Double Nightmare with Animagus Interlude
In my dream last night I ran around a huge research compound with a bunch of photogenic people while a red-eyed, zombied-out doctor chased us. Was it better to run outside, into the gated loading docks, or to hide in the corners of dim rooms? We couldn’t wear him out. We became separated. I ran around for a while, alone and afraid and then just impatient. I searched for the others and found them all in one room, lying in low, conjoined dentist chairs that were hooked to monitors and IVs. They all had red eyes now. Only one of them, the medical intern, spoke. He explained that we were all diseased now and that the only way for me to stay alive was to lie down with them and get hooked up for treatment.
I considered this. For a moment, I felt resigned to my fate. It would be nice to lie down. Then, I said, “You’re lying to me, aren’t you? I’m still normal. You just want me to lie down so y’all can drink my blood, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
Again, I considered just giving up. Then, what the hell, I tried to escape one last time. I ran outside into the loading dock circed by tall brick walls and iron gates. The monsters watched me through the windows, salivating. I crouched down so they couldn’t see. I saw two grackles/crows/ravens hopping on the gravel. It occured to me that I might be able to become a bird and hence get away.
(When I was telling Tad this nightmare this morning, I got to this part and he immediately said, “I never get to turn to a bird and fly away in my nightmares, even if I know I’m dreaming.” I said, “I never get to fly, either. But I never even thought of turning to a freaking bird before.”)
I copied the other birds by hopping and running in a random little pattern. I knew that just running toward the gate would give me away and get me shot. I wished that they would fly so I could imitate them. Then, all of a sudden, a whole flock of birds flew overhead, in a big, slow circle like flocking birds do. One of them was a pigeon. So I decided that I was a pigeon, too, and immediately felt comfortable enough to fly up into the sky. I did one, two flock circles with them, perfectly naturally. Then I broke away and looked out onto the same panarama I can see from my boss’s 20th-floor window in real life. I spotted my childhood neighborhood and glided away.
When I touched down at my dad’s house as me again, the family was in desultory turmoil. I had to take charge and make everyone get my late aunt’s knock-off Louis Vuitton bags and vintage dress patterns and feather boas off the porch, out of the first drops of rain. My arms were full and I couldn’t lock the back door behind me while carrying everything and making sure my youngest son made it inside. My dad said not to worry about it. The front door was locked, and that was enough.
When the killer came to the back door, I called in panic for my son. The killer had a British accent and was all done up in skinhead chic. I ran halfway down the stairs. “Rory! RORY! Are you there?” The others shushed me, wanting our silence to bore the killer into leaving. I ran back upstairs. Rory was in the corner room with my brother, who was resigned to our fate. I took my brother’s cell phone and dialed 911. I pressed one for emergency, two for police. The hold music had a mellow, swinging beat. The killer walked through the downstairs, methodically searching each room. He called out to us, “I’m going to find you. You should have come down when you had the chance. You should have confronted me and gotten it over with.” When he got to the room next door, my stultifying fear was joined by the certainty that I would die. I handed the cell phone to my brother and told him to keep trying to get hold of the police. I lied to my son that everything would be okay. I slowly walked to the door of our room. My plan was to confront the killer. “What do you want?” I’d say. Or maybe, “You have the wrong address.” Either way, I knew, with 99% certainty, that he would kill me. Because that was already his plan. He didn’t need a reason. I only hoped that, after killing me and blocking the door with my corpse, he’d be sated and go away, leaving my child alone.
When I first woke up, I didn’t know what that dream was about. After I told it to Tad, I realized that it was only anxiety about my career.
