Dreamwalker

By Allison Silva

Born to a magical family, Sender and Maggie learn to cope with a magical heritage they never knew about until that fateful night when their mother died, and they were thrust into a world of uncertainty. Together and alone, they must face the future and discover a world they only ever dreamed of, a world where dreams are reality, family is stranger than fiction, and love is breathtaking.

Enter Maximillian Crace, a handsome millionaire playboy whose ruthless desire for money and power drives him to a life of extortion. Influencing his victims while they sleep and trapping them in their own dreams have made him a wealthy and driven individual who won’t stop until he has control at the highest levels.

Maggie and Sender team up with a host of unlikely characters in an effort to stop the evil Max Crace in a world where dreams become reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781532070297

Allison Silva

I am a retired high school librarian. I enjoy music and reading and being creative. I thank God for my wonderful, supportive family every day, and ask for His protection over all of us. I believe that everyone is special, we are all more alike than different, but the differences make us interesting.

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Copyright © 2019 Allison Silva.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-7028-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-7029-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019902705

iUniverse rev. date:   03/12/2019

Contents

1    The Mother of All Dreamwalkers

2    Trapped

3    Mom’s Request

4    Home Again

5    The Elf Returns

6    Daddy’s Home

7    Book of Shadows

8    Best Laid Plans…

9    Of Shopping and First Dates

10    Alive, but not Kicking

11    Maximillian Crace

12    In the Dark

13    A Watchful Eye

14    Run, Run, Run

15    The Pajama Party

16    Finding Rafe

17    The Ceremony

18    Zephyr Morgan

19    Evacuation

20    Let It Burn

21    Relocating

22    Family Drama

23    A Girls Outing

24    Air Force One

25    The White House

26    Make A Plan

27    Secret Rooms

28    First Lady Fieldtrip

29    A Night of Firsts

30    Training Day

31    Rise to the Challenge

32    Following the Clues

33    The Rat

34    Taking A Dip

35    Welcome to Craceland

36    Glitz and Glam

37    Taken

38    Trouble

39    Breaking Down the Defenses

40    Subterfuge and Salvation

41    Prisoners

42    Rest and Recovery

43    Return Trip

44    Doggy Woggy

45    Apate Returns

46    Together Again

47    Finding Crace

48    Throwing Up A Rescue Flare

49    Suppression

50    Dangerous Lies

51    A Blessing

1

The Mother of All Dreamwalkers

Maggie Dreamwalker

THE SLOW, STEADY BEEPING OF the heart monitors in the oncology care center, along with the dim, uninviting lighting, seems to lull patients and visitors alike into a half-in, half-out state of consciousness. It’s not really a "care center," per se, but more like a launch pad, where dying people sit in a sort of holding pattern before being jettisoned off into the afterlife. It has been four days now, and seeing my mom in her current state is both indescribable, and unbearable. The doctors aren’t giving us much hope that she will ever leave this place, and not knowing what is to come is the hardest part. Sender will be so lost without her. Not that I will be much better off, but Sender tries to put up this tough, bad girl exterior, which I see right through. She has always had my back, as well as our mom’s, and I think she needs someone to take care of to feel any sort of contentment. She has been a real trooper through all of this. Ever since my mom got sick, going on 2 years now, we have taken care of her while homeschooling ourselves. It makes having friends and a social life out of the question, but hey, it is what it is.

Sender had told me that she could feel the whole building screaming at her Get out of here, you germ! so when she said that she was going to go downstairs to get some coffee and walk around a bit, I wasn’t all that surprised, it’s just her way to cope with the stress, since she can’t go running or workout in her dojo. In all honesty, Elvis has probably already left the building. My mind wanders back to my mom, hooked up like she is to a giant "telaraña, as she calls it, of tubes and wires, that look like a spider’s web. My heart aches to see my mother, this wonderful, full of life, strong, but oh so soft, changer of destiny, Zenith Dreamwalker, drifting away from us with every breath. She has gone from elegant to emaciated, not to mention bald, over this last course of chemo treatments. She explained that this is just the normal course of life, and that she has taught Sender and me everything that we need to know to make good choices, and to carry on the Dreamwalker tradition, but what does that even mean? Who in their right mind thinks that two fifteen-year-old girls are ready to be on their own? Is that what they mean by chemo-brain?"

