Dreamer of the Day

“How are we today, Mark?” It was a silly question. The young man sitting on the couch nearly wringing the skin off his hands was obviously not well. The rocking of his body would have put any baby to sleep, at least until they looked upon the sunken cheeks and pale complexion. The only parts of his face that seemed to still have any life were his eyes; the light blue orbs could still react quickly, dancing around rooms with paranoid skill. “I…I’m ok,” he muttered. “I had the dream again.” Across the room, the seasoned psychiatrist began scribbling notes on a notepad. “You did? Even with this new medication?” Mark’s shoulders had fallen long ago, draped now with a t-shirt that seemed to hang on him. Somehow they seemed to sink a bit deeper. “Yes, I take it every day, just like it says to. But it just keeps coming...I can’t take this anymore.” The pen stopped. The doctor sighed quietly, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Six months of treatment, and every result was the same: nothing. Different drugs, different therapies; nothing happened. The only thing that changed was his patient was progressively getting worse. Whatever mental anguish was going on inside the head of that young man was manifesting itself physically. The little sleep he got could only be achieved under the heaviest of sedatives. He no longer had the energy to even pick his head up and look his doctor in the eye. Mark had first entered his office a handsome and successful young man of 23, and now he was an empty shell of his former self. “Mark, to be honest, I don’t think I can help you.” He wrote quickly on the bottom of his notepad and tore it out. “I’m sending you to a specialist. Here is the address. He will be able to do more than I can. Good luck.” He murmured something into the intercom on his desk, and the door opened to reveal Mark’s attending nurse. She pushed a wheelchair over to the couch and helped the bent man get settled. She took the yellow piece of paper and put it into Mark’s motionless hand. As she wheeled him to the door, the doctor motioned her to wait. “Mark, before you go, please know that your dreams are not real. Believe me.” For the first time in months, Mark met his doctor’s gaze straight on. His voice was so strong it made his nurse jump. “Not these dreams. They come for me.” A few days later, Mark sat hunched in his wheelchair, slowly rocking to the rhythm of his own mind. His nurse sat beside him, flipping through an out of date waiting room magazine. He twisted his head slightly to stare at her. After their months together he had memorized the smooth curve of her neck, the sweet scent of her perfume, even the songs she hummed quietly when they waited for doctors to see him. Her blonde hair hung about her shoulders, but he only knew that from a stolen glance at her driver’s license weeks ago. She always appeared to him with a pony tail. “Penny?” She leaned forward to find his gaze. “Are you feeling alright, Mark? Do you need something?” He shook his head slightly. “What do you dream about?” She set the magazine aside. “Well, last night I had a dream that I was back in high school. The teacher was yelling at me because I forgot my homework. Then I looked down and realized that I was in my underwear!” She laughed, but Mark only heard music. Placing a soft hand on his, she said, “Soon you’ll be having those kinds of dreams too. Apparently this Dr. Ashling is one of the best.” A half hour later, Mark was finally wheeled out of the waiting room and into a small office. He forced his head up at the man sitting across him at the desk. Dr. Ashling was round faced and seemed to be in his mid-forties. He motioned for Penny to sit next to Mark. “Mark Formidine, I’m happy to finally meet you. This must be your nurse, Miss…” He started flipping through a pile of papers, but Penny raised a hand. “Penelope Harding.” “Right,” Ashling said dismissively. His excitement was that of a child seeing a prized toy in a store window. “Mark, I’ve reviewed your file, and I must say that I’m excited to be able to work on your case. It’s very interesting. You are the perfect candidate for a drug I’m developing. It may be experimental at this point, but I’m confident that it will make a significant change in your sleeping habits.” Penny leaned forward in her chair. