Riley Bloom Dreamland (14 page)

And I bet your parents really, really missed you. I bet they also held themselves responsible since you played right into their very worst fears. Do you ever check in on them?

Do you ever …” I gulped at the thought but forced myself to continue, “Do you ever …

make dreamweaves for them?”

He patted his head again, and I looked away. I really wished he’d stop doing that.

“Never! No! Sheesh!” he said.

I waited for a moment, hoping he’d say something more, but when he didn’t, I took another leap, hoping it might work. “The thing is, Satchel, all of that happened a really long time ago, which means some of them are probably Here now. Have you ever considered venturing out, out of this room, to see if they are?”

He looked at me, well, one eye did. The other was reduced to a black pit with long strings of cruddy bits streaming out.

“Are you kidding? I can’t go out there looking like this!” His voice was tinged with hysteria, fear. “My parents will
kill
me! They must be furious with me for what I’ve done!” I could hardly believe it. After all those years spent scaring an untold number of dreamers across the globe, after all those years of reigning supreme over their very worst nightmares, Satchel was still afraid of how his parents might punish him for his death.

“First of all,” I said, trying to stick to the obvious, keep to the facts. “No one can
kill
you. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re already dead. And second—don’t you think it’s time you guys had a talk? I mean, I could be wrong, but I’m pretty willing to bet they’ll be overjoyed to see you again. And third—” My eyes fixed on his mangled hand that was in transit, just about to pat at the grotesque crevice in his head, turning in a way that made his jutting collarbone scrape a big chunk of skin right off his chin. The blood-ied, battered bit hanging by a long string of
ick,
that swung up and down, back and forth, causing me to say, “You have
got
to
stop
doing that. Seriously, not only does the sight of it make me want to hurl, but there’s really no need for you to look like this anymore. It’s time for you to leave your past behind and head toward your future, don’t you think?” While I felt I’d made a pretty good case, he wasn’t entirely convinced. He listened, considered, I could see it in his one, semi-good eye, but he was definitely teetering. He needed more proof.

Satchel had grown so used to his views, the fearful ideas his parents had drilled into him, that it was hard, if not impossible, for him to see another way. And there’s no doubt that having felt so powerless in life, he’d come to enjoy the power he wielded over all those un-suspecting dreamers. As far as he was concerned, it was a lot to give up.

Dreamweaving was his life.
Er,
make that his
after
life. Without it, he had no idea what to do with himself.

Kind of like how I was with Soul Catching.

But if it was time for me to make a new start, then it was definitely time for him too.

We locked eyes, and I knew if I didn’t say something quick, something positive, upbeat, and encouraging—something that

would give him the final push that he needed—well then I’d lose him completely.

And while I had no idea what I might say, I decided to trust that the right words would find me—just like they often did when I was in the middle of a Soul Catch.

But this was no Soul Catch—or at least not officially anyway. Once again, I’d barged in where I didn’t belong. I’d taken on a case without the Council’s consent.

Which means the second I opened my mouth, the only sound that came out was a horrible croak.

A horrible croak that was soon followed by a high-pitched gasp when Balthazar stepped out of the shadows and made for the stage.

He strode toward me, dressed in the exact same uniform he’d worn earlier—the buttons on his shiny blue shirt still threatening to pop, his knee-high boots tapping hard against the floor, and I couldn’t help but wonder just how long I’d been there. Had Dreamland officially opened for business again—or had Balthazar sensed some sort of trouble and come straight from his bed?

He looked at me, his gaze holding more warmth than I would’ve expected when he said, “The boy is not ready. These things cannot be forced.”

That’s what you think.

I turned toward Satchel, eager to prove Balthazar wrong, but all I found was an empty space where Satchel once stood. And no matter how long I stared, it only confirmed what I already knew—Satchel was gone.

I whirled on Balthazar, furious with him for interfering, for butting in at the most crucial moment. I mean, seriously—if anyone should understand the concept of delicate timing it should be him. Hadn’t he just spent an entire afternoon lecturing me about the importance of timing, of getting the landing just right? And yet, when it came to the scene
I
was directing, he just stormed right in without a thought.

