The Dreamjumper and The Dreamcatcher

Chapter 5: The dreamjumper's anathema

Alora

I'm frazzled. As I go through my morning routine, my mind keeps circling back endlessly through what I had experienced in my sleep. I feel like a zombie as I do my makeup in front of the bathroom mirror. I don't think I even eat breakfast. It all goes by in a blur, and I barely have a recollection of my morning as I get on the bus to work. My body is existing in the present moment as if on autopilot while my mind is lost in intrusive thoughts of Reve and dream teleportation. Last night my imagination really decided to go wild.

The bus ride to work is uneventful and slow. Which just gives me more time to debate whether what I had dreamed of was real or fiction. Great.

I try to preoccupy myself with social media or a game on my phone, but even those highly addictive forces of the 21st century cannot retrieve my focus. I just end up scrolling aimlessly or immediately losing because I'm not paying attention. I almost miss my stop too since I'm so unaware of where I am and what is happening around me. Thankfully someone else pulls on the cord and the bus brakes so abruptly that it knocks me out of my stupor. In that split second I realize I need to get off now, and unceremoniously push people out of the way to get through the back doors. I apologize under my breath, but I'm too much in a hurry and too drunk in adrenaline for any courtesy.

The downtown morning air feels hot and smells of car emissions. I bat at my cheeks with my hands but it does nothing to cool my face. People in their cars constantly honk at the traffic as if that would make it go any faster. I try to cross to the other side of the street when the walk sign turns on, and almost get runover by someone who runs the red light. He shouts at me, but whatever he says gets lost in the busy hubbub and noise of city life. And I'm currently too in my head to listen to the indignities he has to say of my person.

I continue south on the sidewalk while saying a quick prayer of gratitude for having narrowly missed a collision. However, not even a minute later I absentmindedly end up slamming into someone anyway.

"Sorry, sorry," I say. I try to scurry away but their hand on my shoulder forces me to stop. I look at them properly and realize that I've walked into the one person I both want and don't want to talk to.

"Hey," he says.

"Oh. Hello. It's you." I try to be nice as I try to continue down, but he follows along.

"What did you think of your dreams last night?"

"What?"

"You know. The Build-a-Bear Workshop and everything that happened after that."

His words leave me stupefied and my jaw drops. "How? How do you know about my dream?"

Reve smirks. "I wasn't lying when I said I have special abilities."

We've stopped at a corner. He waits for me to say something, but I'm so utterly bewildered that my mind is in a blank. I know I should have something to say yet there is nothing to retrieve from my brain at the moment. It is empty. No matter how much I request information, all I get is 'access denied'.

"We need somewhere safe to talk," he continues after I come up with nothing.

"I have work." It comes out automatic. Though in my heart I do want to talk and understand how this is possible. He can't know my dreams. It's impossible. Isn't it?

"Fine. Meet me at the cafe in front of your workplace afterwards." With that he walks off without giving me a chance to say yes or no. As I watch him go, I realize that he's wearing the same purple t-shirt under a black leather jacket and blue ripped jeans as in my dream.

***

At 5:05pm I walk into Luisa's cafe. It's a small place trying to bring the homey feeling of a little nook in a small village into the big city. The style is cottage core, with small wooden round tables and a string of old lightbulbs draped across the ceiling. The bottom half of the counter is covered in decorative moss intermingled with fake flowers of different colors, the counter top made of wooden oak with uneven edges. Behind the counter on shelves above the barista's head there is an assortment of antique tea pots made of brass, ceramic or cast iron. The drinks are served in flowery vintage mugs or delicate white porcelain tea cups when not taken to go. On the far left side of the cafe, against the wall there are ceiling-high bookshelves containing. People can read the books they have at their own leisure while inside, though I don't see many people reading here frequently.