The doors of a dark, mirrored wardrobe in a darkened luxury hotel room. [https://taladayarts.files.wordpress.com/2020/03/img_2472-3469058806-e1680574178706.jpg]

Loren pulled the curtains open, musing to himself, “And on the evening of the fifth day, God created the Rizeks, right after He got done with the dinosaurs or something.”

Mireia sat down on the bed, dragging Bernard down.

He landed heavily. His whole body felt like lead.

“Do you believe in God?” she asked Loren.

“All Saurians do, in a manner of speaking. We’re very spiritual beings, but we ain’t exactly religious. We’ve got no need for such constructs, although a few do find peace in elements of human faiths. We tend towards a more holistic and natural approach to the spirit world. I think our unusual origins and long lives have a lot to do with that—though I can’t speak for all of us. Gai’en and the Sorcerers are an anomaly from a more distant planet; and everything about that planet is an anomaly.

“To my parents, the universe—its galaxies, stars and planets and every one of us—simply is, and Deity is a given factor that exists in every atom that stitches it all together. But if you ask someone like Taii, he might give you a very different answer since he’s a . . . I hate the word ‘sorcerer.’ I think it’s in our official lexicon because it’s a common idea to you, but the word we use actually translates as ‘Lightwalker,’ which is much more accurate. It’s literally what he does—and what he just did to us. Walked us right through energetic planes with his freaky auric light-magic. I’ve got no idea what he knows or believes he knows, and I ain’t looking to find out.

“I’m glad you asked that question, because I’ve spent a lot of time in your Christian churches here in the South, and I can tell you now if you go around re-labeling our people as devils and demons, you ain’t gonna make it through training. And you ain’t gonna make many friends, either.”

“What about that doctor?” she asked, quiet and still.

“Maesera? What about him?”

“Didn’t you see his eyes?”

“Yeah, that’s normal. Those are his real eyes.”

“They were bright red. Like, creepy red.”

“Really? I assumed they were yellow. But that makes sense. Some birds have do have red eyes.”

“Birds?” Jez asked.

“Yeah,” he began, and then he faltered, frowning, “Oh. Did you think we were scaly?”

She paused, and said uncertainly, “Well . . that—um, Taii had fur, but . . . yeah. You said dinosaurs, right?”

Loren grimaced, “I did. Look . . . most dinosaurs are closer to birds than crocodiles. I’m the other way ‘round, but in terms of geologic time, you’re living closer to Tyrannosaurs rex than my own kin did, so before my partner, Saara, gets here, you’ll need to revamp your idea of what a dinosaur is. She’s real proud of her feathers.

“And remember that we’ve been living off-world, and we’ve changed. Some of us come from bloodlines that are no longer dinosaurs and never truly became birds, but evolved into something separate altogether. How dinosaur or how ‘alien’ someone’s line is varies between individuals. Saara can easily trace her line back to Utahraptors with a skeletal comparison, but some folks have evolved so much that you’d have to run a DNA match to find out where they came from—and good luck finding dino DNA.”

Everything Bernard thought he knew about dinosaurs had just flipped on its head.

Therapod arms were wings.

Wings came from dinosaurs.

It had been speculated by scientists for many years, but there was little in the way of solid proof to back up the claims.

But it solves the problem, he thought. He’d always felt that many therapods were often awkwardly posed, being the only non-primate animals he could think of on Earth with arms and hands. Wings would fit, and made sense.

“And,” Loren added, “In case you’re wondering, Taii and Samra have fur because their people experimented with mammalian genetics and hybridization.”

Jez patted him on the shoulder, “I think that’s enough new information for one night.”

Mireia strode purposefully to the door, “Yes, it’s getting late, isn’t it? Don’t let us keep you.”

Loren gave a sage nod, “Well, I didn’t emigrate yesterday. I know when my time’s up. I’ll leave you be, then, and let you think that over. Saara’s late, so I should go see if I can find her. She’s probably singing karaoke somewhere.”

Mireia hesitated just short of opening the door. “I thought you people were in some kind of hurry?”

“We are,” he said, “but . . . how do I explain this one . . . music is central to our lives. We use it for everything, especially folks like her. Her people sing for every reason you can think of. Just wake up early enough to listen to the birds sing in the morning, and you get the idea.”

Mireia opened the door, “Well, wherever she is, hopefully she’s got your wallet. You won’t get far without that.”

