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The young boy lay in the bed, a set of wires and probes going from his head to a strange machine that clicked and clattered. Jason thought the boy looked vaguely familiar. Next to the bed, a woman sat running the machine, checking the gauges and occasionally turning a dial. Her back was to Jason, so he couldn't see her face, but the curve of her neck and shoulders also gave Jason a feeling of familiarity, as though, if she would only turn her face a little more, he would be able to recognize her as well.
The boy tossed and turned in his sleep, obviously in the midst of a fitful dream. Jason estimated he could be no more than three or four years old. The boy's small hands were closed in tight little fists, then would relax, only to tighten again. He tossed his head from side to side. Jason could just make out the eye movement behind the thin lids.
Suddenly, the boy turned towards Jason and the woman, his eyelids flying open, and in that instant, Jason was no longer looking down on the scene, but was looking at the woman from the boy's perspective. At that moment, Jason realized why the boy looked familiar. It was him at the age of four, and the woman was his mother, Jessie.
Jessie reached out with one hand and lightly caressed his forehead. "It's okay, Jason. Momma is here. Rest easy, sweet child," she said in a soothing voice. The familiar sound of her voice after so many years wrenched at Jason's heart until he felt like it would burst if she continued to speak.
He closed his eyes, but did not leave the boy's body. Instead, he continued inside the boy's dream, as though it were his own. He, as the small boy of four, sat in front of a chest—a strangely familiar chest. It was open. Jason, the child, reached in and pulled out several small objects: an old time piece, several wrinkled and yellowed photographs, a small pistol, several yellowed pieces of clothing; when the chest was empty, then he reached down into the box and pulled out the slat of wood that made up the bottom.
Under the slat was a secret compartment. Jason reached into the box and pulled out a rectangular object from its recesses. He held it up to the light. On the front of the object was the single word, Journal.
The next moment, Jason was outside the small boy's body again and looking down on the scene before him. The child sat in front of the chest with the objects he had pulled out strewn around him, holding the journal high in the air. The child opened his mouth as though to cry, but nothing came out. Then Jason heard the wailing, not coming from the child, but from inside his own head, as though it was he that had cried out.
His mind flashed, and he was once again looking at his mother as she tried to comfort his restless sleep as he lay in bed, still hooked up to the strange apparatus, crying loudly. Just as quickly, his perspective changed once more to a grown man looking down at himself as a small boy. And, in another flash, he was being shaken again and again.
Jason opened his eyes to see a frightened Seattle sitting next to him, her hand still on his shoulder. The sudden disorientation was almost too much to take. Where was he? More importantly, who was he? Was he the small boy in the bed or the grown man looking down on the boy in the bed? Or perhaps he was the boy in the dream holding the book.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them again, Seattle was still there. He stared at her, surprised to see she was naked, as was he. The shock brought him back to reality. This is who he was. Jason Joval, professional gambler. He'd fallen asleep after making love to this extraordinary woman who lay beside him, obviously frightened by his sleeping antics.
Jason smiled at her and took her hand, which still rested on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I had the strangest dream or dreams, I'm not sure which. Did I frighten you?"
"You were screaming," Seattle said in a soft voice. "I couldn't stop you. I didn't think you were going to wake up."
There was a sound from behind Jason. The two of them turned in that direction, as Tinker stuck his head through a crack in the cloth wall.
"Sorry," Tinker said, as he saw the two of them lying together. "We were just wondering if one of you was killing the other."
Seattle smiled at him as she covered herself. "Everything is fine. Jason just had a bad dream, that's all."
"Must have been a humdinger," Tinker said. "Tell me about it tomorrow. I've just finished reading a book about dream analysis." He withdrew his head.
Jason turned over on his back and lay there with his hands behind his head. He The warm contact of Seattle’s body touching his felt good. He lay that way a long time before he finally fell back to sleep.
––––––––
THE NEXT MORNING, AFTER breakfast, Jason sought Tinker out, and with some embarrassment, related the bizarre set of dreams. Tinker listened intently without comment until Jason finished.
"Wowee," Tinker whistled, when Jason finally finished. "There wasn't anything in the book I read about dreaming about having a dream about having a dream. That must be in a more advanced text."
"You mean, I've told you all this, and that's all you can tell me?" Jason said, half kidding and half serious.
"Well, no. I can't analyze the dream, but I can tell you where I think the dream came from."
"Where?" Jason asked.
"I don't know this for certain, but it sounds like your mom planted a subliminal message in your subconscious. I bet you anything that's what the machine with all the wiring and probes was. You said you recognized the chest?"
Jason nodded.
"Do you still have it?"
"Yeah. It's the only thing that I came to the Ward with."
"And does it have a secret compartment?"
Jason shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea. I've never known to look for one."
Tinker snapped his fingers. "That's it. I bet you anything your mom wanted you to know about that journal, but not until whatever is in the journal would make sense. So she programmed the dream sequence in which you're putting the book away."
"But why now after all these years?" Jason asked.
"We'll probably never know for sure," Tinker replied, "but I have a guess."
"What's that?" Jason asked, unsure whether he really wanted to know.
"My guess is that Jessie would only want you to find her journal if and when you found out about your father. I bet your meeting Carmiel is what triggered the message."
Jason thought about what Tinker had said. After a couple of moments, he stood up. "Well, whatever triggered the dreams, there's no question now I have to go back to the surface. If there really is a book hidden in that trunk, I need to find it."
He bent down and shook Tinker's hand. "Thanks, Tink. You make a pretty good dream analyzer."
Tinker shrugged, obviously embarrassed by the compliment. "Anytime," he said, his face finally breaking out with a smile.
Later in the morning, as Jason was preparing to return to the surface, Seattle walked up behind him and gave him a quick hug.
He turned around to face her and noticed the worried look on her face, despite her effort to hide it behind a smile.
"I want to thank you for last night," she said, still holding on to him. "It was very special."
"The experience was mutual," Jason said, returning the hug.
"Do you really have to leave?" Seattle asked, getting right to the point.
"You know I do," Jason replied, as they separated and he turned back to finish drying the last couple of dishes. "Try not to worry. Carmiel isn't so tough. He's an old man, a frightened old man. I'll be sure to watch my backside and stay out in the public light as much as possible. He isn't likely to try something out in public. It would create too much controversy."
"Okay," Seattle replied, although she didn't sound convinced. "Just be sure to stay in touch with us. If I don't hear anything, I'll worry."
Jason turned back to face her. "This is a side of you I didn't see before—the worried mother."
Seattle shook her head. "Not mother in this case," she replied. "More like worried lover. Just don't take any unnecessary risks," Seattle added. "Whatever the ULC is hiding, they won't stop at anything to keep it hidden."
"Promise I'll be careful, and I'll stay in touch," Jason replied. Funny, he thought, after spending last night in Seattle's arms, the idea of returning to the surface was much less appealing. At the same time, the dream made it even more imperative that he go back.
He would get his business handled as quickly and quietly as possible and get back here where he belonged, he thought, as he went to look for Tinker and Mu-Monk.