When Dream and Day Unite

By Joseph M. Lanzafame

A techno-thriller about an angry physicist with psychic powers who attempts to pierce the fabric of the universe to gain control over it. He is opposed by an unlikely couple: a straight-laced accountant and New Age psychic who battle to save not only the universe, but their love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 21, 2001
• ISBN: 9781469719283

Joseph M. Lanzafame

The author has lived most of his life in Upstate New York. A former college professor with a doctorate in Laser Physics and a deep interest in philosophy and Eastern Mysticism.

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All Rights Reserved © 2000 by Joseph M. Lanzafame

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the permission in writing from the publisher.

Writers Club Press an imprint of iUniverse.com, Inc.

For information address:

iUniverse.com, Inc.

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Lincoln, NE 68512 www.iuniverse.com

ISBN: 0-595-16903-1

ISBN: 978-1-4697-1928-3 (eBook)

Printed in the United States of America

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight"

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

About the Author

To all of my readers,

especially

Pat Godleski and Gerry Disano

One

Make love to me, she purred, leaning back on the bearskin rug. She wore a thong bikini, her skin brown and shining. Her hair, splayed around her head in tangled blond waves, billowed over the fur of the carpet.

A lump rose in his throat as he knelt beside her, her hands reaching out to meet him. Her touch was hot as she grabbed his sweaty body and eased him down across her upper body, leaving her legs free.

The furry rug tickled his legs as he surged against her mouth, wrapping his tongue around hers. His hand slid over her bikini top, her nipples stretching against the tight material. He circled her breast with his fingers and then let them glide down over her firm, slippery stomach and down to the thong which slid easily away beneath the pressure of his hand. She curled her legs up, caressing his ribs with her outer thighs, and helped him to pull the thong free of her body. She tossed the briefs over her shoulder with a giggle and then wrapped her arms around his neck.

Effortlessly, he slipped on top of her, his hands framing her head, his fingers lost in blond silk. His passion built in wave upon wave until he felt as though containing it would strangle him. The salty smell of their commingled bodies seized him and held him. He didn’t even know her name and he didn’t care. He couldn’t even remember his own.

He raised his hips, ready to take the final plunge, unable to hold himself back any longer. He removed his mouth from hers and smiled. Her pupils were black pits in a misty bog. She nodded and smiled back.

His hips started down, her fingers guiding him. He was mere millimeters from ecstasy when…

Ka-Boom!

Every window in the room imploded, sending a torrent of glass shards over and against them. He dipped his head, shielding her face and his own.

He raised his head as they rushed in through the shattered windows, beating their wings furiously in frenzied synchronicity like a thousand drums summoning the tribe to war.

Phwoop Phwoop Phwoop Phwoop Phwoop

Thousands upon thousands of bats screeched through the room, diving and rising, and circling within inches of the walls.

She screamed, her hands flailing vainly at the bats.

He jumped up, grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet. They started backing toward the door, heads bowed, hands over their faces. And then, as quickly and mysteriously as they had appeared, the bats disappeared and they were alone in the empty room.

He looked up. She stood beside him, sobbing, her hands covering her face.

They’re gone, he said softly, reaching over to pull her hands from her face. That’s when he saw Him.

Standing on the bearskin rug, sneering, a soundless chuckle shook his chest. At six-foot-five, he towered over them. He raised one hand from beneath his black cape and extended it toward them.

Come, Cheri, he commanded in his deep baritone.

Cheri took a step toward him, her unblinking eyes locked on the mysterious man in black.

Cheri, Jason croaked, grabbing her elbow. His voice sounded boyish and weak. Cheri!

Her step hesitated, but she never turned away from the man in black.

Cheri, Jason said again, taking a step forward and putting himself between her and the man.

She stared past him, her gaze still locked on the stranger, but she didn’t move.

Jason turned, his body shivering in the cold room. Who are you? What do you want?

Who I am is of no consequence. What I want is obvious. Stand aside.

No. The lady is with me.

Why would she want to be with a man of such SMALL expectations? he asked, dropping his gaze to Jason’s navel.

