Chapter Two
Rick didn’t like ending his conversation the way he had. He promised himself a long time ago that he would never take out his anger or frustration on Vince – even when there was no one to help him raise the boy. He made a promise to Tracy Kingston – he had never learned that she was married at the time – that he would look after Vincent and protect him should any harm come his way.
On many occasions, however, he did search for Vince’s biological father. All he found is that his name is Jack Andrews. He didn’t know where the man lived and searching the Web turned out to create even more problems by supplying him with information about all the ‘Jack’s’ and anything to do with ‘Andrews.’
Rick could have let the nun’s of St. Vincent raise the child, but he knew that a convent was no place for a boy to grow up. Besides, the two surviving nuns freaked him out. They had told Rick of prophecies and conveyed that Orion, Tracy, and himself were but the first prophecy. More was to come, they cautioned.
Although he had written his dreadful memories down and published them, he had heard nothing of surviving Dreamkillers. If one had lived, then surely they would have tried to avenge their master. Nothing has happened since then; no Dreamkiller uprising. If there was anything left alive then they would have attempted to reclaim their place in the dream realm.
His memory has become bleaker – it is getting harder to remember clearly. He does remember meeting Tracy at the young age of fifteen, but he was having trouble recalling specific nightmares he and she shared. His first love, Laura Kingston, Tracy’s older sister had been killed, it was Orion’s will, although he couldn’t remember the mournful words she spoke just before dying.
And then his wife Emily – he still wears his wedding band. There was a brief moment when he must have blacked out because he knows that she died but he could not remember why or how. It was as if his mind was not his own at the time of her death. He couldn’t give details and that was appalling to him. He hated himself for not remembering that important information.
But there was one memory, however horrid it was that he will never forget: Satan coming up from the ground, grabbing Orion, and dragging the master Dreamkiller down to hell with him. He often wondered, when he jerks awake at night, with sweat pouring down his face, why he was left alive.
He must make peace with Vince. He can’t risk losing everything on some damned dream. He will never force this chaos on his son. It was his nightmares, after all, that destroyed his life in the first place. Vince deserves more.
* * *
Vince pushed open the front door and took a ten-second scan around the place, and then walked up to the front counter where he smiled at Gwen.
“How’s business?”
She grinned and shook her head. “Is that why you came here, Vince – to talk of business?”
“Uh, no,” he replied leaning closer to the young woman. “I’m looking for Donnie. Have you seen him lately?”
“What’s he done this time?”
“Trying to weasel his way out of being a dad.”
“I didn’t know Samantha was pregnant,” Gwen threw Vince a shocked expression.
“Just found out myself. Donnie – you know where he is?”
Gwen moved her eyes to her left and he followed them. He saw Donnie at a pool table with several of his friends. Without looking back at Gwen, “Thanks,” he muttered and left her in anticipation.
He walked up to the table and grabbed hold of the 8 ball before the game began. Donnie looked up and sighed when he saw it was Vince. But when he saw his friends’ disappointed expression, he shook his head. “Guess you heard?” he said and lowered his cue stick.
“You’re not leaving Samantha, are you?”
Donnie glanced at the two other men he was playing pool with then back at Vince. “Maybe – thing’s haven’t been all that kosher lately.” Then he saw the disappointed look become an irritated one. “It ain’t got nothing to do with the baby.”
“Seems pretty damned convenient. Why haven’t you told me that you were having problems?”
“We don’t tell you everything. It’s none of you’re fucking business.”
“Let me tell you what is my fucking business,” Vince grabbed a cue stick lying on the table and pushed Donnie up against the wall, pinning him in the neck. “My best friend – who I’ve known for fifteen years – is sitting in her house terrified of the thought of raising her daughter all by herself.”
“Daughter?”
Vince didn’t mean to reveal the baby’s sex, even though he, himself, didn’t know how she could know. “You’re going to go back and be a man. If you guys split, fine. But don’t leave your child.”
Donnie took hold of the end of the stick and pushed it aside and wiped the blue chalk from his throat. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he said he turned his back.
Vince reached for Donnie’s shoulder and forced him to turn back around. “Let me put it to you this way: if you don’t go to her, I’m going to be more pissed than I am now.”
