The Last Dreamer Read online

  The Last Dreamer

  Nicholas Erik

  Watchfire Press

  Copyright © 2014 Nicholas Erik. All rights reserved.

  Published by Watchfire Press.

  This book is a work of fiction. Similarities to actual events, places, persons or other entities is coincidental.

  Watchfire Press

  P.O. Box 9056

  Morristown, NJ 07963

  www.watchfirepress.com

  www.nicholaserik.com

  Cover design by Kit Foster

  www.kitfosterdesign.com

  The Last Dreamer/Nicholas Erik. – 1st ed.

  Print ISBN: 978-1-940708-51-5

  e-ISBN: 978-1-940708-49-2

  Novels From Nicholas Erik

  The Rapture

  The Last Dreamer

  Island Daze: The Complete Series

  The Singularity Conspiracy Trilogy

  Shadow Memories (Book 1)

  Shadow Space (Book 2)

  Shadow Sunset (Book 3)

  The Singularity Conspiracy Omnibus (Books 1, 2 & 3)

  The Astonishing Adventures of Kip Keene

  The Emerald Elephant (Book 1)

  The Ruby Rattlesnake (Book 2)

  For a complete list of titles, visit nicholaserik.com/books.

  1 | A Strange Dream

  Devin Travis entered the stranger’s mind with a jump and a thud. Neither person understood what had just transpired, but both felt a violent spasm as Devin seized control of the man’s body. Far away in Texas, Devin turned and stirred in his sleep, trying to shake off the bad dream.

  Meanwhile, however, while his body rested, Devin’s mind had been transported a thousand miles west, to this man standing in front of an Arizona bank vault.

  “Bob,” a husky voice behind him said, “Bob, you listening? You here, buddy?”

  Devin wheeled around slow, his breathing labored. His eyes fell upon a tall man—unshaven stubble visible even though a ski mask covered most of his face—with a thin frame, smelling of cheap aftershave and even cheaper cologne.

  The tall man was looking right at him, mouth open, expecting an answer. Devin squinted at him, searching for a name to go with the face. Something leapt into his mind—Jacky.

  “Lay off it, Jacky,” Devin said, the voice rough, unfamiliar.

  Devin’s hands shook; he glanced down, and saw that they were thick and swollen.

  Jacky didn’t seem to notice his nervousness.

  Devin brushed his fingers against the stainless steel vault, eying its giant opening mechanism that looked like a pirate ship’s navigation wheel. Above it sat an electronic key pad.

  “I’m beginning to think you don’t know the combo,” Jacky said. “Now, I’m a nice guy, but Roger and Andy, they can be some mean sons of bitches, catch my drift.”

  “I’m catching all of it,” Devin said, beneath his breath, “the whole damn wave.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “I’m working through the numbers. Give me a second.”

  “Seven minutes. We don’t get the whole haul, it’s coming out of your cut.”

  “You’ll get it.”

  “A lot of confidence for someone who’s oh-fer-two.”

  Devin ignored him and closed his eyes. The hell was he doing here? He skimmed through Bob’s thoughts and memories. Caught a glimpse of the man’s sweaty fingers messing up the combination a minute or two before. A flash of all the customers upstairs, face down on the cracked, dirty floor.

  Devin shook it all off and tried to visualize the numbers turning, the motions, the spins, from all those times Bob had come down here as a bank employee.

  Devin opened his eyes. Reached toward the dial. Spun it round and round.

  Then tried the handle.

  The vault creaked open, and Devin heaved against the heavy metal before devolving into a fit of coughing.

  “I got it, buddy,” Jacky said. “You just rest. You did good.”

  Devin watched on one knee, straddling the line between in and out of the vault as Jacky went inside and began rifling through the cash.

  “Hey.” Jacky paused for a moment to get on the radio. “Andy, you come down here and help. Roger, make sure no one doesn’t try to pull no shit.”

  “You got it open?” A voice crackled on the other end. Young, naïve, full of energy, but not too smart.

  “He got it open,” Jacky said, and winked at Devin. “Known him for forty years and never doubted him once.”

