Chapter 3 by Green

Chapter 3

By Green

“You are one difficult man to handle.”

A boot pressed down on one side of Eric’s bleeding head, pinning him against the cement. Blood dripped into his blurry eyes, from which he had only a view of his limp arm and his spear tossed aside. He was lying on his stomach, his breaths shallow and weak. Crimson wounds criss-crossed his back. They festered from the lashes of Freya’s black tendrils that were currently wrapped around his limbs and holding him down. He winced as the tendrils squeezed tightly.

“Lucky for you,” said Freya, standing above him, “your new boy ran off somewhere and is probably out of the Dreamworld by now—if he’s smart. That means you’re no longer useful to me.”

Eric grit his teeth in defiance. He mustered up his remaining strength to reach for his spear until one of Freya’s tendrils stabbed into the cement to cut him off.

“You were always such a fighter, Eric.” She removed her boot from his head. “But you know better than that. Game’s over.”

“Then kill me,” he growled hoarsely. Freya raised her arm, seething with those abnormal black coils, and Eric closed his eyes.

~

By the time I woke up and made it to Market Street, it was already early evening. In my defense, it only took so long because I was trying desperately hard—perhaps too hard—not to look like I had just woken up from a living nightmare. I didn’t rush but I didn’t daddle either; I did, however, look behind my shoulder. No one had come after me.

Market Street was bustling with life at this hour. Cars and trolley buses clogged the road, people speed-walked over the zebra lines while others darted between the automobiles, the building lights began to shine against the darkening sky, and there was honking and shouting and bells from cyclists. I welcomed the noise because it made me feel just a tad bit safer, more blended. On the other hand, it made me overwhelmed.

I was pretending to play “I spy” but with address signs as I tracked down the proper building when a car appeared out of nowhere. It drove right across my path, skimming just inches away from where I was walking. I stood frozen, shocked, and didn’t even hear the driver holler, “Watch it!” before the car sped into the traffic.

“A*shole,” I muttered. “Where is he off to in such a damn hurry, anyway?”

The car had come from one of those narrow alleys that probably led to a parking garage. I peered down the empty alleyway, then took a step back to examine the buildings on either side. 609. And 611. I took out the slip of paper. 610 Market Street. Well, what do you know.

This alley looked incredibly suspicious. Then again, all alleys were suspicious. This one looked like a place to get jumped. Then again, all alleys were places to get jumped. This alley looked very risky and unsafe. Then again, the longer I waited out here, with possible psychopaths chasing after me, the more this was risky and unsafe. I looked both ways, folded the paper back in my pocket, and ducked into the alley.

Goosebumps sprang along my arms as I walked into this uncharted territory. For the most part, I was alone, with two dumpsters for company down the alley. The first dumpster was for 609. The second dumpster stood by a back door. A plaque read 610 at the top. I stopped in front of the door, staring at the two steps leading up to it and the rather fresh-looking light blue paint. Here goes. One step. Two steps. Raised my hand to knock.

“Do you like the paint job?” I almost fell off the steps and whirled around. The alley was empty.

“Over here, buddy,” the disembodied voice chuckled. I turned back to the door. It was coming from the other side.

“What do you think?” it asked again. “I painted the door myself. Like it?”

Instinctively, I blinked at the door, feeling kind of awkward to be talking to no one I could see. Is this a trick question? I studied the door. Do they expect a compliment or something? Paint job. Blue paint. What did Eric say about blue?

I cleared my throat and tried, “One of my clients, you may know him as Eric, said blue is a horrible color….” “

Ah, but I was asking what you think about it,” the voice said.

“It depends,” I said, trying to keep my nervousness at bay. “I prefer dark blue over light blue.”

There was a pause, and I had a jolting feeling that I had disappointed someone. Then I heard the sound of locks being switched. The door opened.

A man with the swirliest—if that’s a word—patterned tie and deep blue suit stood straight-backed at the doorway, his hands clasped in front of him and his posture radiating confidence. He looked around his late fifties and had his black dreads pulled back in a ponytail. The stubbled chin moved as he flashed a white-toothed smile.

