A VPN, AN ONION browser, and a day—okay a helluva lot longer than that—but a final push later, I scrounge up a promising find related to Freemont. Those of us with the dreams also tend to be those with powers—as the claims go. I only trust so much on r/dreamfolx. Follow the right threads underground though, and a more believable world opens up. More far-fetched but more believable.

Anyone whose nightmares truly bleed into their reality like mine have a certain paranoia surrounding them. Turns out, some of them have DOSE in their lives as well. I’m happy not to be unique in that way. Naturally, no one comes out and says they have a secret band of government agents camped on their doorstep, not on any general access social media. The dark web is another story.

As Hued_Shadow on Jorum’s Table, I find my people. I’m not a power user, but I’m no lurker either. Others trust me here, and for the most part, I trust them. They don’t know who I am. I’m not stupid enough to put that out there. But everyone allowed in seems to be real, because before any of us sees the first letter of a post from someone else, we must answer questions about our dreams. Jorum—himself, herself, themselves—approves or disapproves, and our answers become permanently affixed to our profiles. Of course, the disapprovals never show up. Who knows what they say? The chosen though most of our dreams align with eerie similarity.

I stumble across Jorum’s Table two years ago following hints from r/dreamfolx. Where the subreddit currently has close to eight thousand members, the Table only has a little more than three hundred. Less than a hundred when I first join. As the number of people grow, the posts increase exponentially. I choose not to read them all. There’s too much darkness to actually go through each piece, but it’s nice to have support when I need it or offer a little on occasion.

The last couple of days, I need support, or more precisely, I need answers.

I search the message archives first. A search for Freemont craps out. Same for Martin. I punch in my own name, but nothing comes back that I haven’t already seen. Some of it bullshit, some of it speculation, some of it concern but nothing I can correct them on or offer a meaningful comment to without outing myself. Looking at Mississippi may be a bit too broad, but I run the iterations anyway. After two hours and many more posts than I expect, I’m ready to give up when I strike a potential golden nugget in a year-old post.

TOPIC: CB-Folx

USER: M-I-CrookedLtr

Anyone in NW MS check the CB club. Might not look like your thing. Look closer. DM for details.

No search required for me to recognize CB. Any ‘family’ in the north part of the state at least knows of the club. If someone wants to feel like they’re a big-city queer, CB is the place to go without actually heading to either Memphis or New Orleans. Okay, maybe Memphis is a bad example. My point being, if I want a place to feel like a gay bar and not a grown-up skating rink, CB is right there in Freemont waiting.

I’ve visited a few times. Tends to make the DOSE security team extremely antsy. If that were the only drawback, I’d be there every weekend. But unfortunately, I do my own bartending shifts elsewhere. Regardless, as plugged in as I am, this old post is the first I’m hearing of any underground connection between CB and people with powers.

Whoever this M-I-Crooked person is seems to be waving a flag for folks like us being welcome at CB, too. Freemont makes some sense. Biggest city in the state. Largest university in the state. Most liberal spot in the state. And, well, not like us in the alphabet mafia don’t understand being misunderstood. At the same time, DOSE never talks about Freemont as a hot spot. I never even heard them think about the city that way until yesterday morning.

I click on M-I’s profile. Their past posts may tell me a bit more about who I’m dealing with. The first entry is, of course, their dream, and I’m dumbstruck from the jump.

TOPIC: Initial Dream

USER: M-I-CrookedLtr

During my senior year, I thought I was losing my mind. Was the stress too much? Grades? Tests? College applications? Was this the reason that every time I went to sleep, [redacted] came to me? He never threatened me, but his presence— I could tell from his presence that he wanted more. More than I could give. He didn’t have to say it. When he came, the world took on another hue. I saw… things, other beings. I told him they scared me. I told him I didn’t want to see them anymore. The next time I dreamed—the next time he came—they were gone. I’d never seen his face before, and he didn’t show it then. It was always hazy, like a camera out of focus, or not enough light to really see. But we talked. More and more, we talked. One day, [redacted] … I trusted him then. I knew what my dreams meant then. And, I’ve been discovering what my powers can really be.

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Whoever this is, they know its name! No one knows its name. And what the hell? They trust this thing? Does DOSE know about this? Is this why they’re focusing on Freemont? And their dreams don’t really track with any of the ones I’ve heard or experienced. But Jorum approves, and they haven’t been kicked off, so they deserve the benefit of my doubt.

