Dreams Collide

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Inca woke to silence, but knew it wouldn’t last long. With effort she kept her breathing even. Her eyes fluttered open, but the rest of her body remained still. The heavy darkness shrouding her room seemed to press down, threatening to bury her deep into her mattress.

            Maybe that would be better then the alternative, she thought, a wry smile quirking her mouth.

            A noise rustled in the darkest corner of the room, a sound like talons being unsheathed. Then a faint, but menacing, scratch-scratch as those talons tested their sharpness on the hardwood floor. Inca’s fingers tightened on the flashlight she always kept tucked against her side. She turned her head inch by inch, until she could see into the corner. A pair of eyes glowed green in the darkness. The creature waiting there rumbled a low growl.

            Inca jerked her head back, staring up at the ceiling and biting her lip. Oh, shit, she thought. What did I dream?

Desperate, she cast her mind back. The dream was hazy, but there was the distinct memory of fur, and fangs. Great, Inca thought. With a guttural growl of her own she rolled to her side, whipped out the flashlight, and brandished the beam of light into the corner. The large black cat hissed in surprise, his yellow fangs flashing as he crouched low, ready to pounce.

“Come get me, tiger,” Inca challenged, sitting up.

The jungle cat responded with a bone-chilling roar and a leap that brought him to the center of the room. Inca’s eyes widened in surprise, but to her relief the cat stayed back, pacing in and out of the flashlight’s beam, his tail flicking angrily as he watched her.

“Umm…” Inca ventured, losing her bravado. “Nice kitty?”

The cat paused, flexing his claws against the floor. He lowered himself for another leap. Inca’s left hand searched frantically for anything to defend herself with as she kept the light and her eyes trained on the cat. The cat jumped, just as her hand closed on something soft. With a scream she hurled it as hard as she could. The Dalek pillow hit the cat in the face, knocking him off balance. He landed on all fours, the pillow skittering across the floor in front of him. He recoiled with a hiss, and then attacked, tearing the pillow apart with his claws. White fluff, and colored strips of fabric flew around the room.

“Hey,” Inca complained. “That pillow wasn’t cheap.”

The cat looked up, white fluff clinging to his whiskers. His eyes green eyes were bright with amusement.

“Are you laughing at me?”

            He made a sound that sounded like a dying motor, and watched her with rapt eagerness. Inca stared back at him. He called again, louder this time, more demanding.

            “Listen, I’m kinda fond of my pillo-“

            The cat roared, his tail snaking across the floor.

Inca held up her hands. “Okay, okay. Got it.” With a wrinkle of her nose, she reached back, grabbed another pillow, this one Ron, from Harry Potter, and tossed it. The black cat leapt, graceful as a ballerina, catching the pillow in midair. Soon the sounds of ripping and shredding filled the room.

            Inca moaned. “Sorry, Ron.”

            Inca tossed the cat five more character pillows- Totoro, Hermione, Maid Marian, Sherlock and Watson. Then, in a desperate attempt to save her remaining collection, she gave him her own pillow. The cat seemed disappointed with this offering, but he tore through it with relish never the less. When he finished, he lay sprawled across the floor, the remains of Sherlock’s head between his paws.

            “So, buddy,” Inca drawled. “What am I to do with you now?”

            The cat got to his feet, and advanced on the bed. With a shriek Inca scrambled away, until her back was pressed against the wall. She held her hands out as if to hold him off. They shook, and the flashlight shot crazy beams of light around the room. The cat stopped, rubbing his chin and cheeks along the edge of the bed. He purred, rumbling like a well-oiled machine. Hesitantly, Inca reached out and touched his head. The cat pushed against her hand, still purring. Inca scratched around his ears, and his neck arched, an expression of pleasure on his face. Sagging with relief Inca collapsed, face down. She felt the mattress shift beneath the weight of the cat, then his giant body pressed against her.

            Inca froze for a moment, utterly shocked. Then, she rolled to her side. This close, she could see that the cat’s coat was actually dark brown, mottled with black spots, not solid black as she had first thought.

            “Jaguar,” she mused.

