They Come in Dreams
by Charles C. Cole
The ride began as a pretty typical red-eye flight. The cabin lights dimmed. Most of the passengers slept. The commercial jet's engines made a not-unpleasant white noise, camouflage for the snoring and whispers.
Jacob, thirties, comfortable in almost every country he'd visited, had nodded off before they'd left the ground. When he awoke, the aisle seat to his left was surprisingly empty. The passenger to his right, a woman of about sixty in black pixie cut and a beige business suit, was engaged in solitaire on her food tray with Hoyle's waxed playing cards. As he watched, Jacob had images of his grandmother. She noticed him.
“Can't sleep?” asked Jacob.
“Rather not.”
“Sleep? Why?”
“I don't want to scare you, ” said the woman.
“Engine noises? It's quite natural. I've never had a plane with a problem, and I fly dozens of times a year.”
“The plane's fine,” the woman replied, “as far as I can tell. It's just that sleep doesn't work for me. I like power naps. Get in, recharge, get out. Like Einstein and Leonardo da Vinci.”
“You're tougher than you look,” said Jacob, in an awkward compliment.
“You seem like a nice guy,” said the stranger. “Can I offer a free tip? It's the key to survival. You know the film 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers' with the aliens?”
“Which one?” joked Jacob. “Hasn't that been made four times? So far.”
“I don't believe in aliens,” she said looking out the window into the black of night, “but there are worse threats. Years ago, I heard from someone I respect that when we sleep, like a deep sleep, we can cross over into other realms, untethered to our mortal coil. And while we're gone, someone can slip in behind us and, effectively, close the door.”
“Sounds scary.”
She shut her eyes and nodded in agreement. “I've had several acquaintances change personalities after a night's rest. I'm not talking a nasty hangover or dementia, but something sinister.”
“My last girlfriend was like that. Seriously, one day she adored me and we were going to get married, the next day she said she wanted something else from her life.”
“Was it in the morning?” she asked.
“As a matter of fact, it was.” He thought it over. “Where do they go,” asked Jacob, “the ones who leave?”
“I guess they swap places. I hope they do, considering the alternative: floating around between bodies, trying to get back. But when I think of how many are coming over to our side, all the time, my gut says ours is definitely the better world.”
Jacob smiled weakly. “So, I might not be the me who boarded the plane?”
“Maybe,” she said. “You'd know. Think back to your earliest memories. Are they still crisp, like those from yesterday or last week, and full of emotion?”
“Not always good emotion,” said Jacob. “When I was four, I wet myself. My mother snapped, pulled down my pants and spanked me in front of my friends.”
“I think you're you.”
“Why haven't I heard of this before?” asked Jacob, unexpectedly engaged. “Do other people share your ideas?”
The stranger looked back, assessing Jacob's sincerity. “Not enough. Not yet: no proof. Once people start capturing the events on their phones, like school board meetings and traffic stops, then watch out.”
“Does it look like something's happening? Can you see it?”
“They wake up startled, not sure where they are.”
“That's me, every Saturday morning,” joked Jacob. The woman didn't smile in response. “Okay, I'm serious: Can we stop it from happening, like with lucid dreaming or by wearing a crucifix? What are my options?”
“Don't sleep. Not deep. When you do, you're vulnerable.”
“But, if I don't, I'm cranky as hell and not safe behind the wheel. Seriously.”
“You do you, friend,” she said, giving up, collecting her cards.
She looks like she's taking her ball and going home, he thought, ungenerously.
“I appreciate the warning. Really,” added Jacob. “I'll be watching my loved ones.”
She turned and looked him in the eyes, touching his nearest wrist. Taking a risk?
“They start with people of power, top down, so it might be a while before they get to you. Was your girlfriend important?”
“No, but her father is. Was. Sounds creepy,” he said.
“Are you somebody important?”
“Only to my dog,” said Jacob. “And only when he's hungry.”
She withdrew her hand. “I'm so tired. It's been a long time.”
“Are you important?” asked Jacob.
“Not originally. I'm the town crier. I spread the word. Most people don't like to hear it. You've been a good sport, all in all.”
“Why don't you nap?” he asked. “I'll stand guard and wake you in twenty minutes. How's that?”
“I can feel them hovering around me when I'm close to drifting off, like vultures. Vigilance is exhausting.”
“Can I borrow your cards?” asked Jacob. “Give my mind something to do. Sleep comes easily to me. I say the word and feel drowsy.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“I suck at solitaire, but I know a few card tricks I do at parties. I've gotten rusty. I can practice.”
“No more than twenty minutes.” She closed her eyes, with her back straight, hands in her lap. Maybe she doesn't want to completely relax, thought Jacob.
He shuffled the cards. They felt warm and awkward in his hands. It was like there was a layer of her on them, or her distrust. He didn't like the way the face cards looked at him.
Screw this, he thought. He reached for a flight magazine in the seat pocket. Maybe there's a puzzle. His eyes were heavy. He could set the alarm on his watch. Twenty minutes. He'd go to the lavatory at the back of the plane and chat up the flight attendant. That sounds like twenty minutes. He pulled himself to his feet and placed her cards on the tray in front of her.
“Be right back,” he whispered.
Copyright © 2023 by Charles C. Cole
