by Christy Shorey and you

ARCHIVE: NOV. 7 edited for spelling and grammar

1674 words

When Logan had left the tattoo parlor, Lacey felt as if something in her reality was shifting on some level. She was slightly worried that he would disappear, and fade away like the dream she had believed him to be for years, and when she had finally left the tattoo parlor, Rocky had commented on her solemn mood.

"Guess your brother went to go to your parents place then? Did you have a good talk?"

Lacey nodded without looking at him, and headed out to the street. She walked back to her apartment, even though the journey took her almost two hours as she was lost in thought.

She hadn't imagined that his eyes had turned red, she was sure she hadn't. It wasn't just wishful thinking on her part. But she felt she had to keep reminding herself of that truth or risk loosing it. Along the walk she passed by some familiar faces, even engaged in some light conversation with people she saw regularly, but none of it stuck, none of it seemed important.

She got back to her house, and stared at the door. She almost turned around there, to head for the address he had given her, to prove that he was real. She shook her head, and let her self into her house. She made her way to the small bookcase in her bedroom, and pulled out the spiral bound drawing book she kept there to jot down late night inspiration. To draw things from dreams. Flipping through the pages she could remember dreams in their entirety as she glanced at the images. Most of them were images of the mystery man. Of Logan.

She could see, now, the similarity between his face and the features she had sketched from her dreams. She had opted for a faceless image for January's tattoo to fit the feeling of the overall piece of art, but the instant she had seen Logan she knew that he was the same man she had seen in dreams for years.

Looking at the dream-journal made Lacey sleepy, anxious to have another dream, to see if her mystery man would appear now that the mystery had been revealed. She lay down, then noticed that the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling were obliterated by sunlight. Looking at the clock, she realized it wasn't half past five yet. She got up, and looked for something to do.

She went to the bathroom, and took a long shower. Inspiration struck there, if Logan had seen her in his dreams, perhaps they could actually meet there, and continue the conversation of earlier in a different location. She knew that in her dreams Logan always stood out as the figure with red eyes, even in crowded rooms and subways which sometimes made their way into her dreams, she could always pick him out.

But she knew that in dreams, or at least in hers, she was always a younger version of herself -one that didn't stand out. She tried to think of a way that she could make herself stand out in the possible crowds of a mundane world. Not sure what would work, she found a very light colored outfit to wear to bed, and hoping that for her part, it would be mind over matter, or over dreamscape, and she could appear with some of the details she planned before bed, especially if she concentrated on them as she drifted to sleep, she pulled out a bottle of glow-in-the-dark nail polish.

Painting her nails and then, for good measures, toenails, she thought of what else she could do to be noticeable. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, and then pulled off her pj top. Hoping there would be enough nail polish left, she started applying it to the shirt. When she was done, barely visible on the white fabric, she had printed her name on the front. If it did translate to her dreams, and if she was able to share her dreams with Logan, he should have no problem picking her out, no matter what the conditions.

She was elated when she got the call from Logan, and found she was telling him her hopes that they would meet in their dreams. Without thinking the words just tumbled from her mouth. She had been afraid he would laugh, but he didn't, and he even seemed to think the idea of shared dreams was possible.

She had gone to bed almost immediately after that, turning out the light in her room, and staring both at the stars on the ceiling, and her outstretched hands, fingernails glowing. As she closed her eyes and slipped into sleep, she put all her thoughts to her appearance, and in sending out her thoughts toward Logan.

Lacey had a good memory for dreams, and she paid extra attention to the slightest details of her dreams. She was pleased to see that her adaptations seemed to carry over to her dreams. The first she was back in high-school home ec with faceless classmates. The teacher was droning on and on about the proper way to make tomato soup, with the recipe written out on the board. Lacey was searching the room for sight of Logan when the teacher came and slapped a meter stick on the desk next to her. She focused on making the soup, trying to steal glances around the room for Logan, but could not find him. When she had just finished making the soup, her classmate, a faceless girl, reached across to point at something behind Lacey, knocking the pot across Lacey's white clothes, the tomato soup spreading like blood across the fabric.

Lacey ignored the heat, the soup, and turned to look at what everyone was looking at. In the schoolyard was a dark figure with red eyes. Lacey ran out of class to the teacher shouting.

She fell into a deeper sleep, and when she started another dream, she was on the beach. It was a familiar dream, and a lonely one. It was the beach she visited when she found out her mother had died. When she visited it in the dreams she was always sad, always reliving that day, bombarded by emotion, by loss. These feelings weighed down on her, and she saw the dream for what it was. Turning quickly to the rise of cliffs behind her, she sought the mysterious dark form that had appeared there and offered a sense of comfort and purpose.

He wore a dark cloak that was caught and tossed in the wind. She started to climb the cliff to him, but was frustrated to find her dream changing again.

When she woke Lacey had several familiar dreams, and some new. The mysterious figure appeared in most of them, and it was clear to her that it was Logan, but as had always been the case in the past, she was never able to reach him. As she was drawing images from her newest dreams, she began to wonder if it was a mistake to have met him in real life. Knowing that he existed and still eluded her in her dreams just made them that much more frustrating.

****

Dresden decided to see his suspension as an opportunity to sleep in. Despite Sally's squawking and bitter proclamations from the next week, he refused to emerge from the bed until past ten. He was just getting dressed when there was a knock at the front door. He had heard Lional and Guido leave already, one for work and the other for, well, Dresden had never bothered to ask. From the sounds coming from Raul's room, he and Sally were having some sort of argument.

Dresden answered the door, and was greeted by a young woman in a courier outfit. She tipped her hat at him, and said "You Dresden?" He nodded, and she answered by thrusting a clipboard at him "Sign here," she said, rocking toe to heel and back as she waited. "Where do you want it?" she said and pointed to the large box that was on a dolly next to her.

"What is it?"

"Dunno?"

"Oh, um, how about in the living room?" he said, and pointed the way.

Once the box was deposited and the courier had gone, Dresden opened the envelope stuck to the top of the box. He read through the letter. Then again. "Holy crap" he said. Raul had come in while he was reading, and had a questioning look on his face.

Dresden shook his head. "My grandmother, on my mom's side? She vanished years and years ago when my mom was a girl- I guess everyone assumed she had died. Apparently she ran away and became a show girl, and she just died and left this to me."

"Whatcha got, bum?" Sally asked from her perch on Raul's shoulder. "Whatcha got?"

Dresden shrugged, and opened the box. If the news that his grandmother had been alive all those years had been a shock, the contents of the box showed her sense of humor, or her lack of taste. The box, which came up to Dresden's hip, and was just as wide, was full of shoes. Each pair had a tag with a date and a city. In some cases, the name of a show was also penned in the scrawling writing.

"What am I supposed to do with all these shoes?" Dresden asked, incredulous. Raul shrugged. Sally squawked "Make it profit, bum. Make it profit, bum!"

At that moment Guido returned home. He saw the box of shoes, the look on Dresden's face, and the paper hanging from his limp hand. He snatched up the paper, and read it. He looked back at the shoes, then back to Dresden.

"These yours, then?" he asked.

Dresden gave a small nod.