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It had been a long time since I had traveled by bus. The last time that I remembered, the seats were restlessly uncomfortable, and there was barely enough room to squeeze between them. But this time it was a whole new experience. They actually had little television screens along the walls at intervals, so that the poor passengers would have something with which to entertain themselves. There was some sort of space movie playing, I never figured out what it was. Nothing I had seen before. All I remember was that it was pretty boring. I had seen Armageddon on tape, and that was a lot more action-packed and interesting. This drivel was plain old boring, nothing but people floating around in some little spaceship airliner. It was pretty silly. Certainly not enough to keep me entertained, I popped a pill, hoping for a quick trip to dreamland.
For a few minutes I sat looking out the window, waiting for the pill to kick in. The sky was getting darker. People were running on the sidewalk, trying to find shelter, knowing that the sky would fall at any moment. One man standing on the street corner was fumbling with his umbrella as he looked from side to side as though he was waiting for someone. I was glad not to be in his position; I hated the rain. Especially cold rain. Nothing could ruin my day like being having to shiver through soaked clothes.
We progressed toward the city limits. The bus rolled across the old train tracks, the proverbial divider between the high rises and the slums. I bounced in my seat as the wheels hobbled over the rails, knocking my head against the window. I brought my arm up and turned my head to the side. As I rubbed my sore cranium, my eyes happened to glance out the window at just the right focus. If I had been looking any closer or farther away, I would have surely missed it. Two men, dressed in ragged, filthy clothes, towered over a cowering figure. I could not make out what they were holding in their hands, only that they were some large, blunt-looking objects. One of the men brought the massive item down upon the head of their immobile victim. I stood up in between the seats, frantically pointing out the window, a look of shock on my face.
“Did anyone see that?” I exclaimed. Several people turned their heads to look out the window, puzzled looks circulated amongst the passengers. A few turned back, looking angry that I had disrupted their movie. I looked again, but could no longer make the figures out. I sat back down in my seat, feeling rather embarrassed.
The bus continued onward through the dirty area. We rolled past an old, forgotten lot, filled with overgrown weeds and forgotten refuse. Amidst the rusted junk and vegetation, a group of homeless folk sat around a barrel blazing with a small fire. I watched as they huddled around, warming their hands and feet. I felt sorry for them. The fire blazed up, erupting into a towering fireball, pushing the scorched bodies of the people to the ground and throwing waves of heat at our bus as it sped by. The window flexed in the shockwave. I jumped up, screaming “Jesus!” and pointing outward. “Shut the hell up, kid!” came the retort from the other passengers. I turned to look at them. They all looked so pissed off at me. How could they have not noticed the explosion? I looked back out, only to see that the people were as they had been a moment before the blast. They still huddled around the fire, and they were no longer charred and disfigured. I sat back down in the seat, feeling about two inches tall. What was going on? Was I hallucinating? I placed my hand upon my forehead, testing for fever. It didn’t feel hot. I was feeling rather drowsy due to the pill, maybe I was just imagining things in an altered state of mind. I decided that must have been the cause, and closed my eyes, waiting for sleep to come.
After what felt like a few moments, I opened my eyes. The bus was crossing a bridge high over water. The pressure in my ears told me that the altitude was changing. I looked out the window toward the large stone wall at the edge of the bridge. Over the top, I could see the tops of the factories nestled along the waterfront. Farther off in the distance, the rolling hills kept watch over the valley with their majestic presence.
The bus began rattling. At first I thought that it was just my mind playing tricks on me, and I closed my eyes and tried to ignore it. But then I heard someone scream, and realized that it was real. I opened my eyes. The bus was shaking back and forth. I looked out the window toward the stone wall and noticed the large cracks and crevices that were forming along it. The bridge was collapsing!
