Chapter 13

“You did it,” came the elated voice of Dorothy as I awakened. I flashed her a smile before swinging my legs around and jumping from the cot. I tried to keep my smile steady and not bothered, but inwardly I was distracted and a mess.

“Mr. Clifton, you have no idea how much you've helped me,” Dorothy crooned, grabbing my hand in both of hers and squeezing it gently.

“Just doing my job,” I answered, but my voice was hollow and sounded far away in my head. I needed to talk to Guinness soon.

“If you don't mind,” I said, rubbing my temple with an index finger to feign fatigue. “I'm a bit tired after a job...”

“Say no more, dear,” Dorothy stated. She stood up unsteadily, her wrinkled hand shooting forward to grip John's arm like a claw. This time she allowed him to help her scale the stairs, and I graciously accepted my payment in the form of a fat check before waving them off.

“That was pretty impressive...” Julianna's voice purred in my ear. I startled for a moment: I had forgotten she was still here. I turned, but did not back away, matching her closeness and not allowing it to unhinge me like I assumed she was hoping for.

“Stick around, sweetheart, you'll see a lot of impressive things.”

I high-fived myself in my mind; it was a stupid statement, but at least I was able to say it smoothly and with a straight face. The corner of my lip were lifted in a smirk, and my eyes were downcast on her lips. She moved forward for just a moment before backing away, giving me a wry wink as she tapped my nose with her finger. Despite her ease at flirting, however, she seemed a bit flustered.

“I'll have to take you up on that sometime.”

She moved to escape, but I slipped between her and the door.

“When, exactly?”

What was wrong with me? My life was chaos at the moment and I had bigger things on my mind than dating some girl I had met only a few days ago. But here we were. I must have underestimated my attraction to her if here I was fishing for a date.

This seemed to faze Julianna, because she took a step back, opened her mouth, thought for a moment, then closed it.

“It could just be for some coffee,” I said, trying to take the pressure off of my words.

She paused, allowing my embarrassment to peak. I broke eye contact and looked down, ready to admit defeat.

“Of course. I'd love to, Noah,” she finally responded, smiling softly.

I didn't speak for several moments, not allowing myself to stutter a response. This would be the first date in over fifteen years, how would I possibly be ready for it in the near future?

“How about tomorrow,” I said, slow and steady. “Seven o'clock?”

She nodded, her eyes moving to the ground as she tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. As I stepped away, allowing her to leave, I caught the slightest flush of her cheeks.

***

“So what are we going to do?”

“'We're' not doing anything. You'd just be a third wheel.”

“No, I mean with this mysterious messenger.”

I paused, remembering what the journal had said.

“I have an idea,” I began, “We need some sort of blank slate, right? So that she can find us. Maybe I can enter one of your dreams. Gnomes do dream, right?”

“I dream all of the time. Especially of home.”

Guinness looked sadly wistful for a moment before hardening his features and slapping his palms on the ground.

“Well, we know what to do, then. I don't know why we didn't think of this before. It seems like such an obvious move. I rarely have nightmares, so there's a good chance it'll be a simple dream with no time limit or anything.”

“Yeah... I just hope I'm not leading us on a wild goose chase.”

“What about your date?”

“That's tomorrow. We're doing this tonight.”

“Aw, but Hey Rono Drono is new tonight...”

“Is that one of your kid shows?”

Guinness coughed into his hand, mumbling a soft, “Maybe.”

We were in the basement, in the perpetual gloom that was Guinness' fortress of solitude. I puffed idly on a cigarette as I regarded him.

“If you think for a moment that I'm going to go into your dreams after you've just watched some crazy a*s cartoon show, you've got another thing coming.”

“Fine,” Guinness huffed, frowning deeply to show me his displeasure, “But I want it taped.”

After agreeing to Guinness' demand, I readied our sleep cocktails. I put an extra half of a sleeping pill in Guiness' beer, anticipating a long wait. How long would it take my mysterious messenger to contact me? Would she even be able to reach me in Guiness' dream?

Not allowing the questions to distract me from my work, I mentally waved them away as I prepared my potion of sleep medications. In less than an hour, I'm fading away into oblivious sleep.