Okay, I've save this as a HTML document, hopefully things will look a lot better. For some reason, I'm having difficulty with the tabs now that's it's saved as this type of document – for consistency, nothing is indented. But at least the paragraphs are separate (at least, they appear to be. Whether or not it remains this way is yet to be seen). I decided to throw everything I have written so far into one document – this makes for a long chapter, but it's less difficult for me than deciding where I want to break it up, and then making separate files for each section. Even though it is long, I also think it's decent as a first section. If I continue with it, this will probably turn into a pretty long story. No Freddy yet, but I promise to get to the point next section – I wanted to get some decent character background for Bella, and this was really the only way to do it. Oh - the important request part: If you read the story, please take a second to post a review - writing a story when you don't know if anyone is actually going to read it, or whether they like it, is kind of a downer...
Disclaimer and other stuff:
I have no rights to NOES characters. I have no affiliation with New Line Cinema, Wes Craven, or anyone else in the movie industry. Please don't sue me, I assure you it won't be worth your time for the money I have. Bellatrix is of my own invention, so I guess I own her. The name Ortiz is used with the permission of its owner, who is officially the biggest NOES fan ever. Maybe. The title Dreamseer is also used with the permission of the same individual. Also, although it's not officially part of the disclaimer realm, if you are going to bother to read this story (whether formatted correctly or not), I would like you to know that NO, BELLA HAS NO SURPRISE RELATIONS IN THIS STORY (just in case the first section makes it look like I'm heading that way). This is NOES, not Star Wars.
Dreamseer is rated R, just in case, for language and violence.
That said, following the traditional literary reference/quote, the story…
Traditional literary reference:
She slept the world. Oh singing god, how did
you so complete her, that she did not care
to wake up first? Look, she stood and dreamed.
-R. M. Rilke, Sonnets to Orpheus, I, 2
Dreamseer
Part One: Behind Closed Doors
Bellatrix Ortiz sat quietly with her forehead rested up against the passenger side window of her mother's new BMW, watching buildings, trees and pedestrians shoot past as the car traveled through the rain and down the road toward her new home. She should have been happy. Ecstatic. Even on as dreary a day as today. Every need, every problem, every hardship that arose from the near abject poverty that had made existence within the Ortiz household a daily struggle for as long as she could remember seemed to have been instantly annihilated with a few quick strokes of a bic pen. And, with something else.
The something else was an unofficial but mutually recognized taboo subject in the Ortiz household – a household that had consisted of only herself and her mother ever since her stepfather's untimely but fortunate passing over eight years ago when Bella had been ten years old. Prior to this, discussion of particular peculiarities had indeed become discouraged, and specific subjects avoided or ignored. The serious intensity associated with what had, up until that time, been regarded as an uncanny oddity, had not yet descended upon the remaining family members. Descend, however, it finally did, and with a literally breakneck pace at that.
Her mother had not asked the question then either.
But she had suspected. Wondered. Queried. Dreaded. Pondered. Considered the possibility and deep down, yes, suspected the answer to the unasked question.
"Bella, you are going to love the town we are going to live in."
Nobody, not even her mother, or her dysfunctional stepfather for that matter, had ever insisted on calling her by her full name. Bella didn't respond. She had already heard enough from her mother about Springwood to last her a lifetime.
"It's such a quiet little town, and a rich town Bella. Would you ever have believed we would live in such a place?"
Bella believed. Believed in a great many things that the less gifted could only dream about. Or not.
"I love you so much. You're my good luck charm. It was all you. You picked out that number, out of a billion other numbers, and now we can finally live the way we deserve to. Better than we deserve to. Better than anyone deserves to."
Jessica Ortiz, neglected child of poverty and mother of Bella, battered woman, essentially single parent, and prior keeper of three jobs would never be working again – not if she did not want to. The Ortiz family had recently joined the ranks of millionaires.
Did you do it Bella?
But the question was never asked. At least, not in the most applicable context. Luck was championed, and sanity retained its tenuous reign. Bella had remained silent, head against the window, watching the rain.
"Bella?"
"Huh?" She lifted her head from the window and looked over. "Sorry mom, I've just been tired, from the move. A lot going on, you know?"
"Tired. I can't see how you can be tired. You know sometimes I think you sleep too much."
Did you do it Bella?
Honey, I know things have been difficult. Things have always been difficult. But can you do something for me, please? Just one thing? Try, just try to get to know some people. Try to find some friends here. It's not good to be alone all the time. I know it's hard, but let's try really hard to fit in here, okay? We have a chance at a whole new life, let's finally do it right." The 'let's' wasn't derogatory, or condescending or even maternal. She had of course meant both of them.