Sometimes I really don’t get what is so great about being a dreamwalker. I mean, we enter a few dreams, help a few people with sleep disorders, yadda, yadda, yadda. Even though I have never met them, mom always told me that everyone in our family is involved in helping people who have problems in their dreams. Sure, it’s cool, but I sometimes I’d like to be a normal teenage, girl-doing normal teenage things, and experiencing normal teenage angst. At least Sender is normal, well… ok not so much. Mom claims that she will be able to dreamwalk someday, and that it’s just taking longer for her abilities to manifest, but I’m not so sure. With or without the dreamwalking ability, Sender is an amazing problem solver, and that’s why she is absolutely necessary when we dreamwalk together. If it bothers her that she can’t dreamwalk alone, she never lets on about it. I often think that the inability to dreamwalk in Dreamworld is what drives her so hard in Trueworld to be a kick-ass martial artist and buff as hell! No doubt, my sister is a BEAST!

My thoughts return to my mom, pale and sleeping, and I wonder if today will be the day when we have to say goodbye to her. Sometimes, I almost think that she can see my thoughts. Just before I spiral completely into a pit of despair, and the tears are on the brink of spilling over like water over a spillway, she stirs and turns to me. Magnitude, where is Sender? She asks me about my twin sister, with her raspy, breathy voice. I don’t know how she could even know that Sender isn’t here, since she has barely opened her eyes for more than the briefest of periods in the last four days. She knows that I hate it when she calls me "Magnitude".

Mom, she’s just taking a shower and grabbing something to eat. She’ll be back in a minute. Do you want me to run and get her for you? I respond, turning toward her.

There’s no time. I need you to dreamwalk with me one last time. Please. There are still many things that you need to know. It’s for you this time, we’ll have to go without Sender.

I find myself feeling uneasy at her request. I’m not sure that I want to see this Dreamworld—especially without my sister. But then again, Trueworld is not looking all that great either at the moment. I take her hand in mine so she can take me to her place. It usually takes me a few minutes to fall asleep, as I’m always a bit restless, but her spirit seems to envelop me in a sort of blanket, pulling me into a state of calm, slumber. I have always loved dreamwalking with my mom. She takes my hand as we fall asleep together, and very subtly grasps the ruby pendant that she always wears around her neck. Then, we are spinning, and voila! We are in Dreamworld. My mom has absolute control of where we go, which is a skill I have yet to master. I usually just have to go wherever my subconscious takes me, wandering around in the surrealness of the dream until I find the dreamer. However, I am getting better at honing in on specific places the older I get. Mom says that one day, I will be able to do it perfectly, and that I must master the ability in order to bring back the dreamers who get trapped in Dreamworld. That’s what we do as dreamwalkers. I work really hard at it because seeing the people so miserable is heartbreaking. I want to help them; some of them are only children and they do not understand what is happening to them.

Come on! she urges. We have to hurry.

She hasn’t told me what the urgency is, but I go along with her, trying to please her. If Sender were here, I’d have to hold her hand. It’s been drilled into us since we were babies. I have to be touching Sender to keep her from getting trapped, but I don’t have to worry about that with mom, so I just hurry along after her and try to keep up. Who knew my sick, dying mother could move so fast?

When Sender and I were babies, my mom made us a special sock to wear when we slept. It kept our little feet together, so that we would always be together in Dreamworld. If a person gets trapped there, they can’t rest, and when they are awake, it is as if they are sleepwalking. They often lose periods of time in Trueworld, and sometimes see illusions in Dreamworld, that trick their mind into thinking they are still in Trueworld. This type of confusion is often misdiagnosed as depression, or any number of other mental disorders. Those who become trapped can easily become frightened and desperate, making them dangerous to themselves, as well as others, and generally disagreeable. Most people just wake up from their dreams by themselves, and often can’t remember the dreams they had at all. Sometimes, people get stuck, like there is a glitch in their dream mechanism or something. It can be just something that happens aka Murphy’s law, or something more sinister, which is what has been happening lately and the other dreamwalkers are investigating. My mom and I dreamwalk with people who are trapped, and help them get back. It often requires solving a problem that they are facing, and helping them to find closure within their dream—that’s Sender’s specialty.