Jason flushed, his hands instinctively covering his nakedness. He felt insignificant, less than a man before more than a man. The stranger’s deep commanding voice coupled with Jason’s own nakedness made Jason feel completely powerless.

Who are you? Jason asked in a whisper. The words had barely left his lips when the thought came to him: vampire! Jason froze, panic gripping his chest.

The man in black stepped to his right and reached out his hand again. Cheri, he ordered.

She took another sleepwalking step forward, past Jason’s shoulder.

Jason looked down. Consumed by fear, incapable of moving, he couldn’t watch. He looked down, focussing on the broken glass which surrounded him. Swallowing his fear, he bent down and picked up a long pie-shaped piece of glass and charged.

He kept his eyes down until he saw the stranger’s black feet come into view. The stranger appeared startled, not expecting his orders to be ignored, and he didn’t have time to react. Jason plunged the glass shard into the center of the stranger’s chest, seeking to pierce his black heart. With all of his might, he pushed on the glass until there wasn’t enough glass left for him to hold onto. He threw himself backwards, away from the man, landing with a crunch on the carpet of broken glass.

The stranger looked down in shock at his bleeding chest. His hands groped toward the wound, struggling to extract the glass. Furiously, he dug at it with his fingers. Time after time, his grip slid off of the bloody glass. Then, of all things, he laughed.

You’ve been watching too many movies, the stranger hissed. He laughed, his fingers finally getting a grip on the glass and removing it from his chest. You’ll have to do better than that, little man, he said, tossing the bloody fragment so that it landed between Jason’s legs.

Instinctively, Jason scurried backwards, the floor of broken glass shredding his hands and feet.

The stranger ignored him and turned back to Cheri. Come, Cheri.

Cheri took two halting steps forward toward the open arms of the stranger. As she stepped between his hands, the stranger reached down and grasped the edges of his cloak and swept the material upwards with a whoosh.

Jason sprang up in bed, drenched in sweat. His heart pounded in his chest, his pulse rushing in his ears. He glanced around, blinking quickly, and then realized where he was.

Laying his head down on the pillow, he turned to see the clock on the nightstand: six-thirty. Almost time to get up. He closed his eyes and rubbed his eyelids with his right hand. What’s with these nightmares? he thought. Every single night.

He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. His heartrate was back to normal and the only lingering sign of his dream was the smell of dried perspiration on his body.

The girl in his dream was familiar, she had been in many of his dreams. She wasn’t someone he had ever met—of that he was certain—but she did seem familiar, and not just because she haunted his dreams. Was she a model, or maybe an actress? She certainly had the looks for it, but he was sure he would have remembered seeing her, even if it was only in a magazine or on a TV screen. Who the hell was she?

* * *

Jason got to the office his usual fifteen minutes late. No problem, since he didn’t actually punch a clock. As a senior member of Williams & Williams Accounting, Jason set his own hours. His briefcase in one hand and a mug of black coffee in the other, Jason wove his way through the cubicles on his way to his office. As he walked by, he nodded and smiled to each of his subordinates.

Good morning, Mr. Preston, Lisa said as she squeezed past him and into her cubicle.

Good morning, Lisa,Jason said. She looks as tired as I feel, he thought. Her eyes were bloodshot and framed in dark circles.

Good morning, Mr. Preston, Todd shouted from his desk.

Good morning, Todd. He looked as tired as Lisa.

Good morning, Mr. Preston,Angela said. Angela had been Jason’s secretary for the three years since his promotion. At thirty-eight, she was five years older than Jason with brown hair cut barely longer than Jason’s. She was a loyal, efficient secretary, Jason’s right and left hands and probably his best friend in the office.

You look like crap this morning, Angie,Jason said.

I believe good morning’ is the proper response, Jase.

Everyone looks like crap. Did you guys have a party and not invite me?

Not that I’m aware of,Angela said. I just haven’t gotten much sleep lately. I’ve been having the strangest dreams…

Everyone Jason met that day was tired, irritable, or both. The entire office sleep-walked through the day. Neither Williams nor Williams showed up for work, only the second time in forty years that had happened. The waiter at lunch snapped at Jason for dropping his fork. The window washer gave Jason a lecture about putting his hands on the glass. The delivery boy threw the envelope at him from the door. Something was definitely wrong in Rochester, suddenly the Upstate New Yorkers had developed the charm and tact of the Downstate New Yorkers; Rochester had become a rotten Little Apple.

