Лиза Макманн - Gone

Janie is dying.

She has no fight left in her.

It’s over.

Just as she has given up, her father’s chalky face turns to glass and shatters into a dozen pieces.

His grip around Janie’s neck releases. His body disappears.

Janie falls to the ground, gasping, next to the pieces of her father’s exploded face. She looks at them, sucking breath, finally able to move.

Raises herself up.

And there, instead of seeing her father in the glass, She sees her own horrified, screaming face, reflected back at her.

Static once again.

For a very.

Very.

Long time.

Janie realizes that she might be stuck here. Forever.

2:19 a.m.

And then.

A flicker of life.

A flash of a woman’s figure in a dark gymnasium, a portrait of a man on a chair . . .

And a voice.

Distant. But clear. Distinct.

Familiar.

The voice of hope in one person’s ever-darkening world.

“Come back,” the woman says. Her voice is sweet and young.

She turns to face Janie. Steps into the light.

Standing on strong legs, her eyes clear and bright. Her fingers, not gnarled, but long and lovely.

“Janie,” she says in earnest. “Janie, my dear, come back.”

Janie doesn’t know how to come back.

She is exhausted. Gone. Gone from this world and hovering somewhere no other living person could possibly be.

Except for Henry.

Janie’s mind is flooded with the new scene, a soft and quiet scene, of a man in a chair, and a woman, now standing in the light imploring Janie to come back. The woman walks over to Henry, stands beside him. Henry turns and looks at Janie. Blinks.

“Help me,” he says. “Please, please, Janie. Help me.”

Janie is terrified of him. Still, there is nothing she can do but help.

It is her gift.

Her curse.

She is unable to say no.

Compelled, Janie pulls herself to attention, to full awareness, scared to death that the horrible din and burning colors will return at any moment, dreading getting anywhere near this man who turns mad and strangles her. Wishing she could gather the strength to pull herself from this nightmare now, while she has the chance. But she cannot.

Janie struggles silently to her feet in the gymnasium. With effort, she walks toward the two, her footsteps echoing. She has no idea what to do for Henry. Sees nothing that she can do to help.

Really only wants to tie him up, or maybe kill him, so he doesn’t have the chance to hurt her.

She stops a few feet away from them. Stares at the woman standing there, not quite believing her eyes. “It’s you,” she says. She feels a rush of relief. Her lip quivers. “Oh, Miss Stubin.”

Miss Stubin reaches out and Janie, overwhelmed by seeing her again and incredibly weak from this nightmare, stumbles into her arms. Miss Stubin’s grip is strong, full of comfort. It repairs some of Janie’s strength. Janie is filled with emotion as she feels the warmth, the love in Miss

Stubin’s touch. “There, you’re all right,” Miss Stubin says.

“You,” Janie says. “You’re . . . I thought I wouldn’t be seeing you again.”

Miss Stubin smiles. “I have been quite enjoying my time with Earl since I last saw you. It’s good to be whole again.” She pauses, eyes twinkling. They pick up the dim rays of light coming in through the gymnasium’s tiny upper windows. And then she looks toward the mute Henry, who sits ever still. “I believe I’m here for Henry . . . I think to bring him home, if you know what I mean. Sometimes I don’t know myself why I’m summoned to other catchers’ dreams.”

Janie’s eyes widen. “So, it’s true. He really is one.”

“Yes, apparently so.”

They look at Henry, and then at each other. Silent, pondering. The dream catchers, all together in one place.

“Wow,” Janie murmurs. She turns back to Miss Stubin. “Why didn’t you tell me about him? You said in the green notebook that there weren’t any other living dream catchers.”

“I didn’t know about him.” She smiles. “It appears he needs your help, first, before he can come with me. I’m glad you came.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Janie says. “His dreams are horrible.”

“He hasn’t many left,” Miss Stubin says.

Janie presses her lips together and takes a deep breath. “He’s my father. You knew that, right?”

Miss Stubin shakes her head. “I didn’t know. So it’s hereditary, then. I’ve often wondered. It’s why

I didn’t have children.”

“Did you—?” Janie’s suddenly struck by a thought. “You’re not related, are you? To us, I mean?”

Miss Stubin smiles warmly. “No, my dear. Wouldn’t that be something?”

Janie laughs softly at the craziness of it. “Do you think that maybe there are others out there, then? Besides me?”

Miss Stubin clasps Janie’s hand and squeezes. “Knowing that Henry exists gives me hope that there are more. But dream catchers are nearly impossible to find.” She chuckles. “Best thing you can do to find them is to fall asleep in public places, I guess.”

Janie nods. She glances at Henry. “How am I supposed to help him?”

Miss Stubin raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know, but you know what to do to find out. He’s already asked you for help.”

“But . . . I don’t see . . . and he’s not leading me anywhere.” Janie looks around the near-vacant gymnasium, looking for clues, trying to figure out what she could possibly do to help Henry. Not wanting to get too close.

Finally, Janie turns to Henry and takes a deep breath, glancing at Miss Stubin briefly for support.

“Hey there,” she begins. Her voice shakes a little, nervous, scared, not sure what to expect. “How can I help you?”

He stares at her, a blank look on his face. “Help me,” he says.

“I—I don’t know how, but you can tell me.”

“Help me,” Henry repeats. “Help me. Help me. Help me. HELP me. HELP ME. HELP ME! HELP

ME!!” Henry’s voice turns to wild screams and he doesn’t stop. Janie backs away, on her guard, but he doesn’t come toward her. He reaches to his head and grips it, screaming and ripping chunks of hair from his scalp. His eyes bulge and his body is rigid in agony. “HELP ME!”

His screams don’t end. Janie is frozen, shocked, horrified. “I don’t know what to do!” she yells, but her voice is drowned out by his. Terrified, she looks for Miss Stubin, who watches intently, a little fearfully.

And then.

Miss Stubin reaches out.

Touches Henry’s shoulder.

His screams stutter. Fail. His ragged breaths diminish.

Miss Stubin stares at Henry, concentrating. Focusing. Until he turns to look at her and is quiet.

Janie watches.

“Henry,” Miss Stubin says gently. “This is your daughter, Janie.”

Henry doesn’t react. And then his face contorts.

Immediately, the scene in front of Janie crackles. Chunks of the gymnasium fall away, like pieces of a broken mirror. Bright lights appear in the holes. Janie sees it happening and her heart pounds. She shoots a frantic glance at Miss Stubin, and at her father, desperate to know if he understands, but he is holding his head again.

“I can’t stay in this,” Janie yells, and she gathers up all her strength, pulling out of the nightmare before the static and blinding colors overtake her again.

2:20 a.m.

All is quiet except for the ringing in Janie’s ears.

Minutes pass as Janie lies facedown, unmoving, unseeing, on the clammy tile floor of the hospital room. Her head aches. When she tries to move, her muscles won’t comply.

2:36 a.m.

Finally, Janie can see, though everything is dim. She grunts and, after a few tries, shoves to her feet, steadying herself against the wall, wiping her mouth. Blood comes away on her hand. She moves her tongue slowly around, noting the cut inside her cheek where she apparently bit down during the nightmare. Feels her neck, her throat, gingerly. Her stomach churns as she swallows blood-thickened saliva. Janie squints at her watch, shocked that so much time has gone by.