet of Energon-powered magtrucks floated in from the east and intercepted their flight path. The hum of the great flying machines joined the mechanical chorus of technological marvels commonplace in the streets here.
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Richland, Washington was a growing technology hub in the Pacific Northwest, home of the laboratory and research facility colloquially known as the “Loop,” as well as my current destination, WSU Tri-Cities University.
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I’d spent the last ten years here in Richland, first with my uncle Henry when he moved us north to take a job at the Loop and then as a student at the University. I’d graduated last week with a degree in Mechanical Engineering, to the immense satisfaction of my uncle. He had pushed me to pursue a STEM degree, and with 20/20 hindsight, I could begrudgingly admit he was right. I was only a little bitter about not following my dreams of writing. But there weren’t a lot of jobs in tech-heavy Richland for an English major, and I couldn’t stomach the idea of looking elsewhere.
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Approaching the Information Center, I bypassed the bike racks, heading straight for the outdoor tables where Sara and I had met weekly over the last semester. The term had ended, so the tables were only half full. I didn’t see Sara, but I pulled up to an open table, parked my bike on its kickstand, and seated myself on a cold aluminum bench.
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WSU Tri-Cities was a relatively new college, established in 1989 following a generous donation from the local tech giant Omni Consumer Products. Most of the students were children of local scientists, engineers, and mathematicians. In high school, our parents pushed us into advanced placement programs where we took classes on campus. After graduation, we followed in their footsteps and majored in science, math, and technology. The best of us interned at OCP or one of its subsidiaries. Later, when we’d earned our degrees, we were all expected to find jobs at one of the big companies in town. The Loop hired the brightest candidates and those whose families were the best connected. Family like my uncle.
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After about 10 minutes, I resigned myself to the fact that Sara wasn’t coming. I hadn’t asked if she wanted to continue our arrangement past the end of the semester. The business part of tutoring other students was a series of uncomfortable conversations. Arriving on a schedule and location for a meeting was unavoidable, but the conversations around compensation were the absolute worst. I found myself fumbling through them awkwardly or avoiding them altogether.
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On the off chance she was late, I settled in to wait. I kept a notebook and pen with me for times like these, and after fetching them from my backpack, I scanned through my notes.
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It was easy to get lost in the moment. The spring day was mild and unmarred by the sweltering days that had become common in the last few years. A dark-orange landscaping robot emblazoned with an OCP logo hummed as it hovered inches above the ground, churning up a fresh earthy scent as it planted new drought-tolerant succulents. I watched in fascination, imagining a day I’d work on similar magnetrine machines.
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A light breeze rolled in from the Columbia river, carrying the jocular voices of students making the most of the short break before the summer session. Beside me, a large raven landed silently on the next table and ruffled its wings before turning a brown eye on me. I caught it in the periphery of my vision, quickly looked away, and turned my mind to other things.
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A group of students settled nearby, their voices rising and falling with youthful energy, occasionally punctuated by laughter. Above the noise, a familiar voice called out, “Heather!”
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My eyes rose in response to my name, squinting against the low afternoon sun. A figure stood silhouetted against the bright solar halo. As my vision adjusted to the light and the darkness receded, I made out a young man with a long face, strong jaw, hazel eyes, and ruddy curls. I cupped my fingers above my eyes to block the light, yet I knew it was Jesse before he stepped forward. His friends behind him exploded in another round of laughs as he approached. His eyes flickered with annoyance before they met mine. “Ignore them.”
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I glanced around at the empty tables near me, confused. “What? Who?”
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His pause was nearly imperceptible before a small smile warmed his eyes.
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“Never mind. It doesn’t matter,” he assured me before sitting across from me on the aluminum bench.
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He took care to shift to the left, out of the direct sun, until I was no longer squinting. The raven cawed and ruffled his feathers at the trespass before it leaped into the air.
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“What’s going on? What’re you up to?” Continuing before I could respond, he nodded at my notebook. “Work or pleasure?”
