The Dream Catcher's Daughter (6 page)

And under all of that, Jason heard
something else: sobbing. His sobbing. He’d cried someone’s name—Tara Engel.

“Now,” said Len, “get out of here before I
call the paladins.”

Without a word about their phones, Boone
and Ronnie ran off. Somewhere in the back of his head, Jason thought the
concealment spell would wear off soon. What wouldn’t wear off soon were the
scalding cuts on his face and neck, his broken jaw, and the back of his head,
which throbbed in rhythm with his heart. Len bent down next to him, staring
into his face. Her cheeks were red apples.

“I can heal you,” said Len, “but we’ll be
a bit late back to the store. And there’ll be scars.” Jason didn’t respond.
“Okay, I’ll take that as a yes. Can you stand? C’mon, put your arm around me.”

She hoisted him up and they half-walked
half-hobbled to the back of the van. Len opened the doors and helped him
inside. She banged the door shut behind her, leaned him against the inside of
the van, and then moved up front to pull the driver-side door shut. The mirror
screeched against the hood as she fully shut the door.

As she came back, Len said, “I can fix
that, too. Sorry, sorry. This is my fault. God, I thought it wouldn’t happen
today. Today, of all days. I’m sorry. They could’ve killed you.”

She ran her fingers along the scratches on
his face. He smelled vanilla, and the scratches stung and itched. He reached to
rub them, but Len smacked his hand away. “Don’t think about it. I have to put
this cream on your face. Otherwise the magic won’t work.”

Her fingers trailed along his face and
neck. By the time she finished, Jason’s face throbbed in time with his
heartbeat.

“Okay, sit still a bit longer. This’ll
only take a moment. I need you to focus on the music. Forget the pain. I know
it hurts, but you got to listen.”

Without waiting for a response, Len picked
up her flute and played. The music seeped from the keyholes, a thin, wispy tone
floating out, sifting through the air. It wrapped around Jason like a warm
towel. The pain in his face and broken jaw peaked, making him flinch. But then
it faded, and as it did, the wounds on his face zippered shut. His lower jaw
shifted and popped back into place. The song seeped into his brain, caressing
his mind with the gentle care of a mother. It hushed the synapses and neurons;
it told the pain center to stop working. Within moments, Jason felt numb in a
good, relaxed way. Suddenly, tears pricked his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.
He murmured the name he’d been crying while at Ronnie’s mercy, the name that
had been his bane for over a year now: Tara.

Tara’s voice filtered into his ears,
saying, “Once upon a time, a knight didn’t want to be a knight. He looked like
and talked like a knight. He could duel swords with King Arthur, and could
scare even the bogeyman with his ruthlessness. But the knight hated all of
this. He only wanted to be kind, to care for others...On the inside, he wasn’t
truly a knight.”

Jason gasped. Len stopped the music, and a
slight sting bit Jason’s face. He turned toward Len, who waved the flute at
him. “Don’t do that! I could’ve messed up your face.”

“From my head,” he said, gasping.

“Huh?”

He huffed and sighed, his shoulders rising
and falling sharply. Len only watched him as he gathered his thoughts, tapping
her fingers along her flute.

He looked at her, then to her flute.
“Talshe. Leech. Bootelia and Amor.”

“What about them, Jason?”

He looked out the back window, then down at
his own hands. He raked his fingers through his hair, catching some of the
unhealed scratches. His scalp itched with mild pain.

“They’re all from me. From my head.” Len
blinked. Twice. She puffed out her lips, blowing a breath out. “You don’t look
surprised,” he said.

“Because I’m not,” she said. “I’ve known
for a while.” She looked down to her flute. “Talshe, Leech, Amor, and Bootelia
are dreams. Your dreams, come to life.”

After Len fixed the van’s dents and
scratches, she moved around to the passenger-side door and climbed in. The
concealment dome shriveled and disintegrated, leaving the van visible to the
normies driving around them. Jason put the van into drive and looked out his
rearview mirror. He saw through the warped and cracked glass the reflection of
a man in chain-link armor walking toward the driver-side window. Jason parked
the van, turned in his seat, and peered out.

“Paladin,” said Jason to Len.

The paladin had a long, hooked nose with a
sharp chin. His eyes seemed almost black in the shadow of his helm. The rest of
his face was plain, ordinary. One of his hands rested upon the sword at his
waist. Jason nearly jumped when he felt Len’s hand on his leg.

“Hey, calm down. I’m sure it’s nothing. If
anything, we could pretend we were…you know…” Her eyes fell to his crotch.

“I don’t want to pretend that any more
than you do.”

“Pretend what, Jason?” said the paladin.

The paladin stood slightly below
face-level of the driver-side window, so he had to look up at Jason. Even so,
Jason felt the paladin might as well be looking down his long nose at them. A
slight smirk hooked one corner of the paladin’s mouth.

“Nothing, Sirin,” said Jason.

“Nothing? Then why are you parked here?
And why was there a concealment spell?” His eyes darted to Len. “Unless you
were having a little fun on your break?”

Sirin cracked a laugh. Jason pursed his
lips. “Am I doing something wrong, sir?”

