Villains and Damsels Pt. 03

Our story so far: Sam, a certified but subpar controller of a Somnigo dream-walking device, has been asked by his ex-girlfriend Natalie to investigate a recurring nightmare that's been plaguing her. During his time in Natalie's head, Sam discovers that Natalie's nightmare involves her being taken and assaulted by a mysterious shadow monster. Once the overwhelmed Natalie awakens, she goes to Sam's house, and the two of them have sex.

Villains and Damsels

By Garnett Gibson

Part 3: The Master

* * *

"Hi," Natalie said the moment Sam opened his eyes.

It wasn't a seductive or joyful greeting. But it also didn't have a hint of anger or sadness. Instead, it had this undertone of, What are we going to do about this?

"Hi," he said back, unsure of the right answer to the invisible question.

"I need coffee," she said. "Do you have any?"

"No." He thought about not suggesting the cafe down the street, avoiding the girl he'd jacked off to the day before, but that would be weird when she would inevitably discover that it was there, if she hadn't already. "But I know a place."

#

"I've got a large coffee with soymilk and three sugars, and a medium iced vanilla latte." Lindsay, the perky blonde, was extra perky this morning. She must have seen how exhausted both Sam and Natalie looked, and she pushed their orders across the pickup counter with almost a squeal to her voice and a friendly grin.

Sam picked up the drinks with a tight smile and a quiet thanks. With a free set of fingers, he shoved five bucks into the tip jar. Lindsay grinned wider.

It was oddly comforting to know that at least one person in the world was in a good mood this morning.

He should be in a good mood, he reminded himself, after what he and Natalie had done last night. But even when it was happening, as hot as it was and as turned on as he was, he knew any fleeting moments of happiness wouldn't last. That they would disappear almost as quickly as they had arrived.

And of course, Natalie's present attitude didn't make him feel any better. She waited for him at a small table, palm pressed into her mouth, elbow resting on the table, staring into the abyss.

He set Natalie's cup in front of her and she took a pinched sip from the straw. "I've been trying to avoid sugary drinks," she said. "Trying to eat healthier." She shrugged.

"You look great," he said, an almost automatic phrase he felt compelled to say. Even though it was true. Even though he knew that wasn't the point. You felt great too, he wanted to add. Even in the darkness he could tell, despite the stress, her body was as tight as ever.

"I love these things." Another sip. "So, scale of one to ten, how fucked up am I?"

He almost asked if she was referring to the dream, or how she'd wordlessly marched to his apartment afterwards to fuck him. But he decided not to bring up the latter until she did. "Two? Three, maybe? It's not unusual to have violent dreams."

"But it's every night and it's messing with me so much." She leaned forward across the tiny table, highlighting the shadows under her eyes. "That can't be normal. How do we fix it?"

Sam pushed his coffee cup gently back and forth between his hands while he waited for it to cool. "Nat...there's really no delicate way to ask this, but it's what I need to know first. Could that," he hesitated, but couldn't think of a better word, "that thing, that man..."

"I call him the Master." She took another sip. "I don't know why. Maybe I heard one of the other women call him that."

"Okay. Could he be someone you know? Someone who either hurt you, or who you're worried might hurt you?"

He'd been concerned she would be insulted by the question, but she shook her head almost sadly. "I've thought about it. Too much. I've never been...hurt like that." She took in a deep breath. "I've never been raped," she said solidly. "I've had men grope me at clubs, and you know about the kid who stalked me in high school and left creepy notes in my locker, but I can't think of anyone who has made me genuinely fear that would happen to me. I really, really don't think he's based on a real person."

Sam had been hoping to avoid having to voice his concern to Natalie, but now he knew he didn't have a choice.

And Natalie, of course, could see right through him. "Oh, no," she said. "What's wrong?"

He told her about the faces. The real people, the fake people. The auras. How the "Master," despite having no visible face, felt as real to him when he'd been in Natalie's dream as she did.

She took a moment to process this. She really must be off her game, because the Natalie he'd dated would have at least acted skeptical that Sam knew what he was talking about, especially since he'd admitted to her that he was hardly the cream of the dream consulting crop. But now, she only nodded solemnly. "I don't know, though," she said. "I don't know who he could be. What does this mean?"

