Visioness

VISIONESS

Lincoln Law

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the
author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

© 20016 Lincoln Law

All Rights
Reserved

May not be
reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written
permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book
review.

“All men
dream: but not equally.”

—T.E.
Lawrence

“Cogito
ergo sum”

—René
Descartes

For Megan
and Amy who, when questioned which story I should chase, chose this one.

And were
right.

Table
of Contents

Prologue:
Escaping
the Dream
...
7

Chapter
One:
The
Buffer Sickness
.
13

Chapter
Two:
A
Sturding Nhyx
.
21

Chapter
Three:
Professor
Oakley’s Advice
.
30

Chapter
Four:
A
Warning
.
40

Chapter
Five:
Her
Greatest Fear
.
49

Chapter
Six:
The
Halls of the Oen’Aerei
58

Chapter
Seven:
The
Aftermath
..
69

Chapter
Eight:
A
Snapping and a Dream
...
77

Chapter
Nine:
Begin
Again
..
85

Chapter
Ten:
The
Freedom of Thought
.
92

Chapter
Eleven:
The
Funeral
100

Chapter
Twelve:
Matters
of the Father
.
108

Chapter
Thirteen:
Under
Lock and Key
.
116

Chapter
Fourteen:
A
Shadow on the Fringe
.
124

Chapter
Fifteen:
Danger
from Two Sources
.
131

Chapter
Sixteen:
Fire
on the Horizon
..
140

Chapter
Seventeen:
Better This Way
.
146

Chapter
Eighteen:
A
New Woman
..
150

Chapter
Nineteen:
A
Darkening Nightmare
.
154

Chapter
Twenty:
The
Discovery of a Sturding
.
159

Chapter
Twenty-One:
The Distant Fog of War
.
166

Chapter
Twenty-Two:
The Dreamless’ Betrayal
172

Chapter
Twenty-Three:
Before a Tampered Jury
.
178

Chapter
Twenty-Four:
A Wall of Black Glass
.
184

Chapter
Twenty-Five:
The Army Marches
.
190

Chapter
Twenty-Six:
A Dream Made Real
196

Chapter
Twenty-Seven:
The Role She Has To Play
.
204

Chapter
Twenty-Eight:
Crimson Rivers, Crimson Cloaks
.
211

Chapter
Twenty-Nine:
What Is Bravery?
.
217

Chapter
Thirty:
Therron’s
Secret
.
223

Chapter
Thirty-One:
A Touch of Reality
.
226

Chapter
Thirty-Two:
The Price of Freedom
...
232

Epilogue:
Washed
Up on the Shores of Oblivion
..
235

Nynette held her child in
one hand and a knife in the other.

Her body ached as she fled,
legs sore from the weight of the unborn baby within her. There was a jolt of
pain within the depths of her stomach, stabbing at her insides with each step
as she ran. The houses on either side of her, windows dark, curtains closed,
flew past in a blur, such was her speed. Or maybe she was just delirious? Her
thoughts muddled about confusedly in her mind as she attempted to orient
herself.

And all the while,
Boom!
Boom! Boom!
A pounding in her head.

“Mama,” whispered Adabelle, chin
smacking against Nynette’s shoulder in time with her steps. “Why are we
running?”

“Because we have to,” Nynette
replied. She pivoted about, searching.

“But why?” Adabelle asked
groggily.

“
Because
we have to.”
Nynette puffed again. She took a moment to kiss her daughter’s head.

The street opened out to a
wide boulevard, mostly empty but for a handful of lamps. Couples wandered about,
arms linked, or locked in impassioned embrace. The hour was late, but a number
of the restaurants were only just closing for the night, clearing chairs, wine
bottles and glasses. Customers departed in cabs, the lights within going dark.
And above these cafes, apartments; dark and silent. These all rushed by.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Her arm ached from his
beating her, but there was also the pain within her stomach from running. It
was like the baby was trying to force her way out, cutting through the womb. It
made Nynette wince with every pounding step against the cobbles. But she couldn’t
stop. She couldn’t pause. She pushed through the pain, the fear, the
exhaustion, and ran on.

Not for the first time that
night, she extended her thoughts out, touching the minds of those asleep. The
world around her seemed to shift; darkening and fading. Colours mixed and
blurred, while somehow leaving the outline of the world present, allowing her
to continue running. The ever-present pounding softened slightly. There, in her
mind’s eye, she found dreams. Children dreamt of flying, or monsters, or of
riches. Adults, meanwhile, dwelled on matters more personal. They dreamt of
lovers, of
other
lovers, of family and of friends. But she did not see Therron,
her husband, bolting through those dreams like an enigma or ephemeral thought.
Dreams rarely made sense, so the appearance of a dark-skinned, suited man
seemed entirely unsurprising to those that saw him. But she could not see him,
nor smell his cologne, nor hear that blasted lullaby in prelude to his
appearance, and for that she was thankful. It meant he was either still catching
up, or that he had lost her in the Dream Frequencies.

