Cathedral of Dreams Read online

  Copyright 2011 Terry Persun

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  Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

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  ISBN 978-1-935961-20-8

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  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011910386

  Dedication

  For Catherine

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 1

  DAY 1

  Keith rolled his head from side to side on the pillow until he awoke from the bad dream. Sweat beaded his upper lip. He ran a hand over his clammy forehead and through his hair. Although he forgot what had happened in the dream as he became fully conscious, a feeling of dread lingered. He had to calm down, but how? He held back tears and tried not to think about what could happen next. He feared the system would recognize his emotional peak. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, then closed his eyes to see if any part of the dream emerged. If he knew what the feeling of dread concerned, perhaps he could shake it. No luck.

  After lifting his head from the comfort of his pillow, Keith swung his feet over the side of the bed and let his toes enter the plush softness of the warm carpet. He rubbed his face, pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes, rolled his neck, sat up straight. He stretched his back until a small snap brought relief from the night's immobility. A sound sleeper, he moved very little throughout most nights.

  When he glanced toward the clock it shifted into the next digit and a sweet voice said, “Keith, it is time to awaken.” He stared at the clock a full three minutes until it repeated the message, this time raising its voice as it said his name then dropping back to normal for the remainder of the sentence. He ignored further attempts to recall the dream and continued his morning routine, stretching his arms over his head, twisting his back, and rising to a standing position. The third time the clock sounded its voice was raised for the entire sentence. Keith reached over and flicked the alarm off even though he liked hearing the pleasant voice.

  He trudged into the bathroom to relieve himself. Passing the mirror, Keith noticed how he had plumped over the past year. A slightly rounded stomach had appeared where it used to be flat. He knew he should expand his morning exercises beyond stretching while seated on the edge of his bed, but there was little reason to do so. There was no woman in his life to impress. Perhaps if there were he would have more incentive to stay fit.

  He reached over and pushed the shower button, then stripped away his pajamas and stepped into water spraying toward him from several directions. Set at the perfect temperature, Keith experienced a familiar relief while standing there.

  When the feeling of dread swept over him again, he poked his head out of the shower to see if something in the bathroom was amiss. His own face looked back at him from the mirror over the sink. He smiled at himself and noticed the way his wavy hair fell flat against his head. He had full lips and strong cheekbones. Even his eyes drew you in, he thought. He was handsome enough. Perhaps he needed a girlfriend. Maybe he should put in for one? Again he thought that a woman might provide incentive for him to stay in shape, give him a reason to exercise more often. He was getting used to the idea.

  He finished in the shower, shaved, and brushed his teeth. He dressed comfortably for work. The sense of dread had waned, but he knew it would be back. The trick was to hold it at bay, not let it grow too strong. Not allow a dream, which he couldn't remember anyway, to cause the police to show up at his door. That would only perpetuate more dread feelings, which could transfer into more dreams like it had before, months ago. He still didn't recall where the police had taken him or what happened while there. He only remembered waking in his own bed on a Tuesday, just in time to prepare for work.

  Breakfast for Keith was a quick cup of coffee and an egg sandwich that made its way from the refrigerator into the microwave and onto a plate without much thought or fanfare. He ate the same, or similar, breakfast every day. Few of the ingredients were changed and the flavors had become comfortable if not tasty.

  After placing the dishes into the cleaning receptacle, Keith went to open the door to his apartment when a knock surprised him. He stepped back, “One moment.”

  “It's the police,” a man said in a gentle, non-threatening tone.

  Keith put a hand over his heart as though to still it. He stepped backward. The door was unlocked. They all were. He couldn't stay the inevitable. When the second polite knock came, he advanced and opened the door.

  The officer in front of him looked familiar in the way that a man looks familiar if you met him only once at a gathering. His uniform was stiff and creased in all the right places. His hands were folded in front of him. They were soft hands, which made Keith wonder if he shouldn't put in for a man instead of a woman. The nametag over the officer's breast pocket read, “Hello, my name is Richard.” He had a nice smile, as though he were about to deliver wonderful news. Two officers stood behind him and smiled as well. They were all very pleasant and kind. Very proper.

  “May we come in and talk with you for a moment?”

  “I was just heading to work.”

