Green Dreams: Black Dreams, #3

By Gretchen Hummel

Green Dreams is the third novel of this award-winning author's post-apocalyptic epic Black Dreams Series. 

 

Islander families fragmented during the chaotic plague years either through death, dislocation, or baby-hungry kidnappings now seek to salvage some sense of wholeness. Waverly's search is for her daughter, kidnapped eight years ago by mainlanders. In the last book, Black Dreams, Silver Linings, her search turned up a brother she had thought long dead. Her niece also resurfaced. And while Waverly's search for her daughter continues to be frustrated, new information gleaned through plague gifts and plague survivors give her new leads and renewed hope.

 

The worst of the plague years are over, yet isolated cases still occur. Mainlanders abhor the mere mention of the plague to the point of denying outbreaks in their midst. On the other hand, islanders continue their controversial research into what they consider the plague's coveted gifts. The intriguing dimension of consciousness reached during the plague delirium is explored via lucid dreaming techniques, brain wave training, and archetypal dream interpretation. This, in turn, leads to a discovery by islanders of yet another way to access this rich dimension and another way for families like Waverly's to return to a sense of wholeness.

 

"Gretchen Hummel has created a rich, complex world that's both beautiful and scary…"

                    --Alison Baker, O. Henry Award Winner

 

Gretchen Hummel is a 2011 Writer's Digest Award finalist and a 2011 USA Best Books Award finalist in two categories. She has a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing as well as a Master of Science in Psychiatric Nursing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gretchen Hummel
• Release date: Nov 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9798761676251

Gretchen Hummel

Gretchen Hummel is a 2011 Writer’s Digest Award finalist and a 2011 USA Best Books Award finalist in two categories. She has a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing as well as a Master of Science in Psychiatric Nursing.

Book preview

1

Fire and Light

December 2060

Waverly hunched her shoulders against the chill air in the dusky fading light. She threaded her arm through Danny’s and leaned against him for warmth. Ajax, along for their evening stroll, rode Waverly’s shoulder. The green parrot’s feathers ruffled in the ocean breeze; his clawed feet gripped her shoulder tighter.

The threesome watched the sunset from the top of Main Street as bands of coral and purple faded and sank into the sea. The land was completely dark though the water below it remained lit. Lights began to wink on over the townscape sprawled over the island hillside at their feet. 

Blue and gold lights, the colors chosen after much debate by the island’s decorating committee, predominated. Boughs of trees were encrusted with gold lights of all shades, lemon yellow lights, mustard yellow, amber, and bronze, while all shades of blue lights illuminated everything below. Waverly admired the effect. She had to admit the decorating committee had accomplished their goal; it did resemble a blanket of snow under stars.

The beauty of the night gave an added fullness to Waverly’s already hopeful spirit. It felt more like Christmas to her this season than it had in years. However, she was well aware her delight in the season hinged on more than the glittery scene that surrounded them. 

Danny’s mood was spirited as well. Earlier that afternoon, he’d brought home a blue spruce as tall as he was, its spread easily four times as wide. He squeezed it into a corner of their already crowded parlor. Once erected, however, the tree looked as if it belonged there. Waverly was touched. It was a frosty blue-green and lent the house a clean woodsy scent. As she leaned closer to Danny, she thought she caught a whiff of the tree’s piney sap still clinging to him. 

Once the tree was up, Waverly climbed into the attic and made what turned out to be a fruitless search for ornaments and garland. Danny had teased her all afternoon about her sorry collection of Christmas decorations, saying he didn’t know what to think, the idea of starting a long-term relationship with a woman whose entire collection of Christmas decorations consisted of three mismatched ornaments, two of which were in shards, and the other tarnished beyond anyone’s idea of ornamental.

Our first Christmas as a couple, he’d said. I mean, this tree is important. It’s symbolic.

Danny had moved in with Waverly after years of an on-again, off-again relationship. So yes, she supposed they really were a couple now.

I’m sure I had more decorations at one time... The truth was Waverly hadn’t set up a Christmas tree in years. There’d been no need. 

The hotel where she worked as a tour guide for mainlanders was decked out so extravagantly for holiday guests every year that she hadn’t felt the need for more Christmas cheer at home. She knew, as well, that her efforts would fall far short of what the island’s renowned decorating committee could create. They were that good. More importantly, she hadn’t felt like it.

Now I remember, she said as she rubbed her cheek against her parrot’s silky feathers. It was Ajax’s fault. He’d perch in the tree every year as if he owned it. And when we weren’t looking, he would knock off all the ornaments, breaking every blasted one.

Jove bless great Ajax! the bird crowed.

