THE MAN CLOSED DR. Prietto’s front door and entered the cool evening. The few sips of Faustina’s drink had worn off after the two-hour prep session the doctor put him and Faustina through for tomorrow’s visit. He looked down at the jack-o’-lantern that offered in response a silent maniacal scream. The man made a face back at the carved pumpkin and let out a small laugh. He stretched his legs and twirled his arms in three clockwise circles. The man took a deep breath, put on his hoodie, and then started on his run. He did not remember these Oxnard streets—the reanimation process wiped those memories away—but no matter. The man needed to feel his legs and arms work against the night in preparation for tomorrow. Despite some trepidation, a growing calm was beginning to bloom now that he had made it this far on his journey. And he had Faustina to thank for that. The full moon shone brightly as it lit the man’s way down the unfamiliar street and seemed to warm his limbs with its glow.
When the man returned to Dr. Prietto’s home after his run, he took a long, hot shower and then snuggled behind Faustina in the guest bed. She stirred but did not wake. The man buried his face in the back of her neck and drifted to sleep within three minutes. The man fell into a dream, and it initially seemed to be the same dream he’d had each night since his reanimation. In the dream, faces—some familiar, some not—flickered and ebbed into view. Lips moved, words muttered, but the man could not discern their meaning. And then silence. Not a sound to be heard. Suddenly, the amorphous surroundings transformed into a beach, and the man found himself standing at the edge of the water. He looked down, and this is where his dream diverged from the other nights. A small boat floated on the water before him, but instead of carrying a body draped in a white shroud, there sat Faustina dressed in a flowing white dress. A voice commanded the man to step into the boat.
“Where are we going?” the man asked the disembodied voice.
“All will be revealed if you are ready to see,” the voice answered.
And the man did what he was told. He settled in near Faustina, and the boat started to move forward of its own volition, the rippling water making a strange whispering sound.
As the boat steadily moved across what appeared to be an endless lake, the man forgot about Faustina sitting near him. His stomach rumbled and he allowed his mind to drift to imagined sumptuous meals that—unlike prior versions of this dream—he now had memories of consuming before. These foods were so wonderful, they filled him with great joy and warmth. The boat finally reached the other side of the lake. The man disembarked and then gave his hand to Faustina and helped her out of the boat and onto the warm sand. The man grew angry with himself because he had forgotten to ask the disembodied voice for further direction. But no matter. They would trudge forward. As they did, the man noticed that the terrain changed. Strange trees and plants sprouted from what was now a rocky, craggy ground. The man and Faustina marched a very long time, and they grew weary, each step becoming more and more difficult. The man’s bare feet started to bleed as they were cut by the sharp, rocky ground. Faustina did not seem to encounter sharp rocks, and her steps remained light and unfettered by pain or discomfort, though she grew as weary as the man. The man eventually realized that the terrain had grown more fantastical with each step. Indeed, the shapes he saw seemed to become something more than terrain, something akin to a language. Not merely a language but a hieroglyph, ancient and mysterious, that spoke only to him. For some reason, Faustina did not understand what the shapes said, and she didn’t seem to care. Without much effort, he deciphered the message. The man now knew what he needed to do and where they must go.
The man, armed with knowledge, finally reached the place where he could allow himself to rest and gather his wits. Faustina found a smooth boulder upon which to sit, and this gave the man great comfort. The man looked up and saw a large boulder shaped like a hand holding a ripe fig. The boulder balanced upon a pedestal of rock that jutted up from the sand. With an agility he did not possess while awake, the man scrambled up to the boulder and examined it. He placed his right hand on the boulder and the rock and felt the coolness of the stone. The man closed his eyes and offered a simple benediction for the emptiness he caressed: “May your history be complete.” He removed his hand, nodded, and then scrambled back down.
After a few moments of silence, the man and Faustina started their long trek back to the boat. They walked through the strange, craggy terrain, which eventually gave way to the gentle sand that they had first encountered. The sun warmed their bodies and the gentle sand seeped through their toes with each step. But their serenity was dashed when a group of dark figures without faces surrounded them. The man tried to scream but couldn’t open his mouth. Faustina suddenly disappeared. These dark figures pulled at the man’s arms—first his left, then his right—and bit his face and body as they snarled like rabid dogs. This torture went on and on and on. The only consolation the man felt was that Faustina was spared this fate because she was nowhere to be seen. Finally the dark figures dropped the man onto the ground and lurched away, muttering obscene sounds that were not quite words. The man lay bruised and bleeding, but in time he gathered himself up and stood. The man felt his body and confirmed that he was intact. And slowly he resumed his journey, limping in pain with each step. He wondered where Faustina was, but he could not bring himself to search. The man felt compelled to move forward.
The man made it to the boat, which seemed to be waiting for him. He got in, sat down, and closed his eyes. The man could feel the boat move, sliding slowly across the vast lake in the direction from where they had come. He eventually felt a presence near the boat, floating out before him in the water. The man’s eyes popped open, and what he saw made him smile. A few yards from the boat’s bow floated the dark figures that had accosted him previously. There is justice, thought the man. The boat slid by the bodies and the man grinned in satisfaction at the flotsam and jetsam that had been his tormentors.
In time the man’s boat reached the shore. His bruises and lacerations had miraculously healed, and he felt fit and strong. He closed his eyes to rest. When he opened them, Faustina sat next to him as she had when they first started their journey. Oh joy! The boat finally reached the shore, and the man stepped out of the boat first. He offered his right hand to Faustina, but at that moment, before she could grasp his hand, the man fell into darkness—fast and dizzying, deep, deep, deep into an abyss. Before the man hit the bottom, he awoke from his dream.
The man sat up and looked around room. At first he could not remember where he was, then he realized he was in the doctor’s guest room. He saw Faustina on her side facing him, curled into a ball like a cat and snoring, face half buried in the man’s pillow. The sheet had fallen to the floor, and the soft amber light of the nightstand lamp bathed Faustina in a gentle glow. The man softly touched Faustina’s cheek. The man sighed, pulled the sheet around Faustina, snuggled into her, and fell into a dreamless sleep.