He was barely out the door when she said it. His voice could be heard in the hall, “Oh, man. I forgot about that. Yeah, I’ma go find her. I still want my car back, too.”

“Uh, huh,” she said, “Good luck with that.”

“Yeah . . . we’ll be around, later, then.”

“If you think about changing your minds, please do.”

She shut the door. Then she walked back to the bed she was sharing with Jez and flopped onto her back, letting out a long, deep, frustrated sigh. “The next time you see a dead animal, Bernie, leave it dead.”

Bernard stared into space, exhausted. “I just might do that.”

Jez remained standing in the middle of the room.

“So we’re clear,” she said, “We’ve all just experienced the same hallucination. There are no aliens, no dinosaurs, no unspecified mission, and no weird alternate micro-dimensions created by magical alien dinosaurs. We did not witness an alternate version of Bernard that looks like your worst nightmares, Mireia never met a demon-eyed alien doctor, and there’s no such thing as Gai’en.”

Mireia spoke from the bed, still staring at the ceiling as she intoned, “And there’s no big huge yacht at the Marina with an airlock for a door, an interior elevator, a medical facility that looks more like a ballroom, and possibly a mini-sub that leads to an underwater headquarters.”

Bernard added, “And there’s no operator named Ted in Canada who knows my name based on the knowledge that I was with Loren.”

“None of it,” Jez said, “We’re going to get up tomorrow, go for a good long walk around town, hopefully not spend most of it watching Mireia try on clothes—”

“Or walking endlessly for no reason,” Bernard told her.

“It’s good for us,” she quipped dismissively, “We’re going to walk until our legs fall off. Whatever just happened, it’s just a bad hallucination. Something in the water. We’ll just keep walking until it stops happening.”

“I want a new dress,” Mireia said, “That Sam lady had the most adorable yellow dress.”

“You mean Sam Who Doesn’t Exist?”

“Yes. Sam Who Doesn’t Exist had a super cute dress, and the prettiest shoes. The hat was a bit much, but I’ve just gotta have a dress like that.”

Somehow, some way, despite the number of years he had known her, Bernard had forgotten that every outfit had to have its own pair of shoes, which meant they were probably going to backtrack a few times while she made up her mind.

“I still intend to spend my weekend eating well,” he said, reminding them that he was not going to spend the whole weekend walking in circles around town and watching Mireia look at clothing.

Jez grabbed her pajamas from her suitcase. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Taking the cue from her, Mireia pulled herself up off the bed and followed suit, saying, “Bernie, you can eat as much as you like. Straight to your next doctor’s appointment if that’s what you want, as long as I get to buy what I came here for.”

After a while, mostly spent waiting on the girls, the lights finally went out. Bernard stared at the ceiling, sprawled peacefully across the cozy hotel mattress, and nestled into the soft, comfortable pillows, feeling as though he could sleep for a week. The bed and sheets were cool against his bare torso, the room dark and equally cool, and the air fresh and clean.

Eventually, he managed to ease his racing thoughts, as he mentally reviewed all the restaurants in the area. All of the best food on the planet, all in one town. He closed his eyes, seeking solace in sleep.

* * *

He found himself standing in a yard he had never seen before, although it was right next to his own house. The house where he had spent his early childhood in Lincoln, Nebraska. A man with short black hair, deep brass-toned skin, and heavy features with thick brows sat on the front steps, watching him play in the yard with Jez. A red Frisbee disc coasted between them, and they laughed as it veered errantly back and forth across the yard.

It was early April, 1986, and the world was getting ready to bloom. A bird feeder hung from one corner of the house, entertaining the occasional feathered guest. It was still cold enough that Jez and Bernard were both dressed in jeans and light, long-sleeved shirts. Bernard would be six years old in a couple of weeks, and Jez was still four.

A pale woman with long, dark hair drawn back in a ponytail came out and sat down with the man, whose name was Danny, and leaned against his arm, quietly smiling.

His wife—Sammy, Bernard called her, or Sam.

A few cars passed by as he and Jez tossed the Frisbee back and forth, enjoying a slow, lazy day until a car pulled into the driveway; the same mud brown 1971 Ford Country sedan that his Aunt Jessica had driven until it finally stranded her in 1992 in the middle of Atlanta, Georgia, forcing her to purchase a car with functional power steering, airbags, and an electric keypad on the driver’s door. She had come to pick up Jez.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Sammy stood and walked over to speak to Aunt Jess for a few minutes, something about Bernard’s mother, out shopping with someone named Silver for birthday presents. Jez tossed the Frisbee, but Bernard missed it, and it flew into the bushes by the house. He ignored it for the moment, and said goodbye to his cousin instead. Everyone bade each other a cheerful farewell before Aunt Jess and Jez got in the car, and they rolled away down the street.

