Jack Weaver
Jack didn’t know it, but he was about to become the most important person on Earth.
Garbage dominated his view in all directions. The unwanted and discarded junk from countless decades formed a landscape of breathtaking desolation. Every conceivable item from vintage radios to modern sports cars jutted out of the debris at odd angles, each one rusted beyond comprehension and completely beyond repair.
Jack scowled as he often did. “I’ve been here before,” he grumbled. “Something about this place…”
The maze of trash offered no clue about how to get out. The grey sky threatened to rain at any moment. He knew, somehow, that he was completely alone.
Taking hold of a circa-1950’s television antenna, he began climbing the tall wall of refuse. With one foot on an eyeless doll and another on a Macintosh Plus, he stretched high enough to reach a wooden-frame bicycle, hoisting himself further up toward the top of the pile.
In due course, he reached the top, getting a bird’s-eye-view of his surroundings. The trash went on in all directions, forever. He didn’t know how he knew it went on forever, but he was certain it did.
“Oh right,” he said to himself, with dawning realization. “This fucking dream.”
The Garbage Dream had haunted Jack since his teen years, though “haunt” might be a bit of an exaggeration. While other people had frightening or interesting recurring dreams, Jack’s Garbage Dream was nothing more than garbage. Nothing ever happened in the Garbage Dream. There was nothing to do but wait for it to end.
“At least this time I know it’s a dream,” Jack said to nobody.
He seated himself on the refuse and looked out over the grey sky and silent landscape. Eventually, he would wake up. It was just a matter of time.
“Kotexi!” yelled a voice from behind.
Startled, he quickly looked over his shoulder. Across the chasm stood a woman glaring at him with an intensity unbefitting a junkyard-related dream.
“What!?” he called back, completely puzzled.
“Kozekma zo kotexi keth!” She called back. Her bright yellow dress and white hair billowed in the damp wind, standing out in the bleak landscape like a beacon.
He stood and faced her across the divide. “Who the hell are you!? This dream never has anyone in it but me!”
Pointing to the valley between them, she said “Voma opo lijopex.” After that, she started climbing down her pile of trash.
Apparently she wanted to meet in the middle. Despite his annoyance, Jack was curious. After all, this was the first time anyone else had appeared here.
She reached bottom before he did, and awaited him, fidgeting uncomfortably as he drew near.
Finally reaching her, he got a good look at her face. Having seen her white hair from a distance, he had assumed she was an old woman, but was wrong. She was in her mid-20s at the latest. And her platinum hair wasn’t the strangest feature. Her left eye was blue, and her right was green.
“What the hell’s up with your eyes?” He asked.
“Kozekma zo kotexi keth,” She warned, “Zhek zo badu tith hoq faneth!”
He held both hands out in a shrug. “Why would you assume I can understand that nonsense?”
“Zhek zo faneth!” She implored.
“Say something I can understand.”
“Zhek!” she repeated, her piercing asymmetrical eyes baring her intensity. “ZHEK!”
Jack shot up in bed, “Zhek!?” he blurted, kicking the blanket off and knocking his pillows to the floor.
After panting for a moment, he heard “You ok, Jack?”
Jack shot his gaze toward a fat man on the other side of the room.
Quinton, caught off-guard by Jack’s sudden outburst, had lumbered out of the bathroom with his face still half-covered in shaving cream.
“Yeah,” Jack graveled. “Sorry,” he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, “just had a really weird dream is all.”
“Want to talk about it?” Quinton asked. “Sometimes if you talk about dreams you can learn something about yourself.”
“No, Quinton, that’s fine,” he said.
“Well ok then,” he said, trundling himself back to the bathroom, “but you let me know if you want someone to talk to, eh?”
Jack stumbled out of bed, feeling anything but rested.
“It’s good you’re up,” Quinton called from the bathroom, “I was about to wake you anyway. Almost time for breakfast with Shane.”
“Yeah,” Jack said, glancing at the clock. “Hurry up in there; I want to get a shower in beforehand.”
“I tell ya, guys, I am in a great mood this morning!” Shane said, slurping down the last of his coffee.
Jack picked at his half-eaten French toast. The hotel restaurant left a lot to be desired. “How so?” He asked absently.
“Does this look like cheese to you?” Quinton asked, pointing to his omelet. “I said no cheese.”