            The Jaguar’s ears twitched at her words, but he seemed quite content sprawled out on the bed. He shifted, hogging up even more space, and squashing Inca tighter against the wall. But she didn’t really mind. She laid an arm across his shoulder, her fingers rubbing absent circles. They both sighed at the same time. Inca smiled. Soon, the warmth of the cat and the gentle motion of the bed swaying from his purr lulled her to sleep.

* *

            Inca closed her bedroom door with a quiet click. In one hand she held a blanket, folded up like a sack, with the surviving members of her beloved character pillow collection inside. She paused for a moment, her back resting against the door and breathed a quick sigh of relief.

            “Hey Inca,” a dark haired boy called as he walked down the hall. “Pleasant dreams last night?”

            Inca looked up, and laughed. The boy’s eyebrows had been singed off, and his pajamas were spotted with burn holes. “By the looks of it, much better then yours.”

            The boy’s hand came up to his non-existent eyebrows, his expression glum.

            “That’s what you get for being a pyro, Blaze” Inca said, slapping him on the shoulder.

            “Yeah,” Blaze chuckled, “I guess so. See you at breakfast?”

            “You got it,” Inca agreed.

            For the first time Blaze noticed the blanket sack in her hand. His forehead wrinkled. He nodded at the bundle. “What’s that?”

            “Emergency rescue of my pillows.”

            “Huh?”

            “I’ll explain later. There’s something I got to take care of before breakfast.”

            “What?”

            “I need to call the zoo.”

            Blaze’s face paled. “Again?”

            Inca grinned.

            “Damn, Inca. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

            Inca raised an eyebrow, eyeing him up and down.

             “I’ve got a fire extinguisher.”

            “Yeah, but you stink,” Inca said, wrinkling her nose.

            Blaze stepped closer, leaning in toward her with a teasing glint in his eyes. “You know you love it,” he said.

He reeked of smoke, but Inca leaned in, smiling. Blaze’s eyes lit up, until she whispered, “Go take a shower, flame boy. And draw yourself some new eyebrows.”

Blaze rolled his eyes, and tried to sneak a quick kiss, but Inca ducked under his arm.

“Catch you later,” she sing-songed, skipping backwards and dragging the blanket along with her. Blaze watched her go, shakng his head, then jumped back from her door with a yelp when a loud roar issued from inside. Inca laughed, but picked up her pace, hurrying for the office and the phone.

All along the hall doors were opening, and teens in varying states of disarray were exiting their rooms. One girl was covered in something gooey, like melted marshmallow, another had small cuts all along her arms. A boy from the boy’s dorm, one level up, streaked down the hall with what looked like a tail bobbing behind him.

Another day at Dreams Collide High had just begun.

 * *

When Inca woke at midnight she knew immediately that she wasn't alone. She had made a mistake. She tilted her head, and stared into the face of Chaz Baldwin, teen movie star. He was dressed in the outfit from his latest movie, one of Inca’s favorites, in which he played a pirate assassin.

“Oh, fan-tastic,” she groaned.

            “Uh…who are you?” Chaz asked. He looked a bit bleary eyed, like he’d just woken up.

            “Sorry,” Inca said. “I’m really, really sorry. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

            “Happen? What?” Chaz repeated, confused.

            “Okay,” Inca reached over to flick on her lamp, trying not to freak out. “Okay… I’ll just send you back and it’ll be like you were never here. You won’t remember any of this. I just need to go back to sleep.”

            “Huh? What you talking about?”

            “I don’t have time to explain.” Inca lay back on her pillow, and squeezed her eyes shut. She could feel Chaz’s eyes roving over her and tried not to shudder. “I can’t sleep with you staring at me,” she said, without opening her eyes.

“Maybe we shouldn’t waste time sleeping?” Chaz asked, his hand tracing up her arm. He was studying her with a spark of interest in his eyes.

            “Whoaaaa, keep it in your pants, Casanova,” Inca cried, diving off the bed. Her legs tangled in the sheet, and she dropped like a felled tree, ripping the sheet right off the mattress. Chaz propped his head on one arm, and gazed down at her, a supposed-to-be-sexy pout playing on his mouth.