Bernard went to retrieve the Frisbee, prizing it loose from the branches it had landed in, and stood, turning it over in his hands, running his small fingers over the gold lettering in absent contemplation.

Sammy called out to him, beckoning him to play with her. He tossed her the Frisbee, and she caught it. She was about to throw it back, when she glanced up at the sky, and froze, her brown eyes widening in horror as she called for her husband and ran to Bernard.

Danny was already on his feet, a black gun in one hand as a dark shadow fell over the yard. Something large and indistinct shot down out of the sky, smacking and tossing both adults aside with a force that surely must have killed them. Torn from Sammy’s arms, Bernard found himself in the grip of a huge, black, scaly hand. Something was carrying him swiftly up over the neighborhood, so fast that it made him dizzy. A dragon. An immense, black, humanoid dragon.

A funny pressure built up in his ears until they finally popped, and the frigid wind roared in his ears with deafening force. He dared to glance down, and stared at the ground, terrified, as it passed so far below them. Block after block went by, and the brown Ford as it drove off into the distance. A couple of kids that he went to daycare with were playing with a football, but he was moving so fast that no one could see him. That must have been the reason no one looked up. He could think of no other explanation. Surely someone would see a giant black dragon up in the sky, even if they could not see him. His whole body was starting to ache from the force of his rough capture, and the icy wind was drying out his eyes, until he could barely see, much less keep them open. His face had gone totally numb.

That was when he felt it: something sticky creeping over his skin.

He looked down at himself, and could only scream as he saw a translucent black substance ooze from the creature’s clenched fist. He could only watch, transfixed, as it crawled up his body, as though with a mind of its own. It ~Bernard.~ stopped short of his shoulders and ankles, and then the dragonoid adjusted its grip on him, as they descended. The creature pressed the edge of one finger, which alone was bigger around than his head, against his mouth to silence any further cries, nearly suffocating him—and it wasn’t long before he discovered the reason:

Below them, waiting within the walls of a backyard privacy fence, the house itself up for sale and uninhabited, was a monstrous beast, ~It is okay.~ with multiple limbs, a long, whiplash tail, massive, fleshy wing-like structures, and what looked like enormous, fleshy fins. It was slick and black, with a face that might have been draconic at one point in its conception, but was contorted practically beyond recognition as anything he’d ever seen before. He couldn’t make out where its limbs were, or where one thing began, and another ended. It was too dark all over to tell, and the highlights and shadows of the beast only served to further confuse him. ~BE CALM, BERNARD!~

The only thing he knew with any certainty was that he was being lowered toward it, and he struggled violently, trying in vain to make some sound loud enough that someone might hear him and come make this stop, though he couldn’t imagine what anyone could do against these creatures. Anything was better than nothing, wasn’t it? But there was nothing he could do, and no one heard him, and nobody came. He could only stare, transfixed by fear, at the monster’s long, black claws, its sharp, white fangs, and its strange, shadowy form, which almost seemed to change shape as it reached to encompass him in the thick folds of its soft, black flesh.

The scaly hand was gone. He was upheld, now, by the soft, surreal, slippery yet secure grasp of the shadowy monster, as it wrapped around his body. Any screaming he did, now, fell flat and failed to pass beyond the darkness that enveloped him, but it hardly stopped him from calling for help just as loudly as he could. He continued to squirm in vain against the sickening stickiness binding his arms and legs, hoping to find some flaw to exploit.

Out of the blackness, its jaws parted in ravenous delight, baring its hideously long fangs. A pair of small, wide-set eyes seem to stare right into his soul.

~Wake up!~

~Bernard! Wake up!~

“For God’s sake, Bernie, wake up! Before you wake up the whole hotel!”

Its eyes had been so alien at first glance; but close up, they were much too human, yet lacking any of the warmth that human eyes should have possessed. Its black body continued to keep him shrouded, hiding him away from the world and holding him still, while something, a needle, pierced his shoulder.

Something tightened over his mouth, and he tried to jerk his head away from it before he realized that something was off . . . it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t alien. The only thing pinning his body, now, was . . . human.