  A pallet lay in the corner, covered with a canvas tarp.

  Jacky stopped stuffing the duffel with cash and walked over to the corner. Pulled off the cover.

  “Well damn,” he said. “You didn’t tell us this was here.”

  Devin, with much effort, got to his feet and limped over to the middle of the vault for a better look. Andy just about knocked him over, dashing in all excited, ready to get rich.

  But the kid almost fainted when he saw what was in the corner.

  “Is that…?”

  “Gold,” Jacky said with smug satisfaction. “It’s gold, boys.”

  “Must be holding it for someone,” Devin said. “The bank does it when a safety deposit box isn’t big enough.”

  “How much is here, you think?” Jacky said. “Ten, fifteen million?”

  Devin glanced at his watch. “Whatever’s there, we don’t have enough time to get it all out.”

  “I’m not leaving a score like this,” Jacky said. “No way, Bobby boy.”

  “We got half a million in cash right here that we can run with. A hundred twenty-five each, profit. That’s good.” Devin reached towards the shelf and started putting the banded bills inside the bag.

  “That’s a salary,” Jacky said. “But this, this is retirement.”

  Devin ignored him, and kept putting bills in the bag. “Andy, come on, get the other side. The hundreds and fifties first.”

  “Fifteen million,” Andy said. His eyes hadn’t left the corner. “That’s over a million each.”

  “Your momma said you were stupid,” Jacky said, “but I didn’t believe it, son. Now I’m not so sure.”

  “It’s not a million?”

  “Try over three and a half.”

  Devin looked at Andy, then Jacky, and wondered if the kid was going to faint.

  “We gotta take it, Pops,” Andy said. “That’s just too damn much to pass up.”

  “See,” Jacky said. “Now there’s something smart. He may not be able to do math, but he understands big numbers, ain’t that right Bobby?”

  Devin shrugged and kept shoving bills in the bag until it was full. Checked his watch. Two and a half minutes to get out.

  “I’m sticking to the plan.” Devin started walking out of the vault, slow, because the bag was heavy and Bob’s lungs weren’t quite what they used to be.

  The AK-47 hanging around Jacky’s neck ratcheted, and Devin stopped.

  “You’re just gonna leave us here? After we cut you in on this?”

  “We can split the money in this bag,” Devin said. He didn’t turn around. Didn’t want to stare at that mean barrel on the assault rifle. The nasty, cheap wood construction. Utilitarian, no beauty at all. “Same as we agreed.”

  He heard Jacky spit on the floor and laugh. “That’s beggar’s money, Bobby. This, this here is king’s money. You want to be a bum the rest of your miserable life?”

  “I want to give something to my daughter.” Devin took another step, exited the vault. Could see the stairs. He didn’t have a gun of his own, but it didn’t matter much. His mind was made up.

  “Don’t you keep moving,” Jacky said. “We been friends forever, and you’re gonna stay here and help us figure this out. If it kills us. You’re a dead man anyway, you sho
uldn’t care a bit.”

  The last words sounded cruel, taunting.

  “Sorry, Jack,” Devin said. “I can’t do it.” He picked up his feet, spurred them into a slow run. The Kalashnikov fired, and Devin felt a warm searing pain in his right side. He stumbled, but managed to keep limping up the stairs, around the corner and out of Jacky’s line of sight.

  His blurry eyes tried to focus on his watch.

  “A minute and a half,” Devin said, his speech slurred and slow. The warm sensation was spreading, but it wasn’t as painful as he’d expected. Almost gentle.

  At least for a bullet wound.

  Devin limped past Roger, who gave him a strange look.

  “Gun malfunction,” Devin said as he headed towards the doors, “they need help with rest downstairs. I’m going to the drop.”

  “I don’t know,” Roger said. “I don’t think Jacky would shoot no one on accident.”

  “I didn’t say Jacky did it. It was his dumb kid, Andy. Dropped the AK, and it just went off like a damn firecracker. Go.”