“Most girls would kill for this chance, you know,” he said, sounding more like the polished actor now, and less the befuddled traveler.

            Inca’s nose wrinkled. How could I have had a crush on this douchepants?

“I’m not most girls,” she said mock sweetly. Then muttered, “But clearly I need to rethink my taste in movie stars.”

            Chaz looked annoyed, but then he seemed to notice where he was for the first time. “Wait… this isn’t my hotel room.” He sat straight up, spooked. “How did I get here? Did you kidnap me? Where’s my phone? I’m calling the cops!”

“I didn’t kidnap you! Just give me a few minutes and this will all go away.”

            “You’re one of those crazy fangirls aren’t you? Oh my god, you insane-“

“Hey,” Inca shouted. “Shut up! Just shut up, and don’t move.”

Chaz didn’t shut up, but he didn’t move from the bed either, apparently eager to keep space between them now.

            Well, at least he’s reacting normally now, Inca thought and backed up so she could lean against the wall. She closed her eyes, and shut out his whiny voice. Forced sleep was difficult to achieve, but Inca had no choice. This was an emergency.

She kept her purpose firmly in mind as sleep rushed in. She dreamed of Chaz floating through time, until they reached the exact moment when he had been plucked from his life by Inca’s dream, and then deposited into her reality. When she woke up ten minutes later, Chaz was gone. Inca stood up, intending to crawl back in bed, but changed her mind. She didn’t want any of Chaz’s lingering sleaze to rub off on her. Instead she pulled her pillows and blanket to the floor and made a nest. She wondered if the Chaz that had been in her room was a past Chaz, or present day Chaz. Had she inadvertently given the world two Chaz Baldwins for fifteen minutes?

“Geez, I hope not,” Inca groaned. One of him was definitely enough.

She knew the alarm light in the Dreamroom had surely gone off, alerting the Supervisors to her error. Yet, no one had showed up in her room, which meant she must have acted fast enough to prevent any damage to Chaz’s timeline. Still, she was sure to be given a violation, and be questioned tomorrow. At seventeen, Inca was well beyond the age of lenience when it came to violations. It would go in her permanent history. If she accrued to many violations, she would be deemed unfit and her Colliding abilities would be taken away. Inca couldn’t even remember the last time she’d gotten a violation, so she wasn’t worried about that, but she hated drawing the Supervisors attention.

And what a spectacular way to do it, she thought. Why couldn’t you have just made someone up instead of pulling an existing person from thin air?

Normally, the Supervisors left the kids at Dreams Collide High to dream, and deal with whatever came from those dreams, alone. But they were always there in the Dreamroom, with monitors and alarms to alert them when anything went awry. Once, Inca’s friend, Emma, had a nightmare about a faceless man with murderous intentions. The Supervisors had swarmed in to save her immediately, but Emma had had to go dreamless for a whole week just to get over the fear of the man returning.

Not all dreams were pleasant. That was the worst part of being a Collider. No, Inca corrected. The worst part is watching when the things you created are destroyed.

 Sleep was certainly not going to happen now. Inca flipped over and buried her head beneath her pillows, attempting to smother the gloomy thoughts. I wonder what the supervisors will say to me tomorrow?

 Inca sat up abruptly, pillows scattering willy-nilly. Blaze, she thought, spying her phone. Blaze always knew what to say to make her laugh, and stop fretting.

 “Can’t talk now,” Blaze said when he picked up. There was a strange noise in the background, like metal over wood.

“Dragon?” Inca guessed.

Blaze grunted.

“Why did you even answer then?”

“Excellent point, lady fair,” Blaze said, and hung up.

Inca smiled, and shook her head. Blaze always talked like a medieval knight after he dreamed a dragon. Whether it was a remnant from his dreams, or just because he thought it was funny, he refused to say.

Dragons weren’t allowed to live, either.

Inca wondered how long Blaze would have to dodge the dragon, how soon the Supervisors would intervene. She wondered if he would be able to obliterate it with his mind, or if the dragon would be determined to live. She knew that Blaze ached inside each time he had to destroy one of his creations, just like she did. She also knew that he had less control over his dreams, that despite his best attempts he was unable to dream of things that were allowed to exist, like Inca’s Jaguar, now safe in the local zoo.

