Dreamseeker Read Online Free Page B

on the wall and his wife’s demand that weapons be stored under lock and key. Of course he explained to me during my shooting lesson that you would never fire a rifle in the house, for fear of the bullet going through a wall and killing someone in the next room. I didn’t bother to argue that if the servants of the undead came for you in the middle of the night, you might deem it worth the risk. I just studied the cabinet when he wasn’t around, noted that the back of it wasn’t as solidly constructed as the front, and stashed a crowbar behind the cushions of a nearby couch, just in case.
    Past the parlor was the front door. As we left the house I looked around the porch to make sure that no one else was outside, then sat down in one of several squeaky metal chairs and handed Tommy the sketch pad. He settled onto a nearby wooden bench and whistled softly under his breath as he flipped through my latest drawings. He stopped when he got to my picture of the girl. “This is from a dream?”
    â€œSomeone I saw in a dream. I think she came from outside it.”
    He looked up at me, eyes wide. “No shit?”
    I nodded solemnly. “No shit.”
    I told him the whole story. I tried not to sound too anxious, butonce I started putting the experience into words, I realized just how truly bizarre—and threatening—the situation really was.
    Tommy looked over my drawings while I talked, and when I was done he turned back to my portrait of the intruder. “This looks like anime.”
    Startled, I realized that he was right. I wasn’t a big fan of Japanese animation, but Tommy was, and I’d caught sight of enough brief snatches while he was watching to recognize the general artistic style. And yes, the oversized eyes, wildly spiked hair, and other subtle details of disproportion did indeed suggest that genre. Did that mean my dream invader was some kind of Japanese cartoon character? From a style of media I didn’t even watch? What kind of sense did that make?
    â€œCould be an avatar,” Tommy mused.
    â€œAn avatar?”
    â€œYou know. Like in a computer game. It’s an image that you use to represent yourself in a fantasy universe.”
    â€œI know what an avatar is,” I said sharply. “What makes you think this is one?”
    He shrugged. “Young androgynous figure with strange magical effects floating around it . . . pretty common design elements, really. The anime crowd loves that kind of thing.”
    I was silent for a moment, trying to wrap my brain around this new concept. “So . . . you think the avatar’s owner wasn’t really in my dream? He or she was just projecting a fantasy image into it?”
    â€œ
You
weren’t in your dream either,” he reminded me. “It’s like when you play a computer game. You create a fictional identity that allows you to interact with it, and its image is visible, walking around inside the game universe like a real person, but you’re not really
there
in any physical sense.” He paused. “Maybe someone did the same kind of thing with your dream. Treating your brain like a multi-player platform.”
    â€œIf that was the case, wouldn’t I have had complete control over the programming?”
    â€œYou’d think,” he agreed.
    But what if I was just imagining the whole thing? Dreamwalkers were supposed to go insane over time. Maybe an early symptom was that you thought strangers were invading your dreams.
    It was an unnerving concept.
    Just then my phone vibrated. Pulling it out of my pocket, I saw that I had a text message from Devon. I continued talking as I went to read it. “If so, then the next question is—”
    I stopped. And stared at the phone. I could feel all the color drain from my face.
    â€œJesse?” Tommy was immediately on high alert. “What is it?”
    Slowly I turned the phone so he could see it. The