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I looked down self-consciously. After Aunt Emily, I’d spent most of my life avoiding people if I could. Consequently, I didn’t know how to behave naturally in many social situations. But ever since we first met in high school, Jesse had been consistently stubborn in his friendliness and overtures, and there wasn’t any degree of awkwardness or avoidance on my part that would dissuade him. Eventually, I’d given up trying and made a friend.
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“I thought I was meeting someone for English tutoring, but she’s a no-show.” I tried not to let my disappointment color my voice. I really could have used that $20.
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“The term ended last week. She’s probably out celebrating.”
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I wasn’t sure what to say, and I worried the conversation would stall in one of those awkward silences.
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“I suppose so.” I searched the distant corners of my mind for new discussion topics and came up empty. “Um… I should probably head back home.” I closed my notebook and reached for my backpack. When my complete lack of social skills failed me, I knew I could always just ask a question. “What are you up to?” I inquired awkwardly.
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Behind Jesse, a deep, booming voice called, “JD! JD! JD!” chanting his nickname as if we were on a football field instead of sitting in front of a library.
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Jesse’s face fell into an unreadable mask before sliding back into a natural smile. He ignored my question, possibly distracted. “Home? Wait a minute, alright? I’ll walk with you.” He paused. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” It was a statement, but he made it a request.
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“Uh, okay …” I pulled my backpack across my shoulders, stood, and grabbed my bike’s handlebars, preparing to walk my bike home.
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Jesse’s eyes flicked to the bike, registering it for the first time, “Cool. I’ll be right back, and I’ll bring my bike too. It’s just on the other side of the Information Center.”
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I nodded before he headed back to his group of friends, pausing to share his new plans before sprinting around the corner to collect his bicycle.
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We weren’t more than a few minutes into the ride back to my place before I realized he’d probably expect an invitation into my house. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t remember the state I’d left it in. Had I done the dishes? Was my laundry put away? Was there… anything else? Anything that, by all counts, should never be there?
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Caught in my thoughts, the ride to my rental house went quickly, punctuated only by Jesse’s short observational comments, the rumble of magnetrine vehicles, and the cries of a circling bird.
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I was hyper-conscious of my unnatural silence as we parked the bikes on the side of the house. Jesse hardly noticed as he struck up an anecdote involving his lab partner, a traffic sign, and a goat. Although I smiled, my attention was on what lay behind the door. I paused to consider whether I should make polite excuses. The weather was perfect, and I could invite him to stay and chat on the front porch.
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“… and then the piece of string answered, ‘No, I’m a frayed knot!’” Jesse paused expectantly, a glint of humor in his eyes.
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I chuckled politely, but my smile was genuine. I turned the key in the lock and, with resignation that I hoped was not written in my expression, ushered him inside.
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The house was a simple one-bedroom, one-bath with a single large room intended to serve as both a family room and dining room. An enormous aging sectional ran across one wall opposite a like-sized entertainment center. I had stacked piles of paperback books in the large nook that should have contained a television.
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Jesse’s eyes scanned the titles as he ran his fingers across the spines. He tapped Stephen King’s The Stand and glanced at me with a sideways grin. “We need to get your movie collection started.”
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Everywhere I looked in town there were visual displays: TVs, computer CRTs, and projection screens. The people here were obsessed with video entertainment in all of its forms, and Jesse was no exception. As a cinema enthusiast, he had compiled an extensive collection of VHS tapes.
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I shrugged, “I read mostly.”
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What else could I say? I didn’t have a television or a VCR. Most of the furniture had already been here when I moved in. Except for books, most of my belongings were hand-me-downs. I could have built a TV if I had found the right parts, but it wasn’t high on my list of things to do.
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I can’t recall in detail the conversation that followed. My mind must have wandered because Jesse was suddenly looking at me intently, “So what do you say?”
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It had been a long day, and in the last week I had slept no more than a few hours at a time. Sometime during the discussion, I must have taken myself to the couch on autopilot. I didn’t remember moving there, but I was grateful.
