confirmed.
“Please come this way.” Bob Meadows started down the carpeted hallway. “My patient is extremely concerned about confidentiality. He’ll no doubt insist upon hearing this from your own lips. I’ve been treating his daughter, who has a substance abuse problem. Then six days ago, he called and requested an appointment of his own.”
He knocked on the double-doors of a suite. At a muffled response from within, he opened the doors and said, “Senator, your visitors are here.”
• • •
United States Senator Mario Suarez was a bullish man. Everything about him was stubby and aggressive, even the way he sat. He crouched on one corner of the seat, as though angry with the need to remain in the chair. He gripped the chair arms hard enough to bunch his shoulders and crease his suit jacket. “I want you to stop these dreams.”
“Dreams,” Jacob repeated. “Plural.”
“Two of them. Bob here tells me the others have also had the second one.”
Bob confirmed, “All five of the clinicians we’ve been in touch with have reported the same.”
“This second dream,” Jacob said. “Could I confirm, Senator, it follows the pattern of—”
“The street, the crowd, the line, the soup kitchen. Yeah, it’s the same.” His English was perfect, and harsh in the manner of one used to wielding power. Mario Suarez was a very familiar face, a spokesperson for the Latin-American community, conservative and family-oriented and hardworking and determined to call this country their own. He was Cuban by heritage, and impatient by nature. “I got the message. Now call them off.”
Elena had no problem letting the others speak. Jacob glanced her way, noted her determined silence, and said, “It’s not that simple, Senator.”
Senator Suarez tapped his gold ring on the chair arm. A rapid staccato beat. “What about some kind of pill?”
“We’ve been through this,” Bob Meadows said in his serene voice. “The others who used sleeping aids all found themselves trapped in the dreams. They say it just cycles over and over.”
“That can’t happen. Once is bad enough.” The senator punched the space between him and the window. “You see the mess this country is in right now. I’ve got a hundred different crises I’m supposed to be dealing with. I can’t go into the next finance committee meeting and scream my head off about some dream.”
Jacob asked, “What if this is the only way the dreams will stop?”
Elena felt herself confronted by the dreaded prospect and shuddered.
Senator Suarez barked, “Forget it. Not happening.”
“Just think about it for a moment,” Jacob pressed gently. “Every recipient of these dreams has felt an urgent need to tell the world. What if the dreams stop once you all tell the world—”
“I’ll take the dreams.” The senator’s teeth ground with angry determination. “Look. My grandfather sailed here from Cuba with my father in his arms. My grandmother died in the crossing. I’ve spent my whole life to get where I am today. I do this for my people. I’m not going to shame myself or them or my grandfather’s memory by standing up and making a fool of myself.”
Elena had a sudden sense of an unseen portal opening before her. Beyond it was an image of what was coming. What now seemed inevitable. As though everything had been leading up to this point. The recent book tour, the notoriety, her move to Florida, Rachel’s arrival, even the meeting with Jacob Rawlings—all of it moving steadily toward this moment.
Jacob said thoughtfully, “What if it only requires one person?”
“A spokesperson,” Bob Meadows agreed. “Someone who makes the announcement on behalf of all the dreamers.”
Senator Suarez brightened immensely. “Now you’re talking.”
“This could work,” Bob said. “It will need to be someone who can garner this level of attention . . .”
All three men turned her way. Elena saw the door looming up ahead. She knew
“Please come this way.” Bob Meadows started down the carpeted hallway. “My patient is extremely concerned about confidentiality. He’ll no doubt insist upon hearing this from your own lips. I’ve been treating his daughter, who has a substance abuse problem. Then six days ago, he called and requested an appointment of his own.”
He knocked on the double-doors of a suite. At a muffled response from within, he opened the doors and said, “Senator, your visitors are here.”
• • •
United States Senator Mario Suarez was a bullish man. Everything about him was stubby and aggressive, even the way he sat. He crouched on one corner of the seat, as though angry with the need to remain in the chair. He gripped the chair arms hard enough to bunch his shoulders and crease his suit jacket. “I want you to stop these dreams.”
“Dreams,” Jacob repeated. “Plural.”
“Two of them. Bob here tells me the others have also had the second one.”
Bob confirmed, “All five of the clinicians we’ve been in touch with have reported the same.”
“This second dream,” Jacob said. “Could I confirm, Senator, it follows the pattern of—”
“The street, the crowd, the line, the soup kitchen. Yeah, it’s the same.” His English was perfect, and harsh in the manner of one used to wielding power. Mario Suarez was a very familiar face, a spokesperson for the Latin-American community, conservative and family-oriented and hardworking and determined to call this country their own. He was Cuban by heritage, and impatient by nature. “I got the message. Now call them off.”
Elena had no problem letting the others speak. Jacob glanced her way, noted her determined silence, and said, “It’s not that simple, Senator.”
Senator Suarez tapped his gold ring on the chair arm. A rapid staccato beat. “What about some kind of pill?”
“We’ve been through this,” Bob Meadows said in his serene voice. “The others who used sleeping aids all found themselves trapped in the dreams. They say it just cycles over and over.”
“That can’t happen. Once is bad enough.” The senator punched the space between him and the window. “You see the mess this country is in right now. I’ve got a hundred different crises I’m supposed to be dealing with. I can’t go into the next finance committee meeting and scream my head off about some dream.”
Jacob asked, “What if this is the only way the dreams will stop?”
Elena felt herself confronted by the dreaded prospect and shuddered.
Senator Suarez barked, “Forget it. Not happening.”
“Just think about it for a moment,” Jacob pressed gently. “Every recipient of these dreams has felt an urgent need to tell the world. What if the dreams stop once you all tell the world—”
“I’ll take the dreams.” The senator’s teeth ground with angry determination. “Look. My grandfather sailed here from Cuba with my father in his arms. My grandmother died in the crossing. I’ve spent my whole life to get where I am today. I do this for my people. I’m not going to shame myself or them or my grandfather’s memory by standing up and making a fool of myself.”
Elena had a sudden sense of an unseen portal opening before her. Beyond it was an image of what was coming. What now seemed inevitable. As though everything had been leading up to this point. The recent book tour, the notoriety, her move to Florida, Rachel’s arrival, even the meeting with Jacob Rawlings—all of it moving steadily toward this moment.
Jacob said thoughtfully, “What if it only requires one person?”
“A spokesperson,” Bob Meadows agreed. “Someone who makes the announcement on behalf of all the dreamers.”
Senator Suarez brightened immensely. “Now you’re talking.”
“This could work,” Bob said. “It will need to be someone who can garner this level of attention . . .”
All three men turned her way. Elena saw the door looming up ahead. She knew
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