“Good answer,” he said. “I wouldn’t have let you in if you preferred anything other than blue. Unless you’re lying, of course. I hate dishonesty.”

I shake my head, too surprised to speak.

“The name’s Bluu Mrengo. Come on in.”

He beckoned me inside, but I stood at the threshold for a few seconds, staring into the dimly lit storage room and at another door on the other side. I glanced back into the alley, where I could still see the cars zipping by on Market Street. Here goes. I followed Bluu. He opened the other door and we walked down a new hallway.

The walls were brighter and had a light blue-ish tinge to them. I suspected Bluu probably painted, or requested the paint job for this too. Walking side by side, I felt slightly underdressed compared to his full suit. I realized I was still in my business casual collared shirt and dress pants; that’s how quick things changed. A few hours ago, I was still a sleep therapist using my power to treat patients and make profit. Now I was following this Bluu guy into a strange building whose address was provided by a strange, spear-throwing man that was supposed to be a normal client. Eric—

“Hey, it’s Mr. Mrengo, right?” I asked.

“Just Bluu is fine.” He grinned. “

Bluu, there’s something you need to know about Eric. He was supposed to be my client until he told me about the Wang Group, which I assume you’re part of, and a bunch of other groups, Sun something and another one. And then this lady with black octopus tentacles showed up and she’s fighting Eric right now—”

“Black tentacles?” Bluu interrupted, his grin disappearing. He stopped walking. “Did you catch her name? Or what faction she’s from?”

“Frey—I think it was Freya?”

Bluu stared at me, but his eyes were distant like he was gazing through me. A sigh broke from his lips. He rubbed his brow, knitted with worry. This Freya person must have been a big deal.

“We’ll need to be quick,” he finally said, resuming his walk at a faster pace. “I need to take you to the others.”

Others? I jogged after him. “Sorry to be rude, but mind explaining who you people are? And where you’re taking me?”

“Eric must have implied it,” Bluu said, not slowing down. “We are the Wang Group. We are Dreamers, like yourself. Each of us has our own abilities when we enter the Dreamworld, as do our rival factions Sunside and Nozpin. All of us are constantly looking for new recruits. We do it for protection. They do it for manipulation.”

Protection? Manipulation?

“Is this a gang war?” I asked, halting in the hallway. “I want to be clear that I refuse to be part of any illegal activity or trouble you’re brewing—”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice,” Bluu said over his shoulder. He continued to walk down the corridor and turned the corner without waiting for me.

“It’s either us or them, Jimmy!” I heard his voice calling.

The door behind me was unguarded; I could just leave this place while I still had the chance. That wouldn’t do any good though; somehow, this man and probably all of Wang group knew my name. Plus I would be out in the open again, vulnerable to Freya. I wondered how Eric was doing, if he was alright.

Bluu’s footsteps began to fade so I kicked myself forward and ran around the corner, catching up to him. We arrived at yet another door. Bluu turned the knob and it clicked open, but he left it ajar.

“They’re waiting for you inside,” he said. “This is as far as I’m going. Where did you say Freya and Eric are fighting?”

I gave him the address to my little clinic in west San Francisco and he hurried off before I could ask any more questions. I pushed open the door and slipped inside.

“Jimmy Cartwright. Age 28. Occupation, sleep therapist. Self-employed at Cartwright Catnaps. Is that you?”

The person asking, a middle-aged Indian woman, sat behind a desk with a paper in her hand. I guessed the paper was a profile of me and felt slightly indignant that I was being reviewed like some job applicant for a position that I never even wanted.

“Well?” the woman said, peering at me over her reading glasses. “I don’t have all day.”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s me,” I replied. “Though I’d like to follow up with who’s asking.”

“Roshani Titali,” she said stiffly. “Have a seat. We’re under urgent business.”

