Onirica: The Dragonfly's Secret

By Alberto Rueda

Albiorix Corporation continues to expand its unstoppable monopoly around the world, creating new addicts to its dream capsules every day. Struggling against her dependency, Miles Cavanagh watches his wife disappear after contemplating his death in what should have been a peaceful lake experience. Investigating, the financial manager discovers that the Onirica Project is not limited only to entertainment, but also conceals much more pernicious purposes. At the same time, Miles meets the mysterious Alissa, a member of a resistance group against the Corporation, with whom he establishes an ambitious collaboration agreement. Will they be able to find out what is behind Elisabeth Warby's disappearance? Is it connected to the strange events that Miles faces in the woods? Is someone capable of stopping the Corporation's dark plans?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alberto Rueda
• Release date: Apr 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781071538326

Book preview

In memoriam Enrique Laso

I

It was a Tuesday. Not even if I had lived another thousand years could I have forgotten it. That night, after many months of torment, Ellie vanished from my pillow without leaving a trace.

She had slept with a fever, still under the influence of an experience that, from the moment I saw her appear in the lobby, I knew that it had not gone well at all. An experience we had faced as the definitive one; as the last stumbling block in the slow path of recovery. At this point she had managed to reduce the sessions to only one per week, and surpassing that, the treatment against her addiction came to an end. According to Dr. Kempkes, it would be like smoking a cigarette, perceiving that its nicotine no longer has the slightest impact on will. Unfortunately, I must say that it was not quite like that.

We present ourselves at the Albiorix facilities holding hands, hoping of a future called to return to the happy past; to the one in which we walked through the botanic planning our lives without anticipating that the tyranny of dreams would bite them. And we entered the Corporation building convinced that it would be, that we stepped on those unpolluted floors that separated hell from our ordinary existence for the last time. A simple but blissful existence framed in that simplicity, and most importantly: real.

"Thank you, she told me with a guilty tone in her voice. I asked her why she thanked me for. For always being by my side. I smiled at her. You are my wife, I added. I would never abandon you." It was she who smiled at me then.

We waited our turn as we had done so many times, in queues that every day we went there were bigger. As from the beginning of the treatment, I sat with her in the waiting room, among indifferent people who did not return the greeting or even was aware of their addiction. "I’m going to say goodbye to the lake," she confessed to me when the assistant asked her to accompany her. We had talked many times about buying a cabin by a lake to spend the weekends and the holidays. I was excited to see that although we did not constantly refer to it, that idea was still beating in her head.

I watched her walk away calm and confident, the most opposite state from the one in which she returned.

"I have seen it! In the dream! It was the first thing she said when she appeared in the lobby. She shouted containing her words, hiding them so that no one outside of us would pick them up. Her eyes turned disoriented, lost in the infinite whiteness of that hive without a queen in which we fluttered with blind ignorance. Her hands were trembling on mine, her skin was covered with an alkaline sweat. What have you seen, Ellie? Calm down! I implored her, although I was immediately caught by her same restlessness. Your death! She exclaimed, now without reservation. I’ve seen how they killed you!"

Two uniformed guards, inclement and robust as closets, made us leave the building with haste, almost pushing us from the back to move forward. It was the first time I saw them; in fact, I had ever wondered if it was not uncommon for that colossus of iron and glass not to have security personnel. I assumed that keeping it hidden in a surveillance room was another of the deep-rooted policies of the always solemn Albiorix Corporation.

I tried to talk to my wife in the parking lot, already inside the car, but she still didn’t react. It seemed as if the clarity with which she had lived that last experience prevented her from discerning between what happened inside the capsule and the real world. I shook my head furiously. From the beginning I had known that the effects of that machine would end up taking a toll on us.

We returned home in silence. I did not want to insist again and again when I saw in her eyes that she was not willing to answer. She was still far away, although she was no longer trembling and only the slight sweat shone on her forehead. I decided to let her breathe and postpone for the next day any conversation between us. After all, what she could tell me in that state would only serve to make me even more nervous.

At nightfall her temperature began to rise. I covered her with damp cloths and opened the bedroom windows, but her tendency was not reversed. When she reached a hundred and four degrees, I called the doctor to visit us. "She seems to be under the effects of heavy stress, I remember him say as he examined her. He asked me several questions to find out how she had reached such a situation and checked her pulse and breathing again. Yes, he resolved. It is not the first time someone has been altered from one of these devices. They have not sufficiently studied its effects on people and now they are beginning to manifest themselves." He advised me to let her rest for a few days, not to let her get out of bed, and he was confident that she would gradually improve.

