Chapter Two: The Dreamer

“My prime request,

Which I do last pronounce, is –O you wonder! –

If you be maid or no?”

-Ferdinand, The Tempest

            Helen Marshall jerked awake from a nap she had never meant to take and a nightmare that she couldn’t remember.

            She looked around, her heart still pounding and her forehead lined with sweat. Rain lashed the windows of her office and the wind still roared outside. The files she was supposed to be organizing were scattered all over the desk. Some of them were damp from her sleeping on them.

            Hastily, she started to gather them up as she struggled to remember her dream. She was sure it had been very vivid at the time, but now…nothing remained except the dull, throbbing sensation of recent terror. 

            Helen put down the papers, gripped her hair, and shut her eyes tightly, fighting to remember. There was something that scared her horribly, but what? It wasn’t something that happened, she was sure about that. It was….it was something that was said...a name…

            Kobras.

            She opened her eyes. That was it! Someone had used the name ‘Kobras’ and that was what scared her so badly that she woke up.

            Well, she thought bitterly to herself. That explains everything, doesn’t it?

            She dropped her face into her hands and massaged her temples. It had been almost three weeks since she remembered anything from any of her dreams, and now that she finally had, it meant nothing whatsoever to her. She didn’t have the faintest idea who or what ‘Kobras’ was, or why the mere name should frighten her so badly. If only she could remember more…

            Helen tried for a few more minutes, but then gave up. It was no use; it felt as though someone had shut a door in her mind that no amount of effort could force open.

            Most people wouldn’t be particularly concerned about forgetting their dreams, but Helen wasn’t most people. Up until a few weeks ago, she had never forgotten her dreams. This was because her dreams weren’t just dreams. Through them, she could see things: things that had happened in the past, things that were happening now, and even some things that would happen in the future.  Sometimes they were clear and sharp, as though she were simply watching from the side. Sometimes they were strange and indistinct; full of imagery and sound that she would have to piece together and interpret afterwards. But one thing was common to all of them: they all turned out to be true.

            All this made her sudden inability to remember them very disturbing, and what made it even worse was the fact that almost all of her dreams of the past few days had very definitely been nightmares, and prior to this she had only had one other nightmare in her life.

            Helen gripped her hair tightly and glanced heavenward. Something very, very bad was going to happen; she was sure of it. She felt as though she had suddenly, inexplicably gone blind and was stumbling about in the dark, aware that danger was approaching, but unable to see it coming or do anything to stop it.

            It wasn’t as though she could ask anyone for help either. Only a select few people knew about her gift, and she doubted whether any of them could tell her what had gone wrong with it. And she couldn’t very well try to sound a warning without knowing what she was supposed to be warning about.

            Thunder and lightning roared outside. Helen got up and walked to the window to try to work off some of her restlessness. It was all dark outside: she couldn’t see anything except the dim, fuzzy glow of one of the perimeter fence lights.

            The Island of Matoul was a strange place to work, she reflected. She had only been there a couple of months, but it had already begun to work its spell on her. At least, that’s how she framed it in her mind. This wasn’t the spell of its beautiful beach or lush vegetation. It was a much more unsettling spell; a sense of having left the waking world behind and entered dreamland. Matoul was a place where most of the island was strictly off limits, but where she had twice been put up in her boss’s sumptuous villa when the weather precluded her usual helicopter ride back to Key West (and tonight looked like it was going to make a third time). She didn’t see many other employees, though she knew there were dozens at least. About the only person she talked to on a regular basis was, oddly enough, the island’s security chief, Charles.  

            None of this really struck her as odd or unnerving; it was what she had expected when she took the job. She had been told straight up that the facility would be kept strictly secret, what they were researching there, and why they were being kept secret.  Nevertheless, the experience of working in that kind of situation gave her an odd, disjointed sensation; as though everything she saw on the island was somehow less real, less like waking-life and more like a dream (the kind of dream she didn’t have but other people did) than anything else. 

            The door opened, making her jump.

            “Dr. Prosser!” she said. “You startled me.”

            Dr. Donald Prosser was Helen’s boss, though she had only met him once or twice. He was a short, stout man of about fifty, completely bald with bright blue eyes. He didn’t enter very far into the office, but stood near the door in his usual stiff, almost military fashion.

            “I am sorry,” he said. He had a very soft, gentle voice tinged with a British accent. “I was just coming to let you know that, with the weather, I’m afraid it looks like you’ll have to stay the night.”

            “That’s what I figured,” she said.

            “Are you alright?” he asked. “You sound troubled.”

            “It’s nothing,” she lied. “I just feel asleep and had a nightmare is all.”           

            Prosser nodded in an almost distracted way. He was watching the storm outside.

            “You know, I don’t remember the last time we’ve had such a storm,” he commented.

            Helen looked outside as another crash of lightning lit up the trees that were whipping around in the wind.

            “How long have you been here?” she asked. “Oh, wait,” she added quickly. “I’m not supposed to ask, am I?”

