Excerpt: Dream Vision

Chapter 1
Dreams and Death
I am floating in the redwood forest following a guy that has murdered many people over the past twenty six years. For me this is a communication between the dead and the living and for you it would be a horrific nightmare. I have no choice in the matter, because fate, karma, God, the Devil, Buddha, a bump on the head or something has given me the ability to receive communication from the dead through dreams.
Following the car from a birds eye view down the interstate was an often experience for me, most especially recently. Apparently, Kristie and me will show up at the same time and begin focusing on Robert.
This time he had a seventeen year old girl in the trunk going down interstate five about seventy five miles per hour. The car was an old beat up nineteen sixty six Ford Mustang with a hint of red and primer. It was a hard top and it did not have a license plate. I know the killer does not have this car; it is just what he wants us to see. I was sure he could feel our presence in the dreamscape. Dreamscape, because I have no other word to better fit this nightmarish place we often find ourselves in when asleep.
“John, where do you think we really are in the dreamscape?” came to question from Kristie, my personal FBI agent and long time dream partner. Actually, she and the killers are the only live people in the dreamscape, all others are dead. For how long, I can not say for certain in most cases.
“How am I supposed to know where we are? You have all of the training for this type of thing.”
“What training could prepare anyone for this?” was the quick witted response from her.
The car turned off of the interstate onto a small country road and proceeded to travel about three miles in before turning onto a one lane dirt drive. The drive was lined with gravel in both ruts to help with driving in all the rain we get here. He was headed to a cabin deep into the woods to some out of the way and forgotten place. The cabin was nothing special with clap board siding, falling off in some places. The windows did not have curtain and there was no light any where, not even a typical yard light from the local electric cooperative. Over the years I have found that the world still has many unwanted and forgotten buildings left for the use of very bad people. I figured we must be close to Portland, Oregon because I recognized some of the road signs on the interstate he was traveling. I will have to go to Google maps and see if I recognize any of this afterwards. Maybe I can help Kristie pinpoint where he committed this murder. Robert tends to stay close to home when killing in the last few years. I have often considered a different tactic in trying to stop him, but the bastard will often elude us. We are all connected some how and the connection can be manipulated.
“Hey, you getting any vibe on where he really is?” came the inquisitive question from Kristie. I know she really wanted a way for us to figure out where this murderous guy was really at. She has been chasing him for several years since becoming involved in the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program or Vi-CAP for short. She has been in the Portland, Oregon field office for three years now trying to zero in the Strappado serial killer. Strappado torture was used heavily in the Medieval Inquisition, most especially for women.
“Hey you two keep talking about me from up there and do not show me any courtesy. Come down here a little closer so we can talk like civilized people.” The scratchy, dry voice of our famous serial killer who haunts our dreams interjected into the mix. He too, had a role in the dreamscape and could move and arrange things inside the dream as well or better than both of us. He often uses his extra powers to his advantage by putting us into his point of view and the point of view of the tortured. We must learn to control this dream space as well or better than our sadistic friend.
I was standing in the door way of a small out building that was about one hundred yards deeper into the woods from the main cabin. The smaller building looked to be in better shape with the same clap board siding. In the dark everything looked gray and washed out. I suspect in the light it would look the same, except only brighter. Looking to my left I could see Kristie, my very good looking FBI dream girl looking about for clues. Robert, the maniacal killer, was strapping the girl to a metal table in the center of the small room. The table looked very shinny and very new. It was clear the table did not belong here and was added only recently or taken care of very well, either way it looked like a morgue table. I wander if they keep records on who buys those things. I could see that he had her lying on her stomach and was tying her hands behind her back. He had removed her clothes before we entered the building, not for sexual reasons, but to shock me and Kristie, I was sure of it now. She was used to this type of environment because of her job and I have seen enough of this in my dreams to become, sadly I must say, de-sensitized to the whole thing. I know this girl is already dead and that her spirit – soul is what is compelling this dreamscape. I often consider that these events might not have happened at all until the news reports a few days later finding some lost or kidnapped girl dumped in a river, or fire, or some other location and she has information tying her to the Strappado killer.
