The Dreamer

Chapter One: The First Encounter

As we move deeper to the heart of the prison, though, we pass into an area that signs designate as solitary confinement. These are the guys I shouldbe worried about, I take it. They’re closed off, with only small glass windows revealing any sight into the cells. This hallway is eerily silent compared to the last, and the only sound is our footsteps against the tile. I assume the Dreamer will be one of these silent doors, but instead we pass through.

Afterwards is a long, winding hallway, this one with no doors, and the silence feels even deeper than before. It’s a long hallway, endlessly long, like one out of nightmares that only grows and grows as you try to escape. I want to ask if we’re almost there, but it seems dangerous to break this silence even with a whisper.

Finally the hallway ends in a door. One of the guards swipes a guard, the other types in a PIN, and each of them has their face scanned by a tiny camera. It seems almost ridiculously high-tech compared to the rest of the plain prison.

When we go through the door, we arrive at the cell. His cell. It’s open like the low-security ones, with only bars separating him and us, but his is the one cell here. There are no doors but the one we entered through, and no windows. A small camera is visible in each corner of the room, and they swivel to follow our motions. The only light comes from a dim fluorescent bulb above us. There are no lights within the cell, so almost nothing inside is illuminated; I see only shadows within. Instead the only thing lit is the sole metal chair placed a few feet from the cell door.

I seat myself after a gesture from the guards, and notice a tendril of smoke curling out through the bars in front of me, a gray ribbon floating up towards the ceiling. As my gaze follows its ascent, a voice comes from within the cell-room.

"I’m not saying anything with you here," the voice says, rasping unpleasantly. I'm surprised for a moment until I realize that he's not addressing me, but the two guards still hovering anxiously in the room behind me. I turn in my chair to catch them shooting each other a suspicious, sideways glance before obediently retreating. Something twists in my stomach; again, the prison is taking orders from their prisoner. Why? Only when their footsteps fade into silence does the Dreamer speak again, and I swivel to hear him better.

"David Leclaire," he greets after clearing the rust out of his throat. I nod uncertainly, not sure what he expects out of me. Although he's chosen me as the one to speak to – the sole person who will carry his voice to the outside world – the truth is I don't have a damn idea what I'm supposed to do. He should have chosen someone else for the job, and I'm well aware of it. I'm a sorry excuse for a freelance journalist, really; I don't have a shred of experience, and I just use that as my job title because it doesn't sound quite as pathetic as 'I have no idea what I'm doing with my life.' I intend to explain all of this to him, but the moment I open my mouth he begins to talk again. "You're not allowed to take any notes while you're here, understand? No tape recordings or videos, either. Because some things I say are going to be for your ears only, and I don't want any concrete evidence, you understand?"

I do.

"As for the things that are for the world's ears," he continues after a pause, "you're just going to have to remember."

“I think I can manage it.”

"Good." There is the sound of movement within the cell. I only recognize his silhouette when he stands and moves closer. One hand wraps around the bars in front of me. Outside of the cell and in better lighting, it looks much more real than the rest of him. He has delicate hands, I notice, long and slender fingers, like the hands of an artist or a musician. He leans his forehead against the metal barrier and looks down at me. I get an impression of shadowy hollows under high cheekbones, a sharply angled chin. When he turns his head, the light from the hallway catches on a pair of glasses and reflects a bright glare. The burning lenses are the only clear thing within the cell. It's almost as if the bars keep the light out as well as any physical thing, unable to penetrate the deep darkness of that cell, preserving the Dreamer as only a shadow, an untouchable mystery.