“I finally found where they keep
the whores here in
“Well that’s just super, Shane,” Jack said. “Glad you could fit some whoring in to your busy schedule.”
“Me, too!” Shane beamed, ignoring the sarcasm.
“I said ‘no cheese’. I’m on a diet,” Quinton complained to nobody in particular. “Oh, and Shane, you shouldn’t be whoring.”
“Pssh,” Shane said, dismissively. “It’s a business arrangement. Myself and a young lady come to an agreed upon price for a specified service. What’s the big deal?”
Jack rubbed the bridge of his nose. He still hadn’t completely awakened. “If you ever get caught, you know you’ll get kicked out of the Association.”
Shane shrugged. “Then you’d get to be crew chief. Anyway, I won’t get caught. How would I get caught? Cops that dress up like whores? God that’s so easy to work around.”
“What? You have some magic ability to detect cops?” Jack asked.
“It’s easy,” Shane said, “You just start off by telling her ‘I want to hire you, but not for sex. My wife recently died and I just want to hold a woman for the night. I’ll pay whatever you normally charge, but all I want to do is cuddle, ok?’
“A cop is running through as many stings as she can get in her shift. She doesn’t have time for some weirdo who just wants to cuddle, so she’ll tell you to fuck off. But a real whore will be totally on-board with it. Money is money, and if someone wants to pay to not have sex, they’re fine with it.
“Once you have her in the hotel room you say ‘Yeah I was just checking to see if you were a cop. I really do want sex.’ It’s simple, repeatable, and even if the cop suspects something, they don’t have time to go cuddle with you to find out what you’re up to.”
Jack and Quinton stared at Shane for a few moments.
“You’ve really brought this to a science, eh?” Quinton remarked.
Shane shrugged. “Everyone’s got a hobby. Anyway. Time to talk business.”
He wadded up his napkin and dropped it on his plate. “Quinton, it’s your turn at the Plate today, I’m at Third base, and Jack you’re at First.
“Quinton,
“Jack, be on your toes when
He leaned back in his seat. “Now
for the part that sucks: I got a call from the Association last night. Todd
Hutch’s crew all got the flu, so we’re going to have to officiate a game in
Jack and Quinton groaned.
“Hey, I’m in the same boat. It’s about a five hour drive from here, so we’ll have to drive through the night.”
“Or we could sleep tonight and drive through the day tomorrow,” Jack suggested, knowing it was futile.
Shane waggled a finger at him. “No no, none of that. We drive first, then we sleep. We don’t want to cancel a game just cause we got car trouble or something. Anyway, quit bitching. It’ll be your turn at the Plate, so you’ll need to be well rested. Quinton and I will take turns driving while you sleep. Then we’ll get what sleep we can during the day.”
He stood up, grabbing his bag and coat. “Today’s game starts at seven; we should get there around four for field inspection. Let’s meet out front of the hotel at 3:30. Quinton, it’s your turn to pay for breakfast. Now, if you boys will excuse me, it’s Sunday. I’m off to church.”
“You whore like there’s no tomorrow, but you never miss church,” Jack commented.
“What? I believe in God so I have to be some bible-thumping Puritan?” He headed out the door with a backward wave “See ya at 3:30!”
Jack poured himself another coffee.
“Wow,” Quinton commented. “What is that, like, your fifth cup?”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Jack said while adding sugar. “I just can’t get my ass in gear today. I slept plenty last night but… I dunno. I just don’t feel right.”
“Well don’t down too much of that stuff. If you get all jittery you might make bad calls.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Bottom of the ninth. Two outs.
Nobody on.
The pitcher delivered a blazing fastball through the heart of the plate, which Lowe’s bat met with all the force he could muster. The crack of the bat got all 34 remaining fans to their feet.
Disgusted, they began gathering
their things even before the ball’s towering arc brought it back to earth.
“Out!” Jack called, clenching his fist.
Without fanfare, the players returned to their dugouts to gather their things. Shane, Quinton and Jack headed immediately to the umpire room in the small stadium. Having changed out of their uniforms, they wordlessly went to their car.
Quinton took the first shift of driving, Shane in the passenger seat. Jack, with the back seat to himself, leaned back and tried to get some sleep. It was not a particularly easy thing to do.
“What the fuck is this shit?” Shane asked, pointing at the radio with disgust.