Jason put his chin in his hands and stared at his filing cabinet. Maybe it’s biological warfare, he thought, some kind of nerve agent in the water supply. There was a movie about something like that, wasn’t there? Maybe not, but there ought to be. Who would do it? Terrorists—probably Arab terrorists—trying to get us to kill each other so they can move in and take over. They already had all of the oil, now they wanted the rest of the world, too. Then again, maybe he could do the accounting for them. Heck, they’d probably give him his own harem. It’d be nice, all of those women, no misunderstandings, just uncomplicated sex whenever he wanted it. His mother wouldn’t approve, but of course she would be the first person killed. They’ll…

Cheri, Jason yelled into the blackness. Cheri.

Cheri—ri—ri—i—i, the darkness echoed back.

It’s freezing in here, Jason said, shivering.

He started walking forward into the cold emptiness. He couldn’t see anything, but he never faltered in his step, feeling rather than seeing his way. Each step he took echoed at him from all sides, the only sound except for the rush of the brisk breeze blowing into his face. With every step, the intensity of the breeze increased, aiding the gradual drop in temperature.

The wind continued to increase, sucking the air out of Jason’s lungs and retarding his progress, but he kept walking. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew that this was the direction he was supposed to be going. So, despite the resistance, he kept plugging forward.

A gale force wind ripped at him, forcing him to close his eyes—not that there was anything to see in the blackness. He leaned forward, pushing his way through the hurricane. The white noise of the wind obliterated even the sound of his own slow, plodding footsteps. His clothes tore, ripped free from his body by the destructive force of the air that assaulted him. His shirt and pants were shredded piece by piece until he was naked except for his shoes and his tie which had been turned around so that it trailed him like a stream of exhaust from his neck. The temperature had dropped below freezing; ice crystals hung from his nose and eyelashes. Still he plodded forward.

He could hardly move, but he pushed forward. Ignoring the pain, ignoring the cold, he crept forward until his feet wouldn’t, couldn’t move any farther, and his progress abruptly ended. Leaning into the gale to keep from being thrown backward, he extended his frost-bitten hand. Six inches in front of his face, he touched something firm yet yielding, like gelatin. He probed the squishy barrier with his fingers and discovered it formed a wall in front of him.

Unable to go forward but unwilling to go back, he pushed his fingers into the slimy wall. The membrane easily parted under the pressure of his hand. He penetrated an inch, two, all the way up to his wrist before he met a rubbery wall that stretched beneath his touch but would not part.

He thrust his arm forward to its maximum. The barrier simply stretched forward but didn’t break. He pulled his hand back and then thrust it forward again and again. Each time, when he pulled his hand back, it returned to its previous condition. After several vain attempts to push through, he clawed at the membrane with his fingers. At first, it resisted, but gradually his nails scratched a small hole in it and he felt a gust of warm air surge at him, expanding the hole, shredding the membrane swirling around him. The wind that had opposed him became a vacuum sucking him forward through the tattered membrane and tossing him on the floor.

Jason rose to his knees, listening. It was warm again, though still dark, and quiet; completely silent, without the sound of the wind, nor even the sound of Jason’s breathing or moving. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Jason picked himself up off the ground and began walking again. He took three steps forward when he bumped into a wall. It was cool and smooth—glass. Slowly, the glass began to glow, lighting itself within. He saw himself. It was a mirror. He reached out to touch the mirror, his image didn’t respond. It was not a mirror. Then what, Jason thought, a television?

No, that’s true,Jason said, laughing without embarrassment, but, at the moment, I’d prefer to eat with you than sleep with you.

Cheri puckered out her lips. That’s rather insulting. She laughed.

Sorry, I didn’t mean it to be. It’s just that this is so weird. I’d really like to know what’s going on.

Me, too, she said, nodding her head. Can you come back at seven when I close?

Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.

Horses no, but what about Him?

Jason didn’t need to ask, he knew exactly whom she meant.

Two

Yes. Ha-ha. Yes. That’s it, that’s got to be it.