“Look here Robert, why not let this one go? She has done nothing to you to warrant this type of punishment. You do not have to do this. We can talk about it. Where are we by the way?”
“Yes John, I will certainly tell you where you can find her in a week from now, or two per haps. I have certainly provided a very fitting surrounding this nights entertainment and you both look so disapproving. I will not allow you to put a damper on tonight festivities.”
I could see that during this time that Robert was vomiting up all these words the room became a little brighter; almost giving the sense we were actually in a morgue like area instead of in a dark dank shed in the back yard for some forgotten cabin. We both knew that he could alter what we see, but I have often suspected that with more concentration we could extrude more information about our in environment in the dreamscape from him. We both have been practicing when he was not in the dreams. The pure mental power needed to break down his control of the dreamscape was almost insurmountable for the both of us. He has spent a tremendous amount of time learning to control and manipulate this world that we three shared along with any victims he cares to bring along. It is more of a reenactment for him inside these dreams. He has committed the act many days before or in some cases years before we every view them in this nightmarish hell of uber rapid eye moment or REM sleep.
“What are you two up to now? Come on over and enjoy the party I am about to give a front row seat for you guys. I love sharing my experiences with you in this way. It helps enhance the experience not only for you but for me as well. I really thank God for providing you too with this gift.”
I wanted to shoot him between the eyes with a double barrel shot gun so bad I could taste it. Kristie was still studying the location not paying very much attention to Robert. She could care less about the posturing he does when we meet like this. She was trying to determine were and when this event might have occurred and hopefully remember enough when we wake up to ascertain some clues that might connect with real crimes in the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program database. She was FBI twenty four seven and our resident serial killer often uses that against her.
“Yoo-hoo, darling’. You are not going to figure out anything from in here so you might as well come on over and take a good long look at Alana Hope. Yes, I will give you her real name tonight Kristie. Come, look at her really close now.”
He was finishing the straps around her.
I was suddenly awake back in my own bed in my apartment in Portland, Oregon. The connection was severed and I knew that the girl was already dead and “Strapy”, as we called him was making plans for his next victims. I guess a little background is needed to fully understand, if that is at all possible, exactly what is going on here. I grew up in on orphanage, because I have no parents. I was found on the streets of Chicago when I was only five years old wandering around half dressed, dirty, cold, and suffering from amnesia. My mother and father were never found, so I was remanded as a ward of the state of Chicago and stay in the orphanage until adulthood. I stayed at the Friends of the Orphans in Arlington Heights, Illinois. The orphanage is in a suburb of Chicago on the Lake Michigan side. Ms. Doretha Mason was the orphanage manager and looked after us kids. She was a tough black woman who saw hard times in Chicago during the sixties and decided to help the community by helping kids in need.
At a young age I know I was different from other kids around me. I could feel the difference. I would have dreams – nightmares most of the time – of people killing other people. Sometimes they would kill animals and the animals would talk to me in the dreams. I have often thought those dream animals were just people. When I was around seven, I had a dream about a guy that was shot and left in the dumpster in the alley next to our orphanage. In the dream, I watched from the fire escape in the alley as a tall man, in his mid thirties dragged some dead guy into the alley. The tall man wore a trench coat that looked black in the night. He had a pull over hood on his head. The kind you always see bank robbers wear in movies. I was fairly sure that it was black. His eyes had a glowing effect around them, probably due to the dreamscape effect. He lifted the dead guy with extreme ease and through into our dumpster. The dead guy looked to have been shot several times around the chest and face. He had one eye missing from a gun shot wound and was covered in blood, which looked black in the dark of the alley way. The dead guy was probably around twenty five or so, and had a tattoo of an eagle on his left arm at about the shoulder.