“It’s music,” said Quinton.
“No it’s not, it’s Disco,” Shane corrected.
“I’m driving; I get to pick the music.”
“Could we compromise on this? I mean, maybe some classic rock or something? It can be from the 70’s, just not Disco.”
“I like Disco,” Quinton said firmly.
“You were barely even alive when this shit was popular. How can you like it?”
“I don’t complain about your music when you drive,” Quinton protested.
“Yeah, that’s ‘cause I compromise. I like Rap but you two hate it. So I don’t play it. See how that works?”
“Well you can play Rap if you want when it’s your turn.”
“I don’t want to play Rap as much as I want you not to play Disco.”
“Well I’m sorry, Shane. But I’m driving so it’s Disco.”
“See this here? This is why you’re tough to work with, Quinton. You’re so damn stubborn.”
“I don’t immediately do what you want, so I’m stubborn?”
“Hey I’ve got an idea, guys,” said Jack from the back, “How about you play some Shut-The-Fuck-Up?”
“Yeah, sorry, Jack,” Shane said.
“Sorry,” Quinton echoed, turning off the CD player.
Exhausted, Jack fell asleep within minutes.
The city had no name. It didn’t need one. It didn’t matter.
Every building stood 50 stories high, each one occupying an entire block, each one with mirrored windows on every square inch of its surface.
The streets lay in a perfect grid, each block the same size, each street the same width.
There were no cars. No busses. No taxis. No sidewalk vendors. No garbage cans. No pigeons. Nothing that gave a city life. Except the people.
Men and women strode purposefully, but in odd directions, and always in straight lines. None of them ever slowed, sped up, or turned, yet none of them ever collided. They simply weren’t on collision courses.
All of them wore identical black suits, white shirts, black ties and black fedoras.
None of them had faces. They merely had blank areas where faces should be. There was no blackness, nor empty featureless skin. There was simply nothing at all, in the way a vague memory sees a person whose face is forgotten.
Unlike normal city dwellers who walk parallel to the road or sometimes across it, these faceless denizens seemed uninterested in the streets or roads at all, crossing at odd angles, ever traveling in straight lines.
They did not speak; their soft footsteps the only sound in the entire city.
Jack stood in the middle of a street, surveying the situation. Possessing a face and non-standard clothing, he stood out blatantly. Yet none of the denizens took any notice of him.
Then, he saw someone else who stood out.
About a block away, a woman strode forward. She wore a Metallica T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, a denim mini-skirt, and white high-top sneakers. Her long brown hair was matted and unkempt. Her sunken and darkened eyes betrayed an emptiness inside that made the faceless denizens seem friendly by comparison.
As she continued approaching, her lifeless eyes stared directly through Jack.
Filled with a sudden rage, Jack called out to her, “Look at me!”
She plodded forward.
“Look at me God damn it!” He yelled, shaking his fist. “You can’t just pretend I don’t exist!”
Coming ever closer, she showed no sign of acknowledgement.
Jack widened his stance and leaned forward. “I won’t let you by until you at least look me in the eye!”
She came closer still. Jack prepared to stand his ground.
“I matter!” he barked. “You can’t just blow me off! You can’t just walk off like there’s nothing here! I’m here! I’m fucking here!”
She slowly collided with him, ignoring him completely. To Jack’s surprise, she could not be stopped. Her slow, plodding gait continued on, pushing him along and out of the way. Falling to the street, he sprung back to his feet and leapt at her, only to bounce off.
Her body was like steel, her movements completely unstoppable.
He grabbed her around the waist from behind with both arms and tried with all his strength to slow her. “God… Fucking…Damn…It…” he grunted as she obliviously dragged him along.
His grip weakening, he finally released her and fell to the ground. She continued on her path.
“Fuck you!” He yelled to her back. “Just fuck you right to hell!”
Jack sat where he fell and watched her recede until he could no longer see her through all the denizens.
“Fuck you…” he whispered, tears welling in his eyes. “Fuck you…”
The denizens walked to and fro as he silently wept.
Unexpectedly, a hand gently rested on his shoulder.
Startled, he looked up and saw the odd-eyed, white haired girl looking compassionately back at him.
Hastily wiping tears from his eyes, he stood and cleared his throat.
She stepped back a few paces and the two regarded each other while the denizens continued their ceaseless pacing around them.