Donnie was, for the first time Vince had known him, speechless. All he could do was nod his head in submission.
With the non-verbal agreement made, Vince nodded and released his grip and watched Donnie climb the few steps and disappear through the door.
Vince looked around and saw that he had caused a scene. Glancing down, he suddenly became aware that he was still holding the 8 ball and the cue stick. Then he looked back up at all who was watching him. “Okay, who wants a game?”
As he drove back to campus, feeling satisfied with how the previous events went, he let his thoughts trail first to his final paper regarding proving or disproving the Dreamkiller theory. He had an angle that the rest of the class didn’t: his father. And then the guilt feelings emerged. If he was to make any headway with his father he must apologize for not believing; although he still would not allow himself to.
He would have to return home to get a copy of the infamously pathetic novel and learn it. From there he would have to grill his father for information withheld from the manuscript.
With any luck he could complete the final in a week – leaving five weeks left of the semester to concentrate on his other courses unrelated to dream research but related to the mind: Psychology and Psychological Behavioral-Related Crimes. The latter course he enjoyed, although some of the most notorious cases – from Charles Manson’s “Family” who had murdered Sharon Tate to Lyle and Eric Menendez’s murder of their parents – made him feel unsafe in his world.
He was anxious to begin his internship at a nearby Psychiatric Hospital in the Dream Research Unit, but he must first pass Krieger’s class, and the only way to do that was talk to his father about the damned Dreamkillers. He would have to do it soon.
Vince pulled his car into his pay-per-month campus parking space, sat there, car still running. He sighed and pulled back out of the space as he had decided that now was as good a time as any to go and kiss his father’s ass.
* * *
Rick Hopman had been busy. He had located all the notes he could find regarding the Dreamkillers and Orion. He tossed the lot into a metal trash can along with a lit match.
He walked over and opened a window, only to go back to watch his burning memories and recalled a poem he had read as a younger man:
Through bright embers of night
I watch memories fade into oblivion
The sweet smell of burning photographs
The final lines of memory erased
Just who had written the lines he couldn’t quite remember. Who cares? It doesn’t matter any more. What matters now is Vincent. Who cares if Connor had written those lines only days before his death?
Connor? Rick fell down to his knees and put his hand over his eyes, hot tears fell. The memory of his friend, Connor Barker, came back to him in a tsunami of emotions. Then came the revelation that Connor was the sole person responsible for the first prophecy. He and Tracy were merely pawns set in the way of Orion’s victory.
If Connor had not challenged Orion to begin with, then perhaps none of this would have happened. Perhaps Tracy would still be alive and he and Emily would be raising a family.
As he watched his memories fade into oblivion he knew now that he could never get rid of Orion and the Dreamkillers – no matter how many pages he burned.
And then the laughter sounded – the same laughter he heard coming from the kid in his recent dreams. The laughter came from somewhere in the room.
Rick stood up and turned, looking for some explanation but finding none. All that came by way of response was the heavy gust of wind screaming its way into the room.
* * *
Vince saw the smoke in the distance and thought nothing of it. Fires happen almost all the time; but when he got closer to his house, he could smell the smoke and he could almost feel the heat from the flames. A sickening feeling clouded his head.
When he turned onto the cul de sac Vince turned down his stereo and just then he heard the sirens of fire trucks coming close. In a matter of seconds, two trucks screamed passed him and he watched them head on up the road and stop right in front of the burning house. To his horror, Vince suddenly realized that it was his house that was on fire.
It took him a moment to pull his car over and hop out of it. Confusion and shock was plastered across his face as he stared up into the giant ball of flames. He didn’t even register that the entire neighborhood had been out watching the fire. He kept moving his numb legs until his arm was grabbed and he was pulled aside.
Vince blinked and saw that he was looking at a helmeted firefighter – most probably the chief. “No, son,” he cautioned. “You don’t want to go any further.”
Vince turned his head. “Dad…was he in there?” He stared into the hungry flames as they were being doused by the spraying water.
The firefighter hesitated for a moment. “I need you to step back so my men can do their job,” he said.
