“Then what happened?” asked Davey.
“Most of the time that would be it,” said John. “I’d wake up and I would be sweating all over, but by then the baby didn’t seem as scary. But sometimes the dream would keep going, and I would be walking through the house and everywhere there was a vent, that baby would be looking out at me. I just knew it was waiting for me to stop looking so it could get out and come after me. It was just a baby, but I knew it could hurt me.”
“But you stopped having that dream?” asked Davey. His eyes had grown wide.
“Yeah, eventually,” said John. “I learned about lucid dreaming. Have you ever heard of that?”
Davey shook his head slowly.
“I’m not surprised. Nobody talks about it much anymore,” said John.
“What is it?” whispered Davey.
John took a sip of his water and coughed into his hand. “Tell me about your dream and then I’ll tell you about lucid dreaming. My throat is a little scratchy.”
“Well,” Davey paused. He concentrated hard for a second and then his face softened, from his brow then down to his chin, as he dropped into a trance. “Most of my dreams are about the giant man.”
John held very still; he knew not to interrupt.
“I used to think that I created him, but that was wrong,” said Davey. He spoke low, just above a whisper, and at a measured pace. “I thought that he was like the sideways-head thing, but he’s not. He’s been around almost forever, but he’s been asleep.”
John almost prompted, but then Davey continued—“Something has been waking him up, and he smells me. He’ll come to find me some day, and he can’t be stopped.”
John waited for several moments, but decided it was important to get as much information as possible before their hour was up. “What do you know about him?” asked John.
“He’s big,” said Davey. His eyes looked beyond the walls of John’s office—wide, but focused on nothing. “He’s bigger than anyone you’ve ever seen, and he can kill with a single swing of his hand. He hunts people like me—people who are sick, or … flawed,” said Davey. He swallowed a hard knot before continuing. “He started by eating his entire family. He ate their brains, and lungs, and muscles until he took their strength and smarts.”
John wished he had the capability to record Davey’s monologue. He was certain that nobody would believe that this nine-year-old had dropped into a self-hypnotic trance to talk about a cannibal monster who stalked his dreams.
“Why does he hunt you?” asked John.
“He has to,” said Davey. “His family was poisoned, so they killed themselves. Now he’s a wandering spirit.”
“But why you?”
“Because I have the disease, too. When I grow up, I’ll spread it,” said Davey.
“What disease?”
“Don’t know,” said Davey. “But he can smell it. When the power came and woke him up, his eyes opened in the dark, and he could smell me from miles and miles away.”
“Where is he now?”
“He rests during the day,” said Davey. “He’s underground somewhere, where it’s wet and smelly. But he stirs.”
“I thought he was coming for you?”
“He wants to. He can smell me.”
“Where is he?” asked John.
Davey’s brow knit with concentration—“I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t see that.”
“You said he has been around forever,” John consulted his notes, “where did he come from?”
“He used to be a normal boy. His people were the people of the valley with squash and corn. They were from the man who created himself. Then he ate his family,” Davey said. “Now he eats bats and mice. He has to replace his body a little bit at a time…” Davey slowed as he trailed off.
“You said you used to think you created him,” said John. “Why did you think that?”
“Because he was born in the Stage of Possibilities. I thought he was from my dream, because maybe I stayed up too late and imagined him into possibility,” said Davey. “But he moved into the Stage of the Hunger long before I was born. Now he’s coming into the Stage of the Hunt.”
“Can you tell me what he looks like?” asked John.
“Tsi-noo,” said Davey.
“Pardon?” asked John.
“Odzihozo, Tsi-noo,” Davey said in a low, guttural tone. “Tsi-noo,” he repeated again. The boy squeezed his eyes shut and thrashed his head, sending out hot tears in small arcs.
“What does that mean?” asked John. “Can you tell me what it means?”
Davey’s eyes flew open and he clamped his jaw shut. He wiped his eyes with the back of his arm arm turned his attention to the doctor. “What?” he asked.
“Can you tell me what Tsi-Noo means?” John asked.
“I don’t know,” said Davey, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head.
“You were saying Tsi-noo,” said John.
Davey looked around, confused. “I don’t know,” he said.
John’s clock dinged twice, and Davey pushed away from the leather chair.
“Can you do me a favor for next time?” asked John.
“Okay,” said Davey.
“When you wake up in the morning, can you write whatever you can remember from your dreams?”
Davey’s face dropped into a frown. “Do I have to?”
“I would appreciate it,” said John. “I’ll tell you about lucid dreaming next time you come in.”
“Okay,” Davey shrugged again, uninterested.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mike
MIKE PULLED INTO THE PARKING LOT of the medical center and flipped his visor down to check his hair. The call from his old friend took him by surprise, and he drove for twenty-five minutes before realizing he hadn’t showered or shaved in days. Instead of turning around to go home and clean up, he stopped at a convenience store and picked up a travel-sized stick of deodorant and tube of toothpaste. After a bum-shower in the bathroom, he got back on the road and arrived at the office just five minutes after eleven o’clock.
Greasy, but presentable, he thought.
Mike climbed out of the car and walked up to the building. He squinted against the bright sun, and took a deep breath of the fragrant apple blossoms. Spring had always been Mike’s favorite time of year, but this spring had been ruined by his legal troubles. He slumped as he exhaled, and made his way up the steps.
“I’m here for Ken Stuart,” he told the receptionist.
“Is Dr. Stuart expecting you?” she asked, flipping open the doctor’s calendar.
“Dr. Markey,” said Mike, reaching to straighten his tie and then realizing he wore a sweatshirt. “Eleven o’clock consult.”
“He’s running a bit behind,” said the receptionist. “Would you care to take a seat?”
“If you could show me to his office?” said Mike. “I’ll wait there.”
“Well,” she said. “He didn’t leave me any…” she trailed off.
“Mike!” said Dr. Stuart, emerging from the hall behind the desk.
“Hey Ken,” said Mike.
“Come on around,” he waved Mike towards the door. “Nothing until after lunch, right Jules?”
The receptionist nodded.
“Great,” said Ken. “Emergencies only, then. We’ve got a tough one to figure out.”
“Certainly,” said Jules.
KEN PULLED UP TWO CHAIRS to his desk and spread out test results. On the screen of his computer, more results were arrayed. Mike studied silently for twenty minutes before asking his first question.
“How come you haven’t sent these out for a consultation?” asked Mike.
“I did,” said Ken. “Sent them to your firm, and asked for you specifically. That’s when I found out you were on hiatus.”