Unsure of what to say, Jack began, “So… you again.”
She gestured in the direction the Unstoppable Woman had gone and looked to Jack with a quizzical expression.
“Her?” Jack groused, “I don’t want to talk about her. I want to talk about you,” he said, pointing for emphasis.
Understanding his hand gesture, she pointed to herself and said “Sheth.”
“Sheth,” Jack acknowledged. “So you’re Sheth. Shouldn’t a figment of my imagination be able to speak English?”
Sheth pointed to him. “Zekneto zo zekk keth thu?”
He pointed to himself. “Jack.”
“Chak.” She said with a quick nod.
“Close enough,” he said, reaching out and grabbing her hand. He gave it two quick pumps as she watched with surprised fascination.
After he let go, she pulled her hand back and looked at him cautiously. Then, reaching some internal conclusion, she changed her expression to one of understanding.
She gently balled her hands into fists and folded her arms across her chest.
Then she gestured to Jack.
“That’s a handshake to you, eh?” Jack said. He aped her gesture.
This seemed to satisfy her.
“What part of my brain did you come from, anyway?” Jack asked, the pleasantries apparently taken care of. “You’re not anyone I know; I’d remember anyone who looked like you. Your eyes are pretty unique. It’s like I’m looking at a bowl of candy.”
“Zhek,” she said, taking a serious tone.
“Oh, this again.”
“Zhek,” she repeated, trying to drive the point home.
“Zhek,” Jack said, hoping it would satisfy her.
She pointed directly up. “Zhek.”
Jack looked up. Grey clouds dominated
the
Sheth closed her eyes. Cupping her hands as if holding an invisible ball, she pursed her lips and concentrated.
Nothing happened.
She opened her eyes and looked at the empty space between her hands with obvious disappointment.
“Hmph,” she said. That, at least, was understandable to Jack.
She repeated the process once more, this time with more vigor. Her hands trembled with her exertion of effort. But again, she met with disappointment.
“What’s supposed to happen there,” Jack asked.
“Nepo, nepo,” she said quickly, holding up a belaying hand at him.
Taking a deep breath, she returned to the pose and resumed her struggle.
This time, an indistinct blob formed and began to grow in the space between her hands.
Interested, Jack leaned forward, but made sure not to disturb her.
“Hey, Jack!” Came a call from behind.
Sheth flinched and opened her eyes. Her hands came out of position and the blob immediately disappeared. Jack spun around to see where the voice came from.
Shane, attired in his full umpiring uniform, stood in the street amongst the mingling denizens. He casually held his mask in his hand and gestured at Jack with it. “Yo! Jack! C’mon!”
“Shane?” Jack said, incredulously.
“Jack!” Shane called to him. “Come on, man!”
“What?” Jack called back.
“Come on! Get up, fuckwad!” Shane said, shaking Jack awake.
“M-muh!” Jack stammered, opening his eyes. “Whr’d your uniform go?”
“What? My uniform?” Shane asked, “In my bag, where else would it be? Come on, man, get up.”
Jack came fully out of the fog of
sleep to realize he was in the back seat of the car. The early rays of dawn
glinted through the windows. They had arrived at the hotel in
Shane hovered over him while Quinton carted bags into one of the rooms.
Jack stumbled out of the car while Shane gathered his own bags.
“You slept well,” Shane said. “It’s been about 6 hours; you were out like a light.”
“Mm. Doesn’t feel like it,” Jack murmured, stumbling out of the car.
“There’s still plenty of time before the game. Maybe go back to sleep in your room?”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t think I can get back to sleep. I just don’t feel like I slept.”
“That makes no sense,” Shane said. “Anyway, do whatever you want. I’m gonna catch some Z’s before the game. Quinton’ll do the same, I’m sure.”
“Out!” Jack barked.
The batter glared back at him. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”
“Sorry, kid. Strike three,” Jack replied, adjusting his mask.
The batter stormed back toward his dugout in disgust. “That’s some fucking bullshit, there!” he yelled back.
Jack ignored him.
It being the third out, the fielding team headed in as well. The other team took the field and began to warm up. While they did, Shane and Quinton came to Home Plate for a chat.
“So… Jack,” Shane said, “how ya feeling?”
“Not great. Why do you ask?”