I screamed along with the other passengers. We all feared for our lives as the bridge slowly disappeared beneath us. I felt my weight pitch forward as the nose of the bus careened over the jagged edge of the pavement, sending us plunging toward our watery mass grave. Impact. Someone sitting behind me hit me from behind, his weight pulling him forward over the seat and into my back. My head hit the top of the seat in front of me. I snapped back against my seat.
“God damn it, will somebody sedate this lunatic?” the angry passenger shouted from behind. I turned around to see him glaring at me, prepared to smack me again if I continued screaming. All eyes were on me. A wide expanse of frowns. I sat still, jaw gaping, wondering what was happening. I heard a synthesized voice muttering, “My mind is going, my mind is going.” My pulse quickened. What was happening? Were the pills messing with my mind? Or was I just losing it? I shuddered, scared that I was losing my last shred of sanity.
Once we were back on dry land, my pulse settled down a bit. But I was still scared that this mob would turn on me at any moment. The people sitting around me seemed very upset by my behavior. Didn’t they realize that I was merely acting with their best interests in mind? I didn’t want any of them to die in a crash. I guess they just couldn’t see things my way. I wished that I couldn’t either.
The bus took a turn off the main highway into a large parking lot. Some people stood nearby against a building, underneath the vestibule in case it began to pour. The driver got up from his seat and walked back toward me, a frown on his face.
“What is your destination?” He asked me. I was a little stunned, but managed to stammer out that I was headed to Buffalo. “Well, I’m afraid that you’ll have to either change busses or take a cab the rest of the way. I can’t concentrate on the road with you screaming like an idiot back here.”
The other passengers began applauding. I got up and started walking down the isle of shame. As I crossed the white line at the front of the bus, I took a look back at the angry passengers. I stammered out an apology to them, but it didn’t seem to change their mood. Someone prompted me to hurry off so that they could be on their way. Without looking back, I hopped off the bus and began walking toward the station.
“Where am I?” I mumbled to myself, wondering where I had been dropped. “This stop is Gates,” one of the people waiting under the canopy replied. I walked through the double-doors, past the empty ticket counter, and into the waiting area. What was I going to do? I had no ticket to get anywhere else. I didn’t know when the next bus would arrive. I didn’t even know when the ticket counter would reopen. Worst of all, I didn’t have any way to contact Lavender. I pictured her waiting at the Buffalo station, impatiently checking her watch, wondering why she was being stood up.
I sat down on a bench in the waiting area with no idea what to do. I took a glance at the schedule that was posted on the wall. The next bus to Buffalo would leave at 2pm. I looked over at the clock on the wall. It was only 11am. Damn. Still no sign of any clerk at the ticket counter. My mind raced. I felt lonely and afraid. I had no idea what kind of town Gates was. All that I knew was that bus stations in general could be dangerous places, and I wished that I wasn’t alone.
I lay back on the bench, trying to settle myself down. My heart thumped to the clicking beat of the clock. Why wasn’t the clerk getting back to the counter? Was there even anyone working here? I closed my eyes, trying to think more pleasant thoughts. I tried to ignore the fact that I was completely lost and stranded. I opened my eyes and stood up.
The waiting room was no longer empty; it was filled with men in business suits. There were no benches, just a slick floor of waxed, black and white checkered tile. There were clerks at the ticket counter, but the sign showing departures and arrivals was no longer present, nor was the clock. My eyes were wide open in shock. I turned around and saw two familiar men. My jaw dropped.
One of the men, the one wearing the leather jacket and sunglasses, stepped over toward me, grinning. I shook my head in disbelief. “It’s just a dream!” I shouted, trying to wake myself up. This only caused the man to laugh. “Why are you doing this?” I screamed. I couldn’t withstand the confusion anymore. I needed answers.
The man reached one hand up to his face and pulled down his sunglasses, revealing his dark green eyes. “The answers will come, but only if you seek them,” he said in a cold, matter-of-fact voice. Then he pointed the gun at me, pulled his lips into a half-grin, and fired his weapon at me. The heat of the bullet wound permeated throughout my body as I fell to the floor, screaming in pain. He walked up toward me, swung his leg back, and brought it forward with a crushing blow to my head.