Stanton Haas tweaked the tuner on his frequency synthesizer. Unlike most of the researchers at The Millennium Project, Stanton Haas always worked alone and always talked to himself. In the laboratories around him, two or three investigators with as many as half a dozen technicians worked together as a team. Stanton Haas was a one-man show. Of course, this was nothing new, he had always worked alone.

Stanton Haas was thirty-eight years old, the only son of an American real estate tycoon and his German wife. Six foot five and a muscular two hundred twenty pounds with a mane of jet black hair that looked wind-tossed on the most breezeless of days, Haas looked exotic. With his looks and his breeding, he should have been a playboy, the most eligible bachelor of the blue-blooded crowd, but Stanton Haas had different goals.

A prodigy, Haas graduated from high school at fourteen. He entered Harvard as a pre-med student and through two years was an exemplary dean’s list student well on his way to med school. In his third and final year at Harvard, however, Stanton Haas’s studies took an unexpected turn.

On October 31, 1976, Stanton’s seventeenth birthday, his house threw a Halloween party that was to change his life and the lives of everyone who attended. Though a genius, Haas was a socially and emotionally underdeveloped teenager in a world of sophisticates, so he normally skipped the parties for the library. But that night, destiny beckoned and Stanton was there.

It was after midnight and everyone was well intoxicated. The floor was strewn with empty cups and sleeping students, but the party was still going strong. Stanton was hanging around the kitchen when David Jacobs brought out the Ouiji board.

It was meant to be a lark. A chance for David and his pals to spell out obscene propositions to young coeds. The game was a tradition, going back to Jacobs’freshman year when he learned that a drunken suggestion was more powerful than his physical unattractiveness. Tall, too thin, with a pale complexion and a hooked nose, David was never very successful with women. But, late at night, masterfully manipulating the Ouiji board and the minds of the underclassmen, David was Rudolph Valentino. Over four years and dozens of parties, he had never failed to score with his game. It sometimes took several tries, but he always found a coed with the right combination of alcohol and naiveté.

David and two of his closest cohorts, Rick Jameson and George Buddy Holley, had their hands on the Ouiji board. We need one more David said.

I’ll do it, Cindy Williamson giggled. She was an eighteen-year-old freshman, away from home for the first time, drunk for the first time, just the kind of volunteer David wanted. She sat in the anointed chair and put her hands on the pointer.

Jacobs began chanting. He, Rick, and Buddy started the pointer moving, slowly at first and gradually gaining speed; Cindy’s hands went along for the ride. Their eyes were closed, their faces solemn. Ummm—ummm—ummm. Spirits of the nether world, we summon you.

Cindy tried to look solemn like the upperclassmen, but she couldn’t stop giggling.

Speak to us, great spirits, tell us what we want to know.

The people gathered around the table read the letters as the pointer came to rest on them. C—I—N—D—Y.

Ooh, that’s me, Cindy squealed.

Oh great spirits, speak to us. Speak to Cindy.

V—I—R—G—I—N.

Everyone laughed.

Cindy’s mouth fell open. It’s true, she said. Any embarrassment she might have felt had been killed by alcohol hours ago.

Tell us, oh great spirits, who will be her first?

D—A—V—I—D. J—A—C—O—B—S.

Oh my, Cindy said as everyone choked on their laughter and all of the upper-class women rolled their eyes in disgust.

When, oh great spirit, tell us when?

T—O—N—I—G—H—T.

Oh my, Cindy said again, pulling her hands off the pointer.

David jerked his own hands up as though he had just been burned. The spell has been broken, David said, rubbing his temples with his fingers. What happened?

You…you don’t know? Cindy asked astonished.

I was in a trance, David said, his hands and voice shaking. What happened?

The board said that we were meant for each other, Cindy answered, her muddled thoughts putting as romantic a spin as possible on the board’s pronouncement.

Who? Us? David said, his eyes wide with shock.

Yes, Cindy said, her voice hushed and her eyelids as dilated as her pupils.

The men standing around chuckled under their breaths, but Cindy didn’t hear them, she was too busy concentrating on the man for whom she was destined.

Geez,David said, "that’s amazing. Earlier tonight