            “It’s quite alright,” he said. “I first came to this island…let me see…what year is it?”

            “1981.”

            “Is it really?” he said. “I’d lost track somewhere. In that case, I’ve been here for twelve years this April. How time slips away!”

            “Yeah, really,” she said. She wondered if he had the same dreamy sensation about the island, but didn’t know how to put that question into words.

            “Er, do you mind if I ask how you ended up here?”

            Prosser turned his gaze from the window and fixed it upon her in an appraising manner.

            “No, I don’t suppose I mind,” he said. “It’s not a complicated story. I used to work at Empire State University, but I was forced out. Professional jealousies, I’m afraid; I’d rather not get into all that. After I was, let’s say, retired from there, I went to work for Centron Farms. That was the biggest mistake of my life. As soon as Xander Calvan got wind of my research, he told me that my contract meant that it all belonged to him as my employer. I resigned that very day, but his lawyers tied up my life’s work so that I couldn’t touch it.”

            He paused, glaring into the distance as he relived the painful memories.

             “This was the low point. I was now out of work and unable to openly continue my research. I stayed with Charles.”

            “Charles?”

            “Yes, we’re old college friends, didn’t he tell you? He put me up for a while, and we discussed how I could outmaneuver Calvan. Charles had certain connections and learned of the existence of this island. We managed to dig up a wealthy benefactor and bought it off of its owner, who was buried in debt and eager to sell. Then, with a little money and some help from friends, I put together this establishment for the benefit of mankind, safe from prying eyes and greedy hands at last.”

            He gave a weak smile as he finished.

            “I’m sorry,” he said. “I sound like a television commercial.”

            “No, no,” she said sincerely. “It was fascinating. Charles always refuses to tell me any of the background of this place, so I was curious.”

            “Quite natural,” he said. “Curiosity is one of our species’ greatest attributes. It’s what’s always saved us in the past.”

            “It wasn’t so nice to the cat, though, was it?” she grinned.

            Prosser gave a brief smile that said he recognized the joke, but didn’t find it very funny.

            “Well, I seem to be on a lucky streak, but I won’t be so bold as to ask what you’re working on,” she said.

            “No, please don’t,” he answered. “Though I will tell you that it’s quite possible that this island will one day be known as the place that changed the world forever.”

            He gave another weak smile.

            “That’s my hope, anyway,” he said. “An old man’s dream.”

            “It’s a good one,” she smiled.

            At that moment, the island’s security chief came running in.

            Charles Simon was a tall black man, powerfully built but with a very kind face. Like Prosser, he was middle aged and had a soft, accented voice, but his held much more power and volume than his employer’s. At the moment, he was wearing a black hooded poncho, which was soaking wet.

            “Dr. Prosser,” he said. “We have a boat wrecked on the island.”

            Helen felt as though she had received a sudden electric shock: a large boat trapped high on some rocks…

            “What?” Prosser snapped. “Where?”

            “The Eastern edge,” Charles replied. “Looks like it was thrown right up on the rocks. Wainwright and some men are trying to get the survivors off before it’s whipped back out to sea. I thought you’d want to come.”

            “Yes, you’re right,” said Prosser. “Lead the way.”

            “Hello, Helen,” Charles grinned on their way out. “Looks like you’ll be our guest again tonight!”

            “Looks like it,” she said, trying to grin back. “Be careful you two.”

            “Always,” said Charles, laughing and the two men rushed out of her office and down the hall. 

            The instant they were out of the room Helen dropped back into her chair, shut her eyes tight and gripped her head in her hands. The boat…she had dreamt that boat on the rocks. But there was something else: something Charles hadn’t mentioned or said that she had expected him to…what was it?

            She tried to walk back in her dream: there was the boat; a white and red yacht perched upon the rocks like a toy thrown aside by a child, leaning to starboard, great holes pounded into her sides. There were men: a small group of men with ropes and poles trying to get the people out of the boat while the waves crashed in around them…

            Then someone on the boat had turned to her and spoken…what had he looked like?

            She couldn’t remember. As a matter of fact, now that she thought about it, she couldn’t even remember if it was a man at all…but he had spoken, she was sure of it, and what had he said?

            Helen seemed to run up against a wall; whatever the man or the animal or whatever it was had said, she couldn’t think of it. But then…the scene had changed right after that, hadn’t it? Yes, it was as though she had turned around, but instead of rocks she had seen…trees. Trees being whipped about in the storm. And a path leading…

            She opened her eyes and sat up. She understood. She had seen the path that led from the main building down to the beach, and she had walked it. Which could only mean that she was supposed to do that right now!

            The elation that briefly filled her at having successfully remembered more of her dream died in the thunderclap that struck that very moment. She was supposed to go outside, down to the beach, in this? She wasn’t even sure she could find the beach in this weather; it was almost half a mile away through the forest!

