In the Wake of a Dream: Book One of the Newcomer Trilogy Page 13

insanity is revealed.”

  “But who would kill a subconscious persona?”

  “Dreamtrappers,” Ash replied. “They’re Drifters that infiltrate the subconscious with the sole purpose of harming the persona. The most famous group of Dreamtrappers call themselves the Justices. They target human criminals, murdering their subconscious personas so that the criminals go insane. Other groups just cause insanity for sport.”

  “That’s wrong,” I condemned. “But the Justices sound alright. Don’t they?”

  “Do they?” Ash asked. “They attack defenseless people. Is that honorable?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “You and many Drifters,” Ash muttered. “Fortunately, most Holurns including ours don’t allow Dreamtrappers in their ranks.” Stopping, Ash cupped his ear. “Hear that?”

  I listened hard. The sounds were pedestrian, men calling to one another, tools being sharpened and used, and the odd whinny of a horse. Turning a sudden corner around some tall trees, our eyes landed upon a town. Double floored buildings occupied both sides of the road ahead. The entrance was unmarked by a sign or gate.

  It was a boomtown.

  Covered wagons and carts filled the road. Space was tight as Ash and I wound passed them. The buildings appeared to be businesses, the Yellowman’s Post and the Patchville Print. People wearing old fashioned garb passed in droves. We moved hastily aside as a man on horseback cantered by.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “To find Eli,” Ash replied. “There are plenty of saloons here and he’s bound to be in one of them.”

  Ash was right. Every third venue appeared to be a liquor store or a bar. Some had neat saloon doors while others didn’t, but all looked very customer appreciated. We had arrived unto a liquor haven.

  “Shots! Shots! Fifty cents apiece! Shots!” Beside the road, a table had been adorned with tiny glasses filled with maroon liquid. The man standing behind the table had crawling sideburns. “Shots! Shots! Fifty cents apiece! Shots!”

  “I bet Eli gets his fill here,” I commented.

  Ash nodded. “I’m sure he does.”

  “Can you sense him?”

  “Yes,” Ash said. “He’s further down the block.” Taking my hand, Ash led me forward. “Here are some reminders,” he said. “You can’t touch a persona or guide them with force. You must show them the way for that is the only way.” Squeezing my hand, he pulled me to a stop in front of a saloon. Wrapping me in his arms, Ash gazed into my eyes, his own overdosing on hazel. “You’ll be fine.”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “It’s time,” Ash said, nodding to the saloon. “He’s waiting for help.”

  Allowing his arms to fall away, I walked up the steps and into the saloon. The noise and hubbub that greeted me was immediate. The place was packed. The bar ran along the right side of the room where it stretched to the back. Unkempt looking people, nearly all men, filled the bar seats while others played craps. Still more sat around drinking from multicolored bottles.

  I waded through the crowd. The hygiene of my company was awful, the smell worse. That wasn’t all the bad news. I didn’t have Ash’s honing device. How was I supposed to find Eli? Discouragement, along with perspiration from all the body heat, was afflicting my brow as I reached the back of the room. Luckily, I caught some inspiration.

  “Eli!” I yelled. “Eli!”

  “Yes ‘am?”

  I spun around. The response had come from nearby for the husky voice had been low. I approached the closest table. Only one person sat there but I couldn’t see his face. It was hidden beneath a lowered, broad brimmed hat. Bottles, empty and full, littered the table beside his outstretched hand, his palm surrendering to the ceiling.

  “Eli?” I asked.

  Slowly, the man raised his head.

  The gasp of horror stalled in my lungs, silencing a scream. During biology class in high school, I had seen a pig whose blood had been siphoned away until veins stood empty and naked along its ruined, wrinkled body. I had been horrified then and was horrified now as I gazed into the writhing eyes of the human version.

  “That’s me name,” Eli said. “How’dya come to know it?”

  “Be – because,” I stuttered. “I’m here to help you!”

  “Help me?”

  “That’s right.” Without waiting for an invitation, I pulled out the seat beside him and sat down.

  “Who’s to say I needs help?” He asked curiously.

  My answer was ready. “We all need help.”

  “What’s your name?” Eli asked. “That ‘aways I don’t have to call ya stranger.”

  “I’m Annie.”

