Chapter One

“Vincent, thank God,” the voice on the other line sighed. Vincent held the phone in his left hand while his right had been quickly writing words on paper that he hoped his professor would accept.

The mid-term paper was due in just two short hours. He did not feel pressure like many of his classmates – he worked better under pressure. He had only written three of the ten pages required on the topic of Sleep Deprivation: Why so many young people are suffering.

“I had this odd dream last night – I had to call and see if you were okay,” continued the urgent voice which made Vincent lay his pen down on the desk.

“What was it about this time?” he asked. In his twenty years, Vincent had learned to take what his father had told him as complete insanity. The only truth he knew was that his mother died in a car crash in Ireland and that his father was not known.

While raising Vince, Rick Hopman had written articles for newspapers and magazines dealing with the possibility of a demon race controlling the realm of dreams, all under pseudonyms. But it wasn’t until he published his own memoir, The Army of Dreamkillers, which told the tale of his best friend Connor Barker and his fateful run-in with Alexius and Orion that his life changed forever. His story told of Tracy Kingston and their institutionalization at Lungland Psychiatric Hospital. He had fallen in love with her sister, Laura, but she had died by Orion’s hand.

The tale concludes eleven years later, when he travels to England in an attempt to confront Orion’s father, King Darvon. He seemed to have gone blank almost immediately after conjuring Darvon. He had a sickening feeling that his wife, Emily, had been killed – he was horrified to think that it was his own hands that had been her demise. He had never thought that he was weak enough to become possessed.

But he could come up with no other explanation for his memory loss. The one thing that he did remember during that time was that Tracy had begged him to look after her son, Vincent. Maybe it was out of regret that he had taken on the role of parent and guardian. He regretted Tracy and Emily’s deaths and that there was nothing that he could have done to prevent it.

The last thing he recalled, just before waking at the Convent of St. Vincent, was that he was standing alone atop the tower of Darvon Keep; fires were erupting all around him.

But when he published The Army of Dreamkillers, his life was over. He felt that he could no longer write insignificant theories in science magazines, when he knew the truth as he had lived it with Tracy Kingston, Connor Barker, Laura Kingston, and Frederick Whitaker.

A pause was heard on the other end and then his father cleared his throat of tar-thickened phlegm. “It was – I don’t know. Some kid I knew when I was young. Name’s Allen Corgan. The odd thing is that in the dream I’m my present age, but this kid’s still the same young age as when I saw him last.”

Vincent sighed. There was one benefit of having a screwed-up Dad, even if he was only an adoptive father: He was able to use the old man’s dreams as reference on his papers. “So? That’s not an uncommon dream.”

“It’s uncommon if the young fuck tries to kill me. He’s been living in the attic for a long time waiting for me.”

“Why, do you suppose, does this kid wait? Why didn’t he kill you a long time ago?”

Another sigh. “That’s another weird part. Maybe he was told to wait – I don’t know. You’re the Dream Researcher here, not me.”

This brought a grin to Vincent’s face. Yes, he was a Dream Researcher and soon to be a Doctor of Dream Research. Perhaps in a year or two he could get a grant from the government to test his father’s dreams. But right now all he could do was sigh. “I’m sorry you had the dream, but that’s all it was. I think you should talk to a psychiatrist about it – maybe he’ll say you’re repressing some feelings about this kid. But it’s not one to discuss with a Dream Researcher,” said Vincent.

“I didn’t call you for your damned advice. I called to see if you’re alright.” Vincent sighed. “And now I know you are, so good-bye.”

Vincent didn’t hate his father – far from it. He just loathed anything that came from his father’s lips because he didn’t know what was true. In fact he came to believe that everything was a lie. Rick told awful lies claiming that the book he had written fifteen years ago was all factual; no evidence was found claiming the book, or any of the absurdities within, to be true.

He had heard stories, too, that when his father was married he had written articles for a somewhat reputable tabloid magazine. Once the novel hit the shelves – he had to self-publish the book; no publishing company wanted it – he was fired and the only job he found was at a near-by paper writing silly little snippets about what was happening in the community – and surrounding ones – during holidays and other seasonal activities. No one cared about the Lebanon Apple Festival or the maple celebrations. No one cared about Richard Hopman, or his pathetic little articles.

He listened to the dial tone for a moment – feeling guilty at the way he had treated his father – before turning off the phone and tossing it onto his unmade bed.

He had never angered his father enough to make him cut off communication before. He didn’t know why, but it was at that moment that he began reflecting on his father’s life. He wondered what secrets his father held; what truths were hidden beneath all the lies. What was he hiding?

With a final sigh, he pushed these thoughts away and picked up his pen again and set off with his paper where he had left off.

An hour later he had finished his paper and stuffed it inside a folder before shoving it in an old bag next to his chair. He reached over and grabbed a can of soda from his night table and drank what was left.