I leaned my head back and rubbed my eyes. “I’m sorry… I got distracted. About what?”
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A frown of irritation flickered briefly across his face, and he sighed. He glanced away, the muscles around his eyes tense as if deep in concentration.
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I knew I must have offended him and considered what I could do to make amends when he turned back, “Never mind for now. How’s the novel coming?”
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Whatever Jesse had come here to talk about, he wasn’t in a rush. He moved from topic to topic with practiced ease. Our friendship was built on a foundation of shared interests, and he always had another story to tell, another anecdote to relay. As the evening lengthened, my energy continued to wane. At some point during a conversation about the upcoming Dark Tower novel, I closed my eyes to rest them for a moment and fell asleep.
I was dreaming, but I didn’t know it was a dream.​​​​
​​​​I was a spirit aloft on dark wings, gliding on the air currents with the sun on my back. The sea stretched out below me to the horizon. There was nothing as far as I could see except a single black spot on the water. As I focused, the spot became clearer - a wooden sailing vessel with brilliant red sails billowing in the sea breeze. The bow featured an intricately carved dragon head; its wings fanned back across the port and starboard, with the stern terminating in a scaly tail. I could see the men and women on-board going about their sailing tasks. As I watched them, suddenly I was there on my own two feet as if I had always been among them. They took no particular notice of me.
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It was a beautiful day. I paused to close my eyes, drink in the warm, salty air, and feel the slight breeze on my cheek, but I did not allow myself to indulge for long. Instead, I approached a door under the aft-deck and let myself in, closing the door lightly behind me and allowing my eyes to adjust to the room within.
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I was in a library, an alchemist’s laboratory, or perhaps it was a combination of the two. In the center of the room were four long tables, each cluttered with an assortment of alchemical equipment and bubbling glass vials. An archway leading to another room was centered on one wall. Books filled the shelves lining the other three walls, interrupted only by a single window with leaded panes. Beyond the glass, I had a narrow glimpse of a formal English garden. The window flooded the room with morning light and illuminated a glass case beneath it.
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I approached the case and opened the top to reveal a small book on padded velvet. It was leather-bound, with gilt edges of gold, and it rested open to display two illustrations.
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The left illustration featured a young woman standing amidst enormous piles of books. In front of her the books had toppled to the floor, revealing a passage to another world between the massive stacks. The image stirred a memory, but it was illusive and slipped away from me. The right page contained a portrait of a beautiful woman in her middle years. Her eyes were blue with pleasant creases at the corners, earned from decades of smiles. Tiny wisps of golden hair escaped from a band that kept most of her curls in check. It was my Aunt Emily.
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I brushed my thumb along the lightly textured paper, marveling at the excellent likeness, as a surge of confusion and curiosity welled up within me. What was her image doing here in this strange place?
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I startled slightly as something stirred behind me in the shadowy room beyond the arch. Glancing back, I peered through the door, but my eyes could not adjust to the darker room. Reluctant to leave the book behind, I picked it up and tucked my index finger between two pages to hold my place as I closed it.
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The room beyond the arch was also filled with bookshelves, but the similarities ended there. While the laboratory had been small and confined, with only a single window to light the space, this room was a virtual cathedral with a domed vault at least three stories high. Where the bookshelves ended at about ten feet high, tall windows began, filling the remaining space to the ceiling. Diffuse light spilled into the room from all sides, bright but not harsh. The archway I stood in was the single exit.
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Where the prior room contained four tables of lab equipment, this room held a single elegant Victorian writing desk. Intricate scrollwork inlaid with abalone ornamented the desktop, and a row of small drawers and compartments at the back of the desk contained neat stacks of paper.
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In front of the desk, with his back to me, sat a man in a top hat and tails. He bowed his head, leaning over his hand as he scrawled words across a page, occasionally pausing to dip his quill.
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I must have stood there for many minutes watching him, curiously hypnotized by the sound of his pen scratching across the paper, my curiosity battling a growing sense of unease. But after some time, a sixth sense must have alerted him to my presence. He pushed out his chair and turned to face me. A long patrician nose and a robust jawline spoke to his refinement and good breeding. He wore an early 19th-century suit with a matching waistcoat and a stark-white cravat tied around a high starched collar.
