AMBYSSUS | Ch. 15 - The Dream (Patreon)

Since the flood a few weeks ago, Geoffrey had the same dream every night. Each time, it became clearer. He was faintly aware that he was not awake; otherwise, he would be drowning. After all, in his dream, he had been swimming underwater for many hours. Herds of dugongs passed by him. Such peace, such tranquility.

As he looked up, he saw a blue sky. The sunlight warmed the water, making it comfortable. Beyond the surf, up above, white clouds were passing by. One of the clouds, he realized, was too defined, too straight. In some corner of Geoffrey’s mind, he noticed that the dream was deviating from its usual course. He looked up and focused with interest. His vision zoomed in on the cloud until he saw it was no cloud. It was an airship. A Zeppelin. He could see the letters writing the word Albatross on the side of the giant envelope. He felt the presence of people aboard. Fifty-six souls were busily working away.

He looked down. Below him, stretching as far as he could see, was a giant topaz. It was polished and almost transparent, like a glass ball. In the middle of it, dark obsidian-like stone formed a perfect circle. Inside the yellow glass sphere, little root patterns stretched, and, in the distance, shadows and dark shapes formed tendrils like mountains and pillars. The glass ball seemed to pulse as if it were a heart. It sounded like a taskmaster drumming to keep the enslaved rowers in an accelerated tempo.

He looked back up. There was something odd about the airship. He could feel fifty-six minds connected to his, but there seemed to be more people aboard. He zoomed in. Below him, the black sphere expanded more and more. The zeppelin became clearer until it seemed like it was right in front of them. A man and a woman. Joey? Professor? They seemed pale and horrified. What was wrong with them?

He heard a scream. It was horrific and otherworldly, like a thousand voices singing a thousand songs. He saw Esther bleeding from her nose and falling. Joey fell to his knees but kept looking horrified. He picked a pen with great effort and seemed to write something—there was another otherworldly scream. Joey collapsed. Even from here, Geoffrey could see blood coming from Joey's ears.

“Boss! Boss!” someone was urgently knocking on Geoffrey’s door. He woke up, an intense headache brewing. He recognized Peter Hilton’s voice, one of the employees he had more recently hired. Geoffrey felt slightly disoriented. The dream had felt so real.

“Coming,” he said with a grumpy voice. He opened the door and found Peter Hilton anxiously looking at him.

“What is it, Pete? What happened?”

“Sir! We’ve been robbed!”

“What?” At the mention of the robbery, Geoffrey felt his head clear up with the rush of adrenaline. “What has been robbed?”

“Sir, all the oil we vacuumed yesterday has been stolen.”

“How many casks?”

“At least three hundred.” Geoffrey cursed. It was a significant amount. He would face a lot of pressure from the producers and the Mayor. What a headache. Nevertheless, he managed to stay calm. It was a hit, but not a deadly one.

“Go to the mayor’s office. I will go to the precinct first and then join you there.”

“Yes, sir. On my way.”

As Geoffrey searched his feelings, he found delight and curiosity. He wasn’t sure about the reason for his good mood. Why would a setback such as this bring him such pleasure? He went to get a glass of lake water and drank. He felt refreshed. After putting on some clothes, he got in his locomotive and headed toward the police station.

It was a swift trip from his manor at Rolling Hills to the nearest precinct. In fifteen minutes, he had arrived. He wasn’t sure of the precinct's opening hours and had come prepared to wait for someone to open the door. He had even come prepared to arrive at a deserted precinct. A different scene greeted him.

An extensive line waited at the door. Officers hastily rushed in and out of the building. Geoffrey checked the time on his silver pocket watch. It was five-thirty in the morning. It was strange that there would be such a frenzy in front of a precinct this early. He decided to ask the person who was ahead of him in line.

“Excuse me, sir?”

The person in front of him was a man in his fifties. His clothes and oil smudges in his hands gave him away as a craftsman.

“Yes?”

“What’s going on? Is it normal for there to be such a big line and people at the precinct at this time?”

“I don’t know! I've tried to go in, but they are swamped. They told me I had to wait in line.”

Geoffrey looked around everywhere, trying to pick clues that would let him make sense of the situation. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two men chatting and pointing at him. As he turned toward them, he found they were walking in his direction.

“Mr. Geoffrey?” they tried, trying to confirm whether they had recognized him.

“Yes?”

“William Murray, from the New Lisbon Gazette. Have you been a victim of any of the crimes that afflicted the city last night?”

“I am sorry. I don’t follow,” Geoffrey tried to play the fool, even though it was obvious that he just had been a victim of a crime. Why else would he be here at this ungodly hour? A game of chess had begun between the two. On one side, a scoop-smelling reporter. Here was the hero of the energy crisis, at the precinct on a fateful night of crime. On the other side was Geoffrey, trying not to give anything away while hopefully gleaning some information from the reporter.

“Have you or have you not been the victim of a crime, Mr. Geoffrey? Is the production of oil compromised? Should the world be worried about a break in the supply chain?” Geoffrey spared a look at his surroundings and saw other reporters starting to come his way. They reminded him of vultures who flock together as soon as one of them finds a carcass.

“I have no comments,” he said, turning away. The commotion started to grow more prominent, attracting the attention of the people around them. Geoffrey headed toward the precinct, trying to cut the line to find some refuge. As soon as he was within reach of a police officer, he urgently called for help. “Officer! Help, please.”

The officer turned and, recognizing Geoffrey, went toward him.

“Mr. Geoffrey! How much oil was stolen, exactly?”

“Mr. Geoffrey, Rachel Dodson from the New Lisbon Times. Is it true that Geoffrey’s Estate was robbed tonight?”

The officer reached Geoffrey. “Aren’t you, Mr. Geoffrey, from the news? What…”?

Amid flashes of cameras, Geoffrey pulled the officer close. “Do the city a favor and get me away from these jackals. Let me in the precinct.” The officer pulled him in, and as reporters screamed questions at Geoffrey and other people in line protested about him cutting the line, he made it into the precinct and another type of chaos. Officers rushed from one place to another. Everyone was collecting statements from different citizens. The officer took Geoffrey to his desk and asked him to sit down while he called his superior officer.

While waiting, he overheard bits of information from the conversations between police officers and other crime victims.

“...and is it like your father to not come home without telling anyone about it?” he heard to his right.

“... I told you. He is a blacksmith. I don’t see how his job is relevant for his disappearance!” he heard to his left.

“...curator, was there anything else missing from the museum?” a police officer asked a gentleman behind him.

Geoffrey felt a tingling excitement in his heart. What was this? What had happened to the city overnight?

*

Joey woke up in an unfamiliar bed. Looking around, he realized he was in a hospital. In a blue armchair in the corner, his wife was sleeping. She looked exhausted. He searched around to see if there was anyone else. There wasn’t. Looking out the window, he could see that it was morning. The sky was blue and clear. He felt a horrible headache.

“Marie?” he called, voice hoarse.

His wife opened her eyes and, seeing her husband awake, immediately started crying and leaped toward him.

“Oh, Joey. You’re finally up,” she said through tears.

“Marie, I'm sorry I worried you. What happened?”

She kept crying. Realizing she needed a moment to release the emotional tension, Joey gave her a few moments. “Is Molly OK?”

“Yes, I left her with my sister.”

“How long was I out?”

“A little over three days.”

Joey’s heartbeat started racing, and his chest started hurting. He began to feel trapped.

“That long? Does that mean that