“This is
your
fault!” I yelled, my voice containing a fury that surprised even me. “He was
this
close to changing!” I thrust my hand toward him, pinching my forefinger and thumb closely together. “I’d almost convinced him—and I would have too—I definitely would have—if
you
hadn’t barreled right in and wrecked the whole thing!” My cheeks grew hot and flushed, my throat grew all lumpy and hoarse, as my eyes stung from the threat of crystalline tears.

Hardly able to believe just how close I’d come—only to lose it all in an instant.

But I didn’t cry. Instead I turned to the side and blinked and blinked until I was ready to face him again.

“Don’t you get it?” I said, my voice still shaky. “Satchel was my big chance! He was my big opportunity to advance myself straight into being thirteen! And I was so close—I was almost there—until you came along and wrecked everything.” I shook my head, swiped a hand across my eyes. “You just had to butt in, and now … and now I’m right back where I started. Stuck as a scrawny, little twelve-year-old kid!” I stared at my feet, waving my hand before me as though erasing the words. There was no point in continuing, no point in anything.

And as far as Balthazar was concerned, well I was really and truly over him. Everything bad could be traced back to him. If he’d just let me have my dream jump like I’d asked from the start, then the whole mess with Satchel never would’ve occurred.

I’d be back home, safe in my bed, dreaming sweet dreams after having gotten some good and solid advice from my sister.

But
nooooo!
Thanks to Mr. Skunk Hair, I was right back where I started, which was pretty much nowhere at all. Feeling so dis-gusted with myself and my stupid, level 1.5, barely there glow, I tugged hard on my sleeves, yanking them over my knuckles and down past my fingertips so I wouldn’t be reminded of just how far I had to go.

Then I unstuck my bolted-down feet and made for the doorway.

Stopping just shy of it when Balthazar said, “You think I ignore Satchel? You think I did not try to speak with him, to reason with him? You think that you are the only one who has failed with the boy?”

I stood very still, thinking:
Um, yeah,
that’s pretty much exactly what I thought.
It never even occurred to me that there might be others who knew what Satchel was up to.

But it’s not like it made a difference. It was what it was.

“Dreamland is my creation, and at one time Satchel was my number-one apprentice,” Balthazar said, an unmistakable hint of pride in his voice. “Nothing can happen here that I am not aware of.”

“Then why haven’t you stopped him?” I turned, but the second my eyes met his, I already knew. Free will, it ruled everything.

I shook my head and moved for the doorway. Removing the first slat and placing it on the floor when he said, “You know, Riley, you will never turn thirteen this way.” I glanced over my shoulder just in time to catch the concerned look that he shot me.

“Oh, yeah?” I grumbled, grabbing the next slat and hurling it toward the ground. “Well, that’s just
great,
Balthazar. Seriously.

Thanks for sharing that. Thanks for the really useful, super-duper handy tip.” I frowned, blew my limp blond bangs out of my face, and removed the last remaining slat, eager to put some serious distance between us.

“This is not how you grow older. Winning is not all that you think it to be.”

“Oh, yeah? So just exactly how is it done then?” I asked, my voice thick with sarcasm, while the rest of me secretly hoped he might tell me.

“The way you grow older is … well, by growing older.” He nodded as though he’d just made some huge revelation.

I groaned, rolled my eyes, thinking:
More
useless words of wisdom from the great director himself!
Then I ducked down low and placed one foot solidly on the outside.

“You have so much potential, but no idea how to channel it,” Balthazar said.

The next step came slower, I’m embarrassed to admit, but I was curious to see where he was headed with that.

“If you were not already apprenticing as a Soul Catcher, I would ask to train you as an assistant director. You are full of heart and fire. Every time you speak, I expect to see hot flames shooting out of your mouth.” Okay, I know I was supposed to be mad, but I couldn’t help but smile at that. It wasn’t entirely kind, but still, there was no denying it described me to a T.