When Dr. Kempkes left, Ellie already was asleep. The last thing she had said was that she felt empty, without strength. She had not been able to gather coherent thinking all afternoon and that, in someone as determined as my wife, was not normal. When I saw her, I believed that she would never recover and that she would remain prostrated in a state of permanent vegetation. However, Ellie was in bed much less than I supposed and, when I woke up in the morning hoping to find her by my side, the only thing I found on her pillow was the emptiness of her absence.

II

The little frog flexed the hind legs and tilted its body when it noticed our presence. Its chest swelled like a balloon with every breath, and had it not been for that (and because of its location), it could have seen like a porcelain figure. Under its water lily, carefree multitudes of fish and small tadpoles were buzzing.

It was a great day in Vancouver. It seemed a lie that there were still several weeks left until spring arrived. Most of the animals and plants that populated the botanical garden were torn between deploying all their vitality and reserving some energies for a last stretch of cold that, however distant it seemed then, became inevitable. Snow was still piled up on both sides of the road and a thick scale of ice floated in the center of the pond. Ellie and I stood in front of it and contemplated its beauty, recalling that less than a month ago we had been skating on its icy surface.

Next Friday will be our first Valentine together, she reminded me, after a brief note about the laburnum flowers.

I glanced at her to find out if she was kidding, but I didn’t think so. February 14th was not a date that throughout my life I had had the occasion to celebrate especially, although I assumed that in her case it would have been different. Anyway, her warning could also be due to her acting animated by the magical intimacy of the moment.

Aren’t frogs supposed to still be hibernating? And those fish... I said, just as it occurred to me, believing that the reminder would end there. But I was wrong.

I thought that when I returned from Seattle we could do something different, she continued.

"Different sounded to me expensive, ridiculous, typical of Valentine’s Day and, therefore, not very attractive". It was obvious that Ellie perceived it instantly, although her fine education led her to pretend otherwise.

Different to what everyone does, I mean.

Like what?

I don’t know, an experience together or something.

An experience? Like going to a musical? I asked, not knowing why the hell I had named musicals, when they were a kind of show that I had never liked at all.

Yes. Or something we haven’t done before either.

"Something we haven’t done before either" could continue to mean many things: ballooning, diving in the pond in front of us, or a ten-year volunteer in Namibia. I needed more information to be able to position myself.

And what have you thought about?

Ellie tried to simulate a gesture of improvisation, but it was obvious that she had left the house with the idea well ruminated.

I want to try the dream capsules, she said quickly, as if she were in a hurry to take it off her tongue.

I rubbed my face to gain a few seconds. It wasn’t a musical, it was something even worse. It was succumbing to the latest fashion, to the sensation of the moment. To that attraction sponsored by snoopy celebrities in multi-million dollar marketing campaigns. I did not understand how people liked to make their world in stone cardboard so much when there were so many things to discover around us. Extraordinary places like the botanical garden had fewer and fewer visitors, although the entrance to many of these places was very cheap or free. The less fortunate were even disappearing because of this lack of interest. And it seemed as if, suddenly, people were in a hurry to forget about their life by canning the brain in stupid glass and carbon capsules of futuristic design.

An oneiric experience? Are you serious? I asked, somewhat confused. Although they were becoming very popular, as I said, thanks to the huge and permanent advertising disbursement of the Corporation, until then neither Ellie nor I had shown any interest in trying them.

A co-worker has gone several times and says it’s a pass.

A pass, huh? I half questioned, as I unwrapped a licorice candy. At that time they were one of the little vices that I still had. Maybe I enjoyed them so much because there was no multinational behind them announcing them at all hours.

Yes. She says that things are lived inside as if they really happened and that, when leaving, you have the feeling that everything has been real.

As real as the taste of this licorice candy? I asked, throwing it in my mouth.

Yes.

... Or as real as your intention to learn to play the piano?

Needless to say, my occurrence was not to her liking.

Do you want to spend a Valentine without having anything to celebrate? She threatened me, half joking, half seriously.

I don’t know, Ellie. I’m not convinced by those games, I acknowledged sincerely. Experiencing with the mind had always given me enough respect. What if we don’t wake up and stay in a kind of hypnotic trance forever?

What things you got!

I noticed how she felt somewhat ridiculed by my opposition.

Let’s see, explain to me a little more about what that capsule consists of, I asked, even though I was sure I knew enough to not want to use them.

Well, that’s what goes out in the ads, she said, giving me one last chance before she stopped talking to me for fifteen days. You get in a capsule and fall asleep. Inside, they simulate as if you were living a real experience. There are many to choose from and some look very good. I’m sure you would also find several that called your attention.

It sounded interesting, of course, as in the hundreds of advertising wedges with which Albiorix had bombarded us in recent months. However, none of them had completely transferred my congenital shell of skepticism and, in a minute, Ellie was not going to get it either.

