"No, you'll be with me. I need an assistant. Better pay, better hours, more time to spend with your new lady friend. What do you say?"
"Yes, Dr. Waverly. I'm no fool. Hell, yes."
"I know you're not, Elam. That's why I want you on my team. It will take a couple days to clear it. Plan to start nine o'clock Thursday morning. We'll make a trip to Rosemont. Bring Blythe."
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, Dr. Waverly. This opportunity means a lot to me."
"Spend a week with me, and you may not feel that way." She laughed. "I'm messing with you, kid. This is going to be fun."
He was surrounded by flying glass, grinding gears and screaming metal. Sparks illuminated the nightmarish scene. Searing, burning pain ripped through his chest. His body shook with the vibration of power tools as they tried to free him from the wreckage.
The tree branch had missed his heart, but it had pierced his right lung, skewering him to the seat. Feeling like a man sized shish kabob, he gritted his teeth.
Opening his mouth, he tried to yell, to let them know what torture it was. No sound came out. His body seized, back arching so hard, he thought it would break. Surely, they were through the branch. It wasn't that big. A few seconds with a power saw, Bam— He'd done it himself, two minutes, tops.
His agonized gaze wandered to where the men struggled with the branch. A blond man, about his age, held the branch, steadying it, as his partner cut. Each time the blade bit in, the branch regrew. They would never set him free. The blond man met his gaze. Piercing blue eyes met anguished brown ones. Recognition passed between them.
"I know you...." Malachi's voice trailed off.
"We're coming for you, buddy. Hang in there," the blond man said. "We're coming."
"Hurry, I can't hold on much longer."
"I know, my friend. I know."
"Something strange is happening," Vincent Garafolo told the nurse. "I thought I heard him moan."
The night nurse checked the read-out from Malachi's monitor. "I don't see anything unusual," she stated. "But I'll let you know if I spot anything."
"Thank you, Sherrill."
"You're welcome, Vincent. We keep hoping and praying, right?"
"We do. Every minute of the day and night."
"He's going to get better, I feel it."
"I hope so. He's the only boy we have left." He walked slowly back to the room.
When the door was shut, Sherrill picked up the phone and dialed the doctor on call. Under strict orders not to raise false hopes in the family, she had to call him immediately. She had seen something on the monitor. It was minimal, but a hopeful change, nonetheless.
"It's Sherrill at Rosemont. There was an anomaly on Malachi Garafolo's read-out."
"What did you see?"
"I'm not sure, Doctor. It looked like he was dreaming."
Blythe woke in a sweat. She could smell pine resin and the musty odor of rotting leaves. What is going on? She was inside Malachi's dream, talking to Elam. They recognized each other. Had they known one another before? Both worked for the emergency rescue services. Could they have met before his accident? If so, why would Elam keep it from her?
Puzzled by her latest dream, she glanced at her clock. It was 3:00 in the morning and she knew she hadn't a prayer of going back to sleep. She clicked on the TV, but it was channel after channel of infomercials and old movies, that weren't any damn good when they were new. Clicking it off, she got out of bed, searching the room for something to read. She didn't want to wander around the house, so she was limited to what she could find. Nothing, as it turned out, except a pen and a notebook.
Flipping it open, she thought for a moment, then started scribbling notes. She had kept a dream journal all through school and college, because someone told her it was a cool idea. Strangely, she couldn't remember who. She started writing down the dreams about the wrecks. Going over details in her mind, she realized that there was a common thread. In each of the dreams, Malachi there, working—except for the death of Brian Rogers, and the one where he was injured.
Closing her eyes, she looked over the faces, wondering if she'd recognize anyone else. As much as she hoped to see Elam in one of them, she couldn't recall that kind of detail. She badly wanted to talk to him, but didn't dare call him at this hour. He had to work in the morning and probably wouldn't thank her for waking him. Instead, she turned to a fresh sheet of paper and started writing again.
"Malachi, I don't know what you want. I don't know exactly what you need, but I want to help you. I know you don't want to be in a coma, not when you could be living your life with your friends and family. But why did you pick me? What makes me special? I really can't believe it's a coincidence. My grandfather used to say, If coincidences stack up taller than you are, they aren't coincidences anymore, that's God. So, maybe it's God that brought us together. Maybe it was God who put Elam in my path. I don't know. But I promise you, I will do everything in my power to bring you back."
She hoped that she'd be able to convey that message to him in her next dream. Reading through it again, she turned out her light and fell asleep.
©2022 Dellani Oakes
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