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A full moon rose over the mountains, sending shafts of silver through the forest. Denver Martin sat up and finger combed his hair, stopping when he felt something sticky at the back of his head. He drew his hand back and saw dark fluid. Touching a fingertip to his tongue, he tasted blood.
Fighting panic, he tried to stand. Pain shot through his right leg, making him fall backward. Reaching down, his fingers brushed a warm gaping wound. Hot needles of pain shot through his hip, coalescing in a flash that left him in darkness.
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Coming to in his room, Denver touched the back of his head, jerking his hand back when it brushed a tender spot. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and the pain in his leg hit, dull and throbbing like an old ache. He pulled down his pajama bottoms, amazed to see a fresh scar across the girth of his leg.
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Two hours later Denver sat in Dr. Lowenstein's office at the Lucid Sleep Study Center, looking up at the degrees and certificates that covered two of the paneled walls. Leather bound volumes filled another. A large flat screen monitor sat to one side on his desk.
The office door opened and Lowenstein hobbled into the room.
"You had another hyper-lucid dream?" he said, after settling into his chair. "And you have an injury that has stayed with you when you awoke?"
"That's what I said."
Denver rose, unbuckled his belt, and let his pants drop, pointing to his scar.
Lowenstein leaned forward, studying the wound. "Tell me about these dreams."
"He's always there. I can’t see his face, but I feel his presence."
Lowenstein leaned back and folded his hands on his chest.
“He keeps pushing me more and more. Sometimes he chases me. Sometimes we meet head on. I tried making him leave, but the harder I push, the harder he pushes back." He straightened his leg and winced. "Until this."
“I need to look at your EKG’s, REM, and FMRI files, along with your physiology records to see if I can detect any patterns,” Lowenstein said, nodding toward his flat screen. “If this is too much you can always drop out of the program...”
“No way,” Denver said.
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Denver lay on his back staring through the pine trees. A branch cracked off in the woods, followed by a rustle in the brush. Panic sang through him when he heard laughter and the woods came alive with sound, then the laugh receded.
"Come back here, you son-of-a-bitch."
The laugh echoed back louder.
"Chickenshit!" Denver yelled, stumbling after the voice. "If I ever get my hands on you, I'll..."
"You got your hands on me last time," it answered.
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"I ran into him again last night,” Denver said, dropping into the chair across from Lowenstein in his office.
Lowenstein looked up from the waveforms and graphics he’d been studying on his monitor.
"I know his voice, but I can't place it." Denver held his thumb and forefinger apart. "I was this close to seeing him."
"I want you to stay in the Dream Lab for a few days,” Lowenstein said quietly. “I think we’re on the verge of a major breakthrough. Come and go as you please, but I want you to sleep there at night with full telemetry so I can observe you. If I can wake you in the middle of one of these episodes, I think we can solve this puzzle."
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A few nights later, Denver drifted off to sleep in a bed in the LSSC Dream Lab with a cluster of tiny wires attached to his scalp and a custom FMRI imaging cowl over his head. Sensor wires snaked down his neck into a cable taped to the side of his bed, which connected to a console with two monitors on each side. Lowenstein and an undergraduate huddled over the console.
"He's in level one R.E.M. now," Lowenstein said. "I don't expect any activity until he's close to the end of his fifth cycle."
The undergrad scanned the console, then sat back in a chair with a magazine. "Why don't you take a break, Doc? I'll rattle you if anything happens."
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Denver looked up at the moon bathing the mountainside in a pale silver glow. His adrenaline surged.
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The undergrad watched the monitors to Denver’s left blossom to life with waveforms and images. "Normal alpha and beta cycling," he said aloud, checking the other readouts.
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Denver couldn't see the man’s face when he came over the top of the hill. He took a deep breath and stood. "I knew you'd come." He clenched his fists. "You've been trying to drive me over the edge."
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The right channel became active, bringing another response from the left, as if the two sides of Denver’s brain were having a dialogue.
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Denver knocked his tormentor to the ground, grappling and clawing until they stopped at the base of a boulder. Scrambling to his feet, Denver backed away from
his attacker. Blood from a gash in his forehead ran into his eye. He squinted in the pale light, then the man barreled into him, catching him in his mid-section. Grabbing his attacker's waist, Denver fell back on the dirt flipping his opponent over his head.
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"Dr. Lowenstein,” the undergrad called out. “You’d better come see this.”
Each display took turns jumping in succession, before their waveforms flatlined. Denver stopped breathing.
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Denver and his adversary locked hands tight on each other's throats. Denver’s mind darkened. He squeezed tighter and his opponent's grip loosened.
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Panicking, the undergrad ran to Lowenstein's office, stopping when he saw the skin on Lowenstein's neck dimpling inward. A strangled gasp escaped Lowenstein’s lips. His face flushed crimson. Finger-shaped bruises appeared on his throat before his body went slack. The undergrad tried to resuscitate him, but his efforts failed.
Lowenstein asphyxiated.