“Um,” Quinton said. “Your calls have been a little… uh…”
“You’re fucking up, Jack,” Shane said bluntly. “That last pitch was a mile outside. I could see it all the way from Third base.”
“Really?” Jack asked. “Shit.”
Quinton fidgeted, picking his fingernails. “You usually have a really good eye. What’s going on?”
Jack shrugged. “I can’t concentrate. To be honest, half the time I can’t remember the count. I have to check the scoreboard. Man, I’m so out of it.”
“Well shit, Jack,” Shane said. “You should have said something. If you’re sick, you shouldn’t be on the field.”
Jack shook his head. “I can’t miss games. I’ve been in AAA for four years now. You know how it is. The longer you’re here, the more likely it is they’ll dump you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Shane said. “But one missed game due to illness won’t affect anything. Come on. It’s the 6th inning. Why don’t you go back to the hotel? Quinton and I can officiate the last three as a two-man team.”
“No,” Jack said emphatically. “I can’t have an incomplete on my record right now.”
“You’d rather have a game with both coaches registering complaints?” Shane asked. “’Cause that’s where you’re headed.”
Jack rubbed his eyes.
“And for what it’s worth, you’re fucking this game up,” Shane continued. “And that’s something I care about. Not trying to make you feel bad or anything, but your officiating is shit today.”
“I’ll try harder,” Jack said.
“What? Like you weren’t trying hard before?” Shane said. “I’m thinking you should call it a night.”
“Hey!” Came a call from one of the dugouts. “We gonna get this game going again or what?” The coach stood with his arms wide. His fielders were at their positions and ready to play. A batter stood idly at Home Plate, waiting for the game to resume.
“It’ll just be a minute, coach,” said Shane. “We just have to talk something through here.”
The coach, visibly annoyed, returned to his dugout.
“Maybe we could rotate?” Quinton suggested. “Like, Shane takes the Plate, I go to Third, Jack takes First?”
“How do we explain that?” Shane said. “When I fill out the paperwork after the game, I have to put who officiated which positions. If it changes halfway through I’d have to tell why. What do I say?”
“How about the truth?” Quinton suggested. “Jack’s sick.”
“We can’t say that,” Shane said. “If he’s sick he shouldn’t be officiating at all. We can’t just move him to first as if it’s ok to fuck up those calls.”
“Guys, I don’t know about—” Jack began.
“Maybe we can come up with a reason,” Quinton said. “What legitimate reason would there be to rotate?”
“Guys, seriously, I don’t want you lying for me,” Jack said.
“How about an equipment failure?” Shane said, completely ignoring Jack. “We could say his mask broke. You can’t be home plate umpire without a mask.”
“Yeah, but why didn’t we give him one of our masks?”
“Hmm, yeah,” Shane said, also seeing the flaw.
“Hey!” Came the call from the dugout again. “What the hell? Come on, let’s get it going!”
Shane turned toward the coach. “A little patience, please, coach. It’ll only be a couple more minutes.”
“Anyway,” he said, turning back to Quinton. “How about we say he got hit hard by a pitch and it knocked him dizzy. Then he could leave the game without looking bad.”
“Without a passed ball or wild pitch showing up in the scoring?” Quinton asked.
“If nobody was on base, it wouldn’t be counted as a passed ball or a wild pitch. It would just be a ball.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” said Quinton.
“So,” Jack said, “basically, you skipped the part where we decide ‘if’ I have to leave the game, and have moved on to ‘how’? I don’t think I should leave the game at all.”
“Hey!” Came the coach’s voice from the dugout again. “What the hell is taking you guys so long!?”
“We’re fucking your mom, that’s what taking so long!” Shane yelled back. “Now shut the fuck up or I’ll toss ya!
“So yeah,” Shane continued, without missing a beat. “Jack, you’re out. I’ll take the Plate, Quinton you’re the field umpire.”
“But-“ Jack protested.
“Go back to the hotel, Jack,” Shane said. “You’re sick. It happens. Sleep it off.”
Without waiting for any rebuttal, Shane gestured both coaches to join him at home plate.
“It’s for the best, Jack,” Quinton said.
“Damn it,” Jack whispered. Slumping his shoulders, he walked off the field.
Jack lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Something seemed wrong.
“Hmm,” he said.