For Bella reasons were more complicated. At first, when she was young, she avoided other children because children were cruel. Later, she had developed other reasons that made trying to socialize effectively not worth the effort. She became apathetic to others almost entirely and, although she no longer really cared greatly about what was said, this did nothing to keep her from being the focus of rumors and gossip. First they delighted in insulting her to her face. Then, when they were just a little too intimidated by her uncanny intuition, they spoke behind her back. She knew about this as well. She just stopped caring. They called her trailer trash – which wasn't technically true because Bella had never lived in a trailer – until recently she had lived in a low rent roach infested apartment. They joked that her parents were crazy – which was at least partially true – her stepfather really was an alcoholic nutjob and her mother could have been considered crazy for remaining with him. They called her a bastard – which technically was true, although this didn't particularly bother her at first. She had always made it widely known that Thomas, her stepfather, was not her real father. Bella had hated him more than any of her childhood tormentors.
Thomas had been a tyrant. Tom the tyrant. The drunken tyrant. Jessica his most loyal, dedicated subject. Duties had consisted of cooking, cleaning and, in the absence of convenient inanimate objects – or because inanimate objects at some point did not provide enough satisfaction – offering her services as the resident punching bag. Bella, at least, had been spared this last responsibility. She would soon learn, however, that mommy's little bastard was not to meddle in the affairs of her elders. She learned this first very important lesson in life in the early part of second grade. She had made the mistake of mentioning to one of her teachers that her stepfather had been drunk again, and had struck her mother. This had to be reported, per protocol. The police also had to make an inquiry, which Bella was to discover was also governed more by protocol than it was compassion. They had paid a short visit to the apartment, looked around and, apparently, quickly decided that there were people more deserving of their time and effort. Perhaps they had decided that the lower class was naturally inclined to partake in activities deemed unsuitable to the more civilized members of society, and the whole ugly affair was a lost cause. Whatever the reason, the issue was not vigorously pursued, the matter casually discarded. Bella had learned very early in life that, although there were exceptions, there were a great many people deserving of the term asshole. This apparently applied as much to members of the police department as it did to the general population. Whether enraged at the idea that she would have had the nerve to make his activities in private life generally known, or encouraged by lack of impact that said activities had made upon the police, the incident had only added fuel to the fire. She had not dared to interfere again.
Bella's earliest memory of her stepfather had involved bloody conflict. She had awoken to shouting. She left her room to find both of her parents screaming at each other.
"You can't keep doing this"
"You're not the judge of what I can and can't do. I give you my share of the rent, whatever else I do with my money is up to me" He waved an empty bottle in front of her mother's face. An impulsive act of frustration on the part of her mother resulted in the bottle being pried from his hands and hurled with a crash through one of the two kitchen windows. "Oh, we're big, are we? You want to see big?" Tom's right fist rose to the challenge and shattered the other window. A large shard of glass cut into the meaty portion of his palm near the thumb.
The tiled floor in the kitchen was a bright yellow. As her stepfather ran through the kitchen and into the bathroom, he'd left bright red splotches that contrasted with the color of the floor. Bella's most vivid memory was of staring at these splotches, not knowing where her stepfather had been cut. She'd followed him into the bathroom and watched him hold his hand under the water from the faucet. It looked like so much blood. The gash was deep.
"What happened? Are you going to be okay?"
Tom had not noticed her until then. "Get out of here damn-it! Get in your room, now!"
Things had gone only downhill from there. Indeed, Bella's response to the fighting in the house had become to retreat to the confines of her room, and wait for the arguments to be over. Sometimes, her mother left the apartment in tears, screaming that she would never come back. The first few times, Bella had been terrified when she heard this threat, wondering how she would live with only her unstable stepdad. She soon learned however, that it was all bluff. She always came back. As time progressed, Bella understood less and less why. Why didn't they both just run away? Whatever the reason, or lack thereof, the downward spiral continued, at some point verbal abuse progressed to physical abuse, and physical abuse to more physical abuse, and Bella often cried herself to sleep at night to the sounds of violence.
The complete lack of normalcy and the desperate need for control that characterized Bella's waking life had perhaps contributed to the patterns of her dreaming. This, at any rate, was her best explanation. In her dreams, she was free. She could be anyone or anything. She could do anything. A consistent and pure lucidity typified her dream world. So consistent was this, that she could not imagine it being any other way. She had merely assumed that everyone dreamt that way. It had taken some convincing from her mother in order to get her to believe that most people did not. At first, she thought her mother had been kidding.
Discussion of her dreams with her mother had begun innocently enough. Her mother had been home sick from work one day. Quality family time was rare. This of course meant time with her mother – her stepfather, although around more often, made a point to continuously emphasize that Bella was not his, and therefore all responsibilities associated with Bella, also not his. Whatever the reason for her presence, Bella was certain to take advantage of the time for discussion. It began as a seemingly normal conversation between a seven-year-old girl and her mother.
"What do you like to do in your dreams mommy?"
"What do I dream about?" Her mother had smiled at her, as she prepared breakfast for her daughter. She was thoughtful for a moment. For a moment, she almost seemed sad. "I don't remember most of my dreams. Sometimes I dream about work."
Bella had frowned, slightly confused. "I thought you hated work?"
