The Pretty Boy (Alex)

There was always something that pulled me into the dreams. And it was always hard sensation to fight. I’d learned over the years that this tingling sensation I felt was pulling to the dream. To a specific dream – the little boy who was a monster. He built towers out of blocks and smashed them in a monster outfit.

Seeing him the first few times was fun. I was seven. The times after that I knew it was different. That was when I had told my mom about it. She’d taken me to see Kish. The shaman who told me all about dream walking.

I hadn’t actually gone to see Kish. It was her grandfather I was taking instruction from but it was Kish who directed me. It was her learning how to teach. I was her guinea pig. She and I became good friends – learning the ins and outs of dreams.

The airport was busy and I still had time to wait so a quick nap wouldn’t hurt. If the pretty boy was going to be sleeping I might get a little fun in before I had to take a flight back to Colorado. Solomon had passed and I was going to help Kish out. And really the only reason I’d come to New York was because Poet had a job I couldn’t refuse. He always had a job that he wanted me to work. This one had been in the city and it hadn’t been long. He wanted information. And he needed me to get it.

Some mook in the Apex Unlimited building. He needed me to figure out who knew anything. Problem with the Apex Unlimited building – it’s all Venatori. You see the proud fucks walking around with that cross sword tattooed on their temples like no one saw them all. Though I have been told only us sensitive folks can see it. Magic or something. I don’t care.

Once Poet told me who I was going after I had to tell him no can do. Even if I wanted to get my ass near those fuckers. Kill on sight – was what Kish and Solomon said. That was their rule for Dreamwalkers. So no can do. And they had telepathy too. I was good but I’ve heard they are better. But they lock down tight. Nothing in, nothing out. I can’t do what I do even with a handshake so Poet’s on his own. I gave him the name of my hacker. The Wicked Truth knew his way around the impossible. And it beat giving the job to Reaper. He seemed hell bent on hijacking my jobs out from under me. Like it was some sort of game. Whatever…

I closed down all those thoughts and let the tingling take me to the pretty boy. He had hadn’t moved into smashing the blocks yet, which meant I still had time. Interrupting him was not always a good thing, 80% of the time he flipped out and he was snatched away by a black blur. Never saw it. Don’t know what it is. But he’s always gone and I can never find him.

Today though when I reminded him he was a grown ass man he changed into a man. I enjoyed most guises he took, but today the pretty boy was even hotter than usual. He ran his fingers through his hair, the orange changed to a blue. The display was more than sexy and he knew it from the look he gave me in the mirror.

There was a loud blaring call for boarding, the flight before mine from what I heard, but before I could refocus my attention on him, he was gone. Woken to some thing on his end and I didn’t even get a chance to fucking play.

I shifted to the ether outside the dream – more or less before it collapsed on me as his dream faded out. I stood in a nothingness looking out on the various bubbles of people dreaming. It was vast and the space was empty.

Inside there stood a man. He drew closer with a smile widening on his face. The closer he got the more I recognized the jacket. It was the jacket I was currently wearing in the outside world. But that had been my dad’s jacket, or so Mom had told me when she handed it over.

“Hey son.” He said. “You are Alex? You’re Mom said that was the only name she’d ever give her boy.”

“I know you think this is weird.” I nodded unable to speak. What the fuck was going on. “I thought so too when I saw the ultrasound image. I was drawn to sleep. A bubble of time, I’d watched glimpses of your life. And I knew right here right now, you’d be fustrated. He got away again.”

I growled, “He always does that.”

“But you keep coming back.” The man nodded. I wasn’t convinced he was my father. My father was dead. He looked like the picture Mom kept of him. But anyone could take that guise.

“There’s journal in Solomon’s place waiting for you. I hid it under a plank in the wood bin by the fireplace. I’m sorry to see him go. But Kish will guide you I’m sure, she was always such a good girl when I’d come on by.” He laughed and pointed at the clock that appeared above me. “That’s your call son. You best get going you don’t want to miss that flight.”

I stepped out of the dream and back into my body a little more confused than I had been, and still frustrated from seeing the pretty boy.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.