He looked at his nightstand. A couple of books, a glass of water, and his alarm clock rested innocently in their usual places.
He checked across the room for anything strange. His dresser, laundry hamper, and closet were all perfectly normal and unchanged since he last saw them.
On the far wall, the pictures of the kids he grew up with at the orphanage hung in their usual places.
Nothing was out of place in the room at all.
“What the hell is it…?” Jack wondered. “What’s wrong?”
He thought for a moment longer.
“Wait a minute,” he mumbled to
himself. “Shouldn’t I be in a hotel room in
“Chak!” said Sheth.
Jack looked over at her. She lay casually in bed with him, a friendly smile on her face.
“Heya, Sheth,” he said.
“Bakjokzo, Chak,” She answered.
“I’m dreaming of being in bed at home? That’s pretty damn boring,” he pulled the covers off himself and got up. Even in a dream, he felt a little uncomfortable being in bed with a stranger.
Looking out into the hall, he said “There’s a lot of doors out here. My place only has one bedroom and a bathroom. This hall’s got like ten doors. That’s a change, eh?”
She got out of the bed and followed him. “Zhek.”
“Yeah, yeah, Zhek,” Jack said absently, trying the first door. It would not open. “Locked? Um, ok…”
“Chak, Zhek zo faneth. Faopo lijopex.”
“Right, you said that before. Zhek is fanething. Or whatever,” He tried the next door. Locked again. “What the hell? How many mysterious locked doors did my apartment grow?”
Sheth put her hands on his shoulders and firmly turned him to face her. “Chak,” she said assertively. She stared sternly into his eyes. “Faopo,” she said. It was an instruction.
He met her gaze. “Man your eyes are weird.”
“Zhek-“ she pointed to the ceiling, “zo faneth,” she pointed to the floor.
Jack shrugged.
“Zheeeek,” she dragged the syllable out, pointing again to the ceiling, “faneeeth,” again pointing to the floor.
“Hey, what happened to ‘zo’?”
She released him and backed away a few steps. As she had done the previous night, she closed her eyes and cupped her hands.
“Oh right, this thing,” Jack said, his interest piquing.
Again, a black blob appeared in the space between her hands, much faster than the previous night’s attempt. The shape condensed into a solid looking teardrop.
She opened her eyes and smiled, pleased at her accomplishment. No larger than a baseball, the black teardrop floated in the air, rotating slightly. She took her hands away and it remained in place.
“Big deal,” Jack said. “I could do that too if I wanted. After all, this is my dream.”
She pointed at the teardrop. “Zhek du zisi.”
Jack looked closer. “Is that Zhek?”
“Zhek du zisi,” She repeated, pointing to it again for emphasis.
“Ok that’s not just Zhek, it’s Zhek du zisi,” Jack said.
“Zhek du zisi,” she confirmed.
“Got it. So is that gonna ‘faneth’, too?”
“Faneth!” She said, nodding eagerly. “Bao! Faneth!”
“Zhek du zisi… faneth?” Jack hazarded.
This made her very happy. “Bao bao!” She exclaimed. “Zhek du zisi zo faneth!”
“Look, just ‘cause I’m repeating what you say doesn’t mean I understand it.”
She looked at him blankly.
He shrugged in an exaggerated way. “Faneth? What is faneth?”
She put her hand on her chin and thought. “Mmmm,” she said as she pondered her next move.
Jack studied the “Zhek du zisi” floating nearby. Apparently it didn’t need her attention to remain. He reached out and touched it. It was solid enough, and drifted slowly away from where he had poked it.
“Mm!” Sheth said, an idea striking her. Positioning herself front of Jack, she faced him and held up a hand as if to say “Watch this.”
Slowly backing away, she said “Ofaneth… ofaneth… ofaneth…”
When she was about ten feet from him, she changed direction and walked slowly toward him. “Faneth… faneth… faneth…”
“Go and come?” Jack guessed. “Looks like you’re showing me ‘go’ and ‘come’. Is that it?”
She repeated the lesson. Backing away, she said “Ofaneth…ofaneth…ofaneth…” Then she changed direction.
Jack pointed at her just as she started toward him “Sheth faneth?”
She clapped her hands with a big smile. “Bao!”
“So what you’re telling me is… Zhek is coming?”
He stood quietly and thought about that for a moment.
“That can’t be good,” he concluded.