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I gave his attire only a glance, for my attention was immediately drawn to the space where his eyes should have been. Instead of eyes, I saw what could best be described as a spiral galaxy. As I looked into the swirling vortex, it wasn’t made of stars and planets, but the luminous fantasies and imaginings of every creature’s dreams. Peering closer, I could make out distinct images within each glimmering sphere. It was ageless, wondrous, and terrifying.
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I wrenched my gaze away, the hypnotic swirl pulling at my very soul. The view was captivating, but I was at risk of being drawn in, and the waking part of me screamed in protest. Realizing my danger, I turned on my heels and exited back through the archway.
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Behind me, I heard him call my name, but I had already decided he did not exist. And anyway, I was too busy running through the laboratory, which seemed to stretch as I ran.
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“Heather?” I heard again as I reached my right hand toward the door handle while the left clutched the book to my chest. But the door was ever out of reach, sliding away as quickly as I ran toward it. The man called out my name more insistently as I ran, “Heather! Heather!”
​​​​​“Heather.”
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I was on the couch in my living room. A jarring transition, but I had plenty of experience with rough awakenings. As my tired eyes struggled to focus, I began the ritual of denying the memories of my prior dream and concentrated instead on the tangible reality surrounding me.
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Jesse hovered next to me, his hand on my shoulder. His alarmed expression was curiously out of place. Had I called out in my dream? What had I said? Had someone else come back with me? I turned to look behind me. Seeing nothing, I scanned the room more carefully, prepared to unbelieve any creature that might have manifested. Nothing was out of place.
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“I’m sorry. I…” I began to apologize for falling asleep, but Jesse, staring blankly in my direction, gave a startled shake of his head as if he had forgotten I was there. “What. What is it? Did I say something?” The words tumbled out of my mouth.
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He looked confused, shook his head, and raised his hand to indicate the bundle I had clutched to my chest. I glanced down, and there was the leather-bound book from my dream. My finger still marked the page of Aunt Emily’s portrait.
“Shit!” I exclaimed, jumping in my seat and accidentally upsetting the book. It tumbled out of my lap, and I reflexively caught it again in my hands. Realizing belatedly I didn’t want to hold it at all, I panicked and threw it away from me with great force, narrowly missing Jesse’s head. With that, I jumped out of my seat and turned in the opposite direction, covering my eyes to prevent any chance of seeing the book. “It’s not here!”
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My mind raced, and I remembered Jesse was still in the room. As I tried to focus on creating a reality without the book in it, I was distracted by thoughts of him behind me. Was he ok? What must he be thinking? I quickly glanced back at him, only to see him on the other side of the room with the book in his hands.
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“What are you doing with that?! Drop it!” I shouted; my words unsteady, and my tone pitched high.
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He looked up at me, his eyebrows arched in confusion. Glancing back at the book, he opened his hands and let it fall. The book crashed to the floor and landed spine up with the pages crumpled underneath. Even in my panic, I winced at the mistreatment. I couldn’t stand clumsy handling of any book and worried about the damage to the pages.
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We stood in stunned silence for several heartbeats, our eyes locked. Jesse looked unsure and more than a little surprised. “It just appeared there.” His brow furrowed. “Well, sort of…” His words trailed off as his thoughts consumed him, and he looked away. “How’d you do it? Is it a trick?” He looked down at the book again, inspecting it. “It didn’t just appear out of nowhere. It was like one moment it was not there, and in the next, it always had been.”
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I didn’t respond immediately as my heart beat heavily in my chest. I wasn’t sure how to unbelieve the book while Jesse stood there looking at it, and it was too late anyway. I was sure there would be consequences, but I knew I couldn’t keep yelling at him. How was that helping the situation anyway?
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“It’s, um… complicated… I guess?” I stuttered and continued lamely, “I don’t think you’ll believe me. It sounds ridiculous.”