  The familiar officer, Richard, glanced over his shoulder and one of the other men began typing into his wrist computer. “Taken care of,” Richard said. “You'll receive full credits.”

  Keith stepped back and allowed them passage.

  “You are feeling something…” Richard paused for a moment to emphasize the next word or to consider exactly which word he would use and then said, “unusual this morning?” A smile plastered across his lips, Richard continued to look into Keith's eyes. He didn't look around the room or glance away for a moment.

  “Nothing like before,” Keith said, knowing that there must be records of his episode. “I had a bad dream. That was all. I had no recollection of it when I awoke this morning. Nothing to worry about, I'm sure.” He hoped that Richard did not sense the shakiness in his voice.

  Richard opened a wrist computer and glanced over some information. He typed and spoke at the same time, “No recollection,” he said. He looked up at Keith. “We received a very slight reading, and wanted to be sure that you're feeling all right.” He hesitated as he had earlier in their conversation, as though he had to think of what to say. “May I ask, is this the first time since several months ago? Have you had other feelings that seemed odd or unusual in any way?”

  Keith thought back, but didn't put too much effort into it. His bigge
st concern at the moment was to get through this confrontation, no matter how pleasant, and to get on with his normal life. “This is the first. And I had all but forgotten it until you visited.” As he said this, the feeling of dread made itself known, like a shadow slipping across the floor in the corner of the room. Keith hoped that Richard could not detect the wave of emotion on his wrist computer, if, in fact, that was what the data portrayed.

  “We are very sorry for bothering you, but it is our duty to make sure that every resident is completely happy with his or her life, is satisfied with accommodations, and has no reason to strike out at anyone in any way.” Richard reached to shake Keith's hand.

  Keith accepted the gesture. “All is fine here. I appreciate your concern.”

  “It is the concern of all of the Newcity Police, young man,” Richard said.

  The use of the words “young man” reduced the handshake to official business and far from friendly. Richard, if familiar, was now a member of the Newcity Police force just doing his job. Keith sensed a separation of emotion between them whether real or imagined.

  Richard's two associates never came very far into the apartment, and now they backed into the hall. Other people walked by, residents. Keith nodded to the ones he recognized. Everyone was on his or her way to work, as they should be.

  As though Richard knew Keith's thoughts, he said, “You have an additional thirty minutes due to this inquiry. Relax.” The men turned sharply to leave, then stepped away as though they had another important call that they were already late for.

  Keith thanked them for their concern as he closed the door.

  The room enlarged now that it was empty. Being a rather bulky man, Richard had taken up a lot of space. Keith glanced around in an attempt to find something to do for the extra time he had available. He could switch on the news, but disliked the noise in the morning. No music either, for the same reason. He sat on the sofa and crossed his legs. What was that dream about? Closing his eyes brought nothing into view, no change in emotion, thank God.

  He got up and paced to the kitchenette and pressed the coffee button. A cup slipped into place and coffee and creamer entered the cup simultaneously, in the exact amounts that he liked it. He took the cup back into the small, efficient living room and sat down again. It was curious how he thought about the police a little while before they arrived. Did that happen to anyone else? He couldn't have known about them arriving. He set the cup down, then picked it back up and sat holding it in his lap. He hardly drank any of the liquid.

  He decided that he didn't know that the police were coming, but naturally feared that they would arrive after his dream. It was coincidental that they arrived just as he was leaving for work. He nodded to himself, satisfied with his conclusion. Still he wondered, why must he make more out of things than what they are? He never used to do that.

  It was times like these, no matter how few they were, that Keith wished he had a close friend—or a woman—to talk with. He could contact a neighbor, and there were workmates, but no one who lived with him.

  Time moved so slowly when he sat alone. He opened his mouth to start the television, but nothing but an “Oh” came out before he changed his mind and clammed up. No noise.

  Could he request a woman that was not noisy in the morning? The women he had requested in the past talked too much when they first woke up. And, there was that one time when he was requested and stayed at that woman's residence—what was her name?—no matter, she talked almost constantly. That is what prompted him to be removed from the companion list for a while. Now he thought that a quiet woman might be the answer. Perhaps there was a woman in the system who would want only a short relationship, several days perhaps? Someone who was quiet, even shy, would do.

