Dreamweavers

By Kerry Denney

Anything can happen when dreams merge with reality... including murder.

Welcome to Dreamweavers, Incorporated, where Dr. Paula Steiner blends lucid dreaming techniques with neuro-stimulation to teach her patients how to control their dreams and conquer their personal demons.

Toni Fontaine’s possessive ex-husband is stalking her, while nightmares of brutal violence torment her. Travis Colt is haunted by the ghosts of his dead wife and son every night while he sleeps. When Toni and Travis meet at Dreamweavers, sparks fly, and dreams literally come true.

But fellow patient Nick Buchanan is making nightmares come true. Nick, a bitter young man adored by women until an accident permanently scars his face, has learned a powerful secret: he incorporates his twisted dreams into the real world, and uses them to kill people he hates. When Toni spurns Nick’s advances and he sees her and Travis happy together, Nick makes Toni and Travis his next targets.

As the border between dreams and reality blurs, Toni and Travis realize they are the only ones who can stop Nick.

And the only way to defeat him is in their dreams.

Filled with hope, humor, romance, intrigue, action, surreal dreamscapes, a uniquely gifted and nefarious villain, and two amazing dogs, Dreamweavers reveals the compassion and resilience of the human—and canine—spirits with a triumphant climax that blends dreams and nightmares with what we all perceive as the real world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kerry Denney
• Release date: Mar 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311677372

Kerry Denney

Kerry Alan Denney thinks he understands why his readers call him "The Reality Bender" - likely because he bends reality in his writing. He can certainly think of a lot worse names they could call him, but doesn't want to give out any hints here - for obvious reasons.He lives in Stone Mountain, Georgia with his amazing professional therapy dog Holly Jolly, who often transcribes Kerry's novels and stories - when she isn't licking her paws clean, chasing squirrels, or editing the grammatical errors in Kerry's work, of course. Holly volunteered to narrate the audiobook editions of Kerry's novels, but Kerry said, "No, not just yet. That might freak too many people out. Wait until they know you better. Good girl."Holly is also secretly a prognosticating dog, and predicts Kerry will have more novels and stories published in 2016. She says, "Woof!", which means be on the lookout for them so they don't sneak up on you and bite you in your rear. She also recommends we all live by her motto and creed, "Live your lives with wind-in-fur."For more wackiness, please visit www.kerrydenney.com

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Chapter 1

SPRING:

FRIDAY

Whoa, Doc. What the hell? Travis Colt stopped, and his bare feet settled in the hot, pliant sand. His yellow Labrador retriever Doc halted at his side, letting the play in his leash dangle in the fine white grains.

This was like seeing a choreographed aquatic show at SeaWorld. Travis and Doc watched the waves, the crowd, and the frolicking dolphins. Travis tasted the briny tang of the ocean, and remembered to close his mouth. Doc’s tongue dribbled drool on the strand as his eyes followed the action.

Children squealed and cheered and rushed into the surf. They pointed and laughed, shouting for their parents to come share the magical moment.

Travis blinked as if to dispel an illusion caused by squinting too long into late March’s bright midday sun, but the spectacle remained. Too many to count, the dolphins leaped and cavorted, swimming southward offshore about eighty feet away. The children plunged into the frothy waves, danced into them, and Travis realized they weren’t even thinking about stopping. They were chasing the dolphins.

Oh crap, Doc. This can’t be good. Travis tensed, and Doc barked. Some children were in up to their necks, and still kept going. Adults shouted for them to come back, and raced after them.

Travis dropped Doc’s leash and ran into the surf. He grabbed the closest floundering child and hurried back to safe sand. A teary-eyed pregnant woman snatched the little boy out of his arms. The boy pounded her chest and howled.

No, mommy, I wanna go with the dolphins!

God, Jimmy, what were you doing? the woman said. She hugged the boy and looked at Travis. Thank you, sir!

Travis ignored her, already hustling back into the waves. Doc dove in after him, his leash flopping. He leaped toward a little girl, snagged her shirttail in his teeth, and dragged her back toward the shore. She screeched and stretched her arms toward the dolphins.