Sometimes Inca sorely wished that she and Blaze, and all their friends, were just normal teenagers. What would it be like to have piles of homework, over protective parents, and college applications as their only problems?

* *

The bell for first period rang just seconds after Inca slunk into class. She slept straight through her alarm, and had to make a mad dash to make it in time, skipping breakfast as well as a shower.

Blaze turned, quirking an eyebrow as she slid into the seat behind him. “You look…like shit.”

Inca punched his arm. “Gee, thanks, Prince Charming.”

“Prince Charming?” Blaze echoed, horrified. “I’m a knight, not some weak-ass prince.”

Before she could respond an announcement crackled over the speakers: “Inca Locke, please report to the Dreamroom immediately.”

Inca flinched, but dutifully picked up her bag. She felt Blaze’s questioning gaze, but there was no time to explain now. “Shit isn’t a very medieval word,” she whispered before she got up.

Blaze shrugged. “Your all encompassing beauty, even with the previously mentioned manure-like appearance, has rendered me too flabbergasted to speak properly…my lady.”

Inca snorted, and went to face the Supervisors.

“Ah, Miss Locke,” Supervisor Sullivan said, inviting her in with a wave of his hand. “Come in, please.”

Inca bit her lip, and stepped into the Dreamroom. The room was filled with panel after panel of high backed desks, loaded down with computers, monitoring screens, and alarm bulbs. With Dreamtime over, the desks were all deserted. The Dreamroom had no windows, and reminded Inca of an underground dungeon. She shivered, missing sunlight.

Supervisor Sullivan pushed his chair back from the desk, and stood up, facing her. “I assume you know why you are here?”

“Yes, sir.” Inca swallowed. “I-I…I’m not sure what happened, sir. I haven’t made a mistake like that in a long time.”

 “I know. You haven’t had a violation in several years. The last one occurred,” he looked briefly down at the computer screen, checking her file. “When you were thirteen. You have gained control over your dreams much faster then most, and we have been watching you closely.”

Inca kept an attentive smile pasted on her face, but her stomach roiled. She had always assumed her control would deter attention, not attract it. She did not like being singled out by the Supervisors.

Sullivan went on. “We were very impressed with how quickly you handled the situation last night. Thanks to your quick work there was no damage, and no need for a Patch Mission. Never the less, you will be given a violation.”

 “Of course,” Inca said weakly.

Sensing her unease, Supervisor Sullivan smiled, but it never quite reached his eyes, or the rest of his face for that matter. It was eerie, the way his mouth made the right shape, but the rest of him didn’t follow. “You have shown great promise in the past, Miss Locke. We expect much of you. This episode last night…well, it would be unwise to repeat it.”

There was an edge of warning to his voice that made Inca squirm. When she did not respond, Supervisor Sullivan raised his eyebrows pointedly.

“Yes, sir,” Inca squeaked.

He turned back to his desk in what was an obvious dismissal.

Eyes wide, Inca backed away, afraid to take her eyes off of him. When she bumped up against the door, she turned, flung it open, and fled without a backward glance. In her haste to leave the Dreamroom behind, Inca took a corner too fast and plowed into Blaze. They both went down in a tumultuous heap of flailing limbs, and scattered papers and books.

“Where’s the fire?” Blaze quipped as he stood, pulling Inca up after him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Inca retorted.

Blaze picked up his books, but dropped them again when Inca suddenly clutched his arm and said, “Blaze, let’s skip class.”

 His mouth opened in a silent “O” of surprise. Then he stammered, “You want to cut class?”

 “Yes! Please, Blaze?”

            He seemed to notice her pale, panicked face for the first time. “What,” Blaze hissed, leaning close, “the hell happened?”

Inca glanced over her shoulder, almost expecting to see Supervisor Sullivan stalking her every move, or video cameras recording from above. As ridiculous as it might be, that one visit with Sullivan had totally ruined what little happiness Dreams Collide had provided. She felt naked, and vulnerable. Just how much of her life were the Supervisors watching? And for what purpose?