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His eyes didn’t leave the book on the floor at his feet, and I couldn’t make out his expression, “Try me.”
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I hesitated a moment, unsure how to begin. “I dreamed about it, and then I brought it back when I awoke.” From there, I gave him the abridged version: My childhood dreams, the monster under the bed, how I’d arranged my life to avoid situations such as this one, and how, despite my best efforts, I occasionally manifested the stuff of dreams. “I don’t get a lot of sleep.”
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“Right!” His first response was staccato. After a beat, his voice and expression softened, a hint of empathy warming his gaze. “Sure! I can understand that.” He looked at me now, appearing unfazed by my disclosure as if he consoled people with stories like mine every day.
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I wasn’t sure I could take his response at face value. “You’re taking this surprisingly well.”
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“This isn’t the first uncanny experience I’ve had today.” And with that cryptic remark, he reached down to the book on the ground and paused a finger-length away. He glanced up, his tone cautious, “May I?”
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I frowned, “If you must. But you should be careful. The rules are different where it comes from.”
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He was nonplussed, but after a brief hesitation, he flipped it over with the toe of his sneaker, turning the pages face up to see the illustrations. As his gaze finally landed on the book, he leaned forward and gaped, “It’s me!”
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Crouching down, he flipped a page before picking the book up.
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“Dad…” He voiced the name so quietly that I barely heard it. Silence fell in the room as he gazed at the image, his eyes widening in disbelief.
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“What is it?”
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He turned the book to me, “It’s my dad.”
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The man on the page seemed lean and healthy, but there wasn’t a strong resemblance to Jesse. He was middle-aged, with graying hair and a pair of stylish glasses. Behind him were the cooling towers of the Loop but instead of the grassy plains of Richland, there were mountains in the distance.
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“It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” His voice was still quiet, distracted by his thoughts. He rubbed his hand over his eyes and forehead, “I’ve been getting this all wrong, but I’ll try again. I think my dad’s in trouble. He left town a few months ago, and he hasn’t returned. We expected him back weeks ago.”
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“He left town?” I was dubious. No one ever left town. And why would they?
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“Yeah.” Jessie watched me for a moment as if he was waiting for something.
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“Damn, I’m sorry.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. My sympathy wasn’t enough, I was sure, but I had nothing else to give him. Was that why JD was here? Something had been off about him today.
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“Heather, this is serious. I didn’t just want to talk about my dad. I don’t think any of us are…” he stopped mid-sentence and took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I’m going to find him, and I need you to come with me. This picture of him is at the Maryland Loop. I need to go there. You should come.” He repeated, more emphatically, “You should come!”
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“I, uh… wow, ok. When are you leaving?” There was no way I would go with him, of course, but I didn’t want to offend him. “I don’t know for sure if I can, you know? I have the interview at the Loop that Uncle Henry set up. And I don’t have any spare cash for a trip; I just paid rent. How are you getting there?”
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Again, he was slow to respond, as if he had to choose his words with care. “I’m still working out the details, but don’t worry about the money. Just promise me you’ll think about it, okay?”
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He was so earnest I could do nothing but nod.
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He glanced back down at the book, ran his hand across the image on the page, shut it, and handed it to me. “I should go. It’s getting late.”
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I took it and nodded, a bit surprised at his abrupt farewell. “Thanks for coming by. And… you know, for waking me up. I’m sorry I threw the book at you.”
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He chuckled as he headed for the door, “Sorry if I seemed mad. I wouldn’t read anything into it.” He turned and gave me a wink as he grabbed the doorknob. “You should think about trying something else with the dreams, Heather. Maybe instead of avoiding them, you could… I don’t know, own it. Imagine what you could do if you had more control; the places you could go, the worlds you could create. And you could bring them all back here.”
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My smile was tight-lipped. I had tried to explain the danger to him, but he clearly didn’t understand. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll think about it.” I raised my hand in goodbye.
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“Sleep safe.” Easier said than done.