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I’m not sure if Mark wants to be someone’s guinea pig. We were not informed about any experiments.” Ashling frowned and turned to her as if he had just realized she was still in the room. “As his nurse, are you in charge of his medical decisions?” “Well, no, but – “ “I didn’t think so,” he jumped up and came around the desk to speak closely to Mark. Gripping on to the armrests of his wheelchair, a fire in his eyes, he said, “Mark, do you want to not only get rid of your nightmares, but control your dreams? My drug Somnicil can do that for you. With your help, we’ll even be able to help others with your problem. What do you say?” Never living through the hell of his nightmares was a dream that Mark wanted to have. He nodded slowly, and Ashling grinned. “Wonderful. You’ll never wake up afraid again.” The next two weeks flew by. Penny wasn’t too far off on her comparison of Mark to a lab animal. He was poked and prodded by Ashling and his colleagues. They seemed to do every medical test known, even running some tests twice. It was all to make sure that Mark was healthy enough to become ‘a true specimen of health’, as Dr. Ashling put it. Blood tests, scans, and hours of therapy sessions. Mark found himself anxious. The hope of never having his nightmares again was what was driving him on. Finally, the day came. Penny drove him to a hospital outside of town where Ashling said he preferred to work on his more important studies. More tests were performed, and Mark found himself on a stretcher wheeled into a large room full of strange equipment. Penny took his hand gently. “Don’t worry, everything will be fine.” The scent of perfume was almost like another blanket comforting him. She looked up as a door opened. Her beauty faded as she frowned. “And here is our illustrious doctor now.” Ashling came into view, his round face was flushed with excitement. “We’re all set. I hope you’re ready.” He glanced at Penny. “Now Miss Harding, you must go.” Mark smiled to himself as Penny reminded him of a mother bear protecting her cub. “What? I’m not going anywhere. It’s my job to-” “Well it won’t be your job soon,” Ashling snapped. “I insist that you allow me to work or Mark may not receive any of the benefits. Perhaps I should delay everything to have a chat with your supervisor.” Gritting her teeth, Penny rose to go. She patted Mark’s hand gently and was gone. As soon as Penny was out of earshot, Ashling began talking quickly. “Mark, I know you’re not going to enjoy this part of the process, but we have to make you go to sleep and let dreaming begin before we administer the Somnicil. Once the drug begins to take affect, your subconscious will become part of the active conscious. It will be just like you’re here talking to me, but still inside a dream. When this happens, take control, do whatever you desire.” Mark was shaking from the thought of experiencing another dream. “What happens if it goes wrong?” Ashling looked as if what he had said was outrageous. “It won’t. But just in case we will be monitoring your brain activity. If that becomes too intense, we’ll pull the drug and wake you up.” He was practically giddy. “Ready to make history?” Before Mark could even answer, a nurse began an IV in his left arm. A cold wave began to spread from the injection spot throughout his body. His eyelids seemed extremely heavy. His initial reaction was to fight the sleep descending upon him, but all of his muscles seemed even weaker than usual. The last image he had was Dr. Ashling grinning from ear to ear. Soon, he could fight no more, and his eyelids fell, throwing him into darkness. A plowed field stretched out in all directions. The perfectly straight rows crested and dipped with perfect symmetry. The darkness was thick, but the gray soil seemed to glow from beneath. Water suddenly began flowing in each of the rows, changing the dry, dusty soil into sticky mud. Movement was difficult and slow going. The view suddenly focused on a specific mound. It had begun to pulse, the mud having already died and cracked. Other mounds were acting similarly, moving with greater speed. With a sudden snapping sound, a human arm burst from a mound and gripped the surrounding earth. Every mound followed suit, and soon the mounds were birthing grotesque human torsos. Their bald, bloodless faces moaned in agony, the sound coming through rotting or missing teeth. The first out of their mounds had no legs; their torsos simply ended with lumpy tails much like a slug. The mud that had given them life was oozing out of their mouths, dripping down their chins. Their clawing fingers climbed up the standing legs like termites up a tree. Soon they piled themselves overtop the eyes, and they pushed down. A falling sensation. Tearing through mud and cobwebs. The floor was wet dirt, squishing with each footstep. In the darkness, a crouched figure could be seen in a corner. The arms were thin and feminine, hugging the sickly thin body frame. As the view inched closer, the figure turned and her face fell into the only shaft of light. Suddenly an audible gasp filled the room. Mark quickly