C.E. Murphy - Coyote Dreams

I smiled idiotically through the remnants of tears, nodding. “You know you did. You were what, just carrying this around waiting for the right moment?” My voice was still all hoarse and tight, but I didn’t care. Gary beamed down at me.

“That’s good, then. Nah. S’where I went, home to get it. Been thinkin’ about that sword and everything you got for a while now.” He shrugged, big lumbering motion of dismissal. “Thought maybe I could bring somethin’ to the fold, if you asked for it, s’all. And you did.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Gary.” The words, whispered, were as true as anything I’d ever said. “Thank you.”

“Anything for my girl.” His smile reminded me of the younger Gary I’d met in his garden, full of warmth and gentle strength coupled with a linebacker’s ability to clear a path. “I know you’re goin’ to sleep instead of into a trance, but maybe I’ll drum you under anyway, arright?”

I nodded again, crouching to pick up the blade I’d dropped. I curled one hand around the pommel and the other around the blade very carefully, and made my way to the couch. The drum was already there, and Gary came around the other end of the sofa to pick it up. I tilted over, nestling my head on a pillow as I pulled the sword up to my chest like it was a teddy bear.

I heard about three beats of the drum before I fell asleep.

Back in January it’d seemed like every time I went to sleep, that little death drew me into the realm of Other. Letting it find me now, deliberately, seemed awkward after slipping in and out of the astral realms so much. The world of dreams, though, was not quite the same one I skimmed through when I left my body, and very much not the crisp, clear-aired Upper World or the red-skied Lower World I’d made my way to a few times. They all shared a commonality, but in the same way France and Germany shared a border: it could be crossed, but I didn’t want to expect that the same rules would apply on both sides of the border. And I’d spent very little time in dreamworld, using it mostly as a transitory point. Now that I wanted to stay, I found myself with almost no idea how to travel or bring forth the things that I sought. Trusting my subconscious, which was usually how dreams were traversed, seemed both time-consuming and potentially dangerous.

I held on to all of those thoughts for what felt like whole minutes, maybe even longer. It was far more likely they’d formed and dissolved between the third and fourth drumbeats, in that pseudo-waking moment between dreams and the living world. Some brief, eternal time later the darkness of sleep began to take shape. A blaring voice, only half intelligible, echoed against forming hallways, the overhead lights both flickering and too bright. People rushed by me, knocking into me without setting themselves or me off balance, as if I wasn’t there. Gurneys and wheelchairs were pushed against the walls, which faded out suddenly, leaving me standing amid rows and endless rows of hospital beds.

The people in the beds thrashed in their sleep, all of them opening their mouths to let out soundless screams. As if the silence carried their life, like a cat stealing a baby’s breath, they weakened as they cried out.

Harried, faceless medical workers kept crashing by me until I realized I was shouting, too, my hands trembling as I stretched them out toward the agitated sleepers. My protests went unheard, caught in my mind: I can help! Just let me help! No one saw me, no one heard me, no one believed me. Nor should they have: for all my wordless calls, I couldn’t help, not from amid this chaos. The noiseless shrieks from the sleepers pounded at the small bones of my ears, making me nervous and twitchy, like I waited for attack.

Bradley Holliday appeared in the middle of the hall in front of me, holding a patient chart on a clipboard and a distasteful expression on his mouth. “You don’t belong here. Leave now.” He looked and spoke directly to me, so unexpectedly I nearly glanced around to see who was behind me. “I’m talking to you,” he snapped. “Joanne Walker, police officer. This is a hospital. You don’t belong here.”

It was like his words were an eraser, sweeping at me with wide strokes that wiped me away. I leaned forward against the urge to disappear, shaking my head. “But I can help.”

“How?” he demanded, encompassing a thousand hospital beds in one wave of his clipboard. “What do you think you can do that all these doctors can’t?”

Uncertainty washed through me, since I hadn’t been that much use so far. “I—”

“You see?” He put on a very good sneer, the sort my younger self would have tried to emulate, and flapped a hand at me. “You don’t belong. Leave now.”

“But I’ve done okay,” I whispered. “I got Mel to not drain herself fighting this thing. Begochidi. I kept Gary awake. I got Begochidi off Mark’s back.” Even as I made the argument it felt hollow to me. Too many people had fallen asleep, their strength drained to bring a god back to waking. I hadn’t done enough to keep Morrison awake.

The flickering white light closed down to a pinpoint and left me in darkness for just long enough to realize it was happening, then came up again inside a hospital room whose four walls were as solid as reality. Morrison lay resting on the bed there, vague figures holding shape in the background. Billy and Melinda, sharing a room with the captain. But they weren’t what had called me to this space of the dreamworld.

A shield, glittering blue and silver, spun over Morrison’s skin. When I reached out to touch his shoulder, that shield danced up my fingers, becoming one again with its originator. “I can’t fight, boss,” I heard myself say. “Not with you in here like this. I’ve got you all mixed up with me. Even Begochidi’s nice side went after you when I opened up.” I sat down on the edge of his bed, folding his hand in both of mine. What the hell. It was a dream, right? With him so still and asleep, I didn’t expect his fingers to be warm, but mine felt icy, wrapped around his. “I wish you’d kept the topaz. I wish you hadn’t given it to Barbara.” That seemed the greater insult, all things considered. Not just because I defined her as some kind of rival in my little world, but because I was half afraid gifting her with it would ruin any protection all of it offered. It didn’t seem to work that way, but the fear was there regardless.

The fact that boys weren’t supposed to go around giving girls gifts other girls had given them was, if not beside the point, at least a heartache I didn’t want to dwell on. Morrison hadn’t considered the topaz a gift, anyway. More like a burden.

Darkness fluttered through the room, a whisper of silence like feathers on the air. I closed my eyes, lowering my head toward my hands tangled with Morrison’s. Guess I shouldn’t have said Begochidi’s name out loud, though now that I thought about it, that was pretty obvious. Nothing like sending up a beacon to the bad guys saying here I am, come and get me .

I could feel, though, the protective amulets I carried. I could feel the connection of three points to protect my body and spirit, and the fourth, the weapon at my hip. I didn’t need to look to see it there, though I hadn’t noticed its weight here in the Land of Nod. I was armored, ready for battle. My weakness lay in Morrison, sleeping beneath the shield of my making.

The funny thing was, I thought maybe my strength lay there, too. “C’mon, Cap. You’ve got to wake up. I need you to be safe so I can do what it takes to stop this sickness.” I poured a little more into the shielding, looking for the weak point that allowed Begochidi to keep my boss asleep, trying not to invade his psyche while I did it. Power sparked against my skin, running under it like silver-shot blood, until I found the one narrow fissure I hadn’t closed off.