"I don't like work, it's just, when you do something all the time, you start to dream about it to."
"Why don't you just change it?"
"Change what"?
"The dream. Why don't you change the dream? Like, you could dream being at the beach. Or playing ball. Or go hiking through the jungle. You could hunt sabercats.
Her mother had laughed. "Sabercats sound worse than work."
"Oh no, not the ones dream. They do whatever you want. So it's just play hunting. Like tag."
"Wait, I have an idea." Her mother had been pleased to see her daughter so enthused about something. Usually she was so glum. She knew she had few friends and, although Thomas could be charming enough when he was not drinking – which unfortunately he did more and more often – she also knew that he did not like to spend time with Bella. "Stay right there sweetheart. Close your eyes!"
Bella sat at the kitchen table with hands covering her eyes. Corn flakes becoming soggy in front of her. Within a minute, she could hear her mother returning. "Okay Bella open!"
Her mother had a book in her hand with flowers on the cover. She took it and opened it. All the pages were blank inside.
"I was going to give this to you for your birthday, but I thought now would be a better time."
"Cool. A present. What is it?"
"I was going to give it to you so that you could keep a diary. But you can write your dreams in it too."
"Awesome. This is the coolest thing I've ever gotten."
Her mother was saddened by this. What kind of world did her daughter live in that she thought that a blank journal was the best present she had ever received? But she was happy that it had made Bella happy. She hugged her daughter.
Bella diligently recorded absolutely everything, sometimes spending hours in the morning. She shared her journal with her mother, leaving it on her mother's bed for when she came home at night. The dreams were less like dreams and more like invented adventure stories. For one thing, they were all written in the first person. They also always contained a lot of decision making of some sort. For example 'I wanted to get to the island in the middle of the lake, so I dreamed myself flying and went to it'. Her mother did not believe that Bella had really dreamed all of these things, but she was pleased that she seemed to have such an active imagination. Some of the 'dreams' were a little disturbing in their implications ('I dreamed sabercats to be friends with. They will protect me in case Tom comes'), but she supposed it was a good way for Bella to deal with her problems. Like anything in the Ortiz' household however, eventually, it was sure to backfire.
Tom was becoming worse than ever. He woke up angry. He came home angry. He drank during the day. He had, at long last, decided to graduate from the school of verbal abuse and wanton destruction of inanimate objects, and finally lay hand to the living. This progression had been precipitated by something as seemingly innocuous as lukewarm soup.
Tom had come home later, angrier, and more drunk than usual.
"What's for supper?" This question usually preceded hello, if hello was to be said at all.
"There's soup on the stove Tom." Jessica had called out from the bedroom, where she was reading through Bella's journal. Less than half a minute later, Jessica was startled by a loud crash from the kitchen. She took a split second to decide between which was the safest option, staying where she was or seeing what was going on. She quickly came to the conclusion that, if she didn't go out there, he would likely come into the bedroom, and that he might be even more irritated at having been forced to travel all that way. She went to the kitchen. Bella had also woken up, and peaked out from her door.
"What's going on?"
"Stay in your room Bella."
When Jessica got to the kitchen area, she found the tiled floor littered with thousands of broken shards of one of the bowls, which had apparently been hurled with full force at the floor. "What the hell?"
"What the hell? What the hell? What is this crap?
Jessica still did not understand what was wrong. "Soup, chicken s –"
"I'll tell you what it is. It's COLD. It's cold damn-it! I'm supposed to enjoy this?
"You were late! Of course it's cooled off! How am I supposed to know when you are going to come home? What's the big deal anyway? Just warm it up!"
"Warm it up? No YOU warm it up, you - " He pushed the pan off the stove where it crashed down upon the new violent kitchen mosaic that decorated the floor. Glass splinters crunched under his shoes as he charged at Jessica. He grabbed her by the throat. Words. It had always been words. Whatever was said, Jessica had consoled herself with the idea – with the delusion – that it had been, and always would be, only words. This faith was now crudely shaken, quite literally. "Always thinking about yourself. Can't get dinner ready. Can't make sure it's edible. Have to sit on your fat, lazy ass, reading, what is that damn garbage that you always have your nose in?" He finally let go of her neck, slapped her, and shoved her against the wall.
Bella's journal. Jessica realized only now that she had never put it down. Not when she got up to run to the kitchen. Not when the pan hit the floor. Not when Tom had been choking her. Even now, it remained clutched in her right hand. Tom pried it from her. He opened the cover.
"Bella's dreams, by Bella Ortiz" he mockingly recited. "You worthless little SLUT! Always putting your little bastard spawn ahead of me! Can't spend time taking care of things the way they should be taken care of, oh no, you have to spend your time catering to her every little whim." He shook with rage at the perceived insult. "You're going to listen to me now. You are going to listen. This…" he tore the pages from the journal "…is going…" he tore torn out pages into bits "… to END." Tom left her there. Sobbing. Sitting against the bare plaster wall surrounded by scattered glass fragments and chicken soup. He went into the bedroom and slammed the door. He passed Bella on the way, and grinned down maliciously at her. He had never been so thrilled for her to have ignored one of her mother's requests. She hadn't stayed in her room. She had watched the whole thing.