realized it was coming from his own mouth. The pungent smell of wet earth and rotting flesh slammed into his head with nearly physical force, causing him to feel dizzy. He was sick to his stomach, and the fear was choking the breath from his body. His mind was painfully clear: the details of the room had sharpened, and ever sense was at full alert. He remembered lying on the stretcher in the hospital and Dr. Ashling’s words, ‘It will be like just you’re here talking to me, but still inside a dream’. He felt as if he had already woken up from a horrible nightmare; but looking at his surroundings, he was sure it wasn’t over. His gaze fell to the woman again. Her face was a pale gray color, and he could tell there had been some beauty in those features, but they were long gone. Where her eyes should have been was nothing but a pair of dark holes, pits that seemed to go on forever. Fat tears rolled down her bony cheeks, red stained rivers dripping on to her tattered dress. One of her thin hands moved downward to clutch her swollen belly, and Mark realized that sick woman was carrying a child. Her belly rolled in waves, and for a moment he thought he saw the shape of a hand pushing towards her dress. It’s not real, he told himself. It’s just a dream. The woman was rising from her corner. Mark hurried backwards, slamming into the wall behind him. It was cool and damp to the touch. The woman had reached him from across the room. Standing before him, she reached out a hand, the skin underneath her wrist rotting. “Come to me,” she said, her voice clear and strong. It was as smooth as the most beautiful of songs, but held a deep sadness that struck Mark in the chest like a fist. Tears ran down his face, pouring like a spilled glass from his eyes. The tears splattered his shirt, instantly spotting the white shirt with red stains. The now crimson shirt stuck to his chest, filling it with a heavy smell he recognized as blood. He shook his head in fear, but the woman still came closer, holding her hand out level with his chest. He was screaming. She was close to him now, and she grabbed his wrist with a hidden strength. With a gentleness he did not expect, she pressed his palm to her naked sternum, holding it there until he felt the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. He looked up and saw the curve of her neck, almost as elegant as a swan. Somehow the beat was calming him, and for a moment he felt as if her skin was softening beneath his touch. He was dizzy and barely able to see clearly. She took his other hand and placed it on her stomach, and what Mark felt was an entirely different rhythm altogether. It was as if a storm raged inside her, the furious waves slamming against his palm. He pulled away as if touching a hot iron, and the woman seemed enraged. She seemed to be speaking to him, but none of the mangled sounds made any sense. Mark began struggling to pull away. The hand against her suddenly appeared thin and wrinkled. When he looked up at the woman, he could see the color was coming back to her skin, and the pits of her eyes were lightening. She was draining him with each moment. He fought to pull away, but she simply stood unflinchingly against his assaults. Finally, with his last ounce of strength, Mark plunged his free fist into the neck of the woman before him. He broke her skin and sank his fist into her flesh with ease, pushing past soft bones and old tissue. She screamed in agony as dark blood spurted from the massive wound, hitting him in the face and running down his own neck. She let go and fell backwards to the ground. Mark fell back into the wall behind him, sinking to the floor. His breath was ragged in his lungs, but every muscle tense in preparation. The woman lay on the dirt floor, dark red ooze pooling around her body. The color was again missing from her face, and her swollen belly was deflating much like a wounded balloon. Mark watched as the body stopped moving, and he closed his eyes in exhaustion, throwing him once again in darkness. The light behind his eyelids was nearly blinding. Mark squeezed them tightly shut, but the sharp glow seemed to slip through. After a long moment, he slowly opened one eye, then the other. He was lying in his stretcher in the tiny hospital room Ashling has assigned to him two weeks ago. The walls were perfectly white and radiating light, as were the pure white linens he laid on. The source of the brilliant light was the large picture window to his left, flooding the room in waves of sunlight. A woman was standing near the window, her back towards him. The deep blue dress she wore highlighted her slender frame. It cascaded down like a waterfall, pooling on the floor around her. Blonde hair hung in loose curls just