Sender and I have only been dreamwalking a few months without our mother. One time, she even had to come to get us, because Sender let go of my hand to chase after an elf. I never actually saw the elf, but Sender swears that he was real, and well, she chased him away. Meanwhile, the boy who was dreaming, Scotty, and I had a mighty battle with a closet monster, which we defeated with a lightsaber, handcuffed to a giant Tonka dump truck using some plastic handcuffs, and then turned him over to the Closet Monster Gestapo. After that, Scotty woke up, and I wandered around in a closet full of toys, searching for Sender until our mom came for us. Mom said that I should have just closed the closet door. Apparently, the closet monster is easily vanquished by closing the closet door, preferably before going to sleep. Similarly, monsters under the bed are vanquished by sweeping under the bed, and sweeping should occur before going to bed. At first, I thought that these were just made up rules to make kids want to keep their rooms clean, but they really work! One of the best tips that she ever gave us was the bit about getting into a car accident. As the old saying goes, you should always wear clean underwear, just in case you’re in a car accident. Well, to get a dreamer out of a car accident dream, you have to make them change their underwear. I’m not joking. Sender gets a big kick out of that one. That’s my sister; she finds humor in everything.

Mom quickly ushers me down a long dream hallway, periodically stealing glances over her shoulder, her long auburn curls, still full and beautiful in Dreamworld, swishing over her shoulder as she turns her head, as if she believes that someone is chasing us. Hurry! She hisses at me urgently. Quietly. People are after us. I look back, but see no one. Paranoid much?

As we reach the end of the hallway, we come across three doors. One to the left, one to the right, and one straight ahead. Choices. Always Choices. She stops, seemingly to consider the three doors before us. Well, she says, right is right, so let’s go right.

She opens the door, and we quickly push our way inside, making sure to lock the door behind us. Locking doors works on some minor chasers in Dreamworld, but not all of them. I can’t help but wonder what was behind doors number two and three, but she begins talking more quickly, snapping me back to attention, and I notice that she looks more alive than she has in weeks. Maybe years. She is chattering and rambling on, and I can already tell that there is no way am I going to remember everything that she is trying to tell me. I make a mental note to revisit this dream with Sender later on.

Suddenly, I recognise where we are. Mom…? Isn’t this our old house? The one on Garner Street? Why are we here? I ask her, peering at our new, suddenly familiar surroundings. Look, are you sure we don’t need Sender for this? She could send away any chasers that come after us, right? We’ll have to keep running and running without her—

No! No, there’s no time. Listen to me, Maggie. I need you to get some things. I’m going to show you what you need, but you can not speak of this, not one word aloud. Others might be listening. This is important. I’m not going to be with you for much longer, so you will have to take care of Sender yourself, at least until until her powers fully manifest themselves. Do you understand me?

Her words are jarring. I feel my heart drop into my stomach. What? What are you saying? You can’t leave. It can’t be time yet. I-I’m not ready. Sender’s not ready. We’re not ready, mom! We can’t do this without you. I don’t know how to drive! I can’t even control the dreamwalks. And Sender—

She shakes her head, Magnitude Dreamwalker! I’m sorry that my impending death is so inconvenient for you, but my time is running out, and you need to be ready. You are strong and so is Sender. People need your help, and there are so few dreamwalkers… You have to find out what is causing so many people to get trapped. You have to make it right. Find out what, or who, is causing this. It isn’t normal, and it isn’t going to be easy. This is your responsibility now, Maggie, she says pushing a strand of my long hair back behind my ear. It is in our blood. In your blood, and Sender’s, too. You’re going to have to trust me, Maggie. I wish I had prepared you better, but I can’t change that now. Don’t worry, though, there will be help along the way.

Nothing else is said. She tugs on my hand, jerking me back to reality…er surreal-ity since we’re in Dreamworld, and we silently creep around the side of our old home, and emerge into the backyard. Nothing has changed. I remember us having a picnic right here, beneath this oak tree, just mom, Sender, me, and the old, wooden swing. It’s a typical three bedroom house with a fenced in backyard. There is a swing set and a utility shed. There were also ants, lots of them eeewww! Still gripping my hand tightly, she leads me around the tree to an old, unkempt flower bed. I find myself swallowing hard, choking back the tears that scratch at my throat as I watch her gently caress the petals peeking out from the rose bush we planted so many years ago. She once told us a story about a mother and her two daughters, who each had starbursts in their eyes.

Just like us! I remember Sender squealing with delight. We were too young at the time to realize that she was making up a story about us. Those two little girls would one day grow into beautiful, strong dreamwalkers, who would fight for truth, justice, and gummy bears for everyone.