  Keith got up and poured the remaining coffee into the sink. The cup went into the cleaning receptacle, and he opened the screen on the terminal next to the refrigerator. He used a finger to flip through the pages until he reached the Companion site. He voiced his request in single words as the screens passed through their sequence. He didn't concern himself with physical matters, but requested only those women who wanted a short relationship and were quiet in the morning. That should open the possibilities and increase his chances of approval. Before closing the terminal, he requested that the person come by a half hour after he was home from work. That would give him time to freshen up. He didn't mention sex in his request, but considered that as an option dependent on how well the two of them felt matched.

  His request had passed the remainder of the half hour perfectly and he walked around the counter and out the door. Few people were in the hall now that the morning rush was over. He walked to the end of the hall where the space opened into the central dome. He lived high into the residencies and stopped briefly, as he often did, to glance down into the metropolis that was Newcity. From his vantage point he could see thousands of individuals wandering the streets, taking elevators, riding in travel carts. The corridors appeared to be full, even though many residents were at work by now.

  This area of Newcity was the most recent of the livable residencies. Keith had been here for close to thirty years, but hardly remembered anything prior to his sixteenth birthday. The celebration included a lot of people he recognized as family if he thought about it, but few people he could actually name. Even the mental images he had of his parents were questionable. From then on he had been alone and found that as a preferred state of living.

  Many of those who wandered past him on their way to work or home or somewhere else said hello. He had no obligation to return the greeting, but often did so knowing that it was the polite thing to do. The faces he saw this morning were different than those he usually saw and recognized from many years of occupying the same time space: they who went to work at the same time and came home at the same time ad he. There was a similar effect to his lunch hour, only with different faces. Although he had become friendly with a few people, relationships with Keith didn't appear to last long or become very deep.

  This morning, though, he wished he would run into a few of those familiar faces. The short half-hour of being alone made him want to talk with someone, reach out. He might even have asked Robert or Carl or Maria to stop by sometime.

  The crowd at this hour, thirty minutes past his usual period of transit, was so much smaller, intensifying his sense of feeling alone, which reminded him of the feeling of dread, and he wondered if that was what the dream was about. Did he sense that he'd be detained and that he'd feel alone? If so, was that the first time that day that he knew what would happen in the future? The second time being when the police arrived? Perhaps he dismissed the coincidence too easily.

  As the sense of dread returned, sweeping through his body once again, he feared that someone was watching him. He moved away from the dome center and turned to go to work. No one appeared to be following him, but the sense of something being wrong lingered. It could be another precognition. A third.

  Keith scurried toward the elevator and was the last to enter. The doors closed and the compartment dropped thirty-two floors before it stopped, the doors opening onto a large shopping plaza. Storefronts were bursting with items for sale. Large, sometimes flashing, signs announced electronics, clothing, accessories. Several people exited the elevator. No one got on. Before the doors closed, Keith noticed a few children with their parents and wondered about his own family. Why had he forgotten them? Were they in Newcity? He could make an inquiry but didn't feel compelled to do so. He vaguely remembered being transferred to Newcity. Was that possible? Could he have been transferred away from his family?

  Down another twelve floors and the doors opened to a courtyard of tables and imitation foliage. Hallways peeled off in many directions from the space. Bland, windowless office doors lined each hall. Keith left the elevator and stepped into the courtyard as the elevator doors closed behind him. He traveled down a hall that led deeper into the maze of offices. He turned to the right and walked to the end of that
hall as well. Along the way were emergency-exit doors, closets, and other offices. A man he didn't know came out of one office and said, “Good morning.” Keith automatically the greeting, and continued on his way until he came to the Office of Goods and Services, his work area.

  Satisfied that he no longer felt a feeling of dread and that he would soon satiate his sense of being alone, Keith opened the door to the offices. Maria sat behind a high counter in front of him. Framed abstract artwork spread in a variety of sizes behind her and along the wide wall. Two sofas and several chairs rested along the walls. Maria had dark hair and large eyes. She was pleasantly dressed in a beige blouse with decorative stitching along the collar and down the row of buttons. He couldn't see her skirt, but knew that it would be perfectly matched to her blouse. Maria always dressed handsomely.