The Dream Trotters

Chapter 18

The teenagers just sat in silence, which is something that definitely didn’t happen very often.  A large grandfather clock chimed six times, signaling the time before it receded back to the methodical ticking.  

Sitting awkwardly on the couch, a small though tugged at the edges of Phillipa’s mind.  Those words were familiar, similar to that strange déjà vu feeling that one gets in the most ordinary of situations.  It felt the same, that common memory shrouded in obscurity, an event which won’t ever be remembered.  Though after a few seconds of searching, she remember.

Shamans.  Dreamwalking.  It had been a few summers ago, while Phillipa’s friends had been out of town.  During these times, the library was her constant companion, a place where she would be unbothered and alone, able to learn anything, read any book.

 At this place, no one would be asking her to go to the pool, to do a sport, to leave her room.  To be honest, this was her room, and it was perfect.  It was the sort of library that has been around for a while, yet had no magnificence, and a rather rude batch of librarians.

The white walls were nondescript, the shelves were less than grand, and the stereotypical reading contest was raging on, a task which Pipa had finished during the first week of summer.  Cheesy flyers for the contest floated through the room, blown around by the summer heat and lack of conversation.  

Still, the room couldn’t have been better.  A few worn sofas clustered in the middle, books stacked everywhere, written by as many different authors as one could imagine.  Just over there, sat The Time Machine by H.G. Wells, while on top of this was Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë.  Even the children’s book, Chicka Chicka Boom Boom was strewn on a nearby table.

Phillipa couldn’t remember the day, nor even the book she had read.  It had been an ordinary day and another book that she had found hidden beneath a load of old movies.  The book had been blue, she remember that much.  

The blue that one finds in odd places such as  bathrooms at fast-food restaurants and envelopes for cliché birthday cards.  Yet the words that the book contained were perfect.  It told the stories of shamans, Native American magicians who used dreams and visions to heal and change people; and the term that had been used was dreamwalking.

“Theo, what does this mean?”   The book had been fascinating, but just a story.  Even at the end of the novel, the author had written a section on why this whole idea was fictional.

“You know what Phillipa?  I don’t even know!  But I have some idea.  Something happened, and it happened when that man touched you guys.  Something changed within both of you, and we won’t know until it happens.”

“Until what happens Theo?”  Finn was once again mad.  He had just been kidnapped, then the man had the audacity to tell him that they were “special”.  Whatever special meant, he didn’t really want to know.

“I don’t know.  It is always different… but I’m here to help.”

“What makes you an expert on this topic?”

“Finn, I’ve seen this happen before.”  Theo stood impatiently but then sat just as quickly.  An emotion flashed across his face, displayed in his eyes and forehead.  Phillipa couldn’t quite catch it, but it seemed like sorrow, with a twinge of anger hanging onto his eyebrows.  As soon as it was there, it was gone and his face returned to a stern yet also sympathetic mask.

“Give him a break Finn,” Phillipa sighed.  She didn’t know what was going on, but she wanted to know.  “So you’ve dealt with this before?  Is there anyone we could talk too?”  Before Theo could respond, Finn jumped in with another question.