below her neck, and it swung softly as she snapped her head around. It was Penny, her face glowing in the sun. She smiled and the room was suddenly warmer. “Are you feeling alright?” A weight suddenly lifted from his chest. He wanted to run to her, but the muscles of his body did not comply. Gritting his teeth, he focused all his energy into his torso, summoning it to action like a master summons his slave. With great effort, he managed to move his upper body, slowly lifting his back off the bed. His arms moved to assist, and slowly, Mark found himself at a position he had not been in months – sitting upright. “Yes,” he said, smiling. “I think I’ll be alright now.” Penny stood there, her body turned towards him in the sunlight, the watery dress twisting with the new current. She raised one milky white arm and touched the glass with her palm. It seemed to vibrate with her touch. Gazing back towards the window, she spoke softly but with a strength that compelled Mark to listen with all his being. “You have unlocked all doors. Nothing is hidden from you now. The sleeper has awakened.” Mark cocked his head in confusion. “What does that mean?” But even before the question left his lips, he knew the answer. Images began passing through his mind like the waterfall of Penny’s dress. Scattered memories found their place in perfect order with crystal clarity. His childhood was a movie running before his eyes at lightning speed, every emotion, and every lesson as clear as the day he learned it. Books read in passing he knew he could quote like Scripture, and every recess of his mind seemed to come forth and bow before him. The darkest secrets, the long buried desires of a lost boy. Initially when the memories of death and despair flooded towards him, he cringed in fear. But a new sense of power came over him, and somehow knew that they would bend to his will. And they did; the chains that held him prisoner in his body slid away and what was left was as brilliant as the sun that had poured through that window. The absence of one part of himself made him tilt his head back and laugh; an uproarious laugh that filled the hallways of the hospital, made other patients sit up and take notice. It was gone, and he loved it. Ashling has stripped him of the disease that plagued him for far too long. There was no longer any fear. A rush of fresh air and sunlight hit him in the face as it came through the open door. It stung his eyes, but the message never made it to his brain. The blue orbs remained fixed on the distance, stretching miles beyond the hospital. A large orderly was grinning broadly at him, shaking his hand and patting him on the shoulder. He moved aside as he stepped over the threshold. “I’ll miss you, Mark. But honestly I hope you don’t come back.” A chill ran from the top of his spine down to his lower back. Suddenly he was aware of the soft linen sheets on his hospital bed and the sensation of moving. He could swear that he heard extra voices, but glancing around, he realized it was only the smiling orderly and himself in the large lobby. Shaking his head clear of the distraction, he nodded to the orderly and took one step over the threshold. With that, the door swung shut behind him. There was no reason to worry; Mark knew he would never set foot in a mental hospital ever again. The clink of the pills riding in their bottle inside his pocket was comforting; any time he felt himself slipping backwards, he could take one and feel power surging through him. And he was powerful. The minions festering in this world were such low creatures now. They were roaches crawling through the streets, popping out of forgotten cracks in decaying walls. He could squash them all with the control in his mind. His brain was an insatiable creature, begging constantly to be filled. The fears and desires of this temporary world had been left behind. A taxi was waiting for him. Getting in, he only had to make eye contact with the driver in the rear view mirror before the cab’s engine roared to life and they were off. After a half hour of staring out the window, Mark’s attention was pulled back to the view in the small mirror. He met the driver’s eyes again. The driver’s voice was raspy and hard to hear over the engine hum. “Do you think you can live out there again?” Mark smiled, but there was no humor behind it. His body had forgotten how to be amused. “Yes, I feel like nothing can stop me now.” 6 Months Later… Penelope Harding was busy working at the mental asylum outside of town. A number of new patients had just arrived, and it was a large adjustment from her previous position of caring for Mark alone. By noon she was nearly deaf from the screams of a deranged man on her floor. She left his room shaking