“Just take it easy!” the custodian shouted. He was gripping the sides of my jacket, shaking me, trying to get me into some form of consciousness. I stopped screaming, realizing that I was still in the bus station, and very much alive. I mumbled that I was all right, and the custodian loosened his grip. He walked away, muttering something about how drugs were making kids these days crazy. If only he knew…
“When will the ticket counter open?” I yelled to him. He turned around, staring blankly at me. He told me not to worry about getting another ticket, because the police were on their way. I sat there staring back at him in disbelief. There was no way I could be arrested for having nightmares. Or at least I thought.
A few minutes later, two of Gates’ finest arrived. The custodian pointed them over in my direction. I sat cross-legged on the bench, rocking back and forth. I was scared out of my mind. Just a few weeks ago, I was an ordinary student. I had my entire life ahead of me. But now, I would be taken to jail in a strange town. How was I going to get out of this? I just wanted my life back.
The officers walked over to me. One pulled a small notepad and pen from his pocket and started scribbling. The other sat down on the bench opposite mine, and smiled at me. “Do you know why we’re here?” he asked. I told him probably because I had frightened the custodian. “Yes, you certainly did give him a scare. What seems to be the trouble?” I told him that I was having bad dreams. “Really, is that so?” The other man furiously scribbled in his notepad.
“So, tell me about these dreams.” What was I going to do? If I told them that I was dreaming about bank robberies, they’d probably take me in for questioning. I was already in more trouble than I cared for. I didn’t want to make matters worse. I told him that I couldn’t remember, but it was very frightening. “That’s interesting,” he said slowly, nodding his head in a patronizing manner. The other man continued scribbling.
“Officer, wait!” a feminine voice yelled from the main doors. I looked up as the two cops turned around. A young lady had entered, and was hurriedly walking toward us, her pocketbook swinging in tow like a pendulum. The first cop asked her if she knew me. “He’s my cousin, Richard,” she explained, “he’s in town to visit.” The cops warned her to keep an eye on me, and suggested that she take me to see a shrink. She thanked them profusely as they left the station. Once they were driving away in their patrol car, she stood up. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Wait,” I demanded, “who are you?” She turned toward me, her black hair flowing to the side with the motion of her head, shining in the fluorescent lighting. “I’m Laura,” she said. I felt as though I already knew. We began walking toward the doors, out into the cold, wet world. It had rained while I was asleep, but had since stopped. The sun peeked out behind a cloud, revealing the lavender highlights in Laura’s hair. Now I understood who she was.
“How did you find me?” I asked. Nothing was making sense anymore. She smiled at me, as though she expected me to know. She led me over to her car. It looked decades old, as though the air had feasted upon its iron frame. Large holes were rusted through. She unlocked the door on her side. I still had no idea how she could have found me. Had she been watching me the whole time with her supposed psychic wonders? I chuckled to myself, still skeptic. She reached across the inside of the car to unlock my door. I opened the door and climbed into the soft, comfortable seat, shutting the door with a loud bang.
“Alright,” she began, “we have to get out of here soon.” I squinted my eyes into a confused look, and cast it her way. She seemed amused by my confusion. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t get any of this,” I muttered. “What’s going on? Am I still dreaming?” She shook her head, indicating a negative response. “Why are we in such a hurry?”
“I’ll explain as we go,” came her reply. She twisted her key in the ignition, and the old beast roared to life, sputtering and choking like a fifty year old smoker. With a lurch, we were on our way. We drove straight down what seemed like a main street, littered with small shops. It felt like such a small, sleepy town. Nobody was on the street, apparently due to the rain.
