The Dream Machine: Book 6, The Eddie McCloskey Paranormal Mystery Series (The Unearthed) by Evan Ronan
Authors: Evan Ronan
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flipped me off. At least she was smiling while she did it.
A guy in scrubs and a conspicuously-endowed Indian woman wearing a lab coat came into the cafeteria and sat two tables away. Part of the research staff. They smiled politely at Manetti like they'd already been introduced and looked at me like I was a walking non-sequitur. Which I kind of was. I gave them the disarming smile. They were thoroughly disarmed.
“So we can get in there right away?”
Manetti sipped her coffee and leaned back in the chair. "She's tied up all morning."
I hated coffee but I drank it anyway because three hours of sleep wasn't going to cut it. I looked Manetti over. She looked no worse for the wear. "Manetti, you have a bad habit of withholding. You do remember you called me, right?"
“You should eat, Eddie. We’re going to be running all day long.” She spooned some cereal. "And no, I don’t have a bad habit of withholding. I have a good habit of safeguarding her protected health information."
The thought of food turned my stomach. "So she has doctor's appointments. Couldn't you have just said that?"
Manetti put her spoon down and sipped her coffee again and looked out the windows that opened to the grounds. Outside there was a brick patio with two tables that led to a duck pond. It was a bright, blue day but it looked cold. Hollies, dogwoods, pines, and white ash trees surrounded the pond and gave way to a few meandering creeks that trickled back to the marshes or filtered their way to the Delaware.
"Come with me," Manetti said, still looking out the big windows.
My initial assessment of the day was right: not a cloud in the sky but the wind was bitter. I followed Manetti across the patio all the way down to the pond. It rippled with the sudden splashes of frogs scurrying. I wondered what frogs did during the winter.
Manetti stopped a yard short of the pond. Koi fish swam to the surface, anticipating a meal.
Manetti looked over her shoulder once to make sure we were alone. "She has a year, maybe less."
"What's wrong with her?"
"A lot." Manetti shook her head, looking genuinely sorry. "Epilepsy and cancer, but that's not what's killing her."
"What is?"
"A rare genetic disorder. Extremely rare. As in, the researchers will never spend any money trying to find a cure. Not enough people die from it."
"Jesus."
"Yeah." Manetti looked up at me. "I had a cousin that was about her age. Different disease, but same deal. It's awful."
"Jesus," I said again.
Manetti shook her head. "He won't be any help."
Her voice got hard and cold and full of history. I didn't pry.
"So if they can't treat—"
"They're seeing what they can do. Proton therapy, genetic piggybacking. They're trying to treat her with a virus that will alter her DNA. She just started to lose her sight."
I shuddered. Sumiko wanted kids. I was on the fence, but hearing all this...I couldn't imagine losing someone you loved more than life itself. Was parenthood worth the risk of bringing a human being in to the world that might suffer? I surprised myself at how morbid I'd apparently become.
Manetti continued. "The seizures put her down for a day or two. Sometimes they have to medically induce a coma to quiet her brain."
I watched the koi. Fish are optimists. They were still waiting for food that clearly wasn't coming from us.
"Time for some hard facts," I said.
Manetti faced me.
"They say the average person dreams three to five times a night. So call it four."
Manetti folded her arms. "I thought you said you didn't know anything about dreams."
"You should know by now I'm creative with the truth. Anyway, four times a night, okay?"
"Right."
"Seven billion people on the planet."
"Give or take."
"Thank you China and India. Seven billion times four is—"
"Twenty-eight billion, Eddie. I get where you're going."
"Twenty-eight billion dreams per night ." I looked her in the eye. "So what are the chances that some of those dreams are going to be similar to
A guy in scrubs and a conspicuously-endowed Indian woman wearing a lab coat came into the cafeteria and sat two tables away. Part of the research staff. They smiled politely at Manetti like they'd already been introduced and looked at me like I was a walking non-sequitur. Which I kind of was. I gave them the disarming smile. They were thoroughly disarmed.
“So we can get in there right away?”
Manetti sipped her coffee and leaned back in the chair. "She's tied up all morning."
I hated coffee but I drank it anyway because three hours of sleep wasn't going to cut it. I looked Manetti over. She looked no worse for the wear. "Manetti, you have a bad habit of withholding. You do remember you called me, right?"
“You should eat, Eddie. We’re going to be running all day long.” She spooned some cereal. "And no, I don’t have a bad habit of withholding. I have a good habit of safeguarding her protected health information."
The thought of food turned my stomach. "So she has doctor's appointments. Couldn't you have just said that?"
Manetti put her spoon down and sipped her coffee again and looked out the windows that opened to the grounds. Outside there was a brick patio with two tables that led to a duck pond. It was a bright, blue day but it looked cold. Hollies, dogwoods, pines, and white ash trees surrounded the pond and gave way to a few meandering creeks that trickled back to the marshes or filtered their way to the Delaware.
"Come with me," Manetti said, still looking out the big windows.
My initial assessment of the day was right: not a cloud in the sky but the wind was bitter. I followed Manetti across the patio all the way down to the pond. It rippled with the sudden splashes of frogs scurrying. I wondered what frogs did during the winter.
Manetti stopped a yard short of the pond. Koi fish swam to the surface, anticipating a meal.
Manetti looked over her shoulder once to make sure we were alone. "She has a year, maybe less."
"What's wrong with her?"
"A lot." Manetti shook her head, looking genuinely sorry. "Epilepsy and cancer, but that's not what's killing her."
"What is?"
"A rare genetic disorder. Extremely rare. As in, the researchers will never spend any money trying to find a cure. Not enough people die from it."
"Jesus."
"Yeah." Manetti looked up at me. "I had a cousin that was about her age. Different disease, but same deal. It's awful."
"Jesus," I said again.
Manetti shook her head. "He won't be any help."
Her voice got hard and cold and full of history. I didn't pry.
"So if they can't treat—"
"They're seeing what they can do. Proton therapy, genetic piggybacking. They're trying to treat her with a virus that will alter her DNA. She just started to lose her sight."
I shuddered. Sumiko wanted kids. I was on the fence, but hearing all this...I couldn't imagine losing someone you loved more than life itself. Was parenthood worth the risk of bringing a human being in to the world that might suffer? I surprised myself at how morbid I'd apparently become.
Manetti continued. "The seizures put her down for a day or two. Sometimes they have to medically induce a coma to quiet her brain."
I watched the koi. Fish are optimists. They were still waiting for food that clearly wasn't coming from us.
"Time for some hard facts," I said.
Manetti faced me.
"They say the average person dreams three to five times a night. So call it four."
Manetti folded her arms. "I thought you said you didn't know anything about dreams."
"You should know by now I'm creative with the truth. Anyway, four times a night, okay?"
"Right."
"Seven billion people on the planet."
"Give or take."
"Thank you China and India. Seven billion times four is—"
"Twenty-eight billion, Eddie. I get where you're going."
"Twenty-eight billion dreams per night ." I looked her in the eye. "So what are the chances that some of those dreams are going to be similar to
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