And just like that ….

Yeah, just like that, Don thought, and picked up one of the slim, glossy books off the top of a pile, stared at the pale face of the smiling boy on the cover, his teeth bared, his blue eyes wide and eager.

Believe me! that face said. Believe me or else!

Don flipped open the cover, turned past the title page to the Prologue. Without understanding why, and for the very first time, he decided to read a bit, first-hand, about this miraculous experience of Lake Divine ….

WE ALL DREAM.

When we wake up, we try to remember those dreams. Sometimes we tell our parents, or loved ones, or best friends maybe, about this “wild” or “crazy” dream we had in the night, while our bodies were powered down, sleeping like robots with our control knobs set to “Sleep.” Or, perhaps, “Dream.”

But dreams are hard to remember, right? My father once told me that dreams are part of a hidden world within our minds. The subconscious. Where our greatest fears and desires live and breed, only we can’t see them; we don’t even know they’re there.

When we sleep, though, the door to those lands open, and we can explore, even though sometimes it can be scary! And maybe, when you wake up, you might remember being scared. Or maybe, just maybe, you remember how unusual the dream may have been. But you don’t really remember it, do you? Not really. You only remember bits and pieces. Glimpses. Random images or snippets of feelings.

For instance, you might remember it taking place in the water (perhaps a great black lake if it’s a nightmare!). Or in the mountains. Or at your house, or the home you grew up in. But the details would be vague. Cloudy. Shrouded in a mist that only unveils the “dream reality” while you’re asleep, then pulls it back tightly across that vision once you’re awake again, alert to experiences of the real world once more.

And the door is closed.

Soon, the dream evaporates. The curtain has done its work. The memory, if that’s what you wish to call it, is gone.

Don was sweating. He turned the page with a trembling hand.

But that’s not what happened to me. I had a dream that wasn’t a dream.

I dreamed of a great cloud city, with golden spires of impossible height, and streets that shone like diamonds. Of beautiful creatures that soared through the air…

Don felt the book grow heavy in his hands. The words blurred. A bead of sweat rolled off his chin, fell to the page and was absorbed.

…and crawled at my feet. And I know that it was not a dream.

It was REAL.

Don’t believe me? Then ask. Go on… ask me how I know it was real.

Ask me how I know it wasn’t a dream, Don.

Don’s eyes went wide. The words on the page twisted, the way a body might contort in horrible anguish. They reformed into characters he didn’t recognize, into words that could never be pronounced by a human tongue. He felt something snap open at the top of his spine, where the fibers of the body’s nerves tapped into the brain. Something hot spurted into his head, and Don slammed the book closed, shuddered violently. He felt a roll of nausea in his guts and set the thing down. Wet with perspiration, he unconsciously wiped the palm of his hand onto his pants, as if the slick dustjacket had been soiled, or greasy.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and Don forced himself not to scream. His nose filled with the high-pitched scent of chemical flowers, he heard the rustle of stiff, heavy fabric. Warm breath tinged with stale peppermint tickled his ear.

“Isn’t it glorious?” Sue said, picking up (with the reverence one might lift a valuable, and fragile, antique) the very copy Don had all but thrown down, as if he’d found the pages infested with venomous spiders.

Sue hugged the book tightly to her bosom, closed her eyes and hummed what sounded to Don like an old hymn. “He’s inscribing mine right now,” she said proudly, but also a little devilishly, knowing she’d broken an unspoken rule by asking for an inscription from an author prior to a store signing (employee requests coming after the customers, and if time permitted—always). “I’ve already read it of course, but I’ll give that copy to a friend. Or perhaps a donation to my church library. I’m sure they’ll be desperate for copies.” Sue laughed, then gave a short snort, like a hiccup with teeth. Don was pretty sure she belched a little, and wondered he smelled the taint of digested eggs coming off her breath along with the peppermint. He didn’t overthink it.

“Sure, Sue,” was all he said in response.

“Anyway, just wanted to make sure you knew it’s five ‘til, Don,” Sue said. Her voice, husky and moist, was energized, her excitement reaching a boiling point. “Almost time.”

Don’t get your knickers all wet, Old Sue, he thought, then quickly, and silently, admonished himself. He was letting Tom’s cynical voice slither into him and made a note to draw a firmer line with Tom when he misspoke. If for no other reason than to keep himself on the straight and narrow. He was the Manager, after all.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, and sighed. He looked around once more to make sure everything was in order, then nodded. “I’ll open things up. Why don’t you talk with our young author, give him a ten-minute warning.”