Without warning, a jolt of weakness surged through his body. “Woah…” He held out an arm to steady himself. His legs shook, his arms grew numb, and his vision blurred.
“What the-” he began, but was interrupted by another, stronger, wave of weakness.
He lost his balance. Sheth tried to grab his arm, but he passed through her as if she were a ghost. Slumping against the wall, he slid down to the ground. He could do nothing else.
She hovered over him, her surprised eyes showing concern. “Chak?” She said.
Her voice seemed far away. His vision blurred.
“Chak!?” He heard he call through the murk.
The world went white, and all Jack could think was “How can I pass out when I’m already asleep?”
Time passed.
Sort of.
Jack knew intellectually that time had passed, but didn’t actually experience it. Slowly, the whiteness faded into reality as he regained consciousness.
The rock hard ground was uncomfortable. His back chafed against a stucco wall. He opened his eyes to discover he was outside his hotel room on the walkway. Groggily, he stared across to the other rooms’ doors.
He looked to the side to see his own room’s wide open door.
Wearing nothing but his boxers, the night air chilled him to the bone. With effort, he stood up. It was then that he noticed the puddle of urine. His moist boxers stuck to him, and the breeze felt absolutely frigid on the wet parts of his legs.
Disgusted, he stumbled back in to his room and closed the door. He checked the clock, but could not read it. Numbers were too complicated for his state of mind. Pulling his boxers off, he used them as a towel to dry off, then threw them away in the bathroom garbage.
Stepping into the shower, he tried to turn on the water, but could not summon the hand strength to grip the handles. With a frustrated squeak he sank downward. He collapsed in a fetal position in the tub. He did not dream the rest of the night.
“You’ve been pretty quiet this morning, Jack,” Shane said.
Jack looked over at Shane. “What?”
“I said you’ve been pretty quiet.”
Jack looked down. He was at a table. He held a fork in one hand and a knife in the other. “What…” he stammered. “What am I… How…”
Quinton sipped his coffee. “You’ve been out of it all morning. How did you end up falling asleep in the tub anyway? I left you there cause I figured why bother you?”
Jack looked over at Quinton “How did I get here?”
Shane and Quinton looked at each other quizzically. “Say what, Jack?” Quinton asked.
“I’m… where are we? A diner or something?”
“Uh, yeah Jack,” Quinton said. “The hotel restaurant. Breakfast?”
“Did you, like, carry me here or something?”
“No…” Quinton said, a look of serious concern on his face now. “When I got up this morning, you were still asleep. I figured maybe you were still sick so I left you alone and met Shane here for breakfast. Then you showed up like ten minutes ago. You don’t remember that?”
“Uh, no,” Jack said. “I don’t remember anything after falling asleep in the tub.”
Shane took the knife and fork out of Jack’s hands. “Tell ya what, buddy. I think maybe we should take you to a hospital.”
“What?” Jack said. “Oh come on. I’m just a little tired.”
“Yeah, tired doesn’t make you sleepwalk or have blackouts. There might be something really wrong.”
“Really, I’m fine.”
“Really, you’re going to a hospital.”
“Mr. Weaver? Can you hear me?” Came the voice. “Mr. Weaver! Can! You! Hear! Me!” It was a very insistent voice, but Jack didn’t feel compelled to answer.
“Jack!?” came another voice from out in the fog somewhere. It sounded like Shane.
“Mr. Weaver!” came the first voice again.
This was getting annoying, so Jack went away from it.
“Crash cart, now!” he heard the distant voice say.
Jack stood near second base at the deserted baseball field. Dressed in his uniform, he stood ready to officiate, but nobody was around.
“Dream,” he said immediately.
“Bakjokzo, Chak,” same her voice from behind.
“Evening, Sheth,” he said, turning around to face her.
She smiled at him. Donning a baseball uniform, complete with mitt and hat, she looked equal parts sexy and tomboyish.
“Nice uniform,” Jack said, pointing.
She regarded her clothes with mild surprise. She then looked to Jack and shrugged.
“That’s a Portland SeaDogs uniform,” he said, waling a circle around her. “Perfect down to the smallest detail. I know, I saw it plenty of times back when I was officiating in double-A.”
“But how do you know about it?” He
asked, more a hypothetical than an actual question.
“Only people in
She smiled politely at the rambling she could not understand.