Vince wasn’t born yesterday. Yes, the men did have a job to do but right now Vince felt like telling them to let the fucking house burn to the ground – just let him have his father.
“Is he alive?”
Again the man looked as if he were trying to avoid Vince’s questions.
“Please, I need to know.”
The man lowered his helmeted head and shook it. Then he turned and looked Vince in the face. “He’s at Mercy Hospital. I’m warning you – He’s in bad shape. Prepare for the worst,” he shouted and Vince turned and ran back to his car.
During his trip to the hospital Vince had called Karl because he felt like he had to tell someone and he didn’t want to upset Samantha, and told him what had happened and that he was going to the hospital. Karl wished him well and that he would keep them in his prayers. That was the one thing that Vince could never comprehend: praying; he never believed in an organized religion.
He didn’t know why but he also called Chris and relayed the information. He prayed that he wasn’t opening up anything that she could misconstrue as an attempt to reconcile. Perhaps he had called her in the hopes of asking her to take extra notes for him for class. But he never got that far. Instead of prayers, Chris said that she would produce a couple of healing spells. Unlike Vince, she did believe in Christ but she also had a Pagan background. A little help from the herbs and plants of Mother Earth cannot possibly hurt. He thanked her and quickly turned off the phone. He never understood her beliefs; but any help is better than none.
And then he saw the bright lights of the hospital coming up on his left side. The lights and signs of the hospital seemed to be almost larger than the hospital itself. He found a parking space and got out and cursed himself as the heavy drizzle started.
He pulled up the neck of his jacket and sprinted across the near-empty lot to the entrance of the Emergency Room. He reached the receptionist and wiped his wet hands on his even wetter jeans.
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“May I help you?”
Nodding, “Yeah. Rick Hopman. He was just brought in here,” he said.
She typed in the name, read what was in front of her and grimaced. “Uh, I don’t think you’re allowed back there yet – he’s been transferred to the burn unit.”
A feeling of helplessness embraced him at that moment. He knew that he would never be able to sweet talk his way into any special unit. Besides, he may not want to see what his father looks like. “Can you at least tell me where I can wait for his doctor?”
She gestured to the closed doors to his left. “Go through the door, down the hall, turn right, and then left through another set of doors. That’s the burn unit – there’s a waiting room in there,” she said behind a smile.
Vince did not return the smile. “Thank you,” he said and set off in the directions given to him.
Like most people, he hated hospitals. It wasn’t the sick patients that bothered him. It was the idea that the dead reside inside these walls. The patients who have died always stay here, for this is the location of the county morgue. He never had a stomach for death. He still gets squeamish whenever he reads about murdered people in his textbooks; the pictures were very graphic and left nothing to the imagination.
The nurse never mentioned that the hall was dark and void of the bustling of doctors and nurses on their rounds. He almost hated this hallway as much as he hated hospitals in general. The fluorescent lights above were flickering, giving it a clichéd look of a horror movie.
Concentrating his mind inward he took steady long breaths to help him relax. When he walked half way down the corridor, an alien feeling pricked the back of Vince’s neck. At first he didn’t know what it was, and then the feeling intensified. He was being watched.
He spun around and saw that he was very much alone. But the feeling didn’t go away – it only grew more powerful. “Is someone there?” he called into the emptiness, feeling stupid as he did so.
Vince closed his eyes and concentrated his audio senses on the silence. What he thought he heard frightened him. There was laughter in the air of the corridor, although it was no louder than a hushed whisper.
The laughter belonged to no one; there was no voice to reveal a source. Vince was unnerved. He decided that it would be wise to leave the ghosts alone. There were ideas roaming around in his head that dealt with spirits. He didn’t have faith in God, and so the dead are running around, sometimes trying to be noticed. Some of these spirits, Vince knew, weren’t all that kind. But, right now, he had his father to think about.
Several minutes later, he found the Burn Unit. The receptionist was doing her nightly paperwork. “Excuse me,”
She looked up at him and smiled.
“I’m Vincent Hopman – Rick’s son. He was brought here a little while ago,” he said.
Like the other receptionist, she too looked down at her computer screen and nodded. “Have a seat and I’ll tell the doctor you’re here.”