her head, closing the door behind her as his sedative took affect. Leaning against the door, she looked up and saw a familiar man in a white coat several doors down, peeking in the window of a schizophrenic’s room. “Dr. Ashling?” He nearly jumped a foot. Recovering quickly, he smoothed down his coat and smiled as Penny approached. “Oh Miss Harding, how are you? I see you’re back to your old exciting position.” “Yes,” she said, crossing her arms. “May I ask what you’re doing here?” He stopped for a moment, smiling. “Well, I’m…simply here to speak to one of the doctors about new patients who would benefit from Somnicil. You know, I always wish to help those who suffer. Somnicil is about to break into the mass market. It’s very exciting. Any suggestions?” “No,” Penny said slowly, her gaze unwavering. “I wouldn’t be the one to ask. I – “ “I didn’t think so,” Ashling said quickly. “I must be off, excuse me.” He broke away from her and flew down the hallway, his coat flapping behind him. Penny watched him as he walked away, staring long after he was gone. Something about Ashling’s visit didn’t sit well with her, and she decided it was time she look in on Somnicil’s favorite patient. Mark Formidine sat on the couch of his apartment, rocking slowly. The living room was piled from floor to ceiling with books, boxes, and random pieces of clothing. The tiny kitchen wasn’t much better. The dishwasher was of no real use to him anymore, so even it was filled with books he decided the public library didn’t need as much as he did. He stared at the small pill bottle on his coffee table, and he could swear it was staring back at him. He had been convinced that he was free from his nightmares, the horrid images that haunted every moment. And for the first 2 months he had been; he got a new job, moved in to his apartment, and even made some friends. Through all these changes one thing remained the same – Somnicil was his constant companion. The little bottle went everywhere with him, the source of great satisfaction when it was time to take another dose. But eventually his dose wasn’t working as well anymore. He was tossing and turning in his sleep, at times unable to control what was happening in his subconscious. Soon he was barely sleeping. When his boss asked him what was wrong, he shrugged it off as stress. Coworkers began staring at him, often avoiding the nervous and disheveled man walking near them. The worst moment was when Mark was sitting in his cubicle, typing away, when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. Turning, he found himself beneath the frame of the woman from his nightmares, dripping blood all over the carpeted floor. He screamed in horror, but no one seemed to notice. In fact a group of coworkers near the copy machine began giggling quietly or rolling their eyes. Afraid of losing the new life he had, Mark began taking more Somnicil, and he was sleeping better again. But not even this solution worked – the Somnicil was just not having the same effect. Now he was taking 5 times his first dose and barely able to keep back the fear in his mind. There was a soft knock at his front door. Mark nearly bit through his fingers from his tension. He flipped open the pill bottle with a shaky hand, spilling most of its contents on the floor. Frantic, Mark dove to the floor, gathering the escaping capsules together, swallowing a few as he went. A sudden glow filled the room, and he looked up to see the door was open. He nearly wept with joy when he recognized Penny’s blonde hair reflected in the light. She saw him and gasped. “Mark, are you alright? What’s happened?” She ran to him and helped him back onto the couch, then took a moment to look around. The apartment was a disaster, and she felt her stomach jump when the smell of rotting food and body odor hit her. This miracle drug obviously was going wrong. Mark was clutching her leg, rocking. “Penny, you can save me. I need more pills.” He held up the bottle to her face. She smiled down at him and shook her head. “Mark, I really think you should come back with me. I can take care of you at the hospital.” She pulled gently on his arm, but he ripped it away. “No! I’m never going back there,” his breath was coming in quick gasps. “Look, I’m much better now.” His shaky laughter began to frighten her. “I…I’ve been reading, and I can see everything now, Penny. It’s wonderful. I just need more pills to make it work, please.” Penny bit her lower lip, wondering what she could do. She couldn’t force Mark to leave alone; there would have to be a way to get some help. “Mark,” she said, brushing the hair from his eyes. “How about I stay here and take care of you tonight?” His eyes lit up as he hugged her leg tighter. “Yes! You can