Inca pressed her mouth to Blaze’s ear, whispered, “I don’t want to talk about it here.”

Blaze pulled back, studied her face. He nodded, and hand in hand, they ran.

* *

Outside, on the hill behind the school dorms, Inca told Blaze everything that had happened.

“Well, it’s not like they were spying on your entire life, right?” Blaze asked. “Just your dreams?”

“I don’t know,” Inca hedged. “The way he said it, if just felt so…sinister. And it’s still an intrusion. What could be more private then our dreams? What we create while we sleep, that’s …intimate. Revealing.”

“You’ve been dreaming of me, then?” Blaze joked.

“Blaaaze, be serious,” Inca pleaded, swatting his arm.

“Sorry, Inc,” he said. “This is all just so…heavy.”

“Tell me about it,” Inca sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I feel...ugh…I don’t know. Grossed out? Like they’ve been spying on me while I was in the shower.”

“To bad they weren’t doing that.” 

Inca’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“I just mean,” Blaze explained hastily, “that if they had done that at least we could fight them. Get their asses fired, or thrown in jail or whatever. This, I mean, shit, Inca. How can we do anything about this? It's their fucking job. To monitor our dreams, and make us…” Blaze trailed off, his brow furrowed.

“Make us what?” Inca prompted.

“Exactly.”

“Huh?”

“What are they making us?”

Inca bit her lip, thinking. “Safe? To live in the normal world?”

“Maybe,” Blaze said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

Inca understood his hesitation. None of the students at Dreams Collide saw much of the normal world. Once you were inside, you seldom went out again, not until you graduated. Supposedly, Colliders were offered special jobs after graduation, but so far, the Supervisors had not been very forthcoming about that either. Inca had been under the Supervisors care and guidance since she was seven. She had been allowed to see her family, her parents and younger brother, only on visitation weekends, once every four months. Inca had always assumed that the Supervisors had her best interest in mind, that she was safe here. Now, she wasn’t sure what to believe.

Inca wondered what they would do if she marched into the Dreamroom and announced that she wanted the inoculation. The Supervisors always said inoculation was a choice, but the only time she had ever seen it used was when a student, a boy called Brian, had reached his violation limit. The Supervisors had forcibly injected him, removing his powers completely.

A choice, my ass, she thought, furious. Clearly, only the Supervisors could decide when inoculation was permitted. Otherwise, it would have been an option back when she was just a kid, before they had taken her away. Shouldn’t her parents have been given the choice to inoculate Inca and keep her with them? Shouldn't she have been given a choice?

“Blaze,” Inca said finally, soft and uncertain.

“Yeah?”

“I…I don’t think I want to go back.”

Blaze didn’t respond. 

“Blaze?”

“Yeah?”

Inca’s mouth twitched slightly at his apparent inability to form another word. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course,” he said, with the barest hint of ‘well, duh,’ in his tone. “What are we going to do?”

“I dunno,” Inca said, lacing her fingers through his. “But maybe we should start by going home?”

 “I don’t even remember what home looks like.”

“Me either,” Inca admitted.

“Home,” he said again, wistful.

 Blaze pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on top of her head, and Inca pressed her nose to his neck. He smelled like sparks and ash, and a hint of leather. When he kissed her she could taste delight, and longing, and a trace of fear, as if their conversation lingered in his mouth. He tasted like chocolate, and rain, and the bitter bite of coffee. She held him tight, twisting her fingers in his hair, pressing a hand to his heart. Inca kissed him with abandon, trying to convey what she couldn’t say with words – that to her, Blaze felt just like home.

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** I started writing this story with the intent to let go of perfection. As a writer my strongest urge is to cling to my words, to tweak, and pick sentences apart, until I deem them worthy. This time I wanted to write just to write, to see where the story would take me, with no polishing rag in one hand to wipe up my messes. There was to be no editing. Of course, that didn't last long. I nitpicked, and deleted, read, and re-read. But despite that, this story took me for a ride. I have no clue how I got from where it started to everywhere else it went. Inca's story certainly didn't end the way I expected. In a way that makes it perfect.  ~Steph