Vince glanced behind him and saw the area of chairs and he nodded and thanked her before sitting down in one of the cushioned chairs. He leaned back his head and closed his eyes.
When he opened them again he saw that he was no longer in the hospital. He was standing at the top of a large cliff overlooking the ocean, and behind him bright green meadows. He spread out his arms and tilted his head back and let the gentle ocean breeze excite his very existence. There was a feeling in the air. He couldn’t explain how he felt at peace and was looking directly over the edge of a cliff.
Before he could take in the serenity of the place, he was interrupted by a forbearing horn being blown from across the meadow. In the distance, he saw an army of armored soldiers marching with swords raised high. What a pitiful army, he thought as he saw the small number – perhaps a hundred, maybe a little more – of soldiers. And then he saw their armor. It looked as if they were wearing no more than metal garbage cans tailored to fit. Their swords were of the only importance; these were well-designed.
And then he saw the advancing army which seemed to have come out of nowhere. He gawked at the many creatures marching toward the humans screaming in a language he did not know. These creatures were more advanced in terms of maintaining an army; they were marching in formation. These creatures, Vince saw, wore no armor. He realized that they did not need the armor; their gray-green bodies were enormous.
The creatures varied in shapes and sizes, but for the most part, their eyes were either red or black, their claws black, and phlegm flew through the air as they screamed their war cries.
The battle began. Blood spilled and beings died, human and creature. When the battle ended the remaining three humans were forced onto their knees while the creatures held their armored shoulders.
Vince squinted, observing a single cloaked person glide over the corpses, approaching the three prisoners. What Vince saw next sickened him. The Cloaked One reached down at one of the prisoners, grabbing him by the head. His hood was lowered and it appeared as if he pitied his captive. In an effortless jerk, he twisted the soldier’s head, pulling as he did so, decapitating it from the rest of its body.
The other two captives began to struggle but it was useless. The Cloaked One stood erect and addressed the creatures he ruled, leaving as he made his way back across the meadow and disappeared from view. The creatures then took it upon themselves to pin the two living men to the ground and began devouring them, as they screamed unending torture.
His eyes opened. He was looking into the face of a nurse who was standing over him.
“Mr. Hopman, the doctor would like to see you,” she said.
He didn’t understand the dream he just had. Never in his life had he had such a dream; so damned realistic. He believed in his dreams yet didn’t know where this particular one came from. It terrified him to know that there was once a Cloaked One who took pleasure in ripping off his victim’s heads, but at the same time, he was not terrified of the dream. It was, after all, just a dream.
He stood, stretched his back and thanked her. Vince followed the woman into another room behind the receptionist’s desk and there he waited for another fifteen minutes. When the doctor did enter he looked rather grim when he saw Vince.
“Mr. Hopman, I’m not going to play nice and say that he’s going to be okay. Truth is he’s in really bad shape.” He paused and let Vince sink that first bit of information into his head. “He’s on a respirator and continuous blood transference. His heart is regular but weak. As for the burns he’s sustained: there’s not an inch of his body which hasn’t been burned. I’m not sure even you would recognize him.”
Vince had never met a doctor so straight forward before and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. Yes, he wanted to know how bad it really was, but the doctor could have given him a little positive information. But like any good little boy he just nodded.
“When can I see him?”
“Right now, I suppose, but you can only see him for a little while – my staff has very strict guidelines that they follow for a patient such as your father.”
Doctor Adams led Vince into a large room full of computers, breathing apparatus’ and anything to help his father’s lungs, and the IV tubes which looked like a giant octopus with all the tubes of fluids and blood wrapped around his father.
And then he saw the mummified body lying on a bed in the center of the room. He saw that the bandages had been moistened and he thought that his father’s blood had been seeping through.
As if he read Vince’s mind, “We douse him every thirty minutes with an antibiotic solution. It helps the healing – although I’m sure he can’t feel much anymore,” replied Adams and he turned to leave. “If you need anything just hit the Call button at the head of the bed.”
With that he left father and son alone. Vince had an awkward feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know what to do. The fortunate thing was that his father was not conscious – he wouldn’t have to fight to find nice little things to bullshit about. But at the same time he was also damning himself for the way he had treated his father only hours ago.