Jack pressed on. “Answer: I put that uniform on you. I can do that kind of stuff, after all. It’s my dream. But I can’t affect you outright, can I? Somehow I know I can’t.”
He seemed to be on a roll. Sheth felt no need to interrupt.
“You’re something different. You’re not just a figment of my imagination. Not entirely. And I’m sick now. Really sick. I feel ok in this dream, but in reality, I’m dying in a hospital bed.
“And you,” he pointed to her.
She pointed to herself and raised her eyebrows.
“You’re the reason. I only started getting sick when you showed up. Oh sure, I wasn’t sleeping well, but three days of poor sleep wouldn’t make me this sick. There’s something else going on, and you’re in the middle of it.
“And, when you’re around, I think rationally and coherently. That’s not normal in a dream. Usually it’s a jumble of random thoughts and feelings. But you show up and it’s just like I’m awake.”
He rubbed his chin. “But you don’t seem mean. You seem like you want to help me. You’re trying to warn me about Zhek,”
“Zhek!” she responded to the word instantly. “Zhek zo faneth!”
“Right, Zhek is coming. But what is Zhek? Is it something internal? Like cancer?
“That would explain a lot. Maybe I have a tumor. Some part of my brain knows there’s a problem and my subconscious, that’s you, is trying to warn me?”
Encouraged by his mention of “Zhek,” Sheth listened intently for any other recognizable words.
“That doesn’t make a lot of sense, though. If that were the case, why don’t all brain tumor patients get this effect? Anyway, one thing’s for sure,” he concluded.
“You,” he pointed accusingly at her, “are killing me.”
He concentrated. The world changed from the desolate baseball field to a hospital room. Jack had no idea what his real-world surroundings were at the moment, so he simply put a hospital room together from fragmented memories and assumptions.
In the bed rested another Jack, this one ashen and weak, breathing weakly while in a deep and troubled sleep.
He pointed to the sick Jack. “Chak!”
Sheth looked at the scene, then to the sick Jack. After a moment of realization, she gasped.
She spun to face him, her eyes pleading. “Ooto! Ooto!”
“Do you get it now? I’m dying!” Jack said sternly, pointing at his sick counterpart again.
“Ipvuzekpex!” She said. “Uikyi hoq ipvuzekpex!”
Clinching her fists and closing her eyes, she began fading away.
“Wait!” Jack yelled at her. “What happens now!? You can’t just leave me here, damn it!”
But she was gone.
Jack looked around the imaginary hospital room. “Well now what?”
Slowly, his rational mind ebbed away. And the darkness consumed him.
“Hey Doc, I think he’s waking up.”
“Mrnf,” Jack said, using every bit of his will to open his eyes. Bright light flooded in to view, as did the concerned faces of Shane and a doctor.
“Mr. Weaver,” said the doctor. “How are you feeling?”
“Mm…” Jack said. “Tired.”
“I gotta call Quinton,” Shane said, pulling out his cell phone and disappearing from view.
“What’s wrong with me?” Jack asked groggily.
“We’re not sure,” the doctor said. “You’ve been in the hospital for four days. In that time we’ve run every test we can think of on you. We can’t find out what’s causing the problem.
“We’ve been monitoring your brain waves for a couple of days now. We’ve noticed you haven’t gone in to REM sleep at all, and instead have been going in to some strange state. Put simply, Mr. Weaver, we’ve never seen brain waves like that before. I’m asking neuroscientists all over the world what they think, but so far they have no idea what to make of the data.”
“Am I dying?” Jack asked.
“Yes,” said the doctor. “You’re dying. If we can’t put a stop to this, or at least get REM back again, you’ll eventually die from what amounts to lack of sleep.”
Jack signed. “So this is it?”
“Don’t give up hope, Mr. Weaver. We’re trying various different sedatives and lots of neuro-pharmaceuticals on you. We hope to find the right combination of drugs to get you back to normal. And I’m pestering every major brain researcher in the world for any advice they may have.”
After a short, uncomfortable silence, the doctor asked “Is there anyone you’d like us to call, Mr. Weaver? Any family or friends?”
“No family,” Jack said. “No friends, really, either. Just Shane and Quinton, and they’re more co-workers than friends.”
He thought about that for a moment.
“Kind of sad, really,” he remarked.