Our story so far: Sam, a certified but subpar controller of a Somnigo dream-walking device, has been asked by his ex-girlfriend Natalie to investigate a recurring nightmare that's been plaguing her. During his time in Natalie's head, Sam discovers that Natalie's nightmare involves her being taken and assaulted by a mysterious shadow monster. Once the overwhelmed Natalie awakens, she goes to Sam's house, and the two of them have sex.
Villains and Damsels
By Garnett Gibson
Part 3: The Master
* * *
"Hi," Natalie said the moment Sam opened his eyes.
It wasn't a seductive or joyful greeting. But it also didn't have a hint of anger or sadness. Instead, it had this undertone of,
What are we going to do about this?
"Hi," he said back, unsure of the right answer to the invisible question.
"I need coffee," she said. "Do you have any?"
"No." He thought about not suggesting the cafe down the street, avoiding the girl he'd jacked off to the day before, but that would be weird when she would inevitably discover that it was there, if she hadn't already. "But I know a place."
#
"I've got a large coffee with soymilk and three sugars, and a medium iced vanilla latte." Lindsay, the perky blonde, was extra perky this morning. She must have seen how exhausted both Sam and Natalie looked, and she pushed their orders across the pickup counter with almost a squeal to her voice and a friendly grin.
Sam picked up the drinks with a tight smile and a quiet thanks. With a free set of fingers, he shoved five bucks into the tip jar. Lindsay grinned wider.
It was oddly comforting to know that at least one person in the world was in a good mood this morning.
He should be in a good mood, he reminded himself, after what he and Natalie had done last night. But even when it was happening, as hot as it was and as turned on as he was, he knew any fleeting moments of happiness wouldn't last. That they would disappear almost as quickly as they had arrived.
And of course, Natalie's present attitude didn't make him feel any better. She waited for him at a small table, palm pressed into her mouth, elbow resting on the table, staring into the abyss.
He set Natalie's cup in front of her and she took a pinched sip from the straw. "I've been trying to avoid sugary drinks," she said. "Trying to eat healthier." She shrugged.
"You look great," he said, an almost automatic phrase he felt compelled to say. Even though it was true. Even though he knew that wasn't the point.
You felt great too,
he wanted to add. Even in the darkness he could tell, despite the stress, her body was as tight as ever.
"I love these things." Another sip. "So, scale of one to ten, how fucked up am I?"
He almost asked if she was referring to the dream, or how she'd wordlessly marched to his apartment afterwards to fuck him. But he decided not to bring up the latter until she did. "Two? Three, maybe? It's not unusual to have violent dreams."
"But it's every night and it's messing with me so much." She leaned forward across the tiny table, highlighting the shadows under her eyes. "That can't be normal. How do we fix it?"
Sam pushed his coffee cup gently back and forth between his hands while he waited for it to cool. "Nat...there's really no delicate way to ask this, but it's what I need to know first. Could that," he hesitated, but couldn't think of a better word, "that thing, that man..."
"I call him the Master." She took another sip. "I don't know why. Maybe I heard one of the other women call him that."
"Okay. Could he be someone you know? Someone who either hurt you, or who you're worried might hurt you?"
He'd been concerned she would be insulted by the question, but she shook her head almost sadly. "I've thought about it. Too much. I've never been...hurt like that." She took in a deep breath. "I've never been raped," she said solidly. "I've had men grope me at clubs, and you know about the kid who stalked me in high school and left creepy notes in my locker, but I can't think of anyone who has made me genuinely fear that would happen to me. I really, really don't think he's based on a real person."
Sam had been hoping to avoid having to voice his concern to Natalie, but now he knew he didn't have a choice.
And Natalie, of course, could see right through him. "Oh, no," she said. "What's wrong?"
He told her about the faces. The real people, the fake people. The auras. How the "Master," despite having no visible face, felt as real to him when he'd been in Natalie's dream as she did.
She took a moment to process this. She really must be off her game, because the Natalie he'd dated would have at least acted skeptical that Sam knew what he was talking about, especially since he'd admitted to her that he was hardly the cream of the dream consulting crop. But now, she only nodded solemnly. "I don't know, though," she said. "I don't know who he could be. What does this mean?"