That she could not see him,
though, still terrified her. He could be, literally, anywhere.

She reeled her tendrils of
thought back into herself, the dreams fading away, as she turned off the lamp-lit
boulevard onto the Rue Enloux. The University lay at the end of the street,
where the avenue split down two thoroughfares. At least Adabelle would be safe
until she’d dealt with Therron.

She stole up the stone steps
to the door. A sandstone lintel, a door made of heavy stained oak, the brass
bell dangling from the front lamp. She rang it. The chime was like a shriek in
her mind. She waited, legs and stomach and head aching all the while. She took
a moment to catch her breath.

Boom! Boom! Boom!
The pounding sounded less
like pulsing now. It almost seemed to come into focus, revealing the true sound
behind the beating. Like footsteps, heavy footsteps, coming into clarity.

The caretaker in a blue
pinafore opened the door. Mrs. Abeth. The first good sight all night.

“Nynette? What are you doing
out so late?” Mrs. Abeth paused, apparently having just noticed Nynette’s face
streaked with sweat and worry. Her eyes widened when she saw the knife.
Understanding crossed the woman’s face. “Therron.”

Nynette nodded and lifted
Adabelle off her shoulder. Adabelle’s eyes fluttered groggily open, the white
surrounding her chocolate brown eyes bright in contrast to her dark skin. She
brushed aside her black hair pulled back in a braid and then raised her hands
up to her mother.

“I want to be picked up
again.” Adabelle was sulky, frowning, brow furrowed. Her cheeks were round and
bright from the drowsy pout upon her face.

“You have to stand like a
big girl now,” Nynette said, sheathing the knife and feigning composure. “And
you have to go with Mrs. Abeth.”

“But why?” Adabelle asked.

“Because mama has some
matters to tend to, okay?”

“But I don’t want to go.”

“No, no, sweety, it is only
for a little while. Mama has to go, but just for a little while.”

She prayed it wasn’t a lie.

“We’ll take care of her,
Nynette,” Mrs. Abeth said. She took Adabelle’s hand.

“Thank you. I’ll be back in
the morning, all matters going well.” She didn’t wish to discuss the
alternative, but she had preparations in place should it come to that.

“We will wait for you.” Mrs.
Abeth said.

Nynette knelt before
Adabelle, placing her hand in her daughter’s hair, fingers running slowly down
each fold in the braid.

“I love you.” She hugged Adabelle
tightly.

The one good thing that ever
came from that man.
She paused, glancing at her stomach.
Well, one of two good
things.

They were her treasures, and
from where they came changed nothing.

“I love you,” Adabelle
replied. She pulled away from the hug, gripping Mrs. Abeth’s skirt, rubbing her
eyes with her free hand.

“Now come along, Adabelle,”
Mrs. Abeth went on, putting a hand around the three-year-old. “We’ll get you a
gown and you can sleep in one of the dormitories tonight.” She pulled the girl
into the warmth and light. “Good luck, Nynette,” she said, “I hope to see you
tomorrow.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Mrs. Abeth closed the door
and her daughter was gone.

There was quiet for a moment
on the steps before the University. Nynette didn’t move, her eyes resting on
the spot where her daughter had once stood.

Keep moving,
she thought, shaking
herself from her momentary reverie.
You have to keep moving.

Boom! Boom!
The pounding grew louder
again.
Boom! Boom!
Like a distant drum, or thunder rumbling over the
horizon.

She went down the steps
slowly onto the street, deciding if it was better to go right or left. Right
led to the park, left to the Odilla River and the Halls of the Oen’Aerei. If
her husband had been speaking the truth, then no populated place was safe. All
it took was a single mind to fall into dreaming, and he could escape. He could
find her, and it would all be over. All this running for nothing.

Right she went, walking
brusquely, for her legs ached and her feet stung. The jolting continued but
without Adabelle she found movement easier. She kept one hand around her
bulging stomach. The baby was due a few months from now, and Nynette didn’t
know if the infant would make it out alive. She knew it was a girl from
touching the infant’s thoughts. She had already named her Charlotte. It saddened
her to think Charlotte might never take a breath or see the world or meet her
sister.

Adabelle is safe now,
she thought,
and that is
what matters. Take the victories where you can, Nynette.

Those had been her husband’s
words once. Words of wisdom and consolation. It felt odd to use and find
comfort in them now.

The park lay to her right,
the entrance coming into view. The gate was open but the lamps were dark. It
might not be the safest place for a pregnant woman to go, but anywhere was
safer than out in the open.