Great Ajax, maybe, Danny muttered. Jove may have other plans for the lesser Ajax, however.

Pray, stand farther from me, fool, Ajax replied. 

Danny grinned in response to Ajax’s retort. Waverly was glad to see that he wasn’t letting the bird get under his skin—for the moment, anyway.

However, when Ajax took a sudden, aggressive interest in the oversized sweater Waverly was wearing, a sweater that happened to belong to Danny, and one that Waverly liked to throw on for their evening strolls, Danny’s grin dissolved. The bird grabbed a loose yarn in his beak and tugged on it with a vengeance.

Ajax, cut that out! Danny said, batting at the bird. I like that sweater.

Waverly retrieved the thread and tucked it down into the weave. He thinks your sweater has worms.

Worms?

Thy tongue outvenoms all the worms of Nile, Ajax scolded.

Ajax took a nip out of the air dangerously close to Danny’s ear, after which Waverly moved the bird to her other shoulder. Speaking of venomous worms, she said, I wonder what Archdeacon Sabatini made of the last letter I sent him? I didn’t exactly threaten to expose the man, though I hinted at it.

Eight years ago, Mainlanders had kidnapped Waverly’s daughter during the post-plague baby hungry years. And it wasn’t only her daughter, Hayley, who’d been kidnapped. The Vigilant also took Hayley’s cousin, Melody, at the same time. While the Archdeacon had had nothing to do with the kidnappings, years later, he had employed Hayley as a French tutor for his own daughter. He’d fired her, however, when the girls grew too close for his comfort. Hayley was, after all, an islander. So, learning of Sabatini was Waverly’s first and only glimmer of hope in her long search for her daughter.

As she admired the lights across the city, suddenly she disentangled her arm from Danny’s and pointed across the island. Is that...smoke?

Danny searched the hillside. Yes, and not only smoke, he added when he caught sight of what had drawn her eye. They watched as flames began licking out of the windows on the lower floors of a downtown building. What is that? Is that the—?

It is. It’s the Immigration Center. Damn!

I better get down there, Danny said. You don’t think—

I wouldn’t put it past our revered Archdeacon, no, if that’s what you were thinking. But come on, let’s go.

Firefighters were already on the scene by the time they reached the blazing Immigration Center. Given the steady breeze off the ocean, it appeared the firefighters had given up trying to save the building itself and were concentrating their efforts on preventing the spread of flames to the surrounding neighborhood. So far, they were succeeding.

A crowd gathered watching the fire. It burned steadily upward. Structures inside the building began to collapse, accompanied by showers of sparks. The onlookers moved back as the intensity of heat grew.

Staring into the flames, Waverly winced at the implications of the growing inferno. Archdeacon Sabatini, it seemed, had not wasted any time after receiving her letter in acting on its contents. But how had he known the location of the Immigration building, she wondered? She supposed it possible that his daughter, Saphyre, may have known its location.

Uncle Forrest shouldered his way toward them through the crowd. Bright flames were reflected in the lenses of his glasses. It looks like we have our headline story for tomorrow’s news, he said to Danny, who co-wrote the island’s daily with him. That place was packed to the rafters and with paper mostly. Cardboard boxes, jammed full of files, were stretched wall to wall and in some areas stacked ceiling high.

Anyone hurt? Danny asked.

The after-hours watchman was the only one in the building at the time. He’s being treated for smoke inhalation and minor burns. He went to investigate the sound of what he thought was breaking glass in the rear of the building, but by the time he got back there, the smoke was too thick to see anything. He’s not sure how it started.

Danny nodded. I imagine it will be a while before we can be sure it was arson.

Too much of a coincidence not to be, isn’t it? Danny said. The Archdeacon’s reputation, after all, is on the line.

Uncle Forest glanced at Waverly. The Archdeacon! Ah! I hadn’t thought of him.

She said, I told him in my last letter that I knew his true identity. Little does he know, however, I have official Immigration records on him, pictures of him as well. But they weren’t in there, thank the powers that be. She nodded toward the burning building.

Immigration records? her uncle asked. 

Waverly could hear a hesitation, a catch in his voice.

Yes, but as I say, they weren’t in there. Waverly glanced toward the flames. I took them out long ago.

...but, where are they?

They’re in your office. Waverly searched his face.

Yes?

She grabbed his sleeve. What is it? You didn’t. You couldn’t have....

Her uncle grimaced. I had my apprentice clean up some files and papers lying around, I just told him to return them to the Immigration office. I...hope they weren’t yours.

Where were these files? Her voice was flat and quiet, as she held her breath waiting for his answer.

Uh...on top of one of Danny’s file cabinets.

