Broken Dreams (The Chronicles of Mara Lantern, Book 5) (12 page)

As he descended the ladder, he wondered what mechanism illuminated the bulb. He knew that electricity wasn’t used in this realm, but he had been reticent to ask Mr. Martin about it for fear of looking too out of place. It had taken much convincing to get the man to allow them to stay at the hotel in exchange for several hours of chores each day. And now that he had Abby to look after, it was even more important they have a roof over their heads until she recovered.

He folded up the ladder and turned to carry it into the hotel when he heard a scream. Turning around, he took a few minutes to determine the source of the disruption. A block away, across the unpaved street, a man staggered down the boardwalk along the business fronts, flailing at the air. Ping squinted but couldn’t make out what bothered the man. He heard the hotel’s main entrance door open behind him.

“What’s going on, Mr. Ping? I thought I heard someone yelling out here,” asked Bobby, the bellhop.

Ping nodded toward the man who staggered in their direction. “I’m not sure. It appears something is pestering that man, or he’s suffering from some kind of delusion.”

The man ran into the middle of the street, tripped over his own feet and rolled along the ground. Now that he was closer, Ping could make out something hovering in the air around the man’s head.

“It’s the swarm!” Bobby yelled, pointing. “Two hotel patrons said they heard a rumor this morning about a swarm of bugs chasing people down in the southeast section. It must have made its way up here.”

Ping frowned and cocked an ear. “I don’t hear any buzzing. And frankly that doesn’t look like a swarm of insects.” He stepped off the boardwalk toward the man, now slapping and kicking into the air.

“Careful, Mr. Ping. I heard that they might carry a disease. If you get bit, Mr. Martin won’t let you stay at the hotel anymore.”

As Ping got closer, he saw what assaulted the man on the ground. It was not a swarm of insects but a black mist that wove around the man’s head, extending inky tendrils into his mouth, nose and ears. Ping gasped as the memory of a bank security video he and Mara had watched played back in his mind.

On the screen the security guard’s extended arm held out a gun that jerked upward several times, silently recoiling each time he fired. The insect-thing before him flapped and spasmed, falling off its legs to its side, all six appendages writhing, kicking toward the tellers’ counter while its wings battered the front door.

Another shot exploded into one of the insect’s huge eyes, spattering gelatinous material all over the carpet.

The last gunshot went wide, striking the forehead of the customer, the one at the counter in the lobby filling out a deposit slip, standing in the video’s foreground. He collapsed into a heap of ashes, leaving a misty black residue floating in the air where his body had stood.

Ping leaned forward and pointed at the screen. “Did you see that? What is that?”

The black mist spread before the camera, like a fog riding weak currents of air, growing thinner and thinner by the minute.

From across the room, the guard ran toward the camera, dodging the remains of the giant dead bug, which had stopped kicking and twitching. The guard stopped behind the check-writing counter and looked down at his feet. Bending over, he scooped up a handful of ash and let it slip through his fingers. Once it had fallen back to the floor, the guard held in his palm a blackened bullet. He looked around, guilty and confused, but he seemed unaware that the black residue was curling around his head, seeping into his ears, nose and mouth. For a moment, the guard’s features were not discernible through the black haze that engulfed him. Then, as the fog slithered into his body and disappeared, his face became visible, and his irises turned as black and bright as hot tar.

Ping slowed his pace, still staring at the writhing man on the ground. “Juaquin Prado,” he said aloud.
It’s the soul of Juaquin Prado, the spirit that possessed Abby and turned them into the Aphotis
.

The blackness persisted in assaulting the man, streams pushing into every orifice of his head while his body fought the invasion, coughing, sputtering and sneezing. He spewed onto the ground wet gobs of oil which atomized into animated streams flowing back at his face, continuing to attack. The mist could enter his body but yet could not possess it.

Growling like a cornered animal, the man grabbed his own face and shook his head, sending ropes of blackened goo to the street. He cleared his throat and spat a wad that landed next to Ping’s foot. He watched it evaporate into the familiar black mist and rise into the air, this time flowing high into the sky, joining the rest of the thin mass that seemed to have lost interest in the man.

The dark cloud hung in the air and rolled away, as if riding a breeze.