Let’s do one thing, I tried to conclude, If the idea appeals to you so much, get into one of those capsules. It will be my Valentine’s gift, okay? And to compensate, while you’re inside, I’m going to see the Canucks.

It seems that I was not quite right with my proposal.

What I wanted was to share the day with you, said my wife, annoyed, not to do something on a single plan and that you go to hockey.

A dragonfly crossed between us. Ellie loved those insects. She had one recently tattooed on the right shoulder blade which, in my opinion, when visible, added a very sexy spot.

Hey, where’s the little frog? I asked, seeing the water lily leaf clear where the little amphibian had sunbathed.

The little frog?! But you want to listen to me?! She shouted, this time without hiding her discomfort.

I’m sorry... I apologized, acknowledging that I had deviated from the subject. Okay, I will postpone the Canucks for another day and I will accompany you to that place, but I will not go into a pot full of wires to let some nutters sew me up. I will wait for you in the cafeteria.

After a brief negotiation of minor matters, I managed to convince her that not everyone had to be attracted to the same technological advances and got her to accept my role as mere companion. Within the bad, I had not gone wrong, but I was disappointed to see her trapped in a spiral that, until then, I thought only dragged the weakest of will. "Well, I thought, we are all human. Try it to quench her curiosity and have to contribute when she chats with her coworkers." I assumed that the thing would not go further, simply because I did not expect there to be any further. Although we had only been together for a short time, my wife and I had identical ways of seeing the essentials. We felt the same about many issues and it was easy for us to reach intermediate agreements when a dispute arose. We had met just over half a year ago. She had reached my bank branch looking for a loan to change her car and, as soon as I saw her sitting on the other side of the table, I fell in love with her as a teenager. She was five years younger than me, but she already held a very important position on the board of directors of the Suncor oil company, which, I discovered later, made her travel the world continuously. With her financial profile, she would have no trouble getting any loans, but I managed to send her back a couple of times to the office before sealing her definitive concession. A few days later, I was lucky enough to meet her again at a gas station, already driving her brand new car. I greeted her and, after a brief talk, invited me to go with her to an exhibition on baroque painting in the Vancouver Art Gallery. It is obvious that I accepted the offer and the rest, as they say, is history. A history whose climax was the beautiful wedding celebrated at Garden Bay three months later with a small group of family and close friends. And I say reduced, because Ellie came from Boston, her parents had died a few years ago and had hardly made any Vancouver friends. Her only guests were some work colleagues and half a dozen more or less direct relatives who came from Massachusetts. In short: meeting Ellie had been the typical stroke of luck that occasionally receives some ordinary guys like me and never repeats itself. In fact, at first I was afraid that from one day to the next she would realize that, in truth, she felt no interest in me and left. But our life in common was advancing, the pillars on which it was based were increasingly thick and we were very happy with our decisions.

Throughout the week, I became aware of how much Ellie wanted to do that experience. I wondered why she would not have mentioned it before, if it was such an interest, resisting to assume that a reliable lack of communication could have been established between us. At the same time, and no less painful, I was stinging that I didn’t know how to perceive it for myself. In any case, if trying the dream simulator makes her a little happier, it was worth trying.

We left home only three quarters of an hour before the appointment. Although Ellie had not wanted to sleep much the night before (for having it easier inside the capsule), her emotion was not enough to reduce the time she used to make me wait while she was getting ready. I had dispatched myself soon, with the same jeans of the last two days and a basic cotton T-shirt. I was sure that with the heating that used to be in those places, any additional garment would make me sweat a fat drop. However, before we left, Coyote was good to scrub his snout through my pants, leaving me a good spot of ox pate on the leg. I took the opportunity to change my clothes keeping in mind that Ellie and I were a little more combined, deference that she thanked with a smile when she saw me leave the dressing room.

Shortly after passing the Albiorix building, I found an underground parking lot with the "Free" indicator and, almost as if in a reflex act, I landed the car towards the descent ramp. I had always hated to circle the Vancouver streets looking for parking and I assumed, erroneously, of course, that paying the corresponding fee for three and a half hours (about seven dollars, according to the entrance plank), would be enough. Although I had to leave behind several aisles full of vehicles, I soon ran into the first unoccupied plaza. It was spacious and in front of it lit a pair of fluorescent tubes, so, in general, I was satisfied.

Ellie jumped out of the car like a girl on the school bus at the end of the last school day. She didn’t even hear me when I asked her to wait for me while I took my coat or while I was chasing her down the stairs that led to the street. When I saw her, I couldn’t deny that, at times, I thought we might be doing the right thing.

The Albiorix building was large and well located, and from the outside it showed a modern and lustrous appearance. It had nothing to do with the rest of the buildings in the area, those that in the first half of the twentieth century had been erected in