Oh, no, no, no! I’ve got to get in there. Waverly darted toward the burning building.

Danny grabbed at the empty air where she’d been standing. Wave! No!

She made it several yards toward the building before burly arms grabbed her and pinned her in her tracks.

Where in the name of the Goddess do you think you’re going? It was a firefighter. She was strong, Waverly found as she struggled against her. There was no way she was going to get past her and into that building.

But you don’t understand, she cried. My daughter! Her life could depend on it. And without those papers, the Archdeacon could likely have her killed.

Well, you’ll be no good to her or anybody else if I let you in there. You won’t survive.

You don’t know that! Waverly said, struggling in her arms. Please! Please let me go! I’ll be careful.

Behind them, in a massive shower of sparks, timbers buckled; the first floor gave way.

Along with the building, Waverly felt herself collapse, the fight gone out of her. She looked at the ruin of the Immigration Center and moaned. The highest hopes she’d had in years for the return of her daughter had just gone up in flames.

2

Islanders Versus Mainlanders

Waverly sat on the cold concrete floor of the newspaper office as she searched through a sea of newsprint and files. The bold headline of one newspaper shouted Plague Sweeps Land, 98% Fatality . She checked the date. The newspaper was more than 50 years old. Still, she understood why they’d kept it. Islanders Deemed Devil Worshippers for High Survival Rates .  "Devil worshippers! Ha! she said, jeering at another front page. If we’re so damn devilish, why do we take their sick, dying, and dead off their hands?" Another caption read Kidnappings Ensue . Yet another announced  Island Orphanage Reduces Kidnappings .  She had to admit that building the orphanage had significantly reduced the number of kidnappings for most islanders. Unfortunately, it wasn’t built soon enough for Waverly and her cousin, Madeleine.

What are you muttering about? Danny asked from his desk, where he sat searching through another stack of newsprint.

"Oh, some of these newspapers headlines. Like this one—Plague Gifts Denounced as Devil’s Work."

Mainlanders! Their loss.

"True. It still makes my blood boil, though. Here’s a good one. Island Survivor Harnesses Power of the Tides. I mean, that discovery was a plague gift, and mainlanders sure weren’t above benefitting from that. Though they’d never in a million years admit to it being a plague gift. So, where’s the next pile?"

That’s it, Wave. We’ve been through all of it. 

She sank back on her hips. Damn, I can’t believe that file is gone!

She’d ransacked the office last night and again this morning searching for files on Sabatini. What’s more, her uncle’s apprentice told her that, unfortunately, yes, he did think the name was Sabbath on the file he’d returned to the Immigration Office.

Sabbath was Sabatini’s real name, at least the name he used when he’d tried, unsuccessfully, to immigrate to their island ten years ago. In those days, Archdeacon Sabatini was hardly a revered figure; he was just the opposite. When he’d tried to immigrate to the island, he’d been running from a warrant for his arrest. How he’d later inveigled his way into the good graces of the church, to the point of becoming an archdeacon, was a testament to the man’s conniving ways.

"Mon Dieu! I was so close!" she cried, pounding a balled-up fist on her knee.

Danny, one hip leaning on his desk, gazed down at her. I told Forrest not to touch that stack on the filing cabinet. I know I did.

And you’re sure you didn’t file it somewhere else?

Not that I know of.

He nodded. But I’ve been thinking. Sabatini doesn’t know the file on him was destroyed.

No, but without it, I have no proof, no leverage. It would be his word against mine—an islander’s vs. that of a mainlander? And how far do you think that would get me? Exactly nowhere.

Not necessarily.

What do you mean? You’re not thinking of falsifying documents!

Come on, get up. You’re going to ruin that outfit. And you look so fetching in it. He grinned as he took her hand and helped her to her feet.

That morning she had dressed in the new ensemble Harper had dropped off at the house. An Entourage was expected.

Harper, the head of Tailortown, was Waverly’s fashion consultant when an Entourage of the Vigilant visited. Vigilant was another name used on the island for mainlanders. It described their mindset of resisting anything contemplative, be it woolgathering, artwork, or self-exploration, especially exploration of dreams.

Glancing down at her Christmassy outfit, Waverly had to admit Harper did a much better job of dressing her than she could have done herself. And Harper was right to do it; Waverly’s eye-catching apparel often did convince members of an Entourage into taking a shopping trip to Tailortown.

Waverly brushed off the dark green leather skirt as a group of firefighters, heavy with equipment, trudged in the door. She looked for the firefighter among them, ready to be angry with her for stopping her last night from running into the fire. And yet, how could she be angry? The woman had saved her life. But the young firefighter wasn’t among them.