Good boy, Doc, Travis said, diving after another enchanted child.

Other panicked adults and teenagers did the same, splashing and shouting, rescuing every child they could. The children’s chorus of cries to be released and join the dolphins assaulted Travis’s ears. He snatched up another small girl who was in over her head. She choked, sputtered, and kicked her little legs. Tears streaked down her face and she reached grappling hands toward the dolphins, shrieking.

No! Dolphins, I want dolphins!

What kind of mass hysteria was this? It took the grand prize for the strangest thing Travis had experienced in the thirty-four years he’d endured. But he never stopped, never faltered. He knew the soul-searing grief of losing a child, had scripted the play directly from his nightmares.

He found another pair of waiting arms for the girl, dashed back into the waves, and retrieved another drowning boy. The kid screeched in his ear and pummeled his chest. Travis grimaced, hurried back to the shoreline, and dumped the boy into a crying woman’s arms.

Doc performed his rescue duties as if he’d been trained and bred for it. How he knew to do it was anybody’s guess, but Travis had no time to think about it now. Doc grasped the baggy trunks of another little boy in his teeth, and the boy turned and flailed at him. Doc ignored the assault and dragged him back to dry sand.

Dawfins! Want dawfins! the boy howled as someone swept him up in their arms.

Atta boy, Doc, Travis said, shaking his head. Come on, buddy. They crashed back into the raging surf together.

Help me, please! A woman stumbled into the ocean and waggled her arms. Save my babies! Her pleas were echoed up and down the beach.

The shrieks of panicking parents countered the children’s delighted squeals. Underscored by the normally soothing murmur of incoming waves splashing against the sandy shore, it became an eerie soundtrack for a spine-chilling horror flick in Travis’s mind—only this clamor was all too real, a bitter reminder of everything he had lost. Each cry of a child’s name sounded like the angry screak of a sinister violin, ice picks stabbing Travis’s ears.

Two little girls who were obviously twins held hands and thrashed toward the dolphins. Travis scrambled through the waves and wrapped his arms around them, slung them over his shoulders, and carried them back to the shore. One bit his neck and the other pinched him and screamed in his ear. He ignored it and staggered against the undertow.

How could such a potentially magnificent spectacle suddenly become a living nightmare?

He left the angry children with a crying but grateful mother and dashed back toward the suddenly grim waves. Doc dragged another wailing little fellow toward the shore by his trunks as Travis ran past him.

Good boy, Doc, Travis huffed, a mantra now.

Doc released the boy’s shorts and barked. The boy struggled to return to the waves, and Doc nudged him back toward the sand until a man snatched him up. Doc scampered back into the surf, a determined canine on a desperate mission.

The team of man and man’s best friend repeated the human salvage operation again and again, accompanied by other equally determined beachgoers.

Travis was nearly breathless. His muscles ached. He and Doc dragged two more screeching toddlers out of the surf. Travis felt time stretch into hours, days, weeks, just like a dream, but after only seven minutes in the real world it was all over except for the crying.

And the funerals.

And the grief and despair.

Exhausted and bewildered, Travis plopped down onto the sand at the edge of the surf. Doc dropped down beside him, panting but grinning. His tail thumped the sand, and he rested his head on Travis’s knee. Travis ruffled the fur around his neck.

You’re a good boy, Doc. You’re one amazing dog, you know that?

"Wuff."

A young woman with a bawling little girl in her arms ran up to Travis and slung an arm around his neck. God bless you, sir. Thank you. She kissed his cheek and ran off before he could respond.

Travis tried to give her a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. Doc woofed softly and licked his face. Travis was too tired to protest, and scratched behind Doc’s ears.

What the hell just happened here, buddy?

The dolphins had vanished as if they had been nothing more than an apparition.

The panic gradually died down and became a relieved celebration—with the exception of a handful of adults who were still missing their miniature counterparts. They dashed around and grabbed people and cried out their children’s names, then dashed around some more, their eyes wild with a madness Travis was intimately familiar with. He recognized them right away, new members of the club.