            Helen glanced out of the window in the faint hope that either the storm had died down at least a little or that something would appear and show her that she had misinterpreted her dream and that she was actually supposed to stay inside, safe and warm and dry. But the storm raged as wildly as ever and no such thing appeared.

            Resigning herself with a groan, Helen got up and grabbed a flashlight from the front desk. She had learned long ago to never disobey her dreams, so out into the storm she had to go. Putting it off wouldn’t make her any drier the next minute, so without hesitating she threw open the front doors and stepped out into the night, bitterly wishing that she had thought to bring a poncho that morning.

            The rain hit her like a hail of bullets, smacking her painfully every second. The wind, which had been loud enough inside, was deafening out here, and every few minutes another lightning bolt would arch across the sky or strike the ocean in the distance, followed almost immediately by a blast of thunder. Her flashlight was thin and flickering in the driving rain and between that and the crashing trees she soon lost all sense of direction.

            Helen had been outside for maybe fifteen minutes (though of course it felt like much longer) before she decided she was lost. She thought she was still on the path, but she felt she should have left the trees by now, since they ended a ways back from the beach. She was soaking wet, sore all over from the pummeling rain, and with the alternating blinding light and inky blackness combined with the roaring winds she was completely disoriented and close to panic.

            Calm down, Helen, she told herself firmly. Your dream told you to come out here, and your dreams don’t lead you wrong...

            In the dim beam of her flashlight she spotted a turn off in the path and decided to try it. She took two steps down this new path before it suddenly started sloping steeply downward. She slipped and fell backwards with a shriek of surprise, hitting the ground with a painful smack that spattered her with mud.

            She looked around. The lights of the main building were just visible through the trees; a long way off. Dream or no dream, Helen was on the verge of giving up and going back. That’s when she saw it.

            Something was moving among the trees ahead of her; something very white and very bright.

            Helen felt a chill run down her spine, since she could only think of one thing that glowed like that.

            Ghosts…

            Yet, even as she thought it something told her that this wasn’t a ghost, at least not one that she need fear. The light that came from it felt very warm and soothing when it reached her sore body. She couldn’t see what it was, both because it was moving among the trees a good distance off and because it was so bright it was hard to focus on. But the sight of it seemed to give her renewed energy and she struggled to her feet.

            The moment she was standing, the thing started moving away from her through the trees. She followed it on the path, about a hundred yards behind and ten to the left of it. She hardly even noticed the rain or the wind or the thunder anymore; compared to her guide, they seemed feeble and unimportant distractions at best.

            Suddenly, the trees vanished from either side of her. The Guide sped up. Helen started running to follow, slipping a little in the mud. Even in the open, she couldn’t tell the shape of the thing; it was as if it nothing but a ball of light streaking across the ground. Occasionally, Helen caught glimpses of movement within the light, like limbs, but she never could be sure if it had two or four or some other number.

            Then, all at once, the ground gave way beneath her feet and she fell forward with a cry. Fortunately, she had only run over a very shallow bank and had fallen onto soft, wet sand. Picking herself up and spitting sand out of her mouth, Helen looked around. The White Guide had vanished as suddenly as it had come.

            But as she shone her flashlight around the beach, hoping to catch a glimpse of it (though she knew that she wouldn’t need a flashlight if it were still around), the beam shone on something else; something lying on the beach just above the water line.

            It was a body.

            Hendricks regained consciousness in a jerky series of sensations. He first became aware that someone was talking. Then (it seemed a long time later), he realized that his head was lying on something soft and warm. Then, opening his eyes, he became aware that a bright light was shinning in them, so he closed them again.

            “Oh, thank God!” came a woman’s voice, barely audible over the rain and wind. “I was wondering what I was going to do if you didn’t wake up!”

            Hendricks opened his eyes again. The flashlight, which had been shining in his face, had been set aside, so that its light showed the person who currently was cradling his head in her lap.

            This particular person had inky black hair that hung down to her shoulders. She had a pale, oval-shaped face that was currently spattered with mud. She also had large, bright green eyes that were currently looking straight into his own, eyes almost the exact same color as the dress which the rain had wrapped tightly about her.

In short, she was beautiful.

            “Can you stand?” asked the apparition.

            It seemed a very difficult question. Hendricks couldn’t think how to answer it. Mostly because every time he tried to consider it, the thought My God, she’s beautiful! popped into his head and drove out everything else. 

            “Hey,” she said. “Can you understand me? Do you speak English? O es que hablas Espanol?”

            “What?” he asked, finding his voice.

            “I was just asking whether you spoke English or Spanish,” she said. “Can you stand?”

            Hendricks’s overwhelmed brain finally managed to address the point.

            “I think so,” he said. He sat up, and as he did so he became aware that every inch of his body ached as though someone had beaten him. The Vision put a hand under his arm and helped him up.

            “Here, let’s get you back to the villa; it’s closer,” she said. “My name’s Helen, by the way. I work here.”

            “Hendricks.” 

Next Week: 

Chapter Three: The White Dog