Bella hesitated for a moment, not sure if her stepdad was going to come charging out of the bedroom again, and then hurried to her mother.
"Mom are you okay?"
"I'm sorry about your journal Bella."
"I don't care about the book. I can get another book. Are you all right?"
"This is such a mess."
"I'll help you clean it up."
"No, no, it's okay, I'll get it, you have school tomorrow. Go back to bed Bella."
But eight-year-old Bella didn't go back to bed. At least, not before insisting on helping her mother clean the kitchen of debris. It took most of the night. Exhausted, they both went to Bella's room at around four in the morning. "I hate him." Bella wispered in the dark. "I'm glad he's not my father."
"Hush honey."
Despite the lack of sleep, Bella went to school the next day. It was on this day that she had told her teacher about what had happened. It was on this day that the city police had paid their short and pointless visit to the Ortiz residence. It was on this day that Bella had learned that the rest of the world either could not be counted on, or simply did not care about her problems.
The shiny new BMW finally pulled into the driveway of their new home. Bella really wanted to believe that this symbolized the start of a whole new life for both of them. Sometimes, however, sometimes there could just be too many things that would forever connect the past to the present. And yet it was so peaceful here, a quiet neighborhood. There was a lawn, and trees in the front yard. Everything was so clean. In the city everything always seemed to be coated with both a literal and figurative layer of filth.
The moving van was still parked in front of the house. It had already been unloaded. There really hadn't been a lot to move. Getting everything out of boxes and into new locations was still something that would take some time. Jessica locked the car and smiled as it chirped at her. "Let's go see our new house!"
Bella had, of course, already seen the house. Pictures of the outside. Pictures of the inside. A tour of the premises. A tour around town. For the price, which the Ortiz could now more than afford, they seemed to have spared no expense in keeping their interest. They could have just as easily purchased even a grander house. Her mother, however, was in love with it, and the surrounding town. Bella knew better than to interfere with these kinds of relationships.
"See Bella, this is how you know that it this is a beautiful town. All the streets are named after trees." If she wasn't careful, this kind of talk might continue all day. She'd have to put a stop to it.
"Elm trees have weird diseases. You should have gotten a house on Oak."
"I don't see why you have to be so pessimistic. Besides, oak trees have acorns dear."
Looking down the street, Bella noticed that, despite the rain, a small group of people had clustered together at the corner and were watching them. She had gotten a few stares when she had gone with her mother to see the town earlier. She had suspected that it had had something to do with her wardrobe. Bella had developed a sense of pride in her uniquness, and she let her uniqueness shine. Usually she dressed in black. She particularly liked leather, although until now she had not been able to afford it. Still, she didn't think she was deviant enough to appear that outlandish. She did have a total of nine piercings: five in her left ear, three in her right, and one in her bellybutton. She had done all of them herself. Her mother had threatened her with grotesque physical violence after she had pierced her bellybutton. Sometimes she got a few second glances from people. She had, however, never had the feeling that she was a strange new circus attraction. "What's with them?" she asked, pointing to the crowd.
"Oh, I bet they just want to see who their new neighbors are", she said cheerily as she walked up to the door while fishing out the key. She waved back at them cheerfully before turning to open the door.
"If you want to meet the new neighbors, wouldn't you just go to the door and knock?" She looked at the group again. While she watched them, one of the figures turned toward the person next to him and made the universal death symbol by swiping his hand across his throat. The person next to him seemed to laugh nervously in agreement. Most of them appeared to be high school kids. They were probably going to be at her new school tomorrow. "Great," she muttered.
Before following her mother into the house, she noticed another girl across from the main group. She didn't seem to be with the others. Not that she wouldn't have been easy enough to spot in a crowd: her hair was a neon bright pink. She quietly watched while leaning up again a telephone pole. Although slightly curious, Bella had had enough of being the center of attention for one day, and quickly entered the house. Maybe things would be better here. Of course, they would have to be better here than they had been at her old home. But maybe she could be better here. Maybe she could find a place where she could fit in. Considering her differences, it seemed like an ambitious desire.
Following the incident in the kitchen, Tom's downward spiral continued – although spiral was perhaps not apt enough a term, it seemed more like a nosedive. After the short visit from the police, Tom was better for a few weeks. He seemed to genuinely regret the incident. He brought home roses. Sometimes he even helped around in the apartment. But sober Tom and drunk Tom were two entirely different entities – at least that was what Bella had always wanted to believe. Eventually, drunk Tom would retake possession. When he finally did, he began to display his worst qualities more and more.
