Fade
Page 19Janie hangs up to a rush of nervous excitement. This is too weird, she thinks.
4:00 p.m.
At Cabel’s house Janie recounts the conversation with Durbin from memory, even though she took notes once she got to her next class.
Cabel refrains from getting upset, like he promised.
He has the previous semester’s list, as well as the one from last spring.
“Smart thinking, Cabe.”
“Tomorrow I’ll track the girls from these previous classes to see what they’re taking now.”
“Great,” she says.
Janie whips up a flyer for the Chem. 2 party. It’s set for Saturday night, March 4. She prints out fifteen copies. Hands two to Cabel. “One for you, one for Captain.”
“You don’t know how much I wish I could be there.”
“You’ll be nearby, won’t you?”
“Hell yes.”
She stands and gives Cabel a hug. “I’ve gotta go.” He looks at her longingly. “Should I be feeling badly about the fact that you haven’t stayed overnight in three weeks?”
“How’s tomorrow night sound?”
He smiles. “Saturday too?”
“Yeah. You don’t have any ‘things’ to go to?”
“It’s a date.”
“Sweet,” he says. “See you.” He pulls her toward him for a kiss, and then she’s gone, sprinting across the snow.
6:37 p.m.
Janie tackles the Stubin files. She knows Captain wants her to get through them. And Janie’s had them for nearly a month. But everything is so interesting, and she’s learning like crazy. How to get information from a dream. How to know what to look for in one. Miss Stubin could occasionally pause and pan dreams, as if she were a camera, and see the things behind her as well as in front of her. A few times Miss Stubin mentioned rewinding to see something twice. Janie hasn’t been able to do any of that yet. She’s trying, every study hall.
Maybe she’ll try it with Cabel this weekend.
10:06 p.m.
Janie’s nearing the end of the last file. She rubs her temples as she reads. Her head aches. She grabs an Excedrin and a glass of water from the kitchen, and returns to her reading.
She’s fascinated. Enthralled. Building up a list of questions for Miss Stubin and planning a dream visit soon.
Finally she closes the last file and sets it aside. All that’s left are a few stray papers and a thin, green spiral notebook.
Janie glances at the papers. They appear to be notes, scrawled in illegible handwriting that doesn’t stay between the lines. All the other files were typed. Janie’s glad she didn’t have to try to read them all like this. They must have been written late in Miss Stubin’s career, after she retired and lost her eyesight.
Janie sets the papers aside and opens the spiral notebook.
Reads the first line. It’s written in a controlled, sprawling hand—it’s infinitely more legible than the notes on the bed next to Janie. It looks like a book title.
A Journey Into the Light
by Martha Stubin
There is a dedication below the title.
The information I have to share is made up of two things: delight and dread. If you do not want to know what waits for you, please close this journal now. Don’t turn the page.
But if you have the stomach for it and the desire to fight against the worst of it, you may be better off knowing. Then again, it may haunt you for the rest of your life. Please consider this in all seriousness.
What you are about to read contains much more dread than delight.
I’m sorry to say I can’t make the decision for you. Nor can anyone else. You must do it alone. Please don’t put the responsibility on others’ shoulders. It will ruin them.
Whatever you decide, you are in for a long, hard ride. I bid you no regrets. Think about it. Have confidence in your decision, whatever you choose.
Good luck, friend.
Martha Stubin, Dream Catcher
Janie feels her stomach churning.
She slides the notebook off her lap.
Closes it.
Stares at the wall, barely able to breathe. Buries her head in her hands.
And then.
Slowly.
She picks up the notebook.
Puts it in the box.
And hides it deep in her closet.
3:33 a.m.
Janie’s falling at top speed. She looks down dizzily and Mr. Durbin is there, waiting for her to land. He’s laughing evilly, arms outstretched to catch her.
Before he can grab her, Janie swoops sideways and is sucked into Center Street, pulled through the air to the park bench and deposited there. Mr. Durbin is gone.
Next to the bench, in her wheelchair, sits Martha Stubin.
“You have questions,” Miss Stubin barks.
Janie tries to catch her breath, alarmed. She grips the bench’s armrest.
“What’s going on?” she cries.
Miss Stubin’s gaze is vacant. A blood tear drips from the corner of her eye and slides slowly down her wrinkled cheek. But all she says is,
“Let’s talk about your assignment.”
“But what about the green notebook?” Janie grows frantic.
“There is no green notebook.”
“But…Miss Stubin!”
Miss Stubin turns her face toward Janie and cackles.
Janie looks at the woman.