The paladin’s laughter died, and his mouth
flattened. His eyes narrowed as he leaned in close to the window. “Are you?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I suppose there’s nothing to be
afraid of, is there?” And his eyes flicked to Jason’s hands, which were
trembling as they tightly gripped the steering wheel.

“Maybe I’m angry.”

“At what?”

Jason didn’t know why Sirin was here, let
alone why he was egging him on. But Jason couldn’t focus. Something about
Sirin’s face made him feel…anxious. Panicky. He didn’t have the right word to
describe the ooze-y nausea bubbling in the pit of his chest.

“He was telling me about Tara.”

Sirin and Jason both jerked their heads in
Len’s direction. Sirin raised an eyebrow, while Jason stared. “Is that so? And
what was he telling you?”

“That she died. About a year ago.”

The paladin’s eyes flicked to Jason, then back
to Len. His nostrils flared, each almost the diameter of a quarter. He huffed,
then said, “All right. I suppose that’s fair enough. But I suggest you get back
to work. Your father doesn’t care for slackers.”

Sirin left, disappearing into the
distance.

***

They drove back to the store. Jason wanted
to ask questions, but wasn’t exactly sure what questions to ask. He had his own
theories, but none of them were probably right. So he remained silent all the
way back to Silver Moon. Len did the same. Tom had already left, and as the two
hopped out of the van, Jason formed a reasonable question in his head.

“Aren’t dreams supposed to be, like,
something based on reality?”

Len perched her brow, a small smile on her
lips. “Could be. Dreams can be a lot of things—memories, guilt, even visions of
the future. But you’re the only person who knows, Jason.”

She dug inside her pockets, fished out a
piece of paper, and then handed it to him. The paper was wrapped around something
solid and heavy. He unwrapped the paper to find a key—not the one Bootelia had
shoved down her pants. A phone number was scrawled in flowing script across the
inside of the paper. In fuchsia ink.

“My phone number and house key,” said Len.
“I need you to come over tomorrow.”

“Me?”

“My mistress said you would say a name.
Once you did, I was supposed to invite you over.”

Jason cocked his head. “You mean...”

“Yes. The name you shouted, while those
two goons beat you up—it was Shemillah, right?”

His eyes narrowed. “Shemillah?”

“That’s the name you said.”

“No, it’s not. I said…I said…”

Len held up a finger and pulled out her
cell phone. She hit a button, and the recording played again. Jason moaned and
grunted with each kick. He sobbed and cried. The name he cried this time wasn’t
Tara but, “Shemillah!”

Len lowered her phone, looking at Jason
with pursed lips. “You look confused. You heard the recording before right?”

“Yeah, I did. Thought I said something
else, that’s all.”

Jason lowered his gaze to the paper with
Len’s number. He wanted his face to have a look of doubt, but the most he could
do was perch his brow in mild curiosity. His mind had forgotten how to do
anything else. Except for anger. Except for sadness. He only started
remembering when his dreams started to appear. Perhaps there was a connection,
and Len seemed to know a lot about his dreams.

“What time do you want me over?” he said.

“As soon as you can. But make sure you
call first. Make sure I know you’re coming.”

The garage’s side door grated open and
Darlene walked in, a wide smile spread across her face. “
Yo
,
J. Kinney!” she said, waving a hand in front of her,
gangsta
-like.
She shook her head and dropped her hand. “Sorry. Just couldn’t resist. I have
to harass you in front of new recruits.”

Jason shrugged. “It’s cool.”

Darlene turned toward Len and extended a
hand. “Hi, how you doing? Jason and I are lesbian lovers. He likes to suck the
fingers on this hand, the very hand you’re shaking.”

Len stared blankly at the handshake. Her
eyes wandered back up to Darlene and she said, “But…How are you lesbian?
Jason’s…”

“Got a dong? Yeah, that makes things a
little awkward. But, hey, if I close my eyes and imagine really hard…”

Jason patted Darlene on the shoulder.
“When you said harass me, I didn’t think sexual harassment. You can get in
trouble for that.”

Darlene puckered her lips, releasing Len
from her handshake and planting her hands on her hips. “You, mister, aren’t
being a very good lesbian lover. You’re supposed to support me, love me,
lick
the jam out from between my toes...”

“Gross,” said Jason.

Darlene turned back to Len. “So, what’s
your name?”

“Um...uh...Len. Lenmana for short.”

Darlene giggled. “I think you got that
backwards, sweetie.” She laughed a deep, full laugh that made the slight pudge
on her hips and belly jiggle. “I’m only giving you shit. You don’t
gotta
be scared of me. I don’t bite. Not on Thursdays,
anyway.” And she winked. Len’s face reddened, her mouth and nose sandwiched
between two apples. Darlene had looked away before seeing this, and turned back
to Jason. “By the by, Pops wants to see you.”

Jason crossed his arms. “Really?”

“Mm-hm. Wonder what for?”

“Probably to wonder if I got laid.”

Len only tilted her head, the blush in her
cheeks growing darker. Darlene, despite Jason’s lack of expression, laughed.
“Maybe that’s all you need—the magic of sex!”