The evil guy looked up at me for second, but I got the feeling he was looking past me at something else. His stare was almost blank like and his eyes glowed even more as he looked up. I turned my head to look up and saw a crescent moon hanging in the sky, but the light form the moon barely made to the alley. The next morning I ventured out into the alley and looked into the dumpster and there the dead guy lay with his body covered in blood and flies. I went to Ms. Dorothy and told her I found a dead guy in the dumpster when I was playing in the alley. She did not believe me when I told her, but after returning from the dumpster in the alley, she was visibly shaken up and immediately called the police. The detective that showed up on the scene asked me a few questions, and of course I was not foolish enough to tell him I knew the guy was in the dumpster from a dream. I told him I was goofing around he dumpster and just found the dead guy.
I always seem to stumble across all the dead animals in our neighborhood no matter which direction I would take to school or the store or church. I am a loadstone for all that is dead and dieing. I have often wandered how this power came to me of all people, and as often have wished it gone from my life.
I am a freelance photographer by trade and work out of my home. I have a separate studio setup as my office and use it rarely now, since I have moved to digital photography. I use a computer to develop my photos instead of pans of solvent now. Do not get me wrong, I still use thirty five millimeter film for some projects and I rent a medium format camera for any really special photography projects that might popup, but for the grand majority of my work, it is my trusty Canon EOS 50D fifteen megapixel camera. It does a great job of taking the photo I see and gives me plenty of resolution, but enough about my tools of the trade. I could go on forever talking about photography and all the details involved in digital photography in particular. I have to make a trip today out to The Callahans where they have this great rock climbing area. It is a great place for some photos of climbers. I am hoping to get some really good shots today for a climbing portfolio I have been putting together over the last four months to submit to GettyImages in Seattle, Washington. There headquarters office is outside Fremont, Washington, sometimes referred to as the “Center of the Universe”.
“Hello, this is John Carson. Oh – hey – Lynda, I did not expect you to call this early in the morning. What is it – five?” came the rhetorical question from me. Lynda helps me setup some of shots on occasion and she likes to make sure I am up getting ready. Sometimes I can be a little late to events. Sometimes things happen really fast in my world with dead and all visiting me in my dreams and always wanting me to go in other directions than I had planned earlier.
“John, are you really up?” came the very feminine voice of the phone. Lynda Johnstone is about five foot four and very petite. I say petite only to say she is a small woman, but I will say she has one of those asses that guys want to reach out and touch when she walks by. The kacky pants she wears fits her really well and shows the perfect roundness of her rear. I suspect she knows this and that is why she wears that style so often. Her hear is a brown color and she keeps it cut so it just lays on her shoulders. She has big brown eyes and a small scar over her the left side of her lip she got as a child playing hide and go seek with the neighborhood friends. Proportionately, she looks great from any angle. She has a great sense of style when it comes to taking photos, but not when it comes to clothing. She dresses more like those guys from the old nineteen forties movies that were archeologist or something similar like that, really just kacky all over with lots and lots of pockets. I would ask her put sometimes, but one thing really prevents that from happening. She is married and has two kids.
“I have permission from Weyerhaeuser to go on to the property and they will have someone meet us at the gate to let us in. Please, do not be late for this shoot. I need the money and it is a Saturday I am wasting for this little adventure.”
“Lynda, do not worry so much. I will be on time, if at all possible. Twoish, right?” I was baiting her, of course. I am always trying to get a rise out of her. She usually goes into some long rant about responsibility and opportunity and such, but this time she just hung up her cell phone.
I guess I better get dressed and get my equipment together. My modest home serves me very well in my position as a freelance photographer. I have a small office and darkroom attached off to the side of the house.
The thing I hate about driving is all the free time you have to think about any and everything. I have been going over the last few dreams and something is still bothering about Robert the serial killer. I do not think he actually looks the way he does in real life. Some how he is altering the dreamscape and I need to figure out how.
I felt my phone vibrating in my shirt pocket. I touched the little button on the Bluetooth in my right ear. “Hello”.
