kaolin fire presents :: writing :: fiction

"Dreamcatcher"

words

It was a modern room. Silver-gray slabs of plastic lined the walls. There was the thinnest layer of carpeting on the floor, forest green. One woman stood before a spotless, matte black desk, her arms crossed. She wore a pair of time-faded blue-jeans and a plain black short-sleeved t-shirt. Her dirty-blonde hair fell choppily to her shoulders and in front of her doe-brown eyes. She was staring with an air of expectancy at the woman behind the desk.

The woman at the desk had on an obviously expensive teal silk gown under a spotlessly white lab coat. She had long, straight brown hair that flowed past her shoulders. She managed not to gape. She blinked a few times, slowly.

The lady before the desk uncrossed her arms and cleared her throat. "Doctor Dreyman?"

She gathered her bearing. "You really want this?"

"Yes! I've been saving for over three years for your procedure. Finally, I'll be able to show everyone... they'll believe me. I've got the money. I've got it right here with me. You'll do it, won't you? Please, Doctor?"

"I'll do it. If you'll talk to my secretary, I'm sure we can work out a time that's good for you."

"Are you busy? I mean... I've been waiting so long I suppose I could wait a little longer. But... if you weren't busy. I had nothing planned. I'd... If you didn't have anything else to do, you see... I've waited so long."

"I'm afraid there's a waiting list. Appointments are usually filled about three months in advance. You seem to have quite a bit of character, I'm sure you can wait a bit longer. If you'll just talk with my secretary?"

Her posture dropped as the nervous energy drained out of her. She'd done it. She'd come to the office. She'd talked to the lady. She'd fought for her appointment. She'd get it. But three months? One way or the other the battle was over. "Thank you, Doctor." She'd been building up to this moment for three years and now it had been moved and she had to just keep herself going until she got there. Three months. In slow motion, she turned around and walked out.

The conversation with the secretary was short. She didn't even hear herself talking. Three months. She gave the secretary her information and took the reminder note that she was given, and walked back to the hostel where she was staying.

A day or two later she looked at the slip, and saw that the appointment was five months away. "Appointments are usually filled about three months in advance," she thought to herself. "But I suppose I'm not usual." She took it all with the same glum indifference. She just had to keep herself going until then.



Julie Dreyman sat in her chair and pondered the case. Anna had given her five months to decide if she'd really do it. What harm could come of it? She was just another client. So... she may be delusional... she's not from the same social strata as the rest of my clients... but... what harm could come of it? Would word of her scare my other clients away? After all... If someone saw a Rolls mechanic working on a Volkswagen, would they still think as highly of the mechanic? On top of that, though, I'm curious. I'm really curious. It partially depends on where in her mind this is coming from. If somehow some area right after the retina were causing these patterns that she was interpreting, then likely nothing would show. Nothing substantial, at least. But these hallucinations seemed much more fleshed out.

That was part of the problem. Depending on how well made they were, there could be no telling them from the real thing. And if word got out that memories could be fabricated so fully that her machine could not tell the difference... She would lose her reputability. It wouldn't matter that the memories weren't being consciously fabricated, that it was doubtful any person could actually create, willfully, a memory so complete that it would fool her machine. That seed of public ignorance could destroy her.

"Anna?"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"What was that lady's name? I'd like to look into her history."

"Her history?"

"I need to decide if doing her would be a liability. I can't think of where else to look but in her past. The cleaner she is, the easier it will be to do her."

The secretary was silent for a moment. "Sara. Sara Smitte. Born in Seattle. She gave a temporary address here, some sort of boarding house or hostel. She's twenty-seven years old. Single. Didn't give any references."

"Thank you. I suppose I'll start making some calls."

"As far as I can tell, she's lived in Seattle all her life. Her brother's a webmaster-for-hire. Didn't seem to mention any romantic involvements. She's worked in a bakery for at least eight years. I think she manages it now. She likes to go hiking. She seems to be very frugal, there were some jokes on the page to that effect. I didn't find anything odd on any of the pages... Her friends even seem normal enough."

Julie blinked. "You figured I'd want to know?"