Jason gave her a dismissive wave of his
hand. “I should go. If he wants to see me, it’s probably something important.”
He turned to Len. “Did you need a ride home or anything? Or did you walk here?”

“Oh, I can walk...”

“What?” said
Darlene.
“Pretty lady like you, walk? Not on my watch! Come with me and we’ll hop in my
Sexy Limo!”

Jason sighed. “Get back to work. I know
you work until eight.”

“
Awwh
, now
that’s not fair!’

He shooed her away, and Darlene ran off,
laughing. Jason looked back to Len, who was staring after Darlene. When she saw
him watching, she averted her gaze to the ceiling.

He thought they’d make a cute couple.

***

Mr. McKinney had passed out at his desk
again. Next to his snoring head was a scroll of pale-brown parchment. Jason
already owned five others like it. He wasn’t surprised his father had procured
another one.

“Dad? You awake?”

With a grunt and a gulp of mucus, Mr.
McKinney raised his head, his eyes little slits of blue. He blinked once,
twice, then sat up slowly, rubbing his forehead, which was red just above the
brow, like a strip of tape had been ripped away. He yawned and spit sprayed
onto his goatee.

“Excuse me, son. Didn’t mean to fall
asleep on you.”

“It’s fine. Darlene said you needed to see
me.”

“Yeah. So, I heard about this new
program...” And as he said this, his eyes brightened. The tiredness seemed to slip
away from his body. “It’s great, you see. All the others aren’t worth a damn
compared to this one. Just study it for a few hours, and you won’t have to
worry! Monday won’t even matter! And you won’t believe…”

Jason ignored the rest. He’d heard this pep
talk time and time again. Each talk operated under one assumption: |He wasn’t
studying hard enough. Maybe the past lessons were too hard. But this new one
would surely teach him. Jason only nodded when appropriate. Then his father
asked a question, the same question he usually asked: “You want to learn, don’t
you? You don’t want your memories erased, right?”

When these last two questions left Mr.
McKinney’s mouth, Jason didn’t just nod or comply. Something deep inside of him
stirred and writhed. It groaned, and Jason realized that thing was Sadness. It
bawled, sobbing worse than Len had in the van. Tears trembled in Jason’s eyes.
And the tears were met by silence from his father.

“Jason, are you okay? What’s the matter?”

Then the cries were met by a different
feeling: It shot up from the deepest, blackest pit of Jason’s heart; it pounded
against his face, turning his cheeks red. Tears stung his eyes. The slight
remains of Ronnie’s claw marks felt like a crown of thorns on his forehead. Mr.
McKinney noticed Jason’s scratches, and said, “What happened to your head?”

A thunderous explosion rocketed up Jason’s
throat: “Fuck off! You don’t care about me! You
want
me to lose my
memory so you don’t have to see Mom’s face every time you look at me! I bet you
never even wanted me!”

Jason leaned against the desk, his legs
wobbly. The world felt upside-down. Mr. McKinney’s smile sagged; his shoulders
sank. He looked down at his desk, where a spread of framed photographs stood
like a personal army. There were several of Jason’s grandma, a strong-chinned,
high-cheeked woman with dark hair
waterfalling
down
her back. Arthur picked up the closest photo, which depicted Jason at the age
of five with a wide smile. His two front teeth were missing. Mr. McKinney
chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” said Jason.

Mr. McKinney set down the picture and
looked up at his son, folding his hands together. “You are my pride and joy,”
he said. “I’ve always believed in you. But I can’t do anything about the law. I
wish I could. But even having the Guardian as my old master won’t get you
anything. Even if he did write the law. I’m sorry. I love you.”

Without another word, Jason stalked out of
his father’s office. He left the scroll sitting on the desk’s edge.

***

He changed out of his uniform then walked
outside. His father didn’t come looking for him. The sun had just touched the
horizon, and the moon was waxing in the eastern skyline. He stared up at it,
wishing he lived there, on that desolate rock. It wouldn’t be much different
than what would happen in only a few days. He started to walk home, but didn’t
feel like getting there right away. Might as well get used to anywhere but his
own house.

One thought made him stop in the middle of
the street:
Tara will fade from my memories.

As he muttered ‘forth,’ a car turned onto
his stretch of road, and he shuffled onward. He turned onto an unfamiliar
street. These houses were recent additions to Sheriffsburg, the kind of houses
with a Mercedes in the driveway and a Mustang in the garage. The grass was
trimmed and an unnatural shade of emerald. The flash of sun off the
chrome-bordered screen doors winked at him with each step.

Jason reached the end of the street and
turned left, back in the direction of his house. He still didn’t recognize the
street, but it was rundown compared to the previous one. The houses crowded on
these blocks choked on crabgrass and dandelions. Just looking at the yards made
Jason’s nose itch. There was a one-story house with boarded-up windows. It slumped
a bit to the west, its paint crumbling in huge flakes that blew away in the
wind. The flakes may have been blue at some point. The front porch sagged a
bit. The third step from the bottom of the stairs was missing. This would be
his house after he turned eighteen, he thought.

“House hunting? How drab.”

Jason wheeled around. Bootelia and Amor
smiled at him from the street corner. Bootelia’s knife glinted in the sunlight.