This was hard enough on Jessica. She dared not go to the police: She too had been well aware that they probably could not be counted on. She dared not leave either. She was a very dependent person. She knew this was one of her greatest flaws, but she hadn't ever had the courage to do anything about it. Vainly, she hoped that things would at least return to the reduced level of insanity before Tom's outburst in the kitchen. Moreover however, she had thought that Tom was her major concern. A call from one of Bella's teachers had caught her completely off guard.
"Mrs. Ortiz, I',m calling you because I'm concerned about your daughter Bella."
Usually, Jessica corrected people when they assumed that she was a Mrs. The word 'concerned about', and 'Bella' within the same sentence had made this a lesser priority.
"What's wrong? Did she do something wrong?"
"No. She's not in trouble I mean. It might be better if you come down to the school so we can talk."
Jessica had arranged to be at the school during one of her breaks. When she arrived, a red haired woman in a blue dress greeted her. The woman was wearing glasses, her red hair tied back in a ponytail. "Mrs Ortiz? I'm Samantha Evans, I work as a guidance councilor at the school." Jessica wondered just how much guidance eight-year-olds needed to get through gradeschool. "Bella's teacher contacted me the other day," she continued. "She had concerns that your daughter has been, well, distancing herself, from reality." The woman picked up a notebook that had been on her desk. Jessica recognized the handwriting.
She thought she understood where she was going with this. She had kept a journal, and it had been found. It was a shame that imagination was getting to be considered a negative thing.
"She's a good girl. A smart girl. She just has a very active imagination. It's good for her to - "
"I'm not sure you understand. You see, it has to do with the context. Mrs - "
"Miss"
"Yes, well, Miss Ortiz" she hesitated, "these writings were actually meant to be part of an assignment. The teacher had asked the students to keep a journal of the things they have done over the week." The matter suddenly seemed more complicated, but not dangerously so.
"Mrs. Evans," Jessica finally said, "I'm grateful that you have gotten in touch with me, really. I appreciate your concern. The truth is, Bella, well it's been hard, at home. I think, these things. I think it's just easier for her to write about these things than to write about her ordinary life. I know it's a problem. I'm trying the best I can. I'll talk to her about this." She considered for a moment. "Can I take this home?"
"Certainly. However," she hesitated again, longer this time, "I talked with Bella about this myself. Briefly, of course, but … she really does seem to believe that she has really done all of these things. It may be as you say, of course." Mrs. Evans seemed to be herself looking for ways to avoid reality. Or, at least, the present situation. "Well, good luck to you then."
Good luck. I know your boyfriend is dangerously abusive and that there is nothing anyone wants do about it. I fear your daughter is developing a form of childhood schizophrenia, because you have been such a horrible parent, but, cheerio, good luck, and all that.
Jessica made a point to talk to her daughter later that day after work. Things did not go as well as she had hoped to believe that they would.
"Bella, I was told that your teacher said that you were supposed to write about what you did during the week, why did you write all these stories instead?"
"But I did do everything"
Good luck.
"Bella, these are stories. They aren't real. They didn't really happen."
"I dreamed them. They are real."
"Dreams aren't real Bella. No matter how much you want them to be."
Her daughter seemed to have difficulty with this concept, but she didn't protest. She was just full of questions.
"What makes something real then? If you do it, isn't it real?"
"What you do while you are awake is real honey, dreams are just … dreams."
"But why?"
"Honey," her mother wasn't sure how to go about this anymore, "don't you ever dream that you do something, at school maybe, and then you wake up, and you realize that it never really happened?"
"But if I do it, then didn't it really happen?"
"Bella, dreams and the real world are two different things. You can't confuse them."
"You mean dreams and here?"
"Here?"
"Where we are now."
"Yes Bella, two different things. And if you confuse them, bad things can happen."
"What bad things? And anyway, I don't confuse them."
"Bella, you wrote in your journal that you did these things-"
"Yes, I did them in my dreams. I know I did them in my dreams. You can't do things like that here. That would be crazy."
This was, at least, a start. "Okay then," Jessica said, hoping she would get somewhere with this, "can you do something for me? When somebody asks you about the things you do, they mean the things you do… here," she said, as her daughter had put it. "So you can't say you 'really' did all the things you dream about."
"So I can't write down my dreams anymore?"
"Yes, you can if you want to, but don't write about them for your teachers, unless they specifically ask you to write about your dreams. Okay?"
"Okay."
A thought had occurred to Bella during this conversation. To her, her mother seemed to be the one with the problem. All this talk about two different places and only one of them being real had caused her to think about this.
"You don't dream a lot, do you mom?"
"I don't remember most of my dreams."
"But you remember what happened yesterday. And the day before. And before that. How can you not remember what you do in your dreams?"
"I just don't Bella. Maybe I don't dream. But just do what we talked about, okay?"
"Okay."
As confusing as it had seemed to her then, Bella did as her mother had requested. But her eight-year-old mind also considered a solution to her mother's problem as well. It was, in every essence, a solution born from the spirit of an eight-year-old. She would have to find her mother while they were both dreaming, and help her to remember.