She was so very tired,
though. Her back and legs ached horribly. All this, because of one man.

The public park’s paths were
lined with thin aspens, leaves turned orange and gold by the touch of
autumn.  She escaped the path, going into the depths of the gardens,
hoping maybe to hide in amongst the brush.

She reached out the tendrils
of thought, latching onto the minds of those nearby. A homeless man slept on a
park bench about a hundred metres to the right, while a couple—the pair lying
about fifty metres in the opposite direction—were awake and entirely set on
their own perversions. There were minds Therron could walk through, but fewer here
than anywhere else. Here, in the brush, she might be safe, till morning. Once
morning came, she would still be in danger, but with fewer people dreaming it
would be possible to find a modicum of peace. Just enough to rest, maybe.

As she curled up amongst the
brush she found an opportunity to settle. She resisted closing her eyes—for in
there lay danger—taking a chance to catch her breath. She couldn’t fight
exhaustion, though. Her baby within was restless and wanted peace, and so did
she.
Pat! Pat! Pat!
The pounding became like the soft beats in a
lullaby. A brush against the drum skin, stroking the rhythm of an all-too
familiar lullaby into being. She closed her eyes a moment.

A moment too long.

Like thunder.
Boom!

Therron snapped into her
thoughts. His face appeared, grey beard slightly yellowed from pipe smoke, top
hat donned as always. She fought the desire to scream.

And it only took a second
for him to appear. The dream tendrils told her he snuck from the homeless man’s
dreams, to the couples, and then his physical being appeared. Nynette shook
awake, jolted by the shock of seeing her husband. She struggled to get up, but
she was not fast enough. The bushes rustled with his sudden appearance. The
baby slowed her down. Her body roared in defiance, aching as she rose. By the
time she was on her feet, he was in front of her, white teeth glowing.

“Hello, love,” Therron said.

“You’ve found me,” she said,
unsheathing the knife, gripping it tightly. Her hand began to shake from the
pressure, knuckles pale. Her mind reeled as she considered her options. There
were, in truth, very few. “You’ve done it, then. You’ve stopped me.”
From
protecting the only things we ever did right,
she added. She daren’t anger
him, though. The damage to her arm was a result of Therron’s fierce temper. It
had only been a punch, but her dark skin was bruised now, a blue spot amidst
the brown. He had never once raised his hand against Adabelle, though, and for
that she could be thankful.

“Not yet,” he said. “Not
quite.”

“What am I to do, Therron?”
she said. “You’ve cornered me, and I can’t exactly run. Our child in me is
well-and-truly keeping me from getting anywhere in a hurry.” He didn’t know the
child’s gender, and he never would if she had her way.

“That may be,” he retorted,
“but there is always opportunity, if one only wishes to seize it.”

She shook her head at him,
beginning to sob, however hard she fought it. “I cannot believe I once loved
you,” she said, disbelief rank in her voice. “I cannot believe I let you father
my children, that I let you in my home. You’re a murderer, Therron. You have
killed
innocent
people.” She considered for a moment to appeal to his
more humane side. “You plan to kill me and your unborn child?”

He seemed taken aback,
perhaps even a little hurt. “Not kill. That would be cruel. I am not cruel.” He
paused. “Not to a child.”

The shadows around the pair
began to shift. He was summoning the Nhyxes, pulling them from the dreams
nearby, tugging them from the Frequencies as only a Sturding could. His reach
had always been greater than hers, his power to move his physical form through
dreams swifter, too.

“So you’re going to leave
two orphans?” she said, more statement than question. “They will grow up
without parents.”

“Without
one
parent,”
he corrected. He straightened his suit. “You know you were the reason for this.
You chose to run. You
chose
to take our child away from me.
Our
children! You know my standing in the city. The power I hold.” He shook his
head with a powerful sense of finality, eyebrows rising. “You can’t win.” His
tone seemed almost sympathetic…sorrowful.

“I also know you’re sick,”
she replied. “What you’ve done; no human should be capable of that. You’ve
shown no remorse for your actions.” Charlotte was restless inside her. She probably
felt her mother reaching out to the Frequencies, searching for an escape. “I do
not love you.”

He looked genuinely hurt at
that, as if a mighty horror had overcome him. He retained his composure, but
his expression never fully recovered. Maybe, just maybe, that monster still had
a heart. Maybe she could use that to her advantage.

She reached out the tendrils
of thought towards the dreamers around them, consciously avoiding Therron. If
he knew what she planned, if he knew what she intended, he would have the Nhyxes
strike now. She only hoped she moved fast enough. Charlotte had hampered her Dreaming,
but maybe, under duress, she might manage something. A small measure of hope
when all seemed lost. It might be powerful enough to save her. To save
Charlotte.