keep her away. I knew you’d come for me. You told me the doors would be open for me now. I knew you would help. I knew you wouldn’t leave me for long.” Penny nodded. “Sure, I won’t go anywhere.” Later that evening Penny helped Mark settle in his tiny bedroom, clearing the bed of books, ripped magazines, and dirty socks. He swallowed his nightly dose of Somnicil and pulled his blanket up to his chin. “She won’t find me with you here, right?” “Of course not, Mark,” Penny said. “I’ll be right outside the door. Call if you need anything. Sleep well.” She smiled much like his mother did before she tucked him in as a child. She shut off the light as she left, closing the door behind her. Even after months of caring for Mark, Penny had never been sure if this dream woman haunting him had been a real person in his life or not. There were people in her past that she had dreamt about, but none of them had the power to destroy her sanity. Sighing as she entered the cluttered living room, she decided to look through some of the books in his small library. The darkness was thick as it descended. Opening his eyes, Mark found his vision clearing and he could see he was in the courtyard of his college campus. This had always been a pleasant place, and he smiled as he recalled many happy memories of this place. Students were sitting on scattered benches in the grassy square, talking and laughing. The campus buildings were bigger than he remembered, and they seemed to loom over him. Glancing away, he walked down a small path towards one building. A young woman was standing at the path’s end. She looked lovely in the sunshine, her dark brown hair catching the light. She waved to him as he approached. “Mark, how are you?” She smiled and her blue eyes sparkled. He stopped for a moment, and then pulled her close into a strong embrace. “Deidre, I missed you so much. I knew you’d never really leave me.” She pulled back and smiled again. “Of course not, darling. I love you, how could I leave?” She tilted her head to the side, and Mark reached out to touch the smooth skin of her neck. She put her hand on top of his and batted her eyes. “But now it’s time that you keep your promise.” Mark was confused. “Promise? What promise?” She pulled his hand away from his neck and put it on her belly. He had not noticed until that moment that it was swollen tight under her shirt. “You said we’d be a family. That we’d be together and happy. Now give that to me.” Penny was picking through Mark’s books, trying to find something that would keep her awake. She had taken out her cell phone to call the mental asylum, but she could not get any reception. There was no way to find a phone in the mess of Mark’s apartment, so she didn’t bother trying. It didn’t matter; she would just wait until morning. Skipping over the philosophy books, she picked up an American history book and flipped through the pages. It was nearly impossible to read due to the amount of scribbled notes Mark had taken all through each paragraph. She placed it on another pile and looked again. This time she noticed a smaller book lying near the couch. Unlike any of the other books, it was small with a red hard cover. Opening it, Penny discovered it was a journal. Entries spoke of college classes, women, and parties. Graduation day was a happy entry for Mark. A woman’s name kept appearing, and from the descriptions Penny figured that this ‘Deirdre’ woman must have been a girlfriend. The relationship sounded serious – he spoke very highly of the woman, often using the journal to create drafts of love poetry dedicated to her. And then the entries took a turn. Deidre wanted to go to graduate school, and Mark wanted her to stay home and get married. Apparently they began arguing fairly often, Mark describing Deidre driving away in her car, crying bitterly. After a particularly nasty fight, Deidre revealed a secret – she was pregnant. Mark seemed shocked from his writing, but excited about being someone’s father. Unfortunately Deidre didn’t seem to feel the same way; Mark quoted her as saying she was still leaving for school, no matter what. Finally, Penny turned to the last entry, where she found newspaper clippings stuffed in the pages. They were a number articles about a missing woman, showing a picture of a smiling young woman with dark hair. The last entry was obviously written hastily: I can’t believe she was going to leave me. Such a drama queen, running out to her father’s cabin to think. Girls are all the same. She just wanted me to follow her, to beg her to come back. And of course, stupid me, I did. And for some reason she acted surprised when I showed up, screaming and throwing books at me. She shouldn’t be going anywhere. She is mine and she can’t