The darkness lifts and I find myself yet again surrounded by green grass and boundless skies that stretch to infinity in every direction. The sky is overcast and the late afternoon light is beginning to fade, promising an inky black nightfall.
I turn slowly in a circle, looking for a sign of the church or the dirt road leading from it, but see only a vastness that makes me feel incredibly small. The only other sign of life I find is an old, ash gray horse with a worn brown leather saddle and matching saddlebags, chewing calmly on the grass to off to my right.
The faint feeling of sadness I felt during my last dream is gone as well, replaced by a burning anger that I can’t quite place. Am I angry because I didn’t catch the girl? In truth I couldn’t care less about her, I feel more embarrassed than angry about the failed pursuit. This is something else.
Why did my brain take me here again?
Suddenly I see a flash of movement off to my right. Was it just an animal? Whatever it was, I don’t see anything now, and if it attacks me, I’d just wake up anyways. Right? Pushing that troubling thought to the back of my mind, I carefully make my way over to the horse grazing a few yards away. I feel an overwhelming fondness for this animal, but I’ve never seen a horse in person before, let alone ridden one. I reach out and pat it’s back just behind the saddle and the horse responds by neighing happily. At least I think it was happy.
Standing there under the cloudy sky, I am suddenly overcome by exhaustion. My legs are sore, my back is stiff, and I have to fight to keep myself from falling asleep leaning against the horse. I’ve never felt tired in a dream. Everything in my brain is telling me this is real, but I know I must be laying on the sidewalk in the park. My body sure picks the worst possible times to pass out.
I’m scared that if I fall asleep in the dream I’ll be taken back to real life, and be subject to a spittle laced, red faced lecture by my new captain. To stay awake I decide to look through the saddlebags to see if I can find a clue as to why my brain would take me here.
The leather bags are thoroughly worn, just like the horse, and have a distinct musty smell that assaults my nostrils. Inside I find several culprits as to why. Some kind of dried meat, a sweat stained shirt, and a pile of old decaying cigars.
Unsatisfied, I move to the opposite side to inspect the other bag. This one is much more promising. I find a well-polished silver revolver, several hard cover books, and tucked away in the bottom I pull out a leather-bound journal of some kind. Stamped into the soft leather is “UP: 1864”
Staring at the journal seemed to stoke the flames of anger that mysteriously linger within me. My curiosity is officially piqued and I open the front cover. Before I can read anything on the first page, I see the movement again, off to my right. I drop the journal in the saddlebag and jerk my body around, desperate to catch a glimpse of the figure this time around.
To my shock, I find myself face to face with the very same girl who just moments ago I was chasing through the park. I’m stunned, and for a moment I can’t manage to move. She looks as real now as she did when I was reaching out to grab her hood. Last time I passed out everyone was from 1869, now the only person here is the mystery girl, wearing the same black hoodie and black pants as she was in real life.
I watch as she paces, ten yards in front of me, eyeing me like a zoo animal. It’s the first time I am able to get a good look at her face, I can see her clearly set against the slate gray sky in the evening light. She’s young, a couple of years younger than myself at most, but her dark green eyes are wary and tired. She’s a full head shorter than me and lacks the natural beauty of the girls at the Academy, but behind her long, wild brown hair is an expression of gentle intelligence. She looks as exhausted as my body feels, and she moves with an impatience and anxiety that I think would elicit some sympathy for me if I hadn’t just caught her red-handed committing some kind of crime. At least I assume it was a crime.
I’m still clueless as to why she’s been conjured in my own dream, must be my subconscious wants another chance to catcher her. Might as well interrogate the apparition, maybe it’ll help with the real thing.
“So, what’s your deal?” I ask.
She freezes. Confusion and then fear overcome her. She looks behind her, whipping her mass of brown hair around her neck. Who else could I be talking to?
“Yes, you.” She turns back to face me. “Hi. Ya, you. What were you doing in—”
Before I can finish the question, she takes off to my left, full sprint. Ugh, I’m so tired of chasing you. But my curiosity wins out over my exhaustion, and I take off after her on foot, not trusting myself on horseback. She’s still fast unfortunately, and my legs feel drained, each step like I’m running with weights on my thighs. I’m only able to keep pace because I can significantly out stride her.
I chase her up the gentle rise of the hill, through the tall grass rustling against my legs with each step. A strong breeze pushes me from behind, urging me up the hill and bringing with it a taste of the cool night air to come. I’m trying desperately to control this dream, to make her stop so I can talk to her, but for reasons I can’t understand she just keeps running.
I’m gaining on her slowly, but I feel my legs begin to fade as we crest the hill and the land flattens out into a small plateau. Just as I’m sure I’ll lose her again, she inexplicably falls to the ground, swings her backpack around her shoulders, unzips it, and rummages through it desperately. She pulls out a small black disk, about the size of her palm. She looks back, petrified, then scrambles to her feet and takes off yet again. Her pause gave me time to catch up with her, and I’m inches away now. I’m so close now I can smell her hair, crisp and clean it reminds me of the first warm day of spring and for an instant I am transported back to playing in the neighborhood park as a very young child. I shake myself from the brief bout of nostalgia and refocus. I reach out with both arms and lunge, hoping to tackle her to the ground.
I’m momentarily triumphant and feel my weight begin to drag her down. Then suddenly, in one fluid movement, she drops to the ground and throws me from her back, using my weight and momentum against me to devastating effect. I grasp helplessly as I fly off of her back and land with a grunt on a thick bed of grass. Lying on my back, feeling every muscle in my legs ache from the chase and my back cry out in pain from the landing, I struggle to tilt my head to see the mystery woman running again across the small plateau.
In my hand I feel something resting between my fingers. I look down the see a gold chain necklace with a small, simple, circular pendant. I must have ripped it off when I was being thrown like a rag doll. Maybe there’s a clue to her identity. I hurriedly inspect the pendant. It’s gold like the chain, but heavier, maybe real gold. Imprinted on its face is simply a capital “B”. I flip it over and find a much more intricate image. It’s a tiny eye sitting above a set of words wrapping around the bottom half of the pendant. I bring it closer to read the words inscribed in old fashioned cursive: “What is forgotten is not lost”
Increasingly confused by this entire sequence, I look up to see that the woman is fifty yards away, no longer running, apparently satisfied that I’m not a threat.
“Who are you?” I plead, no longer convinced that this is completely my imagination. “Why do you keep running?”
She stares back at me for several moments, her brown hair pulled behind her and dancing in the steady breeze. She’s confused, like she can’t believe I’m even talking to her. Then her eyes get wide. A look of realization dawns on her face. She shakes her head and speaks, more to herself than to me. “I didn’t think you were real.”
I’m sorry, you didn’t think I was real???
Before I can say anything, she presses her right hand on the top of the strange black disk. Just like at the park, there’s a tremendous flash of light and then total darkness.
Am I blind?
I blink my eyes quickly several times, and eventually light begins to pour back in. To my dismay, I see Cicero staring down at me, confused and angry. I look down at my hand and find it empty. I can hear the captain in my earpiece yelling a myriad of profanities. I know I’ll be reprimanded at the very least, but all I can think about is finding the woman, the owner of the necklace, who somehow found her way into my head.