Sam's idea sounded insane to him, but he tried to make it sound plausible, because it was all he had to go on. "When I watched him, at first it looked like he was just made of these shadows, these inky tendrils. But sometimes, it looked like he really had arms and legs. Sometimes, it looked like he was wearing clothes. I don't think those shadows are him. I think they're a part of him, sure, but I also think, or I wonder, if maybe it's like a camouflage. A mask."

Natalie's eyes widened. "And a mask can be removed."

"Right. I might not need to kill him." Which he was certain he couldn't do. "I might just need to unmask him." Which he was...slightly less certain he couldn't do. "And once we know who he is, if he's a real person or not, we'll know what we're dealing with, and how to get him out of your head."

"How, though?" she asked. "I've been dreaming about him for months and he's always looked like that to me."

"When you're in it, when you're the dreamer, it's harder to take action, especially without a consultant there to help. You'd think because it's your dream, it wouldn't be the case, but it's like you're trying to do everything through syrup unless you're good at lucid dreaming, which most people aren't. For the consultant, it's easier. He does the same thing every night, right? More or less?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"If he's predictable, that helps. We can surprise him, maybe long enough to attack him. If you can manifest some kind of weapon, I'll hide with it while we wait for him, and then when his attention is focused on you, but before he takes you, I'll attack."

"What if it doesn't work?" she asked. "Or what if it does but we still can't figure it out?"

"Then we try again. Another night, another strategy. But based on what we know so far, I think this is our best shot."

"And do you think you can do it?" she asked.

What she was asking, what she was really probably asking, even if she didn't realize it, was, Do you think you're the best person to do this? And the answer was no. If there was a top 100 list of consultants who should perform this particular treatment, he wouldn't make it on, even if the top 100 consultants agreed this was the right plan.

He thought again, about why she had insisted he be the one to help her. Why she'd alluded to not being able to afford any consultant, not even him. She'd always made more money than him. She was ambitious, always looking for the next ladder to climb. He liked that about her, liked that she was the kind of person who knew what she wanted. Dream consultants were expensive, but it felt like she should be able to scrounge up the money from somewhere, especially if the problem was this bad.

No, he reminded himself once more. No, it was none of his business how Natalie spent her money.

"I think I can," he said finally. "And if I can't, I'll find you someone who can. One step at a time, Nat. We got this." He reached across the table and put his hand on hers. It was cold from holding her iced latte.

She smiled at him, but then looked down at their hands, concerned. "I don't...I don't want you to get the wrong idea, Sam. Last night, I was...I know I owe you an explanation."

Intellectually, that was true. Intellectually, he knew it wasn't cool for his ex-girlfriend to show up wordlessly in the middle of the night and fuck him to oblivion and now act like it had never happened. But for some reason -- okay, it wasn't like the reason was a mystery, it just wasn't one he wanted to touch with a ten-foot pole -- he wasn't mad about it. Just sad that it was now reaching its inevitable conclusion.

"I woke up in my place, and I saw your messages, and I knew I should just answer you, but I literally couldn't imagine being alone. And I had no one else and I knew you would understand. I planned to just ask if I could crash on your couch, but as soon as I got out of the Uber, it was like, I don't know, some animalistic shift." She gripped at her hair. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize," he said. Not just because he'd liked it, but also because he had a hard enough time seeing her distraught over her dream, let alone also distraught that she'd fucked him.

"It can't happen again," she said. "That's all I'm saying. It can't happen again. And I don't want this to affect...we have a business relationship now, and I don't want this to get in the way again."

"It won't," he said. "I promise."

She leaned back in her chair and nodded. "Good," she said. "Thank you." She smiled at him again.

He couldn't remember the last time she had looked to him for comfort. Maybe she never had. It sent a warmth through him, a feeling that he never wanted to end.

But it would. Whether she changed her mind and they fucked again. Whether he could help her or not, one day, it would end.

