Touching Dream (seven)
Randy is hunched and heaving and bloody, but he is here, and if the splintered door beneath his feet is any indication, he is more than capable of finishing the job he started in Dream.
Will gropes desperately for the last threads as they fade out of reach.
Janelle leaps up, marble-filled sock in hand, swinging it at Randy's head. It connects, splitting open, marbles flying everywhere, spilling and bouncing and rolling.
The force of the blow makes Randy stagger a step, but he regains his balance. He grabs Janelle by her robe, shaking her by the front of it; the fabric rips, but not enough to free her from his grip. His other hand swats across her face like a baseball bat, snapping her head sideways. He then half-turns and throws her into the corner like a broken toy discarded in a fit of rage. There's a glass table in the corner; Will hears it shatter.
Will snapped awake. His body screamed at him; his head filled with molten lead, heavy and dull and oozing.
The gun.
It won't do any good.
It might. Look at him.
Will rolled/fell off the side of the couch, crashing to the floor on hands and knees. Coughing set fire to his midsection; he saw blood spattered beneath him.
It took all his concentration to remember the gun. The desk was too far away.
No, not the desk. Under the couch.
Will forced his hand to the right. A little further...
He collapsed to his side; his lungs wheezed.
There, just reach...
Got it.
Now *LIFT*.
Will sighted down the barrel, the world beyond a shifting blur. He rolled onto his back, feeling every bone protest as it shifted and settled. But his arms somehow came up, and the dark blur came to be centered. Will blinked; his vision cleared somewhat.
Randy was no longer bleeding, no longer hunched. He rolled his shoulders back, his chest broadening. "Go ahead," he growled, "see if it matters."
Will pulled on the heavy trigger, and pulled, further...
Something hard and fast swatted the gun away just as it fired.
"You took too long," Randy spat.
The shadow grew longer over Will as Randy dropped to one knee, menacing over him. Will coughed a breath, feeling bloody spittle shower his chin and neck.
Randy lunged forward, slamming his fist against Will's temple.
And everything faded to black as Will let go...
The soft vibrating hum of the road is soothing. He was asleep, but he's awake now.
He's in the back of his parents' car. Before the accident.
They said afterward that Will only survived because he was asleep, totally relaxed, and even then it was some kind of miracle.
But in the dream he's always awake. He always sees it coming.
There is a faint glow in the car, not from the dashboard, or the headlights beyond, but next to him.
Janelle is here.
She looks at him, worried. Her lips don't move, but he can hear her speaking to him.
Tell them to stop. There's going to be an accident.
Will's brow furrows. This isn't the way it happened. But he's so tired...
She seems to blow a hazy glowing breath in his direction; suddenly he's awake. So he wasn't awake before, he just thought he was -- a dream. The car is dark now; she is no longer there. She was just a dream. But he remembers her warning.
"Dad, stop."
"We're almost home."
"Dad, *stop*. Something's going to happen."
His mom. "Shh. Go back to sleep, honey."
And then everything goes sideways. Metal crunches as the seats and doors and pillars and roof realign themselves; he feels cold glass pebbles pepper his face; then a hot wind suddenly fades to cool silence.
He feeels a smooth stillness surround him; everything seems lit by a faint glow. The car settles, the violence of impact played out. Janelle is again sitting next to him, but the glow is no longer just around her; it is like he is looking through it. She puts her finger to her lips, then tells him to sleep, then touches her finger to his forehead...
"Wait, who-" Will whispers as his consciousness begins to fade; he reaches for her, catching a trailing shimmer of light in his hand...
"Wake up!" Randy yelled, shaking him, hauling him up to a sitting position. "You can't hide anymore."
Will opened his eyes and looked up. Randy towered over him, snickering. "So fragile," he spat, "almost no fun at all."
Will's vision began to fade; the whole room seemed to brighten, details becoming momentarily sharp before shimmering...
Then the light focused, taking shape, casting Randy in shadow as a spire of brilliance grew over his head. The spire broadened, splitting in two, spreading, becoming real. Will blinked and they became wings rising up from behind his attacker's shoulders, silently unfurling in a beautiful menace. Their bright white shimmering feathers seemed to light up the room, though only Will seemed to notice.
Will smiled. They were too beautiful to be a demon's wings.
Janelle's voice was regal. "You... are finished here."
Randy spun around to see her rising above him. "But how? I still hold the binding."
"My Veil."
"Impossible! You lost it. It's not of this place, it can't be found, not even by him."
Will's voice was graveled by blood and pain and exhaustion, but bouyed by knowing joy.
"She didn't lose it. She just left it with me, years ago. And today, I gave it back."
Janelle's wings drew up, then spread wide, flexing, stretching, casting their illuminance in a circle of light that caused the room around them to fade. Randy fell to his knees, holding his head in his hands, the muscles in his back bulging and twitching as the winged light began to permeate him.
Will covered his eyes as the light got brighter, impossibly bright . . .
. . . and then it faded.
Will looked up. The sun was shining, the sky a beautiful clear cloudless blue.
Janelle's wings flapped gently as she settled to earth.
There was no sign of Randy, just an empty patch of wild grass.
They were in a gently sloping field, between foothills overlooking a wooded valley. Snow-capped mountains surrounded them.
"Where am I?"
"You're with me," Janelle said simply.
"And where are you?"
She looked up, surveying her surroundings. "Home," she answered with a wistful smile.
"How did I... Did you...?"
"I don't know. It's not supposed to happen. Your kind isn't supposed to be able to cross."
Will looked up at Janelle. Her majestic wings remained half-outstretched, flapping slowly, feathered irridescence.
"They're... beautiful."
Janelle beamed. "It feels so wonderful to be free again. And so wonderful to be *home*."
Will realized he was still sitting. He stood -- cautiously. Pretty much everything still hurt like hell, but he didn't think anything was broken.
"So this is Tu'Ress." He took a deep breath, ignoring the stinging feeling in his side. The fresh air would do him good. "I guess I could be stuck in worse places." Or with worse people.
"Oh no, Will... I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I didn't mean to drag you here with me."
"We don't know that you *dragged* me. Maybe..." his fingers touched her shoulder, stroking gently down her arm. Maybe I'm supposed to be here. "Hell, I don't know."
Her tone became hopeful. "I know someone who might. We can ask Weaver Danya; she doesn't live too far from here. And if she doesn't know, we can go to the Citadel and consult the Great Ones." She took his hand. "Come on. We'll get you home before you know it. I promise."
Will held back for a moment; Janelle turned to look at him quizically.
"We don't have to hurry," he said with a smile.