Men rarely (if ever) manage to dream up a god superior to themselves. Most gods have the manners and morals of a spoiled child.
--Lazarus Long
The dreams still came. They always came. Though he was long past grieving, though he had long since moved on, still they came.Sometimes, they would sneak up quietly, a glimpse out of the corner of an eye in that dream where Betty White serves guacamole to everyone but you. Other times, they were intense, and so palpably real that he woke up, gasping for air and disoriented until he looked around, and saw he was still in his apartment, still lying next to his wife, still alive.
He cursed, silently, every time the dreams came.
He had killed her; he had long since come to terms with it. Her death had saved thousands, even millions. And it was hard to argue with results. Those battles were done for, forever. There was peace now. And if he hadn't killed her--well, she wasn't listening to reason. She'd been insane. And he had done what he had to do, slaughtering her along with the best part of his soul.
He had done the right thing. He knew it.
Still came the dreams.
* * *
He was back there, back in Madison. Shrunk to two inches high. She kept him this height most of the time, though he was in her complete control. Sometimes he was larger, the size of a Ken doll. Sometimes he was so small that he was barely visable to the naked eye. But he was hers, utterly. The escape attempts had failed; besides, he wasn't sure he wanted to escape. When she was sane....
The rumble came. The box lid was removed, and he instinctively put his hand up against the blinding light. She was standing over him, backlit, her long curly red hair swaying like a crimson forest. She looked at him as one might look at a favorite pet. He relaxed. She was more sane than usual.
"LITTLE ONE," she said, her face betraying no emotion. "HOW ARE YOU?"
"I'm fine, Liz," he said, reflexively, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that said this isn't real, this is a dream, you're lying in your bed next to Teri. She isn't here, you aren't here. It's a mirage....
"AND TERI?"
This puzzled him, briefly. The dream-him knew no Teri, save for a girl he had known in high school. The now-him paused long enough to mutter an intemperate Ah. Something about now. Maybe now the dream will change scenes....
"She's wonderful," he said, and meant it.
"I AM GLAD. I NEED NOT WORRY ABOUT YOU WHEN I DO WHAT I MUST DO NEXT."
"What are you talking about, Liz?"
She smiled, that brilliant white, dazzling smile he had come to love and fear. "YOU DON'T HONESTLY THINK I'M DEAD, DO YOU?"
Both sountracks in his mind went quiet. Finally, he started to say, "Well yes, Liz, I killed you."
He started to, but her laughter drowned him out.
"SILLY. WHAT SPELL DID YOU USE? YOU DIDN'T KILL ME. YOU JUST DELAYED ME BY A FEW YEARS."
What spell did he use? Wait--he remembered. Shrink her to 1/5000th of an inch, and bind it for ten years. No, she couldn't have survived it. No chance.
"I'M TOUGHER THAN YOU GIVE ME CREDIT FOR, JAKE. I ALWAYS HAVE BEEN. BUT I WISH YOU NO ILL. I JUST WANTED TO GIVE YOU THIS MESSAGE: STAY CLEAR OF MADISON. THE TOWN IS MINE."
"Liz--no. You know I'd have to defend Madison. I'm sworn to it."
"DO YOU WANT TO KILL ME AGAIN?"
The words hung in the air. He tried to respond, but before he could, a loud buzzing filled the air, and suddenly, the dream world vanished.
* * *
He showered and shaved, trying to put last night's dream behind him.
It had been so real. Like he was back in Madison all over again, with her.
Liz--oh God, it had been so hard. He envied Scott. Scott had come to his crossroads, and he had gambled everything and everyone for love. And he'd rolled boxcars.
But Liz, well, she was insane.
He'd done the right thing.
The drive to work was simple enough, listening to Tom Barnard bitch about immigrants while stuck in traffic on Cedar. He needed to give more thought to moving into the office--God knows he could make room for a mansion, if need be. Teri had broached the subject, but he'd demurred. There was something about the drive that settled him, connected him to the real world. It would be easy to just get sucked up into this, to become nothing but the GTS Purveyor. It was good to go home at the end of the night and watch American Idol and snuggle with Teri. It made him more or less human.
He entered the office, and grabbed his morning coffee. Kari was in already, and Scott was settled in. Sarah's office was empty, of course--she rarely came in, what with her job as a law clerk for the Hennepin County Public Defender.