"Well... it was a slow day, and you seemed a little odd afterwards, so I thought I'd check into her. If you don't mind me asking, what's bugging you?"

"I can't say, I'm sorry. Patient privacy."

It was Anna's turn to be surprised. "If you insist. You realise I can simply look it up in her folder?"

"Yes. And I don't mind. If I decide to take her."



Julie sat at her desk. Two weeks. Two weeks and I haven't been able to find anything about her beyond what Anna found. If there's a media blitz in her past... it's been erased so completely that it never existed. An odd parallel. Hrm.



"Is Sara in?"

"One sec, I'll check."

"Thanks."

Julie sat at the phone for a bit. Anna had wanted to make the call, but she just had to hear the tone of Sara's voice. She had to be absolutely sure that it wasn't simply a trap waiting to be sprung.

"Hello?"

"This is Doctor Dreyman. I was wondering if you were available this afternoon. We had a cancellation."

There was a short moment of silence and then a swallowed shriek. Sara held her voice very calm. "You're sure? You're not pulling my leg, or something? No, you wouldn't do that. I'm free. Yeah. I'll be there. Do I just go to the office, or...?"

"Come to the office, and I'll take you to the lab. It won't take long."

"Allright. I'll be there. And. And... thank you, Doctor."

Julie hung up the phone. She seemed to be for real. Now would come the real test. Just what was in Sara's brain?



Sara was seated in a technological nightmare. It looked like a "modernist" had redesigned the electric chair. Four silver legs ran down to the floor from the seat, bounced off the ground and inwards where they connected in a blunted point just below the seat. The back was a tall, austere frame with a bit of canvas tautly connected. The canvas was lightly painted with cold grey runes all linked together in a sort of web on a plain black background. There was just enough padding on the seat to say, "I know what comfort is. But I won't give you that." Above her was a semicircular dome with what looked like thousands of tiny needles all pointed straight towards her head. Sara fidgeted, fighting for calm.

She was alone in the room, and the voice in her head would not shut up. It was screaming and tearing at her. "You little bitch! Just wait until you have a daughter! I'll give her the what-for for you. She won't have a moment to herself. Just wait. Just wait and watch and see what a miserable wretch you'll be, watching your daughter."

She tried to ignore the voice. It sweetened for a moment.

"I'll make you a deal though. You know that I always keep my deals. I'll spare you the pain of having me. I can do that, you know. Just a little snip here and a little snip there. If you give me the access, I can make it so you'll never feel the pain. Isn't that what you want? To stop feeling the pain?"

She said nothing. She didn't move. She just sat. Her eyes were locked on the door before her.

"Sara? Sara? What do you want? I can give you anything you want. You know that. We've dealt before. What do you want this time? Sara? Sara, what do you want this time?"

The door opened. Julie walked in, carrying some papers. "If you'll sign these, we're ready."

"What are they?" The voice in her head was scraping nails on a pane of glass. Her voice didn't waver.

"Routine stuff saying you've read enough about the procedure to make an adult and educated decision. If you haven't, I have pamphlets here that will fill you in on everything."

Julie's voice was echoing from every direction, interwoven with laughter. It wants me to doubt. I won't doubt. It wants me to doubt. "I'll sign. Do you have a pen?"

"Yes, here."

She took the pen Julie was offering, and signed everything that was put before her.

"Now remember. Think back to the memory. Think back to what you want to record. Concentrate on the beginning. The start. Concentrate on the beginning. Concentrate. Concentrate."

She concentrated. It was more painful than she'd remembered. There was a burning flame in her womb removing one layer of her being at a time. A tear started to form in the corner of her eye.

"Are you ready?"

The verbal reply was lost in the growing din of reverb. Nothing was draining, it was building to some sort of crescendo. She thought she would die if it got there. She didn't want to die. "Please," she gasped.



The pain was gone.

It was dark.

It was quiet.

The pain was gone.

She was in her room. She was twelve years old. She was lying in her bed. There was a tree branch scratching the window. It was raining a little outside.