  Roger stared at him for a moment. Devin could feel the rest of the bank’s patrons watching him, staring up from the floor, waiting for the next move. Wondering if they were all going to die because these bank robbers were incompetent, or if they were all going to live for the same damn reason.

  “All right, I’ll check it out. The meetin’ place, right?”

  “I’ll see you there.” Devin limped towards the door, his feet starting to drag like an old dog that had nothing left. Just a couple more feet until daylight. Thirty seconds, maybe forty-five to get out the door, away from the cops, up the street.

  Behind him, Devin heard the radio crackle. Heard Roger scream, “Hey, wait, goddamnit!” And felt a couple shots break glass above him.

  Devin zipped up his jacket as he rushed outside, hoping it would be enough to conceal the gunshot wound. A little trail of bloody droplets followed him along the sidewalk, but the few pedestrians lining the streets didn’t seem to notice as he limp-ran down the long street, checking over his shoulder.

  Roger wasn’t coming outside.

  Even he wasn’t dumb enough to do that with an assault rifle in broad daylight.

  Sirens filled Devin’s ears as a stream of police cars rushed by, skidding to a halt in front of the bank. Devin didn’t look over his shoulder, just kept walking.

  Had to get the money to Bob’s daughter Paula. Not the meeting place. Screw splitting it. Jacky had burned that bridge in a hail of bullets.

  The fringes of his vision began to fade, and Devin knew this was it, the tail end of the finale. His eyes flitted about the streets, looking for a safe place, somewhere he knew. Somewhere Bob knew. But, as the blood loss began to set in, and Bob’s life began to fade, his memories faded, too. Only Devin’s remained, with the exception of Paula.

  He had to get the money to Paula.

  The town was unfamiliar.

  Devin stumbled up to a nearby pedestrian, gasping for air. “Where am I?”

  The man shuffled off in a hurry, pretending like he hadn’t even seen him.

  Up ahead, a woman was selling flowers at a roadside stand.

  Devin’s feet felt like concrete boots as he made his way towards the woman.

  “Hi,” she said, then her smile fell when she saw the state of the man before her, “oh dear, you don’t look well. I’ll call the hospital.” She reached into her pocket, but Devin’s hand shot out and clutched her wrist.

  “No, no,” he said. “Please…”

  “Well, okay,” she said, unconvinced. “But you must look after yourself better. Are you sure?”

  “What…what town is this?”

  “Excuse me?” If this kind old woman wasn’t concerned before, then she was now. “I think you need medical attention.”

  “Just tell me the town.”

  “It’s Jamestown.”

  “What state?”

  “What state? Why, it’s Arizona. Jamestown, Arizona.”

  “…thanks.”

  Devin limped off real slow, a foot or two every fifteen seconds, his vision reduced to mere pinpricks. The lady yelled after him, “I’ve called an ambulance. You just sit down, now, you hear me?”

  Devin heard her just fine, but he didn’t listen. Just kept going, speeding up his loping pace so that the old lady and her ambulance wouldn’t catch up to him. Jamestown, Arizona. Devin repeated it over and over in his mind, so he wouldn’t forget.

  He was always forgetting details in these dreams when he woke up, and it would just about bite him in the ass when he tried to figure something out later on. It wasn’t foolproof, but repetition was the best he could do to make things stick.

  The old woman wasn’t following him. Too much effort in heat like this. But in her place was a girl about twenty, twenty-five. And she was looking right at him, like she was tracking his movement. Devin froze, unsure whether to keep going or wait for her.

  He waited, and she closed the gap with a graceful, quick gait.

  “You’re hurt,” she said. “Let me see.”

  “Do I know you?”

  He looked at the pretty face, trying to place it in Bob’s memories or his own. Nothing stood out except for the pale green eyes, striking and shining in the sharp midday sun. They seemed to know everything about him.

  “No,” she said, “but I know you.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t remember,” Devin said, thinking that it must be a friend of Bob’s, or maybe even the man’s daughter, but nothing coming to mind.

  “I know you.” She lifted up his shirt and Devin sucked in his breath. “He won’t last long.”