Jake smiled inwardly. Good for her, going off and doing something else. It would've been easy for her just to pal around with her husband, go Godding around. With the power they had, they could rule the world. But she simply went to law school and studied hard and did her best. He had tremendous respect for her.
He knocked on Scott's door. "How's it going?" he asked.
"Just fine, boss," said Scott, looking up from his computer. "Just going over the billing statements. Money's a little bit tighter since we hired on our star client."
"Make money, lose money, point is to have fun," said Jake, thinking idly he'd heard that somewhere before. "Besides, that's just on the GTS Enterprises side of things. Our stipend from the GTS Society ensures we'll never be living paycheck to paycheck--even if we shut 'er down now."
"Yeah, well, it would be nice if we could show a consistent profit."
"Say, did you get the crystal out to Almovodar?"
"Of course, boss. But isn't he...."
"Gay? Well, yes. But he's also obviously interested in GTS. What he does with the crystal is up to him. The community owes him big."
"No pun intended, I'm sure," said Scott, grinning.
"Of course not. Now back to work."
He wandered into the office and slumped into his chair, and opened up his email. The date struck him. March 13. It had been almost ten years. He'd defeated her on the Ides of March, he remembered, in 1993. Idly, he flipped through the inbox. Spam...Spam..."Thank You" from a gentleman at Northwestern University...Spam....
He cleared out the inbox and turned to the readings. Ingenious, really, the "listening" network that Scott had come up with. It measured GTS energies across the globe. Well, in theory. Really, outside of the U.S., Canada, and Western Europe, most of the globe was a cipher. But coverage here was good.
He looked it over, noting briefly that there appeared to be slightly elevated readings in the upper midwest. Well, stick two adepts in St. Paul and you'll get that from time to time, he thought.
He turned away from the readings, and back to the mounting paperwork in front of him. Well, time to get back to work, he thought.
* * *
The day ended, and Jake Thiessen closed up shop. Teri was out of town, visiting Victoria at Society Headquarters in Chicago.
He didn't want to go home alone, not tonight. He'd called her, midday, and related the dream.
"I'm never quite sure how to feel when you're dreaming about her," Teri had said, simply.
"Oh, Christ, I'd never want to be with her. She was insane, Teri. I just--it rattles me, you know? I wish I could get past this, get it out of my system. I hoped telling you...."
He had trailed off. The conversation went away from the dream, and on to the more mundane and happy pieces of life.
The day ended, and Jake didn't want to be alone.
"Scott! Hey, are you busy tonight?"
"Nah. Sarah has class, and then she has to do research for about thirty hours on her law review article. God bless WestLaw, I don't know how she'd do the research if she had to go through the books."
"You want to grab a drink? I'm kinda on my own 'til Teri gets back."
"Sure," grinned Scott. He'd never admit it, but he loved getting to hang out with Jake alone. Not that he didn't love Sarah, but he was in such an intensively female-centric job that it was nice to get away from women once in a while. "Let me give the wife a call and clear it."
* * *
Sweeney's is a little neighborhood bar not too far from the Cathedral--and not too far from what used to be a bad part of St. Paul. It has everything a good local needs to have--good drink selection, reasonable prices, an appreciation for the regulars.
Jake had been a regular here, briefly, a long time ago. He still homed in on the place when he needed a comfortable place to pass the time. He ordered the scotch, drank it neat as he'd learned to, and sighed.
"I've gotta say, I've seen you happier," said Scott. "You missing Teri?"
"No. I mean, yeah. But that's not it." Jake sipped a little more scotch, chased with water. What had he told Scott once? The price to achieve what we want is awfully fucking high.
"What then?"
"Madison."
"Madison." Scott rolled the word around, trying to load it with as much love and fury and anguish as Jake gave it. "You've never told me exactly what happened in Madison. I've read the basic reports, but--"
"The basic reports are woefully inaccurate."
Scott stopped short. "But haven't you--"
"I gave them what information was needed, that's all. I wouldn't give her up. That's the one decent thing I could do for her."
The air was thick for a while. And then, slowly, Jake said the words.
"Scott, I think it's time I told you about what happened to me in Madison. All of it."
Scott swallowed. Jake's exploits in Madison were legendary. They'd popped up once or twice in odd comments, or brief mentions of this or that.
"Okay, Jake, I'm listening," he said, taking a swig of his beer.