help that. And yet she ruined it. Stupid bitch, she had to ruin everything. I can only say that I loved her so much that it nearly killed both of us. She knows now. She was quiet after a while, finally she stopped crying. Her face was still wet when I left, eyes staring at me like I did something wrong. I didn’t. I fixed it all, she just couldn’t see it. Mark looked up at Deidre, but it was no longer her face. It was the same face from so many nightmares before, black pits where her eyes had been, red stripes running down her cheeks. “Come with us,” she hissed. “You wanted to be a family, so come with us.” The smooth skin of her neck was now broken, oozing red liquid all over her dress. Mark pulled away screaming. The other students in the quad responded by gathering behind him, pushing him closer to the deteriorating woman. He had no control of what was happening. “Penny! Help me! Wake me up!” The horde was pushing him ever closer, and he could smell the blood on Deidre’s white dress. Penny held up the article about Deidre, studying the girl’s face carefully. She was an aspect of Mark’s life that she had never known about. It was like she didn’t know her patient at all now. Could Mark have had something to do with her disappearance? She shook the thought away. Mark may not be the most stable person, but he wasn’t violent. But even as she convinced herself of this fact, a knot of worry was forming in her stomach. A thud sounded from Mark’s bedroom. Dropping the article, Penny quickly ran to the door. “Mark? Are you alright?” She whipped open the door to find pitch blackness. Reaching for the light switch, she could feel the uneasiness growing. “Mark?” Mark suddenly found control of his mind again, shoving many of the students away from him. He reached in his pocket and found a knife, the same one his father had given him as a teen. He held it up and could see Deidre’s fear all over her face. She opened her mouth and screamed, shaking her head and backing away. She wasn’t getting away this time. She had ruined his life for far too long, and now he was going to make sure she would never haunt him again. Swinging his arm in an elegant stroke, he swiped the knife across her throat, hitting her precisely. A light suddenly glowed from above as she fell backwards, twitching on the grass. He stood above her in triumph. The other students backed away in fear, taking his with them. It was an amazing feeling. Mark had finally conquered the fear in his mind, and his happiness was so strong that it didn’t bother him to wash all the sticky blood off of his hands. And while the landscape was changing, Deidre was still laying there, a fallen demon. He nearly tripped over her body as he went to leave. He was able to laugh genuinely for the first time in months. “You won’t be scaring me again.” Dr. Ashling had never been so happy. He was standing at the podium of a crowded press room, waving down the excited conversation. He tapped the microphone with a grin, and upon hearing the feedback, began his statement: “Members of the distinguished press: I am pleased to announce the beginning of the death of modern psychiatry.” There was a near outburst of talking. He took much satisfaction in quieting them again. “Troubled patients will no longer be plagued with long and expensive treatments in therapy and psychiatry offices. For the past few years, I have been developing and testing a new drug that will save the mental problems of mankind – Somnicil. It has finally been approved and will be in pharmacies all over the nation within days. I understand why you all have described me as secretive about the drug, but I wanted to wait until all the details were taken care of before I released more information.” At least sixty hands shot up into the air. One voice rang out among the others. “Please tell us more about what it does!” Ashling’s cheeks were rosy from his own satisfaction. “For centuries, man has been attempting to study the unconscious mind, with little definitive success. Great thinkers such as Freud considered the subconscious revealing, but out of our control. That is until now. Through a complicated chemical process, Somnicil brings the subconscious to the conscious level, allowing the subject to control their primitive thoughts and desires with few minor side effects. No longer will they be haunted in dreams that they can control. No longer will humanity be unable to control animalistic tendencies. Just think of the possibilities – we can stop minor problems as children’s nightmares all the way to major issues as removing the desire of murderous psychopaths to kill others. It will change mankind forever.” The reporters were furiously taking notes. One man in a dark suit waved his