He was full of conflicting emotions right now. He was mad that this had happened but he was also thankful that he was not dead; not yet, anyway. Truth be told, as he watched his father lying on the bed, not much was running through his head. He knew that he should feel guilty for not showing much emotion or for not having that much going on in his head, however he knew that there really wasn’t anything he could do but wait for his father to recover.
He walked over to his father and took a closer look. It did look as if blood had saturated the bandages, but it never went through them. Perhaps it was a good thing that he was completely covered. He had never seen a burned person and he was hoping to postpone this one for as long as he could.
He walked over and sat down in the only chair in the room; by the discomfort of it, the chair was not designed for sleeping. As tired as he was, the uncomfortable chair did not allow Vince to remain awake for long.
Once again he found himself standing on the same cliff where he had just witnessed the bloodshed. Only this time there were no armies. No armies and no corpses sprawled across the beautiful green meadow. No, this time he stood alone staring out into the ocean.
At least he thought he was alone.
He spied a woman sitting in the grass wearing a spring dress and staring out into the waters as well. He thought about his options and had decided on approaching the woman and sitting next to her. As one they looked at the endless ocean.
“Would you believe me if I said it gets pretty cold here sometimes?” She did not look at him.
Vince shrugged. “I suppose. But,”
“The only thing that keeps me warm is the fire. But even that runs the risk of going out,” she said and then turned to look at him but for a second before gesturing behind them.
He followed her gesture and suddenly saw a tall fire. It was not catching anything else aflame – just emitting its own heat.
“There are things you must understand, Vincent. I am the Guardian of the Forbidden Realms.” She had looked at him and formed an odd look in her eyes. The look was almost hunger.
“What do you mean? What things?”
The woman hesitated before responding. The look of hunger had changed to that of hope. Hope of what he did not know. “I am your mother, Vincent.”
He had waited all his life to hear these words. Even when he was younger and could not believe his mother was dead. But now these words felt like drinking flat soda: sure the flavor is there, but the taste has gone to hell.
“And you’re telling me this because -?”
“There’s a young woman you must help. She is a Dream Crusader like I was, but she has something I didn’t – a chance.” Vivid memories of her sister entered her mind at that moment. “Your Aunt Laura helped me when I was a young girl.”
Now he stood up and looked down at his mother. “Why? Why me?” There were probably a thousand questions he could ask her, but right now all he wanted to know was why she had wanted him to do this for her when she had never made her presence known to him sooner.
Tracy Kingston stood up and faced her son with all the hope she could muster. “There is a prophecy about a girl, Vincent, and the downfall of the demon tribe. As my son I was hoping that you could become a part of that prophecy.”
Vince lowered his head and shook it. He turned and looked down at the meadow. “Earlier I saw an ancient battle taking place. The demons versus armored men. These images – were they yours?”
She turned and placed her hand gently on his shoulder. “I helped conjure them into your dreams, so yes.”
“Why did you want me to see some old war?”
“Old? My son, what you saw was the future.”
He turned to his mother with wide eyes. “It can’t be – it’s all fake.”
“Now you know why it’s important for this girl to survive. Mankind’s hope lies in her life.”
“No,” he replied and backed away from her. “You’re lying to me. You can’t be my mother; she’s been dead for a long time. It’s a lie, damnit!” He didn’t realize he was having these emotions suddenly.
His eyes sprang open and he saw two nurses holding little sticks with large cotton balls on the ends. Between them was a bowl of antibiotics. They had dipped their small sponges into the bowl and then gently wiped Rick’s bandages. “Do you think he’ll make it?” asked one of the nurses as she looked up at her co-worker, they had not noticed Vince waking.
The other stopped what she was doing and glanced up with a sigh. “I’d be very surprised to see a man of forty-six, with all the hell he’s going through live to tell about it,” she answered, paused, and then dipped her sponge into the water again.
And then they heard a muffled moan coming from within the bandages. It was a light moan, but at least it was some proof of consciousness. One nurse looked down and gave Rick a warm smile.
“The bad part is, if he does come around. Can you imagine the pain he’ll be in? God, I think I’d kill myself rather than live with that kind of pain,” replied the other nurse and suddenly the warm-smile-nurse glanced behind the other and gestured with her head.