Sam's idea sounded insane to him, but he tried to make it sound plausible, because it was all he had to go on. "When I watched him, at first it looked like he was just made of these shadows, these inky tendrils. But sometimes, it looked like he really had arms and legs. Sometimes, it looked like he was wearing clothes. I don't think those shadows are him. I think they're a part of him, sure, but I also think, or I wonder, if maybe it's like a camouflage. A mask."
Natalie's eyes widened. "And a mask can be removed."
"Right. I might not need to kill him." Which he was certain he couldn't do. "I might just need to unmask him." Which he was...slightly less certain he couldn't do. "And once we know who he is, if he's a real person or not, we'll know what we're dealing with, and how to get him out of your head."
"How, though?" she asked. "I've been dreaming about him for months and he's always looked like that to me."
"When you're in it, when you're the dreamer, it's harder to take action, especially without a consultant there to help. You'd think because it's your dream, it wouldn't be the case, but it's like you're trying to do everything through syrup unless you're good at lucid dreaming, which most people aren't. For the consultant, it's easier. He does the same thing every night, right? More or less?"
She nodded. "Yeah."
"If he's predictable, that helps. We can surprise him, maybe long enough to attack him. If you can manifest some kind of weapon, I'll hide with it while we wait for him, and then when his attention is focused on you, but before he takes you, I'll attack."
"What if it doesn't work?" she asked. "Or what if it does but we still can't figure it out?"
"Then we try again. Another night, another strategy. But based on what we know so far, I think this is our best shot."
"And do you think you can do it?" she asked.
What she was asking, what she was really probably asking, even if she didn't realize it, was,
Do you think you're the best person to do this?
And the answer was no. If there was a top 100 list of consultants who should perform this particular treatment, he wouldn't make it on, even if the top 100 consultants agreed this was the right plan.
He thought again, about why she had insisted he be the one to help her. Why she'd alluded to not being able to afford any consultant, not even him. She'd always made more money than him. She was ambitious, always looking for the next ladder to climb. He liked that about her, liked that she was the kind of person who knew what she wanted. Dream consultants were expensive, but it felt like she should be able to scrounge up the money from somewhere, especially if the problem was this bad.
No, he reminded himself once more. No, it was none of his business how Natalie spent her money.
"I think I can," he said finally. "And if I can't, I'll find you someone who can. One step at a time, Nat. We got this." He reached across the table and put his hand on hers. It was cold from holding her iced latte.
She smiled at him, but then looked down at their hands, concerned. "I don't...I don't want you to get the wrong idea, Sam. Last night, I was...I know I owe you an explanation."
Intellectually, that was true. Intellectually, he knew it wasn't cool for his ex-girlfriend to show up wordlessly in the middle of the night and fuck him to oblivion and now act like it had never happened. But for some reason -- okay, it wasn't like the reason was a mystery, it just wasn't one he wanted to touch with a ten-foot pole -- he wasn't mad about it. Just sad that it was now reaching its inevitable conclusion.
"I woke up in my place, and I saw your messages, and I knew I should just answer you, but I literally couldn't imagine being alone. And I had no one else and I knew you would understand. I planned to just ask if I could crash on your couch, but as soon as I got out of the Uber, it was like, I don't know, some animalistic shift." She gripped at her hair. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Don't apologize," he said. Not just because he'd liked it, but also because he had a hard enough time seeing her distraught over her dream, let alone also distraught that she'd fucked him.
"It can't happen again," she said. "That's all I'm saying. It can't happen again. And I don't want this to affect...we have a business relationship now, and I don't want this to get in the way again."
"It won't," he said. "I promise."
She leaned back in her chair and nodded. "Good," she said. "Thank you." She smiled at him again.
He couldn't remember the last time she had looked to him for comfort. Maybe she never had. It sent a warmth through him, a feeling that he never wanted to end.
But it would. Whether she changed her mind and they fucked again. Whether he could help her or not, one day, it would end.
#
Sam texted Natalie several times that night, keeping it professional, responding to her nervous messages about going through with this plan. She needed reassurance that neither of them could get hurt if he was in Participation mode. Reassurance that if they failed tonight, they could try again tomorrow. Reassurance that she wasn't some kind of nightmare freak. He thought it showed remarkable restraint not to remind her that she was a different kind of freak.
He found himself wishing he could have the old Natalie back. Even though it was the old Natalie that had broken up with him, that never would do what Natalie had done last night.
But soon enough, her texts dwindled away, and the Somnigo beeped. She was ready for him.
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