She'd had a dream. She was talking to someone. They'd been talking nonsense but she'd understood it. They knew her. It was a friend of her mother's. It wanted to be her friend. It didn't seem odd to her. It didn't seem odd to her that she was talking to a fairy. It didn't seem odd that the fairy knew her name. She had to go to the bathroom. The fairy told her it was okay. It was time. She should go to the bathroom. It wasn't strange that the fairy knew she had to go to the bathroom. Her tummy felt warm. She squatted and went because there wasn't anyone else around and the fairy told her it was okay. Then she'd woken up.

She'd had a dream. She looked around. Something was wrong. She'd wet her bed. She'd had a dream about that and she'd actually done it. She felt ashamed. She hadn't wet her bed since she was four. She crawled out of bed, planning to hide what had happened. She'd stuff the sheets in the hamper, and put on new ones, and find a towel to dry the mattress as best she could. Nooone would need to know. She turned on the light.

She turned on the light and she screamed. There was a voice in her head and it was laughing at her. She knew it was the fairy. The fairy. Now she could see the razored teeth that the fairy had. The fairy was smiling. She screamed. There was blood all over the sheets and running down her legs. She screamed.

Her mother came running in. Her mother stopped and looked around and started crying. Her mother never cried. Her mother was crying. Why was her mother crying? "Am I going to die?" she asked herself. The fairy just laughed. In her mind, the fairy was laughing, and the laughing hurt. The fairy was hurting her. The laughter hurt.

"I'm sorry." She wasn't sure if her mother had said it or if she had. Maybe they both had. She was sorry for bleeding. She didn't want to be bleeding. She was sorry for having listened to the fairy. She was very sorry for having listened to the fairy.

"I'm sorry." Her mother said it this time, definitely. Why was her mother sorry? Why was her mother crying?

"Why? What's wrong? What's happening? Mommy?"

Her mother took her to the bathroom and put her in the tub and started running water, warm water, over her.

"Mommy? Do you know? The fairy?"

Her mother composed herself. She nodded. "Yes. I know the fairy. I'm sorry. I... She... She's been in the family a long time. Your grandmother's mother had her, and probably much further back than that. I don't know why. I don't know what, really. She just... She sits in your mind and makes you do things. I'm sorry I hadn't told you. I kept putting it off, thinking I'd have more time. Maybe she did that to me. Maybe she told me I had more time. I thought I'd be able to fight her. I'd tried long and hard to fight her. She didn't hurt me much anymore. I'd stuck her in a box in my mind and I'd thought, almost, that she was gone. Hurt. Dead or dying. I'm sorry."

"Why? Why am I bleeding? Why did the fairy come to me?"

"The fairy didn't cause your bleeding. She may have tried to tell you that. She may have even helped it along. The blood is your entrance to womanhood. You'll have it a few days every month. The blood means that you could have a child now. The blood is what she feeds on. She feeds on your mind and she feeds on the blood. When it's... that time of the month, she'll be stronger. The fairy makes sure our line can't have a boy. She sees them and she eats them, and that's why... that's why you couldn't have a brother. I'm sorry. And now she's yours, oh I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Sara I'm so sorry."

Near the end she didn't notice her mother. She just felt the burning in her womb and the pain in her head. The pain was pulsating, throbbing, knocking her on the head from the inside. The fairy was laughing. The fairy was bowling over in laughter. Then she blacked out.



"Sara? Sara, are you allright?"

She looked up. Her face was caked with tears. But. She couldn't feel the fairy. It was allright. She looked up. The doctor was standing over her with worry. "It's okay. It's good. She's gone. I remember her. I remember her a little. But she's gone. Can you... show me the tape?"

Relief washed over Julie's face. "Yes. Why don't you come with me and we'll get you prettied up, and then we'll watch the video together. I've already gone over it. The fairy's there, just as you'd described her. I'd... like your permission to keep a copy, if you don't mind. I want to study it. I... I'm intrigued by what happened. Would you mind if I kept in touch with you?"

"Sure, fine. It's over, isn't it? It's over?"

"Yes. It's all over. The fairy's gone. You said so yourself. Either she's in the video or she's in your head but has been reduced along with the memory to nothing more than randomly scattered disharmonized waves of probability. She's gone."