Vince stood up and stretched. “Don’t mind me, ladies. I need to get some coffee,” he said and walked past them without so much as a smile.
Feeling ashamed at talking about his father like they had, they shook their heads once Vince was out of the room and went about their business.
Vince just wanted an excuse to use his phone. He looked at his watch and saw that it was twenty after nine the next morning. He hadn’t realized that he had slept most of the night in that very uncomfortable chair. He pulled out his phone from his jacket pocket and dialed Karl’s number and waited.
He waited about a minute and was irritated to find that Karl had turned off his phone. He thought of all the people he could talk to and then grinned. He dialed another number and waited.
“Hello?” greeted the tired voice of Samantha.
“Hey, Babe, it’s Vince.”
This news woke her out of sleep. “Oh, God. I am so sorry about your Dad, Vince.”
“Not now. I need you to do me a favor.”
“Anything – just name it.”
“I need you to get in touch with the fire house and see if you can find out what they’re saying caused the fire. Can you do that?”
Samantha smiled. “Well, I was Queen of the debate team. Yeah; I might be able to get you something.”
“Thanks a lot. I owe you one.” And then he hung up his phone. He saw a couch against the far wall and walked over to it and sat down.
Vince sighed and lowered his head in contemplation. There was a lot to think about. He was pretty sure that writing the final would have to come after he could talk to his father, but he didn’t know when he would have to help this girl. For all he knew he might even meet with her tonight.
What the hell am I thinking? No, she’s getting into my head. I won’t let this win me over.
He couldn’t just sit around doing nothing. He was one of those typical young men who had to keep busy. He stood up and found his way back outside to the parking lot and made his way to his car.
Vince drove back the way he had come the previous night – back home. He had to see what was left of the ruins. There was something he had to find if it hadn't been destroyed already.
He was relieved to see that his house wasn’t totally gone. It was just the attic and a bit upstairs. Other than that the house looked pretty stable. He saw that the house had yellow “Do Not Cross” tape put up in the front. He pulled his car off to the curb and turned it off.
He sat there for a while just looking up at the old house. It was not a hateful house – he knew that his father loved him with all his heart. It was just a lonely place – one of isolation. He had isolated himself from his father when he was old enough to see how everyone treated the old man. He grew cold and unresponsive toward his father. He had never said nor done anything hateful.
The past was beginning to pain him and so he had decided on leaving his car to go into the condemned house. Before he walked in he glanced around to make sure that the coast was clear and then slipped in through the front door.
Once inside he realized that he should have known this wasn’t such a good idea. If the odor of smoke was strong from the outside, then it was ten fold stronger from the inside. His eyes instantly began welling and tears ran quickly. He wrapped his sleeve around his nose and mouth, but the smell was not going away.
Vince hurried his way to the stairs and went up them, making sure that they were sturdy enough first, and made his way to his father’s bedroom. He pushed the door open, the fire had started in the attic – the ceiling of this room had turned brown-black from heavy heat and smoke damage, and searched frantically in the dresser drawers and found nothing. Then he went to the closet and ransacked it in less than ninety seconds. Again, he found nothing of interest.
Running out of ideas, he became irate and went to the bed and wanted to kick the living hell out of it. And so he did. He kicked the wooden frame, which cracked under his shoe. He kicked the foot board and snapped it in two. Although the breath was leaving his body, the power of destruction fed him and so he brought his leg up and kicked the mattress off the box-spring.
And then he burst out in laughter once he saw a book which had been hidden between the two all this time. If this book was hidden, then it must be important to his father. He quickly retrieved it and ran from the house and to the safety of the outside world.
It wasn’t until he was sitting in his car that he took a better look at the book he had taken from his father. The way he saw it, he wasn’t “taking” it but only borrowing it for a while. He had no reason to keep such a book.
He studied the craftsmanship of the small leather-bound book. Upon it Pison was carved in it as its title. And when he opened it he was surprised to find that there wasn’t a word of it he could understand. It was written in a language he did not know; or for that matter, had never seen.
Why would Dad keep this book? It’s not like we can read it, he pondered as he turned the book over in his hands.