Danny said to Waverly. I’m sorry, Hon, but I’ve got an interview to attend to here.

What did you mean, though, about Sabatini? 

Let’s talk more this evening.

Okay. But when you do write up the final article about the fire, you should mention that firefighter that saved my life.

I already did, he said as he nodded at a stack of newspapers ready to go out. 

She smiled. Good. Well, I better go, too, and see how ready we are at the hotel for the Entourage.

He nodded. Since you’re going down, will you drop those off for me? 

Waverly stepped out onto Main Street, balancing the stack of newspapers in her arms. The smell of smoke that had hung in the air all morning was receding, being blown inland by a breeze from offshore. Piles of ash had collected in corners of shop doorways, windowsills, and gutters.

She deposited the newspapers in the sidewalk dispensary outside the ink-smudged door of the printing office before heading up Main Street toward the hotel. She hoped this incoming Entourage wouldn’t prove difficult. She had to rethink her strategy concerning Sabatini. She knew from experience, however, that Entourages were rarely, if ever, easy.

Waverly caught sight of her cousin on the street a few doors down. Madeleine was bending over one of the street planters that dotted the sidewalk at even intervals. A horticulturist, Madeleine was examining the base of a tall potted evergreen.

What are you doing? Waverly asked her, looking closely at the tree.

Madeleine started and stood up. She pushed back a strand of her hair that had slipped free from the loose braid that held it at bay. Oh, nothing. Just checking these trees...for fungus. They’re prone to it. 

Waverly glanced at her cousin. Madeleine was acting secretive for some reason. Waverly saw her eyeing passersby on the sidewalk. They nodded, amiably enough, Waverly thought.

Once the others had gone past, Madeleine said, Well, you know why I don’t want people looking too closely at these. I’m not ready to let everyone know yet.

Waverly peered beneath the little tree. Oh! Those fungi! Yes, I think you’re right not to. But I hope you’re ready to share some pearls of plant wisdom with this new Entourage descending on us.

The Entourage...ugh! No, I’m not ready. I doubt I’ll ever be ready. I mean, you’re used to working with these people. But I’ve never had one come to talk to me! Once here, they’ve bought orchids or herbs or rare tropicals from the greenhouse, but only as an afterthought. It was impulse buying. None have come expressly to see me. You’re going to be there, too, I hope.

Waverly glanced behind them, her brow knitted in a frown.

Hello? Are you listening to me? Madeleine asked.

Yes. You’re worried about the Entourage.

Madeleine sniffed.  I wish you would have gotten more information about them. I mean, what could Environmental people want with me? No, I am not looking forward to this! Are they going to shop or adopt?  Is that part of their agenda?

Not as far as I know. But then, that can change.

Madeleine looked glum.

Hey, cheer up, Waverly said with an encouraging smile. Word of your expertise must be spreading.

Madeleine gave her a withering glance. I should never have opened my mouth when that botanist visited last fall. I had no idea he was so taken with my research. I’d rather he kept me out of that paper he wrote. I can’t think what else they might want to see me about. 

I was surprised he gave an islander credit, though, Waverly said.

He should have given Hector the credit.

Hector was Madeleine’s Pan/Devil complex or the frightful being she’d had to confront and then outwit when she got the plague. All who caught the virus met a menacing presence in the delirium phase of the illness. It took on varying forms.

You didn’t tell him your knowledge was a plague gift, did you? Waverly asked, an edge to her voice.

Of course not!

Good.

So how many are there in this Entourage? I’m not going to face a crowd, am I?

Waverly shrugged. All I know is they’re from Environmental Protection.

Waverly kept looking over her shoulder. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought they were being followed.

Madeleine frowned. With a jerk of her chin in same direction, she said, That’s my security detail.

Oh, that’s right. I heard they were giving you one.

It’s awful. I hate it.

But you were shot at, Madeleine, and less than two weeks ago! I’m glad Uncle Forrest insisted. 

There had long been a price on Uncle Forrest’s head for his inflammatory writings denouncing mainland practices and especially for his denunciation of the mainlanders' Renewed Testament. Waverly had been with uncle when he took a bullet to the chest and was nearly killed on Hallowmas past. Now it appeared mainlanders were targeting his daughter.

I don’t know, Madeleine said. Given that fire last night, maybe I wasn’t the one they were after. I mean, you were with me the day they were shooting at us. So maybe they were trying to kill you. 

Waverly frowned. She hadn’t thought of that. She’d been so used to thinking of Uncle Forrest as the Vigilant’s public enemy number one.