“Goddammit Maxwell Bernard, shut up and open your eyes!”

He blinked and squinted into the blinding light of . . . he couldn’t remember . . . it wasn’t home, or anyone’s house.

The hotel.

Jez pulled her hand away from his mouth slowly and leaned back, sighing deeply. She was sitting straddled across his stomach, her right hand and leg pinning his left arm. Mireia was seated on his right, on the edge of the bed, holding his other arm down. Their faces were drawn with concern as they slowly released him, and Jez flung herself onto the edge of the bed, next to Mireia, glaring at him.

He took a few deep breaths, and let each one out slowly. In his mind, he could still see those cold, soulless eyes. An old fear had risen in him, long-suppressed . . . but it wasn’t old. It couldn’t be, because he had never experienced anything like this in his entire life. It was a brand-new thing, wasn’t it?

Mireia stroked the back of his hand worriedly, and wrapped her fingers around his, her thumb massaging his knuckles as she watched him, evidently searching for something to say.

“Are you okay?” she finally asked.

He wasn’t sure how to answer that. After a moment’s thought, though, he settled for, “Don’t ever do that again.”

Jez threw her hands out to the room furiously, “What in the world do you expect us to do? Watch you suffer and let you wake up the whole fucking hotel?”

“You scared the shit out of me!” he snapped angrily.

She balled her fists, quivering as she looked for something to punch. Without warning, she brought her left fist down on his ribcage, as hard as she could.

“Ow!” he yelled, curling up on his side defensively, “Jesus!”

“You’re welcome!” she snapped, “You think we scared you? Why don’t you take a moment and think about what you did to us! You’ve been rolling around in agony for almost an hour! You’d think someone was torturing you!” she stuck up her middle finger at him, “And you hit me in the face, asshole! If it ever happens again, you can just keep suffering until morning!”

She was seething, at a loss for words or actions, and put her back to him abruptly.

Mireia touched his arm cautiously, “Would you mind telling us what happened?”

It was the last thing he wanted to think about. He gave them a stony silence as he stared at the wall, deeply disturbed by the dream and thoroughly embarrassed by his behavior, and the fact that they’d had to wake him like that. They were right, of course: they couldn’t go drawing attention to themselves. He was still pissed off about it; and, given the nature of the dream, not a bit surprised to find out he’d hit his cousin, though it was remarkable that the strike had landed.

Jez hadn’t said anything more, but he finally spoke, in answer to the question he was sure she was still waiting for him to respond to, “It was just a dream,” he muttered it to the wall.

He felt Mireia scoot up until she was seated against his back. She set a hand on his arm, doing her best to sound calm, but her words came out a little strained, “That had to have been more than a dream. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

The rest of the summer—hell, the rest of his life—was starting to look dismal if this was how it was starting off. Between Mireia’s sympathy and Jez’s anger, he was finding it hard to calm his nerves. He was torn between their emotions, both of which he felt himself; but, as he lay there, seeking some scrap of inner peace, he felt something odd . . . a chilled but soothing solace within him that he was not totally sure was of his own making. He didn’t know what it was, and he couldn’t recall ever feeling anything like it before, but whatever it was, it was helping him, and he couldn’t bring himself to be afraid of it.

He closed his eyes, cringed at the darkness it brought, and opened them again. He wanted to cry. It was too much. It was just too much. Everything that had just happened, and now this? He couldn’t process it, and on top of that, he hadn’t gotten enough sleep; and now he could hear—feel—his heart pounding in his chest, his blood pulsing violently through his veins. He was going mad. He was sure of it.

What was worse, he was sure that one of the voices he’d heard hadn’t been Mireia or Jez. It had sounded like a child—a young male, perhaps about the age he’d been in the “dream,” but it hadn’t been his voice at all.

Definitely going mad.

The icy solace was still there, gently resting somewhere in the core of his being, soft and peaceful. He knew he ought to be disturbed, or at least suspicious of it, but he couldn’t bring himself to raise more than a small doubt. Slowly, cautiously, he focused in on it, and dared to welcome it. Anything to make his head stop spinning.

Bonus points if it made him sane again.

Anything. . . .

It spread, just a little, and he forced himself to take slow, even breaths. He didn’t think he could go back to sleep, but he at least had to calm himself somehow.

