Лиза Макманн - Fade

The stronger you are, the more prepared you are, the better you’ll fare.

Have nourishment with you at all times. Dreams are where you least expect them.

The more dreams you enter, the more you can help people. This is true; it’s the law of averages.

But for a dream catcher, the more dreams you enter, the worse the side effects.

The faster you decline.

You must work at controlling which dreams you enter.

Practice pulling out of them, as I explained in the many files of cases

I’ve participated in.

Study them.

Practice the moves, the thought processes, the relaxation exercises.

However, you must realize by now that it’s a catch-22. Because the more practice you get, the harder it is on your body.

You must choose your dreams carefully, if you choose to use your gift to help others.

Or there is the alternative.

Isolation.

If you isolate yourself, you might live a normal life…. As normal as isolation allows, of course.

And now.

You can still stop reading here.

Your last chance.

5:39 p.m.

Janie looks away. Reads that part over again. Her head is pounding.

And she continues to the bitter end.

Quality of Life

I knew, personally, three dream catchers in my life, besides myself. I am the last one alive. At the time of this writing, I know of no others.

But I am convinced you are out there.

I’ll tell you first that the handwriting in this journal is not from my hand. My assistant writes to you in this book, because my hands are gnarled beyond use.

I lost the function of my hands and fingers at age thirty-four.

My three dream-catcher friends were thirty-five, thirty-one, and thirtythree, respectively, when they could no longer hold a pen.

That is what these dreams are doing to you.

6:00 p.m.

Tears stream down Janie’s face. She holds her sodden sleeve to her mouth. And continues.

And finally.

What I see as the worst.

I was eleven at the time of my first dream catch.

Or at least, that’s as far back as I can recall.

The dreams came few and far between at first, as I expect they did for you, unless you shared a room with someone.

By high school the number of dreams grew.

College. In class, the library, walking across campus on a spring day… not to mention having a roommate. In college dreams are everywhere.

Some of the worst experiences you’ll ever see.

And then, one day, you won’t.

You won’t see.

Because you’ll be completely, irreversibly, heartlessly blind.

My dream catcher acquaintances: Twenty-three. Twenty-six. Twentyone.

I was twenty-two.

The more dreams you enter, the sooner you’ll be blind.

You suspected already, didn’t you.

Perhaps you’ve already lost some of your vision. I’m so sorry, dear friend.

Choose your profession wisely.

All the hope I can add is this:

Once you are blind, each dream journey you take will bring you back into the light, and you will see things in the dreams as if you are seeing them in life.

These dreams of others are your windows. They are all the light you’ll see. You will be encased in darkness except for the dreams.

And since that is the case, I ask you, who would not live for one more dream? One more chance to see your loved one as he ages, one more chance to see yourself if he dreams of you.

You don’t have a choice.

You are stuck with this gift, this curse.

Now you know what lies ahead.

I leave you with a note of hope, and it is this: I don’t regret my decisions to help others through catching dreams.

Not a single instance would I take back.

Now is a good time to sit and think. To mourn. And then to get back up.

Find your confidant. Since you are reading this, you have one. Tell him or her what to expect.

You can get to work. Or you can hide forever and delay the effects. It’s your decision.

No regrets, Martha Stubin, Dream Catcher

Janie stares at the book. Turns that page, knowing there’s nothing more. Knowing it’s not a joke.

She looks at her hands. Flexes her fingers. Sees them, their wrinkly knuckles and short fingernails. The way they bend and straighten. And then she looks around the room.

Takes off her glasses.

Thinks hard and knows the answer already. The dreams, the headaches, Miss Stubin’s gnarled hands and blind eyes. Janie’s own failing eyesight. Janie knew.

Knew it for a while now.

She just didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to believe it.

Maybe Cabel knows already, she thinks. His stupid eye charts. Maybe that’s really why he needs a break. He knows she’s falling apart. And he can’t handle one more problem with Janie.

Janie is so stunned she cannot cry anymore.

She grabs her car keys and rushes to the door before she remembers.

Miss Stubin killed three people in a car crash because of a dream.

Janie looks at Ethel through the window, and then slowly she falls down to the floor, sobbing as her world comes to an end.

She doesn’t get up.

No.

Not that night.

March 25, 2006, 8:37 a.m.

Janie is still on the floor in the living room, near the front door. Her mother steps over her once, twice, unalarmed, disappearing again into the dark recesses of her bedroom. She’s seen Janie asleep on the floor before.

Janie doesn’t move when there is a knock on the door. A second knock, more urgent, does nothing to her.

And then words.

“Don’t make me break open the door, Hannagan.”

Janie lifts her head. Squints at the door handle. “It’s not locked,” she says dully, although she tries to be respectful.

And Captain is there, in Janie’s living room, and somehow, in the small house, she looks so much bigger to Janie.

“What’s going on, Janie?” Captain asks, alarm growing on her face as she sees Janie on the floor.

Janie shakes her head and says in a thin, bewildered voice, “I think I’m dying, sir.”

Janie sits up. She can feel the carpet pattern indented deep in her cheek.

It feels like Cabel’s nubbly burns. “I was going to go see you yesterday,” she says, looking at the keys on the floor next to her. “I was going out the door, and then it all hit me. The driving. And the everything. And I just…” She shakes her head. “I’m going blind, sir.

Just like Miss Stubin.”

Captain stands, quiet. Waits patiently for Janie to explain. Holds her hand out to Janie. Pulls her up, and embraces her. “Talk to me,”

Captain says gently.

And Janie, who ran out of tears hours ago, makes new ones and cries on Captain’s shoulder, telling her everything about the contents of the green notebook. Letting Captain read it herself. Captain squeezes Janie tightly when the sobs come again.

After a while Janie is quiet. She looks around for something to use to wipe Captain’s coat, and there is nothing. There is always nothing at

Janie’s house.

“Did you call into school for your absence yet?”

“Shit.”

“No problem. I’ll do it now. Does your mother go by Mrs. Hannagan?

I don’t want the office staff to know that I know you.”

Janie shakes her head. “No, not ‘Mrs.,’” she says. “Just go with

Dorothea Hannagan.” When Captain hangs up the phone, Janie says, “How did you know to come?”

She scowls. “Cabel called me. Said you didn’t show up at school, wondered if I’d heard from you. I guess he tried calling your cell phone.”

So I have to disappear in order to get him to call me. Janie doesn’t say anything. She wants, with all her heart, to ask Captain why Cabel won’t speak to her. But Janie knows better than to do that. So all she says is, “That was thoughtful.”