Wiping his face with his forearm, the red-faced man staggered to his feet. Ping took his elbow to help him gain his balance, but the man yanked away, glaring at Ping with a crazed look.

Raising his hands, Ping said, “Just offering assistance, sir. Are you all right?”

The man spat one more time, turned and left without comment.

“Ping!” He spun around in time to see Sam and an unfamiliar man sitting in a wagon, pulling up to the front of the hotel.

Sam smiled and waved enthusiastically.

As Ping approached, the boy jumped down and pointed toward the man disembarking from the opposite side of the wagon. “Guess who that is,” he said, whispering.

“I’ve no idea. Who?”

“It’s my dad.”

Dr. Lantern walked around the back of the wagon and approached them with a look of astonishment. “It’s you. You
are
Mr. Ping. Unbelievable. I saw you back at the manor less than two hours ago, yet here you are.” He held out his hand.

Ping shook it and said, “I’m sorry. You’ve got me at a disadvantage.”

“I’m Christopher Lantern,” he said. He threw his arm over Sam’s shoulder and added, “Sam’s dad. And Mara’s too.”

“Remarkable. Absolutely remarkable,” Ping said. Sam and his father waited for Ping to say something more, but the black mist and its implications distracted him.

After an awkward silence, Sam leaned forward and said, “What’s wrong? You look like you saw a ghost or something.”

Ping shook his head and forced a smile. “It’s nothing. I take it you located the Progenitor’s Manor. Did you find your sister or her counterpart there?”

“Our Mara is there. The other one is not. Something to do with her receptacle made her disappear from this realm.”

“I gather my counterpart is there too,” Ping said, glancing at Dr. Lantern. “Why didn’t Mara come back with you? I would think she wanted to see Abby.”

“That’s my fault,” Dr. Lantern said. “We thought Mara would draw too much attention if she came into town, and, since her friend was not feeling well, it seemed logical that I return with Sam instead.”

“He’s a doctor,” Sam said. “We stopped and made a house call on the way.”

His father smiled. “I also wanted to invite you and Abby to come stay at the manor. I think you will be more comfortable, and I can help you take care of her.”

“Better than hanging out here and sweeping floors. Besides the manor is massive—and you will get to meet yourself out there,” Sam said.

Ping picked up the ladder he had left on the ground and said, “It would be wonderful if you could take a look at Abby. I think she’s in shock, but I’d feel better with a professional opinion. As far as staying at the manor, it sounds like an excellent idea.”

* * *

Once they were all gathered in the hotel room where Ping and Sam had stayed for the past several days, Dr. Lantern took the medical bag from his son and sat on the edge of the bed next to Abby, who was asleep. Slipping out a stethoscope, he placed it onto her chest, and her eyes fluttered open.

She blinked a couple times, trying to wake up, and she frowned at the doctor. Pushing up on an elbow, she said, “Dr. Lantern? What are you doing here?”

He shot a look of confusion at Sam, who shrugged and held up his hands. Turning back to Abby, he said, “Do you know who I am?”

“You’re Mara’s dad,” she said. Her gaze flitted around the room. When it settled on Ping, her eyes widened, and she pushed against the mattress, as if sliding herself away from him. “Dragon,” she said so softly that Dr. Lantern wasn’t sure he had heard her.

“What did you say?”

Abby’s bottom lip trembled. “I saw him turn into a dragon. Before that thing got inside me.” She grabbed at Dr. Lantern’s shirt, tearing the material around a button. “The monster made me do terrible, terrible things. I killed people, hundreds, thousands of people.” She shivered, grabbed another handful of shirt and pulled herself toward Dr. Lantern’s chest.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. “
Shhh
. It’s all over now. I will not let anyone hurt you.” He rocked her back and forth for several minutes until he felt her relax and heard her snore softly. He laid her on the bed and pulled up the blanket that lay across her legs. His stethoscope fell as he stepped away from the bed. While folding it up and slipping it into his bag, he glanced at Sam and Ping, and nodded toward the door without saying anything.

The three of them slipped from the room. After Dr. Lantern closed the door with a soft
click
, he turned around and said, “That young lady is suffering from more than simple shock. She had some kind of mental trauma that has caused her to become delusional.”