“You also seem to have a fondness for ignoring the rules. Like the Dreamland closing time, for instance?”

My smile faded. And since I had no intention of sticking around for yet another lecture, I ducked and crouched ’til I was on the other side of the doorway. Already headed for the gate when Balthazar came after me, saying, “You have the soul of an artist. All great art is about bending rules—discovering a new way to blaze an old trail. You approach your afterlife with fierce determination and passion, and you love to win more than anything else. Qualities that must come in very handy in your job as a Soul Catcher, but, as you see, some souls will always choose to go their own way. It is just how it is. It bears no reflection on you.”

I gulped. I couldn’t help it. I guess I’d never thought of it that way. I figured the Council had made me a Soul Catcher because I could relate to the ghosts—because I knew firsthand what it’s like to cling to the earth plane, the old way of life, refusing to move on to where I truly belonged. But maybe they saw something more in me too. Maybe my fire and heart and determination and passion and desire to win above all … well, maybe that had also played a small part in why I was chosen to do what I do.

My thoughts were interrupted by Balthazar saying, “And while these are very good qualities to have, one must learn to direct and channel them in order to achieve great-ness. Without focus, they are just a pile of emotions left to run amok. It is the ability to channel one’s emotions that is the mark of maturity, no?”

My jaw dropped, while the rest of me stood as frozen and solid as … well, as a snowman. Suddenly understanding it—or at least part of it—feeling as though I’d just been handed one more piece to the puzzle.

Balthazar tilted his head back, peering up at a sky that while still mostly dark, showed hints of silvery brightness beginning to creep in—the promise of daylight to come. Then he looked at me and said, “There’s still some time before Dreamland officially opens for the day.” His fingers worked the silk scarf at his neck. “What do you say we check in on that sister of yours?”

21

T
he scene was perfectly staged. My landing was spoton. And yet, despite all of my preparation and training, it still took several tries to get it just right.

Ever kept running. Waking. Bailing on every happy scene I fought so hard to share with her. Forcing me to play out the same routine again and again—always starting with her laughing and smiling and pretending to go along—and ending with her running off the second I’d turn my back—scram-bling for the surface—determined to wake herself up.

“What am I doing wrong?” I called, standing on the stage, voice full of despair, squinting at Balthazar, who was perched in his fancy red director’s chair.

He shrugged, clearly not half as upset as me, saying, “You have done everything right.

Just like I taught you. But also like I taught you, there are no guarantees. Sometimes a dream jump just does not work. And while usually it is the fault of the jumper, in this case, considering that you were personally trained by me, the blame clearly lies with your sister. For some reason, she prefers not to see you.”

I stood there, stunned, speechless, knowing all the evidence seemed to support what he said, and yet, there’s no way it could possibly be true. Ever loved me! She missed me!

I knew it for a fact—despite how it may have looked.

Yet, I also knew that Balthazar was right, there was no doubt she was doing her best to avoid me.

“She is troubled. Feels very guilty about something. And your presence only seems to make it worse. She is convinced she is not deserving of the happiness that the sight of you brings.”

Omigawd, that’s it!
Balthazar had just perfectly described my sister—the sole sur-vivor of the accident that wiped out my family.

Still, I was determined to get through. I had no idea when the chance might come again. “One more time,” I pleaded. “I mean, we still have time, right?”

Balthazar quirked his brow, stroked his goatee, and I took that to mean that the choice was entirely up to me. So the moment my sister fell back to sleep, I jumped. Only this time, instead of distracting her with laughter and fun, I let her lead the way.

She was troubled, immersed in a dark and lonely landscape. And, if I didn’t know better, I’d think for sure Satchel was behind it.

But Satchel was nowhere to be found, which meant the scene we found ourselves in was, unfortunately, the wisps and remnants of my sister’s guilt-ridden mind.

I went along for a while, but it didn’t take long before I started to feel really sad about the way she was still punishing herself for events that were beyond her control—for making choices that may have proved tough at the moment but that, eventually, would surely work out.