It proved to be a formidable task. Bella had never tried anything like it before. As daunting as it seemed, however, she was also excited by the prospect. Had she been older, she may very well have considered it impossible. To her child's mind however, nothing was outside the realm of possibility. Especially not in dreams. It took her three months.
What she had been doing wrong before she finally succeeded still eluded her. The night on which she accomplished her goal did not seem any different than any other night. She had begun her dream in a forest – although she could go anywhere she wished, where she began her dreams was often random – had thought again about trying to find her mother, and suddenly found herself in the basement of a poorly lit clothing store. Her mother was trying to fold a set of garments and package them in a box but kept realizing that she had left something important outside the package. This object would materialize and she would go through the process again. Even though they were indoors there was grass on the floor. And on the walls. Her mother dreamed some weird things. She was surprised that she was unable to remember things as strange as this more often. Still, this thing with the box was a strange thing to be doing. She couldn't for the life of her grasp why her mother wanted these things in the box anyway.
"Mom, what are you doing?"
Her mother looked up, and a look of fright and horror crossed her face. "What are you doing here? You are supposed to be in school! What's wrong?"
"I'm not in school. I'm dreaming. You're dreaming. We are both dreaming. I've been looking for you FOREVER. Anyway, I'm here to make sure you don't forget."
This was apparently way too much information for her mother to grasp all at once. "What on earth are you talking about? This has nothing to do with dreaming. How did you get here? I'm working, and you are not supposed to be here! How did you get here?" she repeated.
This was all very, very strange talk coming from someone who had rather recently given her a lecture about the importance of being able to distinguish the dream world from the so called reality. "You're only dreaming work. Which is really weird," she added.
"Bella," her mother said sternly, "I'm not dreaming. We talked about this. I don't know how you got here, but you are going home this instant."
"Of course you are dreaming. Are you trying to play a joke on me? It's not fair! You are just testing me because you are afraid that I can't tell what is a dream and what is awake. You can't fool me. I know you are kidding. Anyway, this is boring. Let's do something else!"
"Bella, I am warning you!"
Her mother really was apparently seriously delusional. "Okay then, if you aren't dreaming work, then why is there grass growing on the walls?" Bella put on her best need-to-know expressions to match this challenge. Her mother looked around slowly and blinked, as if it had only suddenly occurred to her that this was at all unusual. If Bella had not been so frustrated by the situation, she would have found it comical.
"Because…" Her mother began, and then stopped, because she could not remember why this new arrangement had been implemented. Were they under new management? She further realized that she could not remember exactly how she had gotten there either. Hadn't she been at home? When the realization finally did dawn on her, it really was comical. "This is a dream!" She exclaimed. "I'm dreaming this!"
"Thank you! Let's go!" Bella said with relief, as she grabbed her mother by the wrist.
"Go? Go where?"
"Anywhere else. Your dreams give me the creeps."
Bella learned a lot about her mother that night. A lot, and yet still not nearly enough. Bella discovered that her mother sucked at flying. She at most things here, actually. The two of them were reduced to doing rather mundane things in rather mundane settings. Or at least trying to do them. She tried to have a picnic, but her mother kept losing the food. She tried to fly kites, but her mother's kite kept transforming into some really weird objects. In her eight years, Bella had never seen a flying frying pan before. It was like being with a crazy person. Still, it was good to share time with her mother, even if she was a terrible dreamer. Another wonderful idea suddenly occurred to her. "Hey mom! I want you to meet Rex!"
"Who's Rex?"
"Rex, my sabercat!"
"I don't want to meet your sabercats," her mother had said quickly. She tried to protest further, quite alarmed at the new direction this dream seemed to be turning, but Bella had already conjured the creature. It really did look similar to a saber toothed tiger – except that it had spots like a leopard. It also had longer fur. At least, longer fur than Jessica would have imagined saber toothed tigers to have. She backed away from it, not entirely certain that it might not just decide to take her head off.
"Don't worry mom, she's wicked cool. She likes you, see?"
Rex sauntered up to Jessica in the manner that any domestic cat might, and rubbed up against her, purring. It was such a magnificent animal. It seemed so real to her. Jessica had never had lucid dreams before, and yet, even though the events seemed to follow a course of their own, she still could not cease to be amazed that she knew she was dreaming. Usually, she had no control over her dreams, and often, so often, her dreams were nightmares. She dreamt about that terrible night, over and over. She would sometimes wake up crying. But it was all all right, because she had Bella. Bella, who was beautiful and pure and her ceaseless source of determination. Bella, who was her best decision, maybe her only good decision. She brushed her fingers through the fur of the cat. It was so soft, almost like down.
Suddenly a piercing noise penetrated everything around them. The cat sat down on its haunches and rested its head upon its front paws. Bella looked disappointed. Jessica couldn't tell where the noise was coming from. "What is that?" she said, looking around her bewildered.