Sue nodded vigorously and sashayed off to get the child, prepare to bring him forth for the eager crowd. Don pulled a thick ball of keys from his pocket and headed toward the front doors, where a multitude of eager wet eyes awaited him.

THE DOORS HAD BEEN OPENED, and Don was secretly thrilled—and relieved—at the orderliness of the crowd as they entered and found seats.

After twenty minutes every seat was occupied, and those who had waited along the sidewalk now filled the standing-room-only area around the small stage, the table heavy with books. The event space hit capacity and still they came, packing aisles, sitting in rows against walls that were out-of-sight of the stage, but where they could still hear the boy speak.

Don inspected the line of registers. He had four employees working the checkout counter, massive stacks of the book both on the countertop and lining the shelves behind. Don figured twenty minutes for the kid to talk, another twenty for Q&A, then the boy would take a break while they sold books and formed a signing line. Don hoped the kid signed fast, because the line was gonna snake the length of the store, and he didn’t have the manpower to make sure people didn’t try and cut in.

He looked back toward the entrance, the doors wedged open despite the cold, and was thankful the flow of Lake’s disciples had dwindled to a trickle, these last folks seemed less enthused, less passionate. Just regular old customers, Don thought. Remember them? Remember the good old days?

He also saw two of New York City’s finest hanging out on the sidewalk, chatting, and standing by in case trouble broke out. There was even a squad car parked in the red zone at the curb. Good. Once again, Don found himself wishing the event were already over, that these overzealous sycophants were out of his store, and Lake Divine and his pastor-father were long gone, heading to a sister store in Boston, or Los Angeles.

Anywhere but New York.

He imagined them gone—out of his store, his life—and smiled. He was ready for things to get back to normal. He’d heard J.K. Rowling had a new book on the horizon, and for the first time in his life he was eager to see kids (and adults) dressed as warlocks and witches, swinging fake magic wands and shouting spells.

Normalcy.

A current of gasps and a rising murmur of excited whispers flowed like a fast river through the crowd. From the rear of the store, Sue was winding her way toward the stage. Don saw the top of an ink-black head bobbing along behind her, and the pale, tight-lipped smile of Pastor Joseph Divine in tow, his dark suit and tie a somber outfit for what was supposed to be a festive day, his white hair and mustache trimmed and smooth, like a banker who would smile while declining your request for a loan.

Don forced himself to take a relaxing breath, then checked his watch.

Showtime, he thought, and made his way toward the stage, where he would announce the boy’s arrival to the salivating mob.

LAKE ADDRESSED THE RAPT AUDIENCE for just over thirty minutes.

He spoke lightly of the world in which he traveled while his brain and heart were stopped. He spoke of impossible towers, of a moon and stars like on Earth, but the moon had a golden ring of gods, and the stars spoke, called themselves angels. There were forests filled with strange creatures, some terrifying, some magnificent. There was an overwhelming feeling of great joy, of peace. Almost reluctantly, or so it seemed to Don, Lake spoke of his interactions with Jesus Christ, and the secrets that Jesus told him about the end of the world as we know it, about the great devourer of souls, Satan, and about the future of mankind in this new realm of light and peace.

“You can all go there,” he said, his voice high-pitched and steady. “The time will be very soon. But you must read the book first!” Lake said this loudly, and with a smile, and there was a general agreement of uneasy laughter throughout the crowd. Nervous anticipation, Don thought, and felt himself wanting to read the book again, to the very end this time, despite the strange experience—hallucinations, or nerves—he’d so recently encountered.

At one point, while Lake had been speaking of brilliant creatures that soared through the sky, there had been a loud snicker that broke the rapt attention of the audience. Heads turned in unison, like predators smelling prey, toward the intrusive sound. Don, horrified, also searched out the source of the disruption and found Tom, a hand over his face in faux embarrassment. That’s that, Don thought, a surprising fury coursing through him. That’s the last fucking straw. Hope you’ve enjoyed your last day, Tom. He followed the thought with a hateful look that caught Tom’s attention, who dropped the hand from his mouth and meekly disappeared into the shelves, likely knowing he’d gone too far, even for him.

Later, when the boy was finished, Don gave a small nod to Sue (who had apparently become the child’s unofficial handler, much to Don’s approval and relief) to move things along.

“Thank you everyone! Lake will be back in a bit, and you can now buy books for him to sign!” she announced as she led the boy off the stage amongst wild applause, hoots, and euphoric yells. She gave Don a tight wave from across the room and he returned it, then made his way to the stage, directing the attendees to the sales counters as Lake, Joseph, and Sue vanished behind the curtain.

PASTOR JOSEPH DISAPPEARED HALFWAY THROUGH the signing.