The rose bush now has three roses, where it once had one beautiful rose, and two tiny buds. Mom lifts her finger to her lips, and I remember how we had sat in our triangle that day, as Sender made up a blessing on the spot, placing it on our special rose bush. Mom said that it was a dreamwalker blessing, that could only be done by us. Mom looked so proud of Sender that day, and although I hadn’t realized it then, in our mom’s eyes, that blessing was as important as a baby taking first steps. From then on, come rain or shine, snow or heatwave, that rose bush flourished. We had to keep replanting all the other plants in the garden, but that rose bush seemed invincible. After that day, Sender has made us bless everything, and I mean EVERYTHING! We always have more animals in our neighborhood than any other neighborhood in the city.

Mom brushes the dirt off of a spot just below the largest rose, revealing a cord. She pulls on the cord, and a dirty, plastic container emerges from the ground. It appears to be about the size of half-gallon milk jug. When she opens the lid, I can see a small, hand-written book, entitled Zeni’s Dream Journal. She shows the book to me before quickly putting it back in the container, and burying it once more. A feeling of confusion clouds my mind, and I can tell that she can read it on my face.

Nobody can touch this book but you, Maggie. Do you understand? Not even Sender can touch it. I brought you here to show you where it’s hidden. You will need a special pocket or charm to bring it back to Truworld like this one, she said, holding up the ruby necklace. Let’s not worry about that right this minute. That will become clear to you later, I promise. She stares at me with such intensity that I lose my words. I nod, which seems to appease her. She stands up, pulling me with her and grabbing ahold of her red stone once again, and suddenly, we are spinning, and all I can think about is how I have to learn how to do that. Especially since I can’t drive. It would definitely come in handy! I wonder if it’s possible to teleport in Truworld?

I don’t remember closing my eyes, but when I open them again, I quickly discover that we are not where we once were, and not where I thought we would be going. According to a nearby wooden sign, we are in Holmes Park. In Minneapolis, Minnesota, I don’t remember ever coming here before. A really, really long way from my mom’s hospital room in Little Rock, Arkansas, and our old house on Garner Street. We are still in Dreamworld.

Mom? How did we get— I begin to ask, but she quickly covers my mouth.

Shhh! She presses her hand forcefully against my mouth, a crazed look in her eyes. Keep your voice down! You need to learn to listen, Magnitude, DO NOT say it out loud. This is important. Come on.

Geesh! I mutter, Those were some scary eyes. Really scary eyes.

I am starting to get this strange, tugging inkling that my mom has been leading some sort of secret, alternate life, that she somehow has managed to keep from my sister and me for all these years. I am already having a hard time wrapping my head around everything that has happened today, and as she once again tugs on my arm, leading me away from all things sane, I really, really wish Sender were here right now.

2

Trapped

Sender Dreamwalker

I FIND MYSELF WANDERING AIMLESSLY through the dim, gloomy halls of UAMS Hospital, wishing that I could be literally anywhere else. I hate, and I mean hate, hospitals. I always have. After four days of feeling trapped inside these walls, unable to leave aside for necessary hygienic purposes and grooming, I find myself feeling especially bored, and exhausted. Having only taken brief catnaps with Maggie since Mom was admitted on Monday, I am starting to feel my eyelids growing heavier by the second. So I told my sister that I was going to walk around a bit. I really want to go running, but I don’t think she’d appreciate it much if I were gone too long.

I’d hate to die in a place like this… I mumble to myself, running my hands over my mess of curly, brown hair. It’s an anxious movement that I have been aware of for years, but don’t care enough to stop doing. I’ve always thought that it would be so much better to die suddenly, like in a tornado, or a car accident—anything but a hospital. I trace my fingers down the too-white walls of the corridor, recalling how I once read a story about a man, who sat on the drain in a hot tub, and got his intestines sucked out through his… well, okay, maybe that scenario wouldn’t be better. I shudder and continue walking through the hospital, pretending to admire the stale, old-looking artwork that hangs in frames on the walls whenever anyone looks at me curiously. There are signs on every patient room door, and every closet, and every exit. So much to look at. I’m not really paying much attention to where I’m going, as I had already explored almost the entire hospital during mom’s previous stay, and nothing ever changes here. Nothing but her condition, that is.

Some people might be wary of getting into trouble while walking aimlessly through the hospital corridors, but not me. If anyone ever stops me to ask questions, I would just ask where the restroom is located, and and go in the direction they point me in, until they are out of sight. Then, back to wandering. Mom had taught me that trick when I was only eight years old, and it still comes in handy at fifteen.

People have an innate trust in kids, she had said to me, and it is always easier to get forgiveness than permission. Just pretend that you are looking for the restroom, and you’ve gotten lost. You can even do a little pee-pee dance for effect. It will work every time. The memory makes me smile. God, I love my mom. Smartest woman alive.