"That's from your side. Your alarm. Remember mom okay? Remember!" And Bella vanished. Everything vanished, and Jessica was in the bedroom of her cold apartment, Tom turned over on the bed next to her. She quickly turned off her alarm and got up quietly. He had not woken up yet. She did not want to wake him. She went to Bella's door, wondering if she was still asleep. She opened the door a crack and tried to peer in without being noticed. Bella was already awake, sitting on the bed.
"Mom!"
"I didn't know you were awake. I wanted to look at you before I went to work. I didn't mean to wake you up sweetie.
"You didn't wake me up." She considered further. "Well, I guess you did, sort of."
Her mother just smiled at her. She couldn't think of anything to say that might not sound overly sentimental. She also considered that it might not be a good idea to tell Bella about this right away. She was still a little concerned about what had happened at school. It might give her unrealistic ideas. "Sorry honey, I won't keep you up any longer." It was a Saturday, Bella was allowed to sleep as late as she wanted. She went to close the door.
"But you remembered, right?"
Jessica stopped cold. "Remembered?" She turned to look at Bella. "Remembered what?"
"The dream. You didn't forget the dream did you?" Jessica just stared at her. She couldn't know, she thought. "I hope you didn't forget. It took me a long time to find you. It was too short," she reflected, "but I'm glad you got to meet Rex."
"Rex." She said blankly. And then, "your cat Rex." Jessica didn't know what to think anymore. How could she know?
Bella grinned happily, "I knew you'd remember this time! We can do it again. You're not very good at lot's of stuff," she said honestly, trying to avoid her mother's gaze by staring at the floor while she said this, "but I can find you again and we can do lot's of things and-"
"Bella? How are you doing this?" Jessica didn't know what she was feeling. Such a jumbled bunch of emotions had invaded her all at once. What did this mean? Should she be relieved? Because didn't this mean that her daughter wasn't suffering from some kind of delusions? Should she be frightened? Because this certainly wasn't normal. Certainly wasn't possible. Yet she knew it had happened. Finally, a recognizable emotion did find its way to the surface. She was sad.
"Bella? You dream like this all the time?"
"Of course. Doesn't everybody?"
"And you can find other people while they are dreaming? All the time?"
"No. This was the first time I did that. It's hard, but I can get better and we-"
"Bella. Bella." She didn't know how to start. "Bella, people…don't…dream this way. Maybe sometimes, I don't know. But it's not… Bella, I know you won't understand, and even though I really enjoyed being with you…" Jessica didn't know how Bella would react to this. "You can't come find me again Bella. Bella. Promise me? Okay? Don't try to find me."
Bella sat on the bed looking up at her mother, trying to absorb this. She had thought her mother would be so happy. Why was she so sad? "Why? You don't like-"
"I do like Bella. I did. It's just. I need you to promise me. Promise me you won't try to find me again." Bella looked down at her bed. She was confused. She didn't understand at all. But she would promise if that was what her mother wanted. "I promise," she said to the sheets. It was a promise that Bella was able to keep for seven years, until a combination of chance and curiosity forced her to break it. Bella also learned that she was different on this day. How different she really was, she wouldn't learn until later.
Although Bella honored her mother's request not to visit her, this did not mean that she could not visit others. She could, and did, and over the years she slowly perfected this ability. The only requirement for it to work without much difficulty was that she had to have some knowledge of the person she wanted to visit. It also helped if they had somehow knew her in some way. She rarely ever made her presence known to those whose dreams she invaded. Often she would just watch, clandestinely. This gave her a big advantage at school. Her classmates had never respected her, she didn't feel she owed them much respect either. She was one person who could tell someone that she knew more about them than they did about themselves and have it not be much of an exaggeration. Her opinion of people changed a lot after she had peered into the inner workings of their minds. It did not, in general, change for the better.
Bella visited her stepfather one time, and one time only, when she was ten years old. What occurred on that night would change Bella, would change the Ortiz household, forever. Bella was also to become aware of two distinct wills that waged war within her. One that, if she had known the result of what was to come, would have fled her stepfather's mind, and never again pried behind that door. The other, a darker will, fueled by years of hatred and rage, would have visited him much sooner. She would ask herself after the incident, again and again and again, 'would you still have done it if you knew?' Despite her hatred for her stepfather, Bella was still afraid of the answer to that question.
Bella had always forced herself to believe that, behind the hazy veil of alcohol that had always enshrouded her stepfather, a descent man was hidden. She had never tested this hope by looking into his dreaming mind. She hadn't the courage for that. On this night, however, for reasons unknown, her subconscious had landed her in just this dark location. When she realized where she was, her first instinct was to leave. She was forced to visit this place enough when she was awake. This was her time, her world, in which her stepfather had no place. But this was, of course, not true. He did have a place here, Bella had simply chosen to avoid it. And in this dark corner of Tom's mind he enacted his usual atrocities. A figure was crying, curled up upon the floor in some corner, sobbing, begging. Tom shook his fist over it.