  “Annie,” Eli repeated. “Pretty name for a pretty gal.” He swept his hat off and dropped it to the table, revealing a mostly bald top as he did. Reaching for the nearest bottle, he downed its remaining contents in one swig. Unsatisfied, he opened another for a second round. It was difficult to discern the liquid’s color through the green bottles. “That’s the stuff!” Eli exclaimed, dropping the second bottle to the table. “And it’s my stuff too!”

  Picking up a full bottle, I examined it. “What’s in here?”

  “Me,” he replied.

  “What?” I asked.

  Eli smiled, the effect adding even more wrinkles to his millennial face. “Try it,” he invited. “It’s good.”

  Gazing into the bottle, I remained unable to discern the liquid’s color. I swished the contents in an effort to calm my nerves. And then in a single motion, before I could stop myself, I lifted the bottle to my lips and poured. I tasted the liquid. There was a mere second of confusion before my brain clicked. And then I was on the floor, puking the maroon liquid onto the wooden boards. My mouth was on fire.

  Eli bent down beside me. “Ya’al right?”

  “No!” I coughed. “No! I’m not alright!” I spluttered. “I just swallowed blood!”

  “I reckon ya did,” Eli commented. “I told ya yah would.”

  “No you didn’t!” I accused. “You said it was you!”

  “I likes it,” he said defensively. Reclaiming his seat, he popped another bottle and swigged mightily, his body seeming to swell with each swallow.

  Slowly, I was able to recover myself. I tried to ignore the disgust that was pummeling me, tearing at my consciousness. Retaking my seat, I voiced the question brewing in my brain. “Why do you drink blood?”

  “It’s the life giver,” Eli said.

  I frowned. “So you’ll die if you don’t drink blood?”

  “I reckon so.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Cause,” Eli said huskily. “I ain’t got no blood.”

  I shook my head. “Everybody has blood. You need it to live.”

  “That’s about right,” he agreed. “And so I drinks it!”

  “You don’t need to drink blood to stay alive,” I said. “There’s life abounding around you, abounding in you! Life is there, I promise it is. Blood is there, I promise it is. You just have to believe it!”

  Eli waved me away. “This is me,” he said, shaking the bottle in his hand. “There ain’t no life living outside it, no blood pumping beyond it. It keeps me alive. Be on your way, Annie, ya ain’t helping me.”

  Desperately, I thought of Ash. What would Ash do in this situation? He would know the perfect thing to say, to manifest, to show… yes! That was it! I had to show the way!”

  I bounced to my feet. Leaving Eli behind, I darted over to the bar. I was searching for an entrance to the stock side. I could climb over the bar, but I wanted to avoid a potentially catastrophic fall. There was only one other entry point and it was far down the bar, near the entrance of the saloon.

  Careful to dodge stumbling customers, I retraced my steps to the front and ducked beneath the rising barrier. I was behind the bar. Now I just needed to find my tool. I had nearly traveled the length of the bar and was ready to admit defeat when I saw the object of my quest. Happily, I grabbed it.

>   “I brought you something,” I said to Eli.

  “Could use a horse,” he joked.

  “Not a horse,” I corrected. “Better!” Holding the object forth in my closed fist, I opened my fingers.

  His eyes widened in surprise. “Reckon ya could kill a horse with that.”

  I nodded. “Or a demon.”

  Lying on my palm was a knife. It was a small thing, smaller even than a common dinner knife, but it was many times sharper, many times deadlier, and many times more adept at drawing blood.

  His eyes didn’t leave the blade. “What’s ‘at for?”

  I smiled. “You.”

  “What?” Eli asked.

  “You,” I repeated. “This is for you.” Somehow, from somewhere, I knew what to say. “Take it,” I whispered, kneeling beside him and lifting the blade to his hand. “Take it and show me your life. Show me you live. Show me your blood, Eli.”

  Eli stared at me. “Ya’d have me spill life?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  His expression was panicked. “But I ain’t got none to spill! I’ll die!”

  I shook my head. “You won’t die,” I whispered. “I’m here for you, here to protect you. Eli, show me blood! Do it!”

  In a drapery of hesitation, he lowered a gnarly hand and retrieved the blade. Lifting it, he watched me closely. “It’s a strange feeling, this’un,” he said. “For I can’t say why I trusts ya but I reckon I do.” Bringing the blade to his fingertip, Eli pierced the flesh. The blade clattered to the floor. Eli stared, stunned by the trickle of blood that ran the length of his finger to caress his palm.

  “This ain’t to be believed,” Eli breathed. “This ain’t to be believed,” he repeated. He blinked. Suddenly, Eli stood,