Finally, his heart began to recede to a normal rhythm and his adrenal glands relaxed. He became aware that his muscles were tightly clenched. His whole body so tense that it had become stiff. He forced his fingers to relinquish the grip they’d found on his arms, and focused on relaxing. As he sought to distance himself from the fear and panic that the dream (or whatever it was) had set in him, he remembered something his sister had said once after one of her karate classes: if your body was tense, your mind would be tense, as well. He had to uncoil his nerves and loosen the grip he had on himself.

He was vaguely aware of Jez and Mireia holding a discussion about him.

Jez broke off as he began to force movement into his limbs, “You wanna talk, Bern?”

He turned to her slowly, propping himself up on his elbows, “Do you really want to listen to me talk about . . . ,” he couldn’t even bring himself to say it.

“Nightmare?” Mireia guessed.

Bernard started to confirm it, but then shook his head, “No. The . . . other one. Mostly.”

The thing was still so vivid in his mind. As though it could spring to life at any moment, right there in the room. He inhaled, tried to think of a way to explain the “dream,” and exhaled, giving up, instead pleading with them, “Don’t make me talk about it.”

Jez sighed, “It’s just a dream, dude. It can’t hurt you. Anyway, I thought we agreed that none of that stuff happened.”

“I‘m . . . not actually sure that was ‘just a dream.’ ”

The girls exchanged anxious glances, and Mireia asked, “You think it’s real?”

He didn’t immediately answer her, afraid to give life to the dark suspicion rising within him.

Jez studied him carefully, “You mean . . . like a memory?”

Mireia leaned back, thoughtful, although clearly uncomfortable, “I guess . . . since the memories are coming back . . . that must be the case.”

“No fucking way,” Jez said as she turned to stare at their friend.

“You’re shitting me,” Bernard whimpered, as he realized her assessment made sense, “I’ve gotta relive things that were erased from my life when I sleep at night? Are you serious? I’ll never sleep again!”

He really did not think he could close his eyes again, knowing that Nightmare and Dark would be waiting for him when he did. He couldn’t believe he was even thinking of them that way, as if they were somehow real!

They were, weren’t they?

Something deep inside of him was screaming: if he went back, it would be just like before. He’d have no choice but to give up the normal life they’d been enjoying for so many years, and he would have to remember what it was he left behind.

Those memories could come back to him, regardless of whether he chose this path or not, and this time he might lose them for real, and who knew what else he might lose this time. Would going “back” to these people make it worse, or would avoiding them only cause him more pain in the long run? He’d known it would cause him trouble either way, but this wasn’t what he’d had in mind!

Jez shook her head roughly, “This is insane. I . . . , ” she took a breath, “I don’t know, Bern. I just don’t know what to tell you. I’m really sorry, but that‘s way too heavy for me to think about, right now.”

“You think it’s heavy?! What am I supposed to think? Jezzie, I’m losing my mind, here!”

“I’m sorry!” she said, “But what do you want me to do about it? Miri, what time does that clock say?”

“Three forty-four,” Mireia said tonelessly.

Jez stood. “I’m going back to bed.”

“No way!” he yelped, “You’re just going, just like that?”

She sighed, throwing up her hands at him, “What do you want me to do? Stay up all night? You should try to sleep, Bern. Like, for real this time. You can‘t just give up sleeping, or you really will lose your mind.”

“You must be joking.”

How could she even think of going to sleep, herself?

“I know it must sound impossible,” Jez pleaded, “but please try. We’re all going to need the rest. You know Loren and his friend are still out there. I hate to admit it, but we all know we haven’t seen the last of them.”

He thought about it for a moment, and tried to picture how the day to come might be if he didn’t get any sleep. He finally conceded, “This is going to sound childish, but can we leave the lights on?”

Jez and Mireia both looked reluctant, but seemed to silently agree upon it. They gave in, and bade Bernard goodnight as they wearily crawled back into the other bed.

Somewhere inside of him, that cool peace rested, content as a cat that had curled up in its favorite chair. He still didn’t know what it was or where it had come from, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Right now, it was helping him. Maybe, just maybe, with a little help, he could manage to sleep. As he closed his eyes, it seemed to fade, but he had a feeling it had not gone far.

An ornate wooden wardrobe with mirrored doors in a 2008 luxury hotel room, with the same yellow floral wallpaper it would have had in 1997.. [https://taladayarts.files.wordpress.com/2020/03/img_2471.jpg]