I make my way down another hallway, past a severely understaffed nurse’s station, and into the Mental Health ward. One of the nurses briefly looks up from the chart she is reading, but quickly returns to her work after deeming me unworthy of her acknowledgement. I walk on, when suddenly, an elderly man emerges from a nearby room.

I’ve been waiting for you, he says to me. I need you to come with me.

He turns and enters back into the hospital room without another word, and I hesitate, look around to see if he could be speaking to someone else, unsure whether or not I should follow him.

Um, sir? I’m sorry, I don’t… I try to say, but he’s already too far away.

I decide to follow him into the room, hoping that it is just a bizarre case of mistaken identity. I look around to see if there are any nurses nearby to flag down, but the halls are completely empty.

Sir, I don’t know who you think—

I need you to help him, Sender, the strange man says, his back turned to me. I know that you’re a dreamwalker. You must go to him in his dreams and bring him back.

Before I can protest, he closes the door, trapping me inside with him. I freeze. Despite the pit in my stomach, I take a moment to quickly survey the room. The long, hospital curtains are closed, and it is hard to make out who is lying on the hospital bed in the center of the room. I let out a sigh of relief once I realize that the man who ushered me into the room is not actually a mental patient, but possibly a guardian, or a grandpa—one who somehow knows who I am. I cautiously walk toward the bed to get a closer look at the young man who appears to be sleeping. His arms and legs are restrained with thick, leather straps, and for a brief moment, I feel a tinge of fear creep into my body. Could he be dangerous? Upon closer inspection, I can see that he is young, maybe just a year or two older than I am, and he is cute. No, scratch that, he is absolutely gorgeous. Tall and thin, but athletically built. He has a mess of sandy blond hair on his head, and a slight splattering of freckles across his nose. Under other circumstances, I would be crushing hard. But now is not the time, nor the place, for that.

Please, the old man begins again, snapping me back from my thoughts, you are Sender Dreamwalker. You can save him. I know you can.

The man grabs my hand and squeezes gently, before I can even react. It takes me a split second to realize that he just used my full name. I open my mouth to speak, but before I can form a single word, the room begins to spin around me, and I feel the familiar sensation of being torn from Trueworld. I have dreamwalked many times in my life, but only ever with my mom, or my sister, Maggie—never alone. I can’t dreamwalk on my own. Who is this man? How am I going to get back to Truworld? Maggie and Mom don’t even know where I am.

Hey, hold on! Who are you? Why are you doing this? I can’t go into Dreamworld alone or I’ll be trapped! I scream at the man, trying to fight against the spinning, but I know it is useless. As quickly as it began, I can feel the spinning stop, and I look around desperately, trying to get my bearings, and assess the situation. The old man is gone, and I am completely alone in front of the three doors. Ok, I tell myself, Right is right, so I’ll go right. I open the door on the right and that’s when I see Benny, the guy from the hospital bed. He is standing just a few feet in front of me, in what appears to be the halls of a school. He has a painfully familiar, confused, lost expression on his face, and I can see brief flickers of realization travel across his face. He is definitely trapped in this dream. From the corner of my eye, I notice a group of three guys hovering near some lockers, snickering and casting troublesome glances in Benny’s direction. Something doesn’t feel right about this, and I sense an impending confrontation. This definitely smells like trouble.

I gather myself, and without hesitation, I walk toward Benny. Placing myself between the group of guys and Benny, I grab his hand and whisper urgently to him, Trouble is coming, Benny. I don’t have time to explain right now, but whatever happens, don’t let go of my hand. Okay? Benny nods, a confused look on his face. Luckily, sheeple, people who are trapped, usually follow directions without being told twice. I’m Sender, by the way, Damn glad to meet you.

I begin to pull him toward a nearby classroom door, but just as we start walking, the group of menacing looking guys comes lumbering up to us, surrounding us. One of the guys, a short, stocky boy with black hair and a cigarette behind his ear, lunges forward and shoves Benny hard, making him stumble back into some lockers.

Hey! Hands off! I shout, pressing my hands firmly against the bully’s chest, pushing him back, and taking a sparring stance. I’m surveying the group to see whose balls get the first kick.

Get out of the way, little girl, one of the other boys growls at me. She thinks she Bruce Lee or some shit.

The third thug turns to Benny, and with a sickening tone, he asks, "Where’d you get the eye candy, Benny Boy? She sure