It was not her real mother. Her real mother was off dreaming elsewhere. The figure was just another phantom of Tom's twisted mind. But he believed it was Jessica, wanted to believe it. "Stupid dumb bitch!" He kicked the shadow. "You will learn respect!"
Bella knew that, most likely, Tom had no more control over his dreams than did anyone else she knew. Here, he couldn't even tell that the figure curled up on the ground was just a figment of his own imagination. Maybe he didn't even remember his dreams. Remember them or not, Bella had learned that most people are still guided by their dreams. Their idea of free will was rather lofty. Whether in control of his sleeping mind or not, everything about this situation offended Bella on the deepest level. Here, where one could enact any will, or take hold of any desire, Tom – and not drunken Tom but the deepest essence of Tom – still took pleasure in beating and humiliating her mother. In the real world she would have hidden herself. A ten year old girl was not a match for her stepfather. Most grown men might not have been a match for him. Here, however, here, her will was supreme. And even if it was not her real mother that he now gloated over, Bella was determined to put a stop to this, once and for all.
"Get off her you pig!" Dream Tom turned around to face Bella. Things had suddenly become more interesting. "Well, if it isn't mommy's precious little shit! Finally time that you get what you deserve from me!" He lunged at her. She got out of his was easily. Tom was irritated by this. Apparently, his dream figments were as weak and pathetic creations as he wished their otherworldly counterparts to be. He was not used to their eluding capture. "Don't you run from me! You will be sorry when I get hold of you, you little bitch!"
"I'll do nothing you say! Not ever! I hate you! I hate you, you asshole!" Bella had never been so bold as to raise her voice to her stepfather while she was awake, let alone swear at him. The effect upon him was astounding. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you, you little shit! I'll cut your damn tongue out, you fucking obnoxious little cunt." He charged at her again, threw a punch that missed her head and hit the wall behind her. Hit the wall. She saw it hit the wall, go through the weak plaster, as if in slow motion. Little bits of plaster flew, and the wall quivered. Rippled. Waves seemed to travel through the wall, arising from the source of impact, and as they traveled they left in their wake the form of the rest of the apartment. Until now, the dream had not been grounded. It had just been Tom and her shadow mother in some corner. It hadn't been a recognizable location. Now, the dream had grounded, solidified. They were in their apartment, and the grounding was so perfect that for one split second Bella was afraid that she hadn't been dreaming at all. He would kill her. As this thought raced through her mind, she hesitated long enough for Tom to grab hold of her. He had hold of her, and then she was out of his grip again. He looked bewildered. "How?" She took off down the hall toward the stairway.
"You are going to get a whipping for this girl! Meddlesome little shit! His breath was ragged, not from excursion, but from rage. "You are going to get just what you deserve now girl!"
Bella was calm now, unafraid. Dreams were hers, and she knew that there was nothing that he could really do to her. Now was her chance to teach him something. He needed to be exposed to some fear of his own. "I don't think so," she said.
She just stood there at the top of the stairs looking at him as he approached. Did Jessica's little brat really think that he wouldn't touch her now, after all that? She had another thing coming. He glowered down at her, thinking about exactly what he was going to do to her when he realized she wasn't looking at him at all. She was looking past him, into the hallway from where they had just come. Tom thought that Jessica had gotten up, and was going to try to be heroic. "You'll stay out of this if you know what's good for you, you dumb bitch!" He hadn't taken his eyes off Bella. Her gaze remained fixed at the hallway. "You understand me?" And now he did look into the hallway, "you stupid cu-"
Jessica was not in the hallway. At first, he did not know what was in a hallway. Then, he could not believe what was in the hallway. A cat. A huge leopard-like cat. A clawed and fanged monstrosity from the very depths of hell. Its hackles were raised, and as his eyes met it, a deep and threatening growl came from its throat. All thoughts of Bella vanished from his mind. "What the f-?"
"Get him Rex!" he heard a voice say, and the monster cat leapt upon him.
Bella laughed as Tom tried to fight it. It clawed at him, and grabbed his throat in its jaws, and both cat and Tom tumbled down the stairs. "I'll teach you!" she yelled down after him, "I'll teach you how-" The noise of it seemed too loud. The dream apartment shimmered again, and Bella was suddenly in her room. The dream was so vivid that she thought that she could still hear the reverberating sound of Tom's plummet down the stairs. "He will remember that one, I bet," she thought to herself. She smiled as she thought of all the future ways that she could torment Tom in the dream world. Her thoughts were disrupted by the scream. A high pitched scream of absolute horror. Her mother was screaming. Bella jumped out of bed and ran down the hall to the source of the sound. She stopped dead at the top of the staircase. Her mother stood there, shaking, with one hand on the banister and the other over her mouth, trying to stifle further screams. When she saw Bella she rushed toward her, tried to push her back into the hallway. "Don't look at it Bella, don't look, go to your room." But Bella couldn't take her eyes away from the stairway, and the contorted body of her stepfather that rested at the bottom. And the blood. There was so much blood.
Did you do it Bella?