“I was awakened by a knock at the door John. You want to know why someone was knocking at my door, John? The FBI has found another body in a small like in Ohio. Guess the name of the lake John?”
“Come on Kristie, why so harsh this early in the morning”, was my only reply. I knew she was probably upset about loosing the connection. That is the whole problem with this dream television, which is what I call it sometimes, if one of us awakens then the connection is lost.
“So my FBI girl friend, what is the name of the lake?”
“Believe this or not John, it is called Johns Lake. The son of a bitch is taunting us, both of us” was her quick response. I knew that our serial killer had a sense of the dramatic and worked hard to lead us on the wrong direction at his whim. To him we are only pawns to be used and discarded.
“Kristie, are you alone?”
“Yes, for the moment. Why do you think I chose now to call?”
“We need to meet soon and figure out our next move without the FBI or anyone else who might be listening in on us.” I know that her lines and mine are tapped by the FBI and other agencies. The government would like to know how this dreamscape could be used for military purposes, I am sure of it. “I am on the way to a photo shoot this morning Kristie, but as soon as I am on my way back to Portland I will give you call. Stay loose and when you get a chance, we can meet up in Portland some where.”
“I will let you know when I get back from Ohio John. We can go over what our next move will be. Good luck with the shoot and try to have a little fun” was the last thing I heard before the click of her cell phone.
The drive down to The Callahans rock climbing area was a long way from Portland and the area is well off the normal path. At least it was a straight ride down interstate five. It was about a four hour drive down. As I pulled up to the white gate that barred everyone’s access into the lumber property by vehicular access I see Lynda standing there with the guy to let us in. Apparently I took a little longer than she thought I should have to get there. I pulled up beside her and let my window down on my black four door Ford F250 pickup four wheel drive pickup truck. I really love this truck, it gets me every where I need to go for shoots.
“Lynda, you been waiting long?” I only said this because I knew it would drive her crazy.
“Long, long John, you should have been here an hour ago.”
“I left a little later than I intended to Lynda. It will be ok.”
“This kind gentleman stayed here longer than he should waiting on you.”
I watched as the guy smiled shyly. Obviously he enjoyed hanging out with her better than whatever else he had going on today. He headed to the middle of the gate and unlocked and opened it for us. He was wearing cowboy boots that were covered in dust from all the local limestone. He had a huge silver belt buckle with the name Jeff embossed on it holding up his blue jeans, and he was wearing a company logoed blue jean style shirt. Over the left pocket of his shirt was the embroidered name ‘Jeff Mosby’.
“Mam, like I said before, if you need me to stay with you guys till you finish I would be glad to.”
“Yea, that sounds like a great idea Lynda. Oh by the way, my name is John Carson. I will be taking the photos. And you are?”
“Jeff Mosby sir. Your local gate attendent.” Jeff smiled broadly with that quip and looked at Lynda with hoping eyes.
“Like I said before Mr. Mosby, I could just call you when we get ready to leave if you have other things to do.”
“Jeff, come on up to the shoot. If nothing else you can help Lynda setup the equipment” was my immediate response and I could tell Jeff was all for it.
I watched Lynda roll her eyes at me and give me a look that would burn through steel or at the least burn through my shirt. Jeff helped me move the equipment that Lynda had brought with her over to my truck.
“I really like this truck Mr. Carson” came the admiring comment form Jeff.
“Yea, me too Jeff, me too. I like the four wheel drive part especially, gets you into places most folks want go to. Means I can get better photos than the average guy or gal.”
“Jeff, you really do not have to go up with us if you have other things to do this afternoon” was Lynda’s try at letting Jeff off the hook.
“Ms. Lynda, I do not mind a bit. Gives me something other to do besides watch logs come in all day.”
“Miss, Jeff. I am married with two wonderful kids. They are probably half your age” was Lynda’s way of getting to point across that poor Jeff did not stand a chance with her.
Lynda crawled into my truck with me and Jeff followed us in his company truck which was four wheel drive also.