hand. “Doctor, tell us about your first test subject…” He glanced down at his notes. “Mark Formidine. How has he progressed?” Ashling smiled. “Mark was an absolutely troubled man. His nightmares haunted him constantly, and the trauma was pushing him towards a mental disease much like schizophrenia. I feared his paranoia would eventually be the death of him. After his Somnicil treatments, he has recovered fully. He is truly testament to the healing power of Somnicil.” The man nodded. “My readers will be curious: What originally caused his dreams?” Ashling stopped still, his smile fading into a thin line. He took a moment to straighten his tie. “Well, that is a question better suited for his various therapists and psychiatrists. Obviously whatever they were doing didn’t help him, right?” His nervous chuckle didn’t catch on. A thin woman in the front row frantically waved a hand. “Wait, are you trying to say that you never even bothered to ask him where his dreams came from?” Ashling puffed out his chest in anger. “Of course I did. Don’t think for an instant that I didn’t review every aspect of Mr. Formidine’s case, and had him interviewed on a number of occasions. But you must realize that the most tortured of men do not reveal their deepest secrets, and Mark was one of those men. Anyway, whatever was causing his trouble, Somnicil fixed it. That’s all I’ll say about that. Any other questions?” David Smith stared out over the field, wiping the sweat from his brow. His father’s farm was still flourishing, and it was the pride of the family. It was time to start planting again, and every season before he started, he took a moment to look at the daunting challenge before him. He sighed, and then smiled. This was his life’s work, and it was worth it. A loud barking ran out behind him, and he turned to see a large dog galloping towards him. Heidi the Airedale was bounding towards him, her pink tongue dangling from her mouth. An Airedale wasn’t his first choice, but David’s wife had insisted on buying the massive purebred. He had cringed as she handed the breeder a check for one thousand dollars, but the dog was sweet and a skilled ratter. Anyway, David had fallen in love with that bulk of muscle and curious face. “Hey, girl,” he said as the dog sat down beside him. Patting her head, he pointed out towards the field. “You ready to help me start planting?” In response, Heidi took off for the field. David let her run around freely; she could usually find scattered rodents within a few minutes. He was about to check on his plowing equipment when he heard Heidi’s bark again. It was different this time, and David could detect a frantic excitement to it. He ran across the field 100 yards to where Heidi was standing. The large dog was barking incessantly, her four legs spread wide in a defensive stance. When he reached her, she was standing near the edge of a sloping hill down the edge of the field. “What is it?” He said, nearly out of breath. He looked out to where Heidi was looking, and gasped in horror, nearly falling over with a sudden sick feeling. A few feet from their position was a small mound of freshly turned earth. A light colored shape was protruding out of the darkly colored soil, and David was shocked to realize that he knew what it was – a human arm. Grabbing Heidi by the collar, he dragged her back to the house, screaming the whole way for his wife. A few hours later, the entire farm was swarming with police. The mound of dirt was covering two bodies of women. The detective in charge leaned close to look at the bodies and shook his head. Turning to a crime lab technician, he asked, “What can you tell me?” The young technician studying the bodies pushed his lab goggles up the bridge of his nose with his gloved wrist. “Well sir,” he began. “Whoever did this murdered both women, but at different times.” He pointed to the blonde. “She’s only been dead for a day or two.” Then he gestured to the brunette. “She’s been here for years. Notice how advanced she is in her decomposition. She was pregnant too, about 6 months along I’d guess. Method of death was the same – both had their throats cut.” The detective nodded. “Horrible crime. Anything else?” The technician shrugged. “I’m not sure yet, but we found this on the blonde woman.” He held up a small pill bottle. It was empty. “Have you ever heard of Somnicil?” “Oh yeah,” the detective said after thinking a moment. “My nephew is on it. Great stuff. Smart as a whip now. I hear it’s going to be really popular. That true?” “Yes,” the technician said. “The commercials sound promising with that new slogan. Almost too good to be true.” “Oh yeah, what is it?” The technician smiled as he shut his medical case. “’You’ll Never Wake Up Afraid Again’.”