Their grief-wracked expressions were the same as the one he saw on the stranger’s face every time he dared glance at a mirror.

He watched as much of the bizarre exhibition as he could stand, silently pleading for a happy ending that wasn’t likely to come for the panicked adults, and squeezed his eyes shut when he couldn’t take any more. Every cry punctured him, felt like bullets ripping through his flesh. He could swear he heard someone call Danny!, and he cringed. He heard the name screeched again and tried to remember how to breathe. He had to get out of here.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, but by the time he found the courage to wrench open his eyes and struggle to his feet and leave, it was too late.

Chapter 2

The rabid newshounds arrived and plundered the carrion, accompanied by their ever-present cameramen. They were always on time. The big story wasn’t the rescued children happily reunited with their families; it was the missing children and their hysterical parents.

Death and disaster always sold better than stories with happy endings.

Travis shook his head as he watched the vultures descend, barely believing he was once one of them. He was about to pick up Doc’s leash and vamoose, eager to avoid the hungry-eyed attention whores clutching microphones, when one of them approached him.

He winced. Great, Doc. Here come the bottom feeders, buddy.

Doc growled, his muscular body trembling.

It’s okay, boy. They can’t help it. Travis patted Doc’s head. Bloodthirsty bastards.

"Wuff."

A stunning woman brandishing a microphone emblazoned with the Channel 11 News logo hurried toward them, her cameraman in tow. The young woman who had kissed Travis paced beside the newswoman with her little girl cradled in her arm, pointing at Travis and Doc.

Just fabulous, Travis said. We waited too long, didn’t we, Doc?

"Woof."

Travis didn’t get up. Among numerous other more personal reasons, he was too tired. Doc panted beside him, his belly rumbling softly.

Excuse me, sir, the newswoman said, her voice slick and sultry.

When had pretty young women’s appellations of buddy, dude, or guy formally evolved into sir? Travis sighed, lamenting those bygone days. Her smile was dazzling.

Kieran Thomas, 11 Alive News. Is it true what this woman says, that your dog actually helped rescue some of the children?

Travis looked at Doc, whose ears perked up. Somehow he was aware that he was the subject of the conversation. Although Travis had no desire to be on television, especially on the news, he figured Doc deserved the acclaim. After all, Doc had saved his life too, over and over again—every time the nightmares assaulted his troubled sleep.

Trying to tune out the horrified wails of parents who still hadn’t recovered their mesmerized children from the unexpectedly menacing waves, Travis reluctantly let the woman with the sparkling hungry eyes have her way with them. He forced out a chuckle and patted Doc’s head.

Yep. It sure is.

It is true! the young woman with the little girl said. He saved several kids. I saw him do it. And this man saved my daughter Debbie, and a bunch of other kids too.

Mommy, I want dawfins, Debbie whined.

That’s remarkable, sir, Kieran said.

He’s a pretty remarkable dog, Travis said, nodding.

What’s his name?

Doc. Travis smiled. Doc’s tongue lolled, his tail spraying sand. Travis figured he shouldn’t begrudge Kieran her story. She was the only reporter who hadn’t descended upon the panic-stricken parents along with the rest of the vultures.

Was he trained for this sort of thing? Kieran asked, her eyes wide.

Well, he’s trained, yeah. But not for something like… this. Who could have predicted something like this?

That’s absolutely amazing. How did he do it?

Well, he just grabbed hold of their clothes and dragged ’em back.

Incredible. How do you think he knew to do it?

Travis wondered the same thing. Who knows. He’s a really smart dog.

I see.

Clearly you don’t. And thanks to my recent introversion, you’re not getting the story you were hoping for, are you?

I sometimes call him Wonder-dog, Travis said, feeling guilty for not helping Doc while he was in the limelight.

Doc the Wonder-dog, huh?

Travis realized he wasn’t giving her much to lead with the story. She frowned, obviously mystified by his reticence. Didn’t everybody want their fifteen minutes of fame? He started to answer her when a clamor erupted farther down the beach—accompanied by a woman repeatedly screeching No, Kyla!