  “He?”

  “He won’t last long—”

  But Devin’s heart was rising, and he wanted to get away from this strange young woman. He backed away, tripping over his heavy feet, accelerating into a jerky jog. The woman watched as he wandered out in traffic and a clash of horns exploded in the middle of the street. Devin went on, ignoring them, using his limited remaining senses to find a hiding spot. Get away from Jacky. The cops. And this woman.

  Bob was going to die soon. Die out here, in the open, and the cash would be returned.

  Paula would get nothing.

  Cutting down an alley, Devin tried each of the door knobs. All locked. Smart people. But he kept trying, and the last one, at the very end of the alley—a dead end—opened. Devin stumbled into the darkness, his nostrils filling with the scent of strange herbs and incense. A woman—not old, but not young, either—mumbled incantations in the shadows. She didn’t seem to notice his presence, or care that he was there.

  He dropped to his knees beside her and kept moving.

  With his last remaining energy, Devin crawled into the adjacent room, where a single cot lay on the ground of an empty room. The bag rolled off his shoulder, into the corner, and he stared into the ceiling, blood pooling beneath him.

  The woman drifted into the room and stared at him. Then she smiled.

  “Welcome home, Devin Travis,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you for many years.”

  Behind her, the strange young woman flitted into Devin’s failing vision. She stared at him with those probing eyes.

  And then Bob Merriweather died.

  And Devin Travis was pushed from the man’s mind, shot through the universe, back into his own body.

  2 | Insomnia

  Devin woke with a start, panting, soaked in sweat. He checked his torso for bullet holes. Nothing. His shirt was wet enough that, for a moment, he believed it was blood. That he’d been shot down there in the bank vault for real, that it wasn’t all just a nightmare.

  Devin rolled off the ragged mattress and landed on the floor with a gentle crash. He shook the sleep and cobwebs from his mind and then rose up to take a piss.

  He checked the digital clock on his messy dresser. Seven-thirty-two in the evening. Slept for three hours. Goddamn, these dreams had to stop. His therapist had suggested lucid dreaming, exploring the dreams
, to get to the root of the problem.

  But it wasn’t working. They’d been pretty lucid for the last couple years, far as he could tell. As real as anything he’d experienced in his own damn life. Now, though, he could remember bits and pieces. More details. Before, he just knew he was having these damn things.

  Now he could remember. And most of the memories weren’t good.

  He’d have to thank Dr. McTavish, his useless therapist, for that generous gift.

  Most disturbing was this nagging feeling, deep in his stomach. Something Devin couldn’t quite place or explain, not in a rational or logical sense, at least. The memories of these dreams, some part of him was convinced they were real. But they weren’t real. That was impossible. Delusional.

  They were just dreams.

  Devin splashed water on his face and drank from the faucet. Popped the top off a bottle of Xanax and downed a couple of blue pills. Collapsed back on the mattress and stared at the ceiling. The hours drifted by, but sleep didn’t come as the night began to set in.

  Nothing came except the flash of that rifle, and the outline of a woman’s face. Not young, not old. Just eternal. And Paula. Someone’s daughter. And the town’s name, what was that? He scrunched his eyes together and tried to think. Screw sleeping. It wasn’t happening, anyway.

  Jackson, maybe. That was about right. There was a Jackson in Mississippi. But this place had been red, tasted like the desert. And no one had a Southern drawl. He’d have remembered that. Couldn’t be Jackson.

  He stared at the ceiling until it was light out, until the answer came to him.

  Jamestown. Jamestown, Arizona.

  Devin bolted from the mattress and wrote it down on a scrap of paper near his desk, then looked at his handiwork. Why the hell did he even care? This was stupid, trying to remember the details. It just made him feel crazy. He went to ball up the note, but then just slid it underneath a pile.

  Two past nine in the morning. Time to go to work. Today was going to be another delightful, sleep-deprived zombie walk through the land of the over motivated and overachieving.

  Devin couldn’t wait.

  By comparison, nightmares almost seemed like rainbows.

  3 | A Good Day of Work