The door abruptly opened, almost causing Vince to choke on his drink, and in walked a man his own age. Karl Ramses plopped his body down on his own bed and looked over at his friend. “You’ll never guess who’s got a bun in the oven,” he began as Vince turned around.

“Who?” Vince’s female circle of friends was relatively small so he couldn’t believe any of them would be pregnant.

Karl’s smile grew wider. “Samantha,” was all he said. Vince practically fell out of his chair.

“No shit? I thought Donnie was acting spaced in Theories yesterday.” Vincent turned and sat down on his bed, recalling his friend’s behavior. And then his thoughts trailed off in another direction and a solemn look washed over his face.

It was as if his friend could read anything written on Vince’s face and so he gave him a sympathetic smile. “You need to get out there and get you a woman,” he suggested and Vince shook his head.

“It’s too soon. I mean - me and Chris just broke up.”

Karl shook his head. “Yeah, five months ago,” he said and Vince threw him a hurt look. “Besides, you can’t go on living with Mr. Rosy Palm all your life.”

Vincent reacted by throwing a pillow at Karl’s face and they both laughed.

“Yeah, well,” Vince began. “I’ve always felt that if I dream of her, then I’ll know what she looks like so I can find her,” he explained.

“Maybe from a wet dream,” Karl chuckled and then glanced over at the clock over the door. “Hey, you got twenty minutes to hand that paper in,” he announced and Vince jumped off his bed.

He grabbed his book bag and draped it over his shoulder. “I’m going to see Samantha after class,” he said and then made his exit.

Vincent sprinted across the campus toward his class and once he walked into the room he spied Chris Fergenson sitting next to the window. Crossing the room he took an empty seat next to her and she smiled when he sat down and dropped his bag onto the floor.

“Did you get all ten pages?” she asked as she pulled out her copy of the mid-term and laid it on her desk.

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Reaching into his bag and pulling his out, “Yeah. Not much of a biblio though,” he said and slid it over to her.

She grabbed it and skimmed it over; she didn’t register a single word that was written. “Vince,” she placed his copy next to hers and looked at him with a look he had grown familiar with in the last five months. The same old look of pleading.

“Don’t start, Chris. You know how I feel,” he said before she could even beg to be brought back into his heart.

She brought the subject up, sometimes subliminally, during class; for it is the only time they share together. Sometimes she would bring back memories of the happy times they shared. Sometimes, if she were really desperate, she would bring back memories of the scary times they shared; her favorite was the time when they rented a cottage in the woods and the eerie sounds of the night kept them awake at all hours of the night.

She would not, he swore, win him back. He broke up with her because of her mental instability. He almost came to believe that she had some bipolarity in her. It was bad enough that he had a screwed-up father, but he sure as hell did not need a screwed-up girlfriend.

She flinched as if he had just said the most awful thing anyone could have said to her. “Why not?” She looked into his eyes for some support. “Gabby died Thursday,” she said and was surprised that he didn’t immediately jump from his seat and whisk her into his arms in a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He never knew what to say to someone when they tell him a pet has died. In fact, he was never very keen when it came to death in the first place. “She was a nice dog,” was all he could say and she nodded just as Professor Krieger entered the room and plopped his briefcase down on his table.

“I need your papers, please,” he announced when he took off his jacket and laid it across the table next to his case.

Why did I even bother coming over here? I’m too damned sentimental, he thought and grabbed his paper from Chris’ desk.

Krieger walked over to Vince and took hold of his paper. “How’s the ol’ man doing?” he inquired.

He had a strange admiration toward Richard Hopman. He had never met him, but he had read the theories regarding the Dreamkillers and the army under the leadership of Orion. He had frequently inquired about Vince’s father, but he never really knew what his student felt about his own father.

“He’s okay,” he began and thought of something. “He tells me that he had an odd dream last night.” He almost felt foolish bringing this up, but now the cat was out of the bag, so to say.

“I’d like to hear about it after class,” Krieger smiled and went about collecting the remainder of the papers.

“All right,” Krieger began when he reached the front of the classroom again. “What’ve we agreed to be the basic definition of dreams?”

“The memories of days past during the relaxed unconscious state – sleep,” announced Kylie Atkins as soon as she opened her notebook.

Krieger smiled and nodded. “Yes, that’s definitely a definition – although too winded for my taste.” He saw that Kylie was turning pink in embarrassment. “But realistically, dreams are nothing more than images that our minds conjure up when we sleep.”

As the class continued Vince found his train of thought returning to his father and his “odd dream.” If dreams are nothing but conjured images, then why doesn’t the mind just conjure only pleasant images? Why nightmares?

“Nightmares,”

Vince looked up as if Krieger had read his thoughts.

“Are nothing but our images let loose.” Krieger looked directly at Vince but kept his attention on his class. “There are too many theories dealing with nightmares – what they are and where they come from. I’m not going to bore you…but I know that at least one of you has a father who published his own theories regarding nightmares,” Vince took the hint.