Come on, Jerry, let’s go, Kieran said, and she and her cameraman rushed away. Travis felt a sick, sinking feeling in his gut. From the wailing of the crowd, he was certain a child’s corpse had just washed ashore.

Doc’s fifteen minutes were apparently up.

Travis wasn’t about to stick around for the impending misery. He’d already had more than his share of that. Besides, he couldn’t bear to see the despair on the faces of the newly grief-stricken parents. He was afraid he would see a reflection of his own.

He grabbed Doc’s leash and stood. Sorry, buddy. Hey, maybe you’ll get a spot on the news tonight, huh?

"Wuff."

You’re a good boy, Doc.

They headed southward down the beach, away from the pier and the madness. Three pretty teenage girls ran up to them, pointing and chattering. Travis wanted to dodge them at first, and realized that kind of reflexive antisocial behavior had become habit-forming since Trina and Danny died a year ago. It was a bad habit he genuinely wanted to kick, and that was why he and Doc were walking on the beach in the first place. Dream-doctor’s orders.

Hey, mister, is that your dog? the cute blonde asked.

Duh. Stupid question number one. Don’t say it, Travis.

Yeah.

We saw what he did, the pudgy brunette said. Did you train him to do that?

Yeah, I trained him to rescue children who try to drown themselves chasing dolphins.

No. He’s just a really smart dog.

That was epic, the lanky redhead gushed. Can we pet him?

I don’t know, can you? Jeez, lighten up, Travis. Isn’t this just what the doctor ordered?

Sure.

What’s his name? the blonde asked.

Doc, Travis said, giving in. The three bubbly teens fawned all over Doc, cooed at him and stroked and petted him. Doc ate it up, whining and wagging his tail, so horribly neglected until now.

He’s Superdog!

"He’s so cute!"

He’s awesome!

Travis laughed out loud, helpless to stop himself. It felt rusty but good. Then, with a chorus of thanks and one flirtatious wink from the blonde, the girls took off and headed back toward the pier and the dismal crowd.

Travis considered returning to his Jeep, parked about a mile north up the beach, and heading home, but decided against it. Home was still too empty, even with Doc for company.

He didn’t want to walk past the teeming crowd and reporters either. Besides, it was only a little past noon, he’d already eaten an early lunch, and he wanted to dry off before he went home. And he still had a few hours before his next dream therapy session.

Come on, Doc. Let’s head down to the breakwater where it’s not so crowded, buddy.

Fearful of looking back and seeing dead children wash up on the shore, Travis turned away from the crowd, and the dynamic rescue duo headed south down the beach.

Where things got really weird.

Chapter 3

Toni grabbed her keys to her Honda CRV hatchback off the hook beside the refrigerator and headed toward the front door. Her three-year-old Golden retriever Kadie rested on the floor by the door and looked up at her, tongue lolling, tail thumping the wall. Toni smiled and approached her, and Kadie got up slowly, only whimpering a little from the pain this time.

Sorry, Kadie-girl. You can’t come with me this time. Mommy has an appointment with her dream therapist.

Kadie whined as if she understood every word, and flopped back down on the floor. She still wheezed occasionally from her punctured lung, and still limped from her broken ribs when she walked, but Toni thought she was healing much quicker than the vet predicted.

Toni squatted beside her and gently stroked her belly. You know you’re a lifesaver, don’t you?

Kadie chuffed and licked Toni’s hand. Toni wiped a stray tear away.

I love my sweet girl.

Toni reined in her emotions for the umpteenth time and opened the door and stepped outside. I’ll be home soon, and we’ll take a little walk when I get back, okay? We’ll watch one of your favorite Disney movies tonight, how’s that sound?

Kadie’s ears perked up at the word Disney. In all of her thirty-one years, Toni had never heard of a dog that loved to watch anything on TV, but Kadie was entranced by Disney movies. Maybe it was the barks, yelps, whimpers, and whines, maybe it was Toni’s lively and sometimes raucous vocal interaction, or maybe it was a combination of all that. Toni didn’t understand it, but she didn’t question it either.