I sat at the chair she indicated. This was really starting to feel like a job interview. “

We have been monitoring you since the start of the six months we opened business here,” she explained. “And before you even consider filing a privacy complaint to law enforcement, our surveillance methods are undetectable by normal tech. We have special abilities. And that’s why we’re interested in you.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” I said. “And I don’t intend to, unless my therapy business is a threat, in which case I’d be happy to close up shop and be out of your hair. It wasn’t my intention to get involved.”

“Your ability is a threat to us,” Roshani clarified. She scanned the document in her hand again. “You can untangle people’s emotions when they are asleep and solve their mental problems for them. You can go so far as to change people’s personalities. If Sunside or Nozpin got ahold of that talent—” “

I’ve heard those names come up several times now,” I interjected. “I get that they’re your rivals but who are they exactly? Why are you fighting them? What do they want with me? What do you want with me?”

“Sunside and Nozpin,” Roshani said slowly, a little irritated at being interrupted, “are a group similar to ours. They hunt for oblivious Dreamers like you to turn into weapons for their own interests. Sunside is known for hijacking the government. Nozpin, for the most part, works with the government.”

“Works with the government?” I repeated. “Doesn’t that make you the insurgents?”

“It makes us the people. We protect the common, everyday human beings that are walking outside as we speak. Sunside would cause anarchy if it got what it wanted and Nozpin would most likely turn everyone into puppets if they are unchecked. That’s why we’re fighting them on a daily basis—to beat down Sunside and make sure Nozpin knows it can’t just do whatever it wants.”

“And they want me because….”

Roshani leaned forward. “Think about it. You see the puzzles of emotions. You control emotions. Right now, you do it for the better health of your clients, but your power can just as easily be turned into a poison. Instead of fixing people’s problems, Sunside and Nozpin would make you amplify people’s negative emotions, fuel their inner turmoil, tear them apart from the inside-out until they do your bidding.”

By then, I was leaning far back in my chair, unable to remove my eyes from Roshani’s piercing gaze. Her words made the goosebumps multiply on my skin. Imagine being creative—no, crazy—enough to realize I could do that.

“I would never in my right mind do that.”

“You wouldn’t be in your ‘right’ mind,” said Roshani. “You’d be brainwashed. They have plenty of Dreamers who can do that.”

“Either way, it sounds like your enemies are pretty vicious people,” I said. “It also sounds like the Wang Group knows what it’s doing. I mean, you’ve got people like Eric who are super powerful already. I’m afraid there’s not much I can do to help, since you’re way above my league.”

“You are correct. You’re practically useless in battle.”

Gee, thanks.

“But I request that you join us anyway,” she said. “We will protect you from Sunside and Nozpin. You can even go back to running your sleep therapy business, we would just send someone daily to check on you.”

“I don’t want to pick sides,” I said. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“We didn’t either,” said Roshani. “We didn’t choose to be born with these powers. Now that we have them, though, it is our responsibility to use and guard them wisely. Your therapy business is beneficial so you may continue. But I ask that you join our ranks for extra protection, if not for yourself, then for the people around you who Sunside and Nozpin may turn you against.”

So I was trapped. Roshani didn’t look like she was going to let me go unless I agreed. What if I refused? Would they lock me up? Gosh, this felt like a criminal syndicate, and yet this Wang Group was claiming to be the good guys. On the bright side, Roshani guaranteed that I could stay in business. I still had bills to pay, a life to live. My life very well could be cut short if Freya came after me on my own—not just Freya, there were more criminal syndicates out there, more people to watch out for behind my back.

“Okay.”

“Perfect,” she breathed. “Sign here.”

She gave me the document. I was right; it was a profile of me, with my demographics, picture, and...ability. Emotion Manipulation.

“That’s a mouthful,” I commented, signing the paper.

“If you have a better name for it—”

She was cut off by the shouting outside. Roshani leapt to her feet—damn, she was smaller than I thought—just as Bluu burst into the room.

“It’s Eric!” he yelled at us. “We found Eric!”