#

Sam texted Natalie several times that night, keeping it professional, responding to her nervous messages about going through with this plan. She needed reassurance that neither of them could get hurt if he was in Participation mode. Reassurance that if they failed tonight, they could try again tomorrow. Reassurance that she wasn't some kind of nightmare freak. He thought it showed remarkable restraint not to remind her that she was a different kind of freak.

He found himself wishing he could have the old Natalie back. Even though it was the old Natalie that had broken up with him, that never would do what Natalie had done last night.

But soon enough, her texts dwindled away, and the Somnigo beeped. She was ready for him.

#

Natalie wore a different outfit that night. Sam wondered if it changed every night, but they had higher priorities than to get the answer to that question. Tonight, it was a deep purple silk dress that wrapped around her and made her look like a Grecian goddess. Her hair was done up in a tight braid with a gold headband.

Sam appeared next to her, and she jumped, as if surprised to see him. If she was, that wasn't unusual. More than half of his clients tended to forget in the first moments of dreaming that he was supposed to be there when he was in Participation mode. But an instant later, she centered herself, remembered what was going on, and smiled.

They always seemed much more relaxed and reassured once they realized he was there. For most of them, hiring Sam was their first experience with the Somnigo, and while they knew that he had seen their dreams the first night in Observation mode, Participation mode always threw them somewhat off-kilter.

"Hi," she said. Many people who used consultants like Sam had said that just seeing their consultant in the dream with them had helped them face their fears. It made the dream seem more real, made them feel more in control. A lot of times, they were more in control.

"Hi," he said back.

Some of the other women noticed him, eyed him appraisingly. Natalie was visibly embarrassed by this, by shards of her subconscious checking him out. She cleared her throat. "So, you said you needed a weapon?"

"Yeah." He was wearing the same clothes he wore in the real world: a loose-fitting t-shirt and gym shorts. Not as businesslike as he'd usually go for, but if this got too physical, he didn't want anything impeding him. It shouldn't matter what he was wearing, but somehow it did, though it was probably all mental. But now he felt so, so out of place. "It's easiest to manifest something that would fit into the space you're already in." He looked around, and saw a fireplace a few yards down the wall.

She followed his gaze. "I just think about it?"

"Pretty much. Wiggle your nose if it helps." He grinned. "Get a little Bewitched action going on."

She looked at him weird. "What?" He forgot sometimes that she wasn't as much of a nerd as him.

"Old show. Never mind. It's different for everyone, but give it a try."

Natalie walked towards the fireplace, her head craned forward intently. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Then, there was a faint pop, and a set of fire-tending tools appeared next to the fireplace.

She looked at him, delighted. "I did it."

"Yeah." He tried to look like he wasn't surprised. "You did."

But he was surprised. He figured she'd be able to get it after two or three tries; she was the most determined person he knew, after all. To get it on the first try, though, for someone who scoffed so much at the idea of Somnigos and dream consulting, someone who'd been so thoroughly undone by her own dream state...it was, well, not concerning, but surprising.

That was neither here nor there, though. It wasn't where his attention needed to focus. He went over to the stand that had appeared and pulled out a heavy iron poker.

"Will that work?" she asked.

"As good as anything." He held it up, appraising its feel and weight in his hand. It felt just like a real one would. There was an ornate couch nearby, low enough to the ground that he thought it could make a good hiding place when the Master came out. "Do you think when it starts, you can stand right there?" He pointed to a spot on the floor a few feet from the front of the couch.

"I don't know," she said. "Once that gong hits, it gets so insane, and the other girls--"

"The other girls will fall into line with you," he said, one of the few things he was absolutely sure of. "You stand there, and they'll build the line around you. I saw it last night." It made sense. Technically, every woman in this room was an extension of her.

She blinked, as if surprised by his confidence in this matter. "Okay, Sam." She swallowed. "God, I hope this works."

Then, as if on cue, the gong sounded.

"You've got this," Sam whispered. He put a hand on Natalie's shoulder and tried to exude calm. "You do."

"You do," she said.

He gave her one final smile, looked anxiously towards the door, and slipped behind the couch.