It was far better therapy than her former psychiatrists ever provided.

Kadie was a remarkably intelligent, affectionate, and gentle dog. She didn’t deserve the harsh beating Toni’s ex-husband had given her.

Toni scowled at the thought of Reed’s pummeling fists and tried to replace the vision with sentimental thoughts of talking cartoon animals. Tonight was a good night for Lady and the Tramp or 101 Dalmatians. Toni nodded with a grin, shut and locked the door, and hopped in her car and headed to Dreamweavers, Incorporated.

When she arrived and went inside, Deanna was at the front desk chatting with John, Dr. Steiner’s personal assistant.

Hi, Ms. Fontaine, Deanna chirped, smiling. Toni didn’t bother asking the perky young receptionist to call her by her first name again.

Hey, Toni, John said, glancing up and then back down at his iPad.

Hey, guys. Is—

Dr. Steiner said to send you in as soon as you got here. You can go on back. Deanna punched a button on her intercom. Dr. Steiner, Ms. Fontaine is here.

Thanks, Deanna, Toni said. She took a deep breath and entered the office through the door behind Deanna’s desk.

Dr. Paula Steiner, a slender, attractive woman in her early fifties with gray-streaked black hair pulled back in a ponytail, looked up at Toni over the reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. Hey, Toni. Have a seat. She smiled and glanced back down at her monitor. With a sigh and a shake of her head, she turned off her monitor and slid aside a vase displaying four pretty purple flowers. She folded her hands in front of her and grinned at Toni.

Those are beautiful, Toni said. What are they?

They are, aren’t they? They’re my favorite, Ebb Tide roses. Straight out of my garden. They help me concentrate, and stimulate my fertile imagination.

Toni chuckled. Maybe I need some.

I’ll bring you some fresh ones our next session. So, Toni. How are you doing?

I’m okay. I guess. After only three sessions, Toni had already discovered she couldn’t lie to her new therapist. She sighed. Umm… not really.

Still overwhelmed by the nightmares.

Yeah.

Dr. Steiner had yet to give Toni a disapproving look, or subtly chastise her in the condescending manner her previous therapist had. How are you doing with the exercises?

Dr. Steiner had told Toni to address her by her first name. Not so good, Paula. I keep reminding myself, then I forget. And then I repeat it for a while, then I forget again. It’s frustrating.

Don’t be too hard on yourself. It takes time and discipline. We’ll get there, and when we do, you’ll start seeing some positive results.

I know. I guess I need to work harder at it.

Well, in order to control your subconscious mind—and your violent dreams—you’re going to have to. Paula grinned, easing Toni’s discomfort. So. Are you dreaming now?

Toni smiled. Definitely not.

How about now?

No. Toni chuckled.

Paula placed her hands flat on her desk and leaned forward. You just have to keep asking yourself that question until it becomes automatic, subconscious. As we discussed before, every little thing you do—washing your hair, doing the dishes, cooking, driving, walking Kadie, every moment of every day—ask yourself, ‘Am I dreaming?’ Eventually you’ll find your dream-self asking the question out of habit. When you do, look at your hands and say, ‘This is me.’ And when you say that, your conscious and subconscious mind will merge, and when it stops waking you up, and you stop transitioning from one dream to another, you’ll finally be able to start influencing your dreams.

Well, I did have a nightmare a few nights ago when the question just seemed to… pop up.

That’s wonderful!

Yeah, well… it made me wake up before I could take control. It made me really angry. And frustrated.

And it will, Toni, until you achieve control. It’s just part of the process.

Toni sighed. I know. I can see that, understand why. I just feel so… helpless and lost when it happens.

Paula nodded slowly and then smiled. Keep your eyes on the prize. Think about how strong you’ll feel when you do achieve control of your dreams and start manipulating your dream environment. It’s a wonderful, powerful feeling that no one can ever take away from you.

I want it. I want it bad. ’Cause I can’t keep going much longer the way things are right now.

Paula clucked, shaking her head. I think you’d be pleasantly surprised just how much you can take. The human psyche and spirit are resilient beyond your wildest dreams, pun intended. And you’re a very strong and willful woman.