Unlike M-I, my dreams take place in the sky. The man-thing from the box is free. He, it, pushes up and up on those powerful wings into storm-filled clouds. He carries me with him. Everything grows dark. Lightning sparks between thunderheads, igniting them to eardrum splitting rumbles. But they can’t drown out his voice. His voice isn’t heard; it’s felt. The tone conducts through bone and lodges in the soul.

As we rise above the storm, the hues of sky change to a garish gray-green, tinted in deep crimson. He speaks of power, of me being the firstborn, of a world remade as it should’ve been long before. I don’t beg for freedom. I don’t say anything. I can scarcely breathe.

It, he asks me for one thing though. He bids me come when he calls.

I crack the sides of my face with open palms, afraid that I might accidentally slip into a nap and summon the damn thing. Remembering the dreams is bad enough. I notice that I’m sweating in a chilly room and realize I could use a breather.

Heath should be around somewhere on his farm. He may be out in the barns or fields somewhere, but he’ll answer if I’m the one calling. He picks up on the third ring.

“What’s wrong?” A typical Heath greeting.

“Uh, nothing. Why? Something wrong at the farm?”

A deep sigh and the chuffing of a pig answer me. “Literally same shit. But you ain’t called me at four in the afternoon to shoot the breeze.”

“What?” I draw the word to a tease. “Can’t call mama just cause?”

“Boy—”

“Alright,” I give up the innocent flirt, knowing better than to push my luck, “I needed a break. You know I don’t really have any friends. So…I called you.”

The squealing and scraping in the background go quiet, meaning he finally took me off speakerphone. “What do you need a break from so bad that you called me?”

Ahh, the tricky part. Heath knows a little bit about me. Not enough to be a security risk or get DOSE up his ass. He doesn’t want to know more either. So, I keep it simple and lie, sort of.

“Research. I do hope to, you know, get an actual job one day. There’s a lot to cover senior year.”

“Ohhh,” his voice notches up a couple octaves, “you been filling out applications all day, huh?”

He has jokes now. “Not…yet. Homework is bad enough as it is.”

“Uh-huh.” Deadpan. No sympathy from this guy. Mom and Day may not bug me about what I’m going to do after school; Heath is relentless.

This really isn’t taking my mind off things, but I do get an idea. “Think I could pick up extra shifts if I wanted?”

“Pfft,” Heath blows into the phone. “Do I look like I make the schedules? You know you ask Gerald for that. But pick up, take off, he’ll give cute little Kian whatever—”

“Okay, I get it. You can stop. And…I’m not little.” Heath has more sass than ass, which is expected for a six-five drag queen who also happens to own a farm and be the local mailman. Interesting guy, ole Keith.

The aforementioned Gerald owns Whispers, a hill country, gay bar in the middle of nowhere on the other side of Quail Lake at which Heath and I both happen to work. Gerald employs me as eye candy behind the bar and occasional back-up dancer for Heath. Unlike Heath, Gerald thinks he’s thirty years younger than he is. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing, if he didn’t expect every guy who’s actually in their early twenties to think so, too. Heath’s correct though: Gerald’s lechery works to my advantage. As the great proverb says, ‘If you’re gonna play the game, boy, you gotta learn to play it right.’

When Heath finally reels in his laugh at my ‘not being little’ comment, I bid him happy mucking and return my attention to the computer screen.

Further exploration is required, so I check M-I’s membership date and get another shock. They’re one of the first to have signed up. Like me, they don’t post much. Not anymore. All their posts are from early on. Mostly, they’re like the whole world—new to power and trying to figure them out, alongside the revelations in their dreams. After awhile they switch to responding to others more than anything.

I consider a DM to M-I, but caution wins over bravery. I go for the longshot dog whistle instead.

TOPIC: Mississippi Trending ?

USER: Hued_Shadow

Anybody else feel weird about their daily dose of reality lately? I notice Mississippi getting more attention. Think the dreams may have something to do with it? Are we safe down this way?

I keep the post short with barely any veil. I kept any location hints far away from any of my previous posts. The most I’ve said before about where I am is rural. M-I’s responses center on people in the south. Not exclusively, but the pattern is clear. I’m fishing and hoping for one particular bite. If their screen name is any indication, they won’t be able to resist.