The Master, or whatever it was, took its time again. Even though Sam knew what to expect, he felt his own heart pound in his ear, and with his head this close to his own chest, his legs at an unbelievably awkward and uncomfortable angle, he suddenly felt as useless as ever. He craned his neck a couple of times to check on Natalie, who stood at attention, shaking quietly.

He gripped the poker. The metal was actually cold in his hand. Every second, this world felt more and more real. Too real.

Like Natalie was doing something to make it more real, which didn't make any sense. Sam didn't even know what it meant, or why his brain decided to have that thought.

He dared another peek at her. She didn't look like anything except a frightened captive.

The Master's footsteps got louder and louder. Sam was able to angle himself enough to get a look at it, and thankfully wasn't noticed. The thing looked the same as the night before. Amorphous. Inhuman. Dangerous.

It was only a few feet away from Natalie, and Sam took in a breath, bracing himself for the climactic moment when it would turn to her and declare its intention to take her.

And then...

And then...

It didn't.

It slowed when it got to Natalie, but didn't turn to her. Instead, it took a few more steps, past a few more women. Sam caught Natalie's eye, and she frowned, giving the slightest shrug of confusion.

"YOU." The Master spoke the same way as the night before, suddenly and authoritatively. But this time, it wasn't directed at Natalie.

It was directed at Lindsay.

Sam hadn't even realized there'd been a version of Lindsay in the room, probably because she was wearing a tight corset and a billowing skirt instead of her coffee shop apron and visor. Natalie's subconscious must have conjured it when they were in the coffee shop that morning. He caught only a glimpse of her shocked face before the Master enveloped her in its tendrils and carried her off, down past the line of women, and into the bedroom.

He also didn't realize that he hadn't gone through with the plan to surprise the Master until the door slammed shut and the other women broke formation. He'd been taken utterly off guard.

Once the room was back to normal, Natalie scrambled over to him, crouching to meet his gaze. "What the hell was that?" she asked, half-whispering as if someone important might hear them. She seemed just as confused as him.

"I don't know. I don't know. I have," he turned towards the far end of the room, as if the empty doorway could provide him answers, "no idea." He'd seen dreams change in subtle ways from one night to the next, like Natalie's outfit, or the presence of different people like Lindsay. But he'd never seen such a fundamental shift, especially not one directly related to the part of the dream that had been causing his clients the most distress.

He wondered, for a moment, if this was her mind's way of trying to cure itself, but Natalie's stricken face told him that even if that was the intent, it hadn't worked. She was as upset as ever.

"I don't know," he said again, whispering back to her for absolutely no good reason.

"Well, we have to do something," she said, as if it were obvious both that they should do something, and what, exactly, they should do.

"Do," he cleared his throat and spoke at a normal volume. "Do what?"

"You're the expert," she said, brow furrowed.

"I've never seen anything like this before, Nat. I warned you, I'm not..." He pinched his lips, too ashamed to say it again. He'd warned her. He'd warned her. What if it had been his presence that had messed everything up? What if she'd been just one night away from shaking this thing on her own?

"You have to help her."

She might as well have punched him in the sternum. "Help her? What--Nat, she's...she's not real, Nat."

It felt so callous and awful to say. "She's real," Natalie said. "She had a face."

"No, I know. I meant, she's not real in here. Nobody's real except for you and me." Though he didn't know how he could look the real Lindsay in the eye after tonight the next time he'd go to the coffee shop, but that was his problem to deal with.

Natalie just shook her head. "You have to help her," she said again. "Please, Sam. Go in there and help her."

"They might not even be in there. They might not exist anymore. Areas in dreams without the dreamers are...they're tricky. They're odd. Your conscious mind has less control there." But, he reminded himself, she was the client. If that's what she wanted, he supposed there was no harm in trying. He sighed. "I'll give it a shot."

She looked at the door. "Should I go with you?" She seemed to be terrified at that idea.

"No," he said. "No, you don't have to go in. I hope. If the room exists, if they're in there, I should be able to do...something in there, don't know what, but something. But, follow me to the door. The closer you are to a space, the more likely it is to exist. You're the center of this universe."