Suddenly, Laura slammed her foot down on the brake pedal, sending our heads forward. “What the hell are you doing?” I yelled. She held up her hand toward me, begging for silence. She closed her eyes and brought her hand up to her forehead, with her index finger extended, all others wrapped around her thumb. Her eyes shot open. She grabbed the shifter and threw the car into reverse, turning the wheel as she applied the gas. With a squeak, we were facing into the middle of the road. I grabbed the armrest on my door to steady myself as she threw the shifter into drive and took off in the direction we had come from.
“Forgot something at the station?” I yelled in confusion. She shook her head, eyes fixed on the road far off in the distance. Climbing in speed, we flew past the bus station entrance. I could make out the top of the bridge on the horizon. Why were we going back this way? Laura turned the wheel and brought us sharply around a corner into a dark alley. We rolled slowly past a dumpster. In a smooth, elegant move, she worked the steering wheel with one hand and the shifter with the other, and brought the car up against a wall of the alley directly behind the dumpster. I turned around, but could not see the road, the dumpster blocking my view. A few seconds later, my ears perked up to a sound far off in the distance. Laura also seemed attentive. The sound grew louder, and what had been a dull wail became the piercing shriek of a police siren. Its volume grew in intensity as it approached, echoing down the alley, finally topping a peak and lowering as it passed by. Laura sighed quite visibly. I noticed that she was sweating. “Are you ok?” I asked.
She turned to me, faking a smile. I could tell that she was uneasy. She nodded, her eyes blankly looking through me. She stopped nodding, keeping her head straight for a brief moment, eyes fixed on some intangible object just behind my head. Then she loosened up and sat back in her seat. “Mind telling me what’s going on?” I inquired.
She turned back toward me, reached out, and took my hand in hers. “I can’t really say much about it right now. First, we need to take care of you.” I pondered exactly how she intended to take care of me. I hoped that it wouldn’t involve more police.
After backing out of the alley, we were back on the road. We were both silent. Laura focused intently on the road before her. I was lost in thought. All that I wanted was for someone to explain to me exactly what the hell was going on.
We pulled into a gas station. Laura hopped out and began playing with the gas pump. “Why don’t you go get us some coffee and doughnuts?” she asked. I told her that I didn’t drink coffee. “Now would be a good time to start,” she said, “I don’t want to have to drive all the way to Buffalo with you screaming like an baby.” A bit offended, but realizing that I was a bit out of my league to argue, I got out of the car and went into the store. “Get a newspaper to read, too.” Whatever.
The store manager of the gas station mini-mart gave me a funny look as I walked in. “You feeling alright, kid?” he asked. I told him that I was feeling fine, and asked why he was wondering. “You don’t look so good,” he said, pointing me toward a large mirror in the back of the store. I walked up and tried to see myself in the distorted convex lens. The man was right, I looked like hell had crawled all over my face and had a field day. My eyes looked red as rare meat, complemented by dark circles under my lids. I went over to the coffee maker and filled up two tall cups, putting extra cream and sugar in mine. If I had to start drinking coffee, I wasn’t going to overwhelm myself with blandness. I grabbed a package of doughnuts that had been sitting there for God only knows how long. I walked up to the counter to check out, grabbing a local newspaper to add to the purchase. I added ten dollars for gas and left the store.
When I got outside, Laura was finishing up with the gas pumping procedure. She smiled with that quirky smile as I stepped down onto the pavement. We got back into the car, placing the hot drinks into cup holders. We were back on our way. Not knowing the town, I could only assume that we were still heading west toward Buffalo. She still didn’t seem eager to talk. I wondered how to start a conversation with her, but couldn’t come up with anything. Instead, I lifted the newspaper, intent on catching up with the days news. I took a glance at the front page, then dropped the paper into my lap, jaw hanging open, eyes wide in disbelief.
“You saw it,” she said. I nodded my head in agreement, still not understanding. She sighed slightly. “It’s so sad, all those poor people being killed. The bomber had a long history of mental instability.” She turned toward me, grinning. “Crazy people like that should be locked up, eh?” she giggled. I shook my head, my jaw still hanging open.