“Mr. Hopman, why don’t you share with us your father’s theory of nightmares,” he said. The hopes of making the second half of the semester a bit more exciting than learning the background of dreams, was too much temptation for Krieger; having a student like Vince whose father was none other than Richard Hopman, that was a rare treat.

“Sorry, Professor. I’m afraid I haven’t read the book and we’re not exactly on great terms right now,” Vince replied. He hated sharing his private life in front of strangers, especially when it came to his father.

Krieger grinned and walked around the table and sat down on the edge. “The land of nightmares has been controlled by a mysterious human in a brown cloak. He chose the name Orion and he had converted hundreds of his followers into hideous creatures known as Dreamkillers. These Dreamkillers were created from the nightmares of his subjects – they were nightmares turned into flesh.”

The class had written down what had been recited and Krieger noticed this and smiled at his own embarrassment. “No, you don’t need to know that. But it does open the door to the second section of the semester.”

Vince’s temples throbbed. He had never read his father’s book, but to have his own professor – a man whom he respected a great deal – so familiar with it enough for him to recite it word-for-word seemed weird, if not obsessive. And then Krieger dropped the bomb.

“Are the Dreamkillers real? Has this Orion actually existed? Can there possibly be a Dream Crusader; and if so, to what extent are their powers?” He had everyone’s undivided attention.

“I want these questions answered by the end of the semester. To learn the answers doesn't just mean you have to read the book, it means that you may have to dig deeper for terrifying truths. What I don’t want is your own theories; you can publish those later. I want evidence to support why you think the things you think. My suggestion to you is that you start at the beginning.”

What was Krieger trying to prove? Vince shoved his notebook into his bag. Before the class was excused, Vince stood up and stormed out of the room, ignoring the curious eyes of his classmates.

As he walked across campus toward the parking lot, he suddenly felt all that he had admired about his professor sink into the sea of the dead. For someone to even suggest that his father’s book was factual, they must be even more insane than his ol’ man. That book was a waste of time and everyone he had gone to school with informed him of that every day of his damned life.

And now the only way to pass the class is to write a paper on the exact thing he despises. Not only that, but to actually try and prove his father’s theory, to give integrity to the insane ramblings of an insane man. Yes, he could walk up to Krieger and request a “dropping course without grade” form, but if he wanted to work for his internship, he better suck it up and do as told.

He walked out to his car, tossed his bag in the back seat, and sat down after a sigh. There was too much to think about and he didn’t know what to do. He needed this class but he didn’t want to write the final because that would mean reading his father’s book and putting aside all the biased feelings he had grown up with.

If there was one person who could cheer him up, Samantha would always be there for him. Many times she had helped steer his path for him in the right direction.

He pulled out of the parking lot and headed in the direction of her house.

* * *

She heard the knock on the door and crossed the living room and opened it. She was surprised to see Vince standing there with a smile on his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

At that she reached out and embraced him. “I just found out yesterday,” she said. They parted and Samantha stepped aside and he entered her house.

The living room has never changed; wicker chairs and a futon being the only furniture. She was the only person he had known who actually boycotted television and had proven her determination by taking a baseball bat to her set in the middle of the street.

He sat down on one of the uncomfortable chairs and leaned forward as she sat on the futon. “How’re you and Donnie handling all this?”

“Who says it's Donnie’s baby?”

He threw her a shocked look and she threw out a grin. He shook his head and smiled. “God, don’t do that to me.”

“What? Can’t a woman have more than one lover?”

“Not when that woman is engaged.”

She nodded with a smile and then that beautiful smile faded. “He’s not dealing with it very well. He wants me to have an abortion,” she said.

There was a pause that fell between the two friends. The air seemed to have thickened. “I…what do you want?” he dared to ask. It wasn’t that he was very religious, but the abortion subject was one that he tried to avoid.

“I’m keeping it. It’s a part of me and if I kill it, I’m killing me.” And then her tears began to fall. “You know,”

Vince stood and sat himself down next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

“I think I’m starting to dream about her.” She looked into his eyes for any sign of contempt. She found none and this reassured her.

“Her?”

She gave him an uneasy smile. “Yeah. I just have this feeling; you know, mother’s intuition?”

He returned her smile and squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll have to get Donnie to join our side and stop worrying. Everything will be alright – you’ll see.”

“Yeah,” she smirked. “You just try and tell Donnie that.”

Vince stood up. “You know, I think I will. Is he at the pool hall?”

She shrugged. “Probably. Never goes anywhere else.”

He bent down and embraced her once more before kissing her forehead. “I’ll see you soon. Love you,” he said and saw himself out of his best friend’s house.

Saying those two simple words felt like second-nature now that they have been best friends since childhood. There was no doubt that she loved him in return; she would do anything for him as Vince would do anything for her. Except, his feelings ran deeper than her feelings.

There was a hidden meaning whenever Vince said those words to her. He hasn’t expressed his love for her for many reasons, but right now, Donnie was that reason.