Yeah? I don’t see it.

Don’t beat yourself up. There’s plenty of courageous women who couldn’t have done what you did with that tire iron.

She was talking about when Reed nearly beat Kadie to death, and Toni took a tire iron to his skull. Toni put a hand to her belly, remembering the lost little life inside her. Reed’s pounding fists had caused her miscarriage.

Toni scowled. Maybe so, but I really wanted to hurt him. And keep on hurting him, not just for what he was doing to Kadie, and not just for what he did to my baby. It was like he became the symbol that represented all men like him, and I was striking back for all of us who suffered at the hands of violent control freaks. And it scares the hell out of me. It makes me feel like there’s something horribly wrong with me.

Well, I don’t believe that. It took a whole lot of inner strength to do what you did. Though maybe you shouldn’t have hit him a second time, after he was already down. But that’s neither here nor there. Your opinion of yourself is what’s most important right now. And fixing that is one of the reasons you’re here, isn’t it?

"Yeah, it is. And I feel good about coming to see you. Like I told you, my other therapists didn’t help at all. I just don’t see any way out of it yet, any way to stop the nightmares. And the violent daydreams. They scare me. I scare me."

"Well, you don’t scare me. As soon as you see some progress, you’ll truly know it’s within your power. Right now, you want to believe, but you’re not sure any of this is the real deal. Don’t deny it; I know better. When you breach that first barrier, it’ll open up whole new worlds of possibilities. And I’m confident that you will, because I see that inner strength and determination in you. Before too long, you’ll wonder why it ever bothered you in the first place.

Like I said when we first met, I don’t want to make lifelong case studies of my patients. I want you to come walking through that door one day smiling and hear you tell me you don’t need me anymore, and the sooner the better.

Toni fought tears. Paula’s determination to help was her anchor. She took a deep breath, and her voice quavered. Thank you, Paula.

"You can thank me when you tell me we’re done. Let me tell you something. I can’t mention his name, but I have a patient who’s making remarkable progress. When he first came in, he was a hopeless wreck. Not a very likable young man; too cocky, not the friendly type. But he needed help, and we gave it.

"When he started the program, he was surly and uncommunicative, and demonstrated a propensity toward violent behavior. His father made him take the course, because conventional therapy wasn’t working for him, just like with you. After four sessions, he was already having lucid dreams on a regular basis, and manipulating his dream environment. His confidence level accelerated dynamically with the change. He even smiles now sometimes. It’s definite positive progress.

Just last week, we hooked him up to the Dream Machine for an overnight session—like we’ll do with you very soon—and the transformation was miraculous. After a few more sessions, he probably won’t need my help anymore. His violent tendencies have disappeared. He has control over himself, he doesn’t lash out at anyone anymore, and he seems to have made peace with his father.

Toni’s eyebrows rose. Wait. What’s this ‘Dream Machine’? And what do you mean hook me up to it?

Paula grinned. "It’s not really a machine per se. It’s just light neural stimulation to help induce a relaxed lucid dreaming state. You’ll take a ‘ride’ in it soon. You’ll love it, Toni, trust me. Anyway, the patient’s father was so happy that he donated a substantial amount of money to our research, and I won’t lie to you—it’s something we desperately needed. It’s worked out well for everybody, and we’ve learned a lot about our methodology in the process. John’s so excited he can hardly contain himself. He’s bouncing off the walls, driving me and Deanna crazy. Believe me, you can and will achieve positive results."

I hope so. Toni bit her lower lip.

Paula smiled and came over and sat in the chair beside Toni. I know so. So… when do you start your fabulous new job?

In a couple of days. Monday. The Wilmington Institute of Marine Technology and Research had given Toni a few weeks to get settled in her new home before she started her position as their new marine biologist. Toni chuckled and looked Paula in the eye. I really need the paycheck. And I’m actually excited about it.