“We need to get you some help fast,” she groaned, sounding more displeased than concerned. “You’re already into the second stage. If you don’t take care of yourself soon, it’s not going to be pretty.” What stages was she talking about? I looked back down at the headline, hoping to get more details.
Bomb Threat At National Bank Leaves Gunmen & Customers Dead, Several Injured. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. “Utica, NY. Police say that the two robbers detonated a bomb after a failed robbery attempt.” It was impossible! It was only a dream, for God’s sake! “Witnesses outside the bank called the local police after seeing the two gunmen rush into the bank.” I dropped the paper again, shaking in fear. Laura put her hand on my shoulder to calm me down.
“Don’t worry,” she began, “we’ve all been through this. You’re lucky we found you so soon. Most don’t make it this far.”
“We?” I asked.
“Yes, we,” she replied. “You think you’re the only one that’s ever wondered when the horrible dreams would subside? The only one who’s seen people die before his eyes? The only one to feel your own death a hundred times?” So I wasn’t alone? She was making it sound like a common occurrence, like everyone had the occasional mass-death dream. I reached for my coffee.
“There’s a medication that you can take to settle your brain,” she said as she took a quick glance at me, “but since you’re not wearing an Armani, I’d say you probably can’t afford it.” I asked if it was an expensive drug. “You’d better believe it,” she replied. “Most of us have learned how to control the dreams, but I can tell you right now, it’s not easy.” I asked what was involved. “Plenty of mental control and stamina.” I had no idea what she was talking about.
I took a sip of my coffee, the heat burning the tip of my tongue. “So, when did you start having the dreams?” I asked.
“About two years ago. I had just finished college and was looking for a job. I had a job waitressing, but I wanted to find a real job. So I started looking around Buffalo. I got a big interview all lined up, but then the night before I was supposed to do it, the dreams started.” She turned toward me, with a big frown on her face. “Needless to say, I didn’t get the job.” I tried to laugh, but couldn’t find the strength. I felt bad for her, knowing what it must have felt like.
“After a few weeks of having the dreams every night, I got to the point where I was too scared to sleep. I knew that if I let myself sleep, I’d be bombarded with images of everyone who I loved covered in blood. I tried to stay awake, but like you, the dreams started taking over. And then one day while I was driving, somehow I fell asleep.” I noticed that her face was becoming pale. “I felt like I was still awake and driving and everything, but I had actually crashed my car and killed a woman and her two kids.” I gasped, and felt glad that I hadn’t gotten myself into anything that serious.
“They checked me into a mental hospital for psychiatric evaluations. They couldn’t really find anything wrong with me. I went through therapy sessions for a few weeks, but kept having the nightmares. Every night the nurses would draw straws to see who got stuck watching over me to make sure that I didn’t hurt myself.” She grinned, and shook her head, dismissing the thought. “They weren’t too happy to have to baby-sit me every night.
"One day when I was sitting watching the lobby from the recreation room, I saw them drag in some guy. He was all kicking and struggling, and they had to shoot him up with some drug to calm him down. I ran over to see what was going on, but one of the nurses held me back. When he looked up at me,” she paused, as though she couldn’t describe the experience, “I felt like,” another pause, “like he was looking straight into my soul.
“I wanted to find out what was up with him, so I tried to hang around him. But he wouldn’t talk to me. After a week or so, he finally lightened up. It turned out that he had the same problem as me,” she turned toward me, “as us. Neither of us really understood what was wrong with us, only that we hated having to go through it. I told him that we must be cursed. He said that it was more of a twisted blessing.”
“Blessing?” I yelled. “How could it be a blessing? I’m going out of my mind. I don’t understand the world around me anymore. I can’t tell what’s real.”
“Well, I’m real,” she said, grinning, “so just keep yourself
together, and I’ll get you through this.” I hoped that she was right.