1 | The Terrible Dreamer

Chapter 2

Doesn't matter. Rule number one when working in this kind of shady business: never get personal with a client. I hold out my palm. "Do you have the item we asked for?"

The client clears her throat and digs into her large Prada tote, a red beacon among a crowd. An obvious target she should throw away the first chance she gets. Again, I don't get involved. The client pulls out an air tight bag that squeezes the life out of a ceramic mug. Etched into its side, the words 'World's Greatest Dad' leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

"Our surveillance cameras show Arnold favored that mug at the office," the client says. "When I questioned his secretary, she confirmed this."

I take it from her, swipe the butterfly knife out from my back pocket, and cut into the bag. It pops open so easily. "Well then, let's get started."

We enter the adjoining room where a futon lays out on the cement floor. Compared to the simple greeting room, this place is bare, dark and quiet. Black padding covers the walls. There are no windows or two-way glass. This room is cut off from the rest of the world, almost like entering a new planet entirely.

The client sits down in the far corner of the room; a lamp turns on for her viewing pleasure. She takes out her tablet, ready to take notes. In some past life, this woman probably worked as a secretary for a CCO or as an intern student to an ogre professor. Maybe she's been a devoted worker her whole life and believes through hard work society will provide. If only that were true. Those who work smarter always make it out alive in the end. In this line of business, you have to be smart in order to make it out of the dark.

I take a deep breath and lay down on the futon. There are no sheets, just a soft pillow for me to rest my head upon. My dark, brunette braid falls off to the side, out of the way. The mug sits on my stomach, pressing between both hands. Mom sits crossed legged on the floor pillow next to her, shifting the air and silence.

She lightly touches my arm. "You've got this."

The room's so dark I can vaguely see her smile, but there's warmth in her words and that's all I need to know. I burrow further into the futon, getting comfortable and relaxed. My baggy shirt rides up a bit on my torso, exposing more of my sport leggings. It takes a moment to find the right spot, but once I do, I'm more than ready to dive into a dream.

When Mom touches my forehead, the darkness sucks me in whole.

The room disappears—the cement floor vanishes.

I float in nothing, in quietness, a vast sea of emptiness.

Until I open my eyes.

A door stands at the precipice, hardwood and dark, carved in a rich pattern of swirls and small details, I have to lean closer to catch the tiny print of the company's name carved all over the frame like some cheap spiritual ward. A waste of natural resources. When the door automatically slides open, I step into an office. City lights gleam like stars all around through the sky-high windows and dome ceiling. I'm up so high, the office looks down at the city, a god among the many skyscrapers of this metropolitan. As if the door wasn't bad enough.

Mom's voice appears behind me like a shadow, though it's inside my head. 'Wish, stay focused. Remember to always check your surroundings and stay on guard.'

I clench my jaw and let out a long sigh. Why can't I ever dreamwalk without hearing the same warning over and over again? Maybe when hell freezes over.

A glass desk sits in the middle, facing away from the scenery as if admiring New York's beautiful architecture is also beneath him. With the ease of an experienced thief, I survey the rest of the room. AI prosthetic legs hang off hooks and stands, displayed in various sizes and shapes like a monument of this company's achievements, and stark white furniture for the guests to sit leisurely and view them.