In any case, Madeleine said, glancing over at the smoke rising into the air over the blackened Immigration Center. It looks like the Archdeacon is taking your letters seriously.

Waverly nodded. That’s got to be Sabatini’s doing.

You do have the records on him hidden elsewhere.

Waverly sighed.

Madeleine stopped on the sidewalk, midstride. She grabbed Waverly’s arm.

Please tell me you do!

Waverly shook her head.

No! What happened?

Waverly rubbed the back of her neck. I didn’t want to tell you.

But...I can’t believe this! Madeleine sputtered. You told me it was all taken care of. You said they were in a safe place.

Well, they were. But the records were...accidentally returned to the Immigration Office.

Oh, my god, Madeleine moaned. Why didn’t you tell me this right off. And here you let me go on and on about the Entourage. Those records concern my daughter, too! And there are no other copies of them anywhere else?

Waverly shook her head. Believe me. I’ve racked my brain. She wasn’t going to add that it was Madeleine’s father who had returned them to the Immigration Center. Danny seems to think he has an idea about all this, but we didn’t get a chance to talk about it. We’ll figure something out. We have to.

Waverly avoided the look on Madeleine’s face and continued to walk up the street.

Madeleine stood still as she took in the information. Eventually, she caught up with her cousin. Could Sabatini have anything to do with the Entourage that’s coming in this afternoon?

Anything’s possible. But I don’t think they’re related. Burning down the Immigration Center is more his style. Especially since the timing of it coincides so closely with that last letter I sent him. But, come on. I want to make sure the hotel is ready before the Entourage gets here. You still want to see his letter, don’t you?

The cousins climbed the roller coaster of a thoroughfare known as Main Street. Below them, at the bottom of the hill Waverly could see the bay, a bright blue, and hear the high keening cry of seagulls. Foot traffic was picking up. Shop owners were arriving, unlocking doors, and setting out displays. Activity was less robust than most mornings, however. Only shop owners willing to have mainlanders visit their shops were setting out goods. There were risks involved with having a mainlander in your shop, especially if you had children.

While mainlanders generally avoided the island, among certain circles shopping on the island was becoming a risqué, even coveted adventure.

The cousins hurried by several art galleries, a grocer, and a shop called When The Lights Go Out that dealt in all manner of electrical generators.

They passed the chimneysweep office. The owners, Cletus and Gypsy, had spruced up the establishment since Cletus had kicked his drinking habit, the result of a recent plague gift. Bright new awnings decked their windows and door. Slate plaques advertised exotic blends of firewood. There were blends to help people with asthma, to help those suffering from fatigue, from plague-related post-traumatic stress disorder, from insomnia, and even from low libido. A new sign advertised holiday bundles infused with cinnamon, balsam, and sweet bay.

It was actually starting to feel like Christmas, too, Madeleine fumed. I had hoped that if we could get Hayley back, she’d be bound to have information about Melody.

You and me both, coz."

So, are you going to follow up this arson with another letter to him? Madeleine asked.

I think so. I realized last night as I watched that building burn down that we do have another piece of information we could use as leverage.

What’s that?

Well, the fact that Sabatini’s daughter was ever here in the first place, the fact that Saphyre had the plague at all, the fact that she was treated for it here—all meaning she spent a good deal of time rubbing shoulders with all of us Devil worshippers, Waverly said. I would hate to use that information, though, as I believe the poor girl has been through more than her fair share of scandal. But if the reputation of his daughter is at stake, maybe he’ll be more likely to listen to us about our daughters.

3

Preparation

Madeleine and Waverly climbed the stairs of the Queen Anne-style mansion, now a hotel. It was where Entourages of the Vigilant stayed when they visited the island. The expansive front porch was scattered with white rockers. Huge hanging baskets full of pine boughs, ornaments, and lights for the Christmas season hung from the ginger-breaded, spindle-worked eaves.

The hotel lobby was calm, relaxed, and quiet. Madeleine’s security detail followed them inside. He took a seat in one of the oversized leather chairs by the fireplace. Fresh flowers graced the mantel, and a tall bouquet on the registration desk nearly hid Grayson, the hotel butler, who stood behind the desk polishing the mahogany.

Grayson was tall and thin and sported a short silver-threaded beard these days that Waverly liked. It hid some of the growing gauntness in his cheeks that revealed his age and the psoriasis that often erupted when an Entourage was in town. Yet, despite his age, and as far as she could tell, he carried out his duties flawlessly. He was full of colorful historical anecdotes about old San Francisco with which he entertained guests. And these guests, most of them terrified of the island and islanders when they arrived, were not the easiest set to entertain.

I know I’ve said this before, Grayson