That’s wonderful. I’m excited for you. But don’t let your exercises suffer for it. And don’t ever hesitate to call me if you need me. Of course, I don’t want our program to interfere with your job. It’s an important step towards the independence and personal freedom you need. Consider it a challenge worthy of your talent. But every step of the way, keep asking yourself if it’s a dream, or if it’s real. Make an adventure of it, Toni. Are you up for the challenge?

Toni drew in a deep breath, trying to bring her emotions under control. I guess I really don’t have much choice in the matter, if I expect to get better. So yeah, I’m ready.

Paula smiled. That’s the spirit. Now. Before we finish up today’s session, I want you to try a new exercise with me.

Okay. What do I do?

Relax. Think about one of your dreams, and tell me about it. Then tell me what you’d do to change it.

Okay. All right if I close my eyes?

Whatever makes you comfortable.

Toni closed her eyes, and told Paula about her fire-breathing dream-dragon.

Chapter 4

Travis let Doc off his leash after they moseyed farther down the beach close to the deserted breakwater. As if celebrating their successful improvised rescue operation, Doc pranced in and out of the incoming surf, panting and wagging his tail. It eased the burden on Travis’s heart.

Do you know about the tragedy too, buddy? Travis said. Or can you just push that out of your mind? How many children wouldn’t be going home today, headed instead toward the morgue in body bags? What would you tell me if you could talk, pal?

Travis was frustrated that they couldn’t save them all, that more parents would experience the same grief that still kept him awake and staring at the ceiling long into the sleepless nights. He looked forward to his session at Dreamweavers, Incorporated this afternoon. He had an interesting new tale to share with Dr. Steiner. And he needed a breakthrough.

Catch us some fish for supper, Doc. Travis laughed, feeling as if some metaphysical yoke was just lifted off his shoulders.

The news crews had descended upon the event like predators, and Travis thanked the powers that be that he was no longer one of them. Before he met Trina, he was head of the camera crew for a local news channel, and only a couple of years’ worth of it jaded him. When Trina found his web page and offered him a contract to film her documentaries, he happily gave up his previous profession for good.

When he discovered what an amazing and incomparable woman Trina was, he joyfully gave up bachelorhood for good.

He’d never go back to the newsroom grind, even if he ended up begging on a street corner. Picturing it, he laughed again. Despite what he and Doc just experienced, he liked the feel of it rumbling out of him.

"Hey, Doc. I’m gonna make us a cardboard sign that says Man and dog rescue duo for hire, will work for food."

Doc barked and pranced around him, shook seawater all over him.

The filming of Trina’s documentaries earned Travis renown among his peers, especially the underwater segments, and sparked several lucrative offers. Grinding his toes in the wet sand, he considered putting his grief on hold and taking one or two of the offers. He had money, but it wouldn’t last forever, and besides, he wanted to quit bumming around and get back to work.

It was way past time to stop feeling sorry for himself. He deserved better, and so did Doc. Trina had often told him life was for the living, and she’d been right. She’d seldom been wrong about anything.

Travis suddenly wanted to kick himself for forgetting to constantly ask the crucial question. He laughed again, and something else loathsome broke free inside him and fled.

Hey, Doc. Are we dreaming now, buddy?

"Woof!"

The incident with the children and the dolphins hadn’t been a dream; if anything, it was a waking nightmare. Even after having spent a lot of time with Trina and ocean mammals, Travis had no clue what had spawned the bizarre incident, or what had triggered the children’s even more baffling response. But he felt good about what he and Doc did. He thought of Trina’s generous heart and carefree laugh and sighed. She would have kicked his ass for all the time he’d spent wallowing in grief and self-pity.

What the hell was that back there anyway, buddy?

If Doc knew the answer, he wasn’t sharing. His jowls were sealed.

Whatever the explanation was, Travis didn’t have time to search for answers. Something implausibly weird was happening at the moment. Doc leaped and snapped at something flopping up in the air through the rolling surf. He snagged a flailing wave-rider in his jaws, ran over to Travis, and dropped it in the sand at his feet.

It was a silver hake, a good catch. Doc’s tail wagged, and he danced back into the surf. Travis gazed into the frothy waves and gasped. Schools of fish washed in with the tide, glistening and winking in the