“I agree that she has suffered a profound mental trauma, but she is not delusional,” Ping said.

Dr. Lantern raised an eyebrow, reminding Ping of Mara when she doubted something. “Dragons? And how could she kill thousands of people?”

“She’s not responsible for those deaths, but it’s likely she took part in them, compelled by a creature that had merged its Consciousness with her own. In essence, she was possessed by a being of almost indescribable evil.”

Sam interjected, “And she did see Ping turn into a dragon. That wasn’t a delusion. I’ve seen it several times myself.”

Dr. Lantern eyed Ping. “You’re a dragon? You believe that?”

Ping shook his head and looked embarrassed. “I was never a dragon per se. My Consciousness became entangled with that of a dragon for a short time, but that situation has been resolved, so there is no longer a threat.”

“She was my daughter from another realm,” Sam said.

Dr. Lantern looked at him blankly. “
Who
was your daughter?”

“The dragon.”

“The dragon was your daughter?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “We didn’t know it at the time—when she was possessing Ping—but when my daughter from the future touched the dragon, the whole thing made sense.”

“I think that is a story you should share with your father when we aren’t standing in a hotel corridor,” Ping said. “Besides, considering the look on his face, it appears he thinks we are the ones who are delusional.”

Dr. Lantern said, “I’m still wrapping my brain around the concept that my granddaughter is a dragon—and that Sam here has a daughter.”

“I think it best If I ride in the back of the wagon, so I can keep an eye on Abby,” Dr. Lantern said.

Ping and Sam agreed.

Dr. Lantern nodded toward Abby, asleep on a straw mattress. “At least I don’t remind her of dragons or something that wanted to possess her.”

Sam held the reins and guided Belle along the dirt road toward the manor while Ping sat next to him, watching the countryside as it crawled past. The clomping of horse hooves, the creaking of floorboards and the rasping of wheels over hard dirt created enough background noise that Sam and Ping could talk without being overheard by Dr. Lantern.

Ping smiled at Sam and said, “Considering how resistant you were to entering the receptacle, this experience has turned out to be quite a compelling one. Wouldn’t you say?”

“I do like steering the horse,” Sam said.

“I was referring to meeting your father. You had hoped for that back in our realm,” Ping said. “What do you think?”

“I think he’s kind of cool. Smart. There is something I wanted to ask you about though. It had never occurred to me to ask about it before,” Sam said.

“What is it?”

“When Hannah came back from the future, she was a prompter, like me. You think that runs in families? Is that true?”

“I don’t know if being a prompter is inherited, if there is a gene passed down from father or mother to child. However, as with all metaphysical abilities, knowledge, awareness and belief are required for them to work. A parent with those attributes is better equipped to pass the abilities along. Wouldn’t you say?”

“I guess so.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Something I saw my dad do while he was with his patient. I’m sure he prompted her to get better. Does that make sense to you?”

“Actually it makes perfect sense. Hannah did something similar after she arrived in our realm. She prompted me to cure myself after an assault by the Aphotis,” Ping said. “You witnessed your father do something similar?”

“Yes, but not exactly. See, he told me that almost all injury and illness in this realm is in their heads, that people here only get sick when they think they are sick.”

Ping nodded. “That makes sense, considering this realm is constructed of their thoughts.”

“Right. But, when he couldn’t convince his patient to change her thoughts, he prompted her to do it, just like I would. The big difference was that the woman changed physically. Her symptoms disappeared instantly.”

“Yes. What’s your point?”

“If this realm is made of thought, dreams or whatever, wouldn’t a prompter be able to change it—any of it—just like any other thought?” he asked.

“I suppose theoretically that’s possible. It merits investigation.”

They fell into silence as they crossed a wooden bridge that took them over a dry creek bed.

As they exited the bridge, Sam reached up and plucked a leaf from a low-hanging tree. He held it out to Ping. “It’s hard to believe this is nothing but thought,” he said. He curled his fingers over the leaf into a loose fist. Staring down at his closed hand, his eyes narrowed.
I wonder
. He opened his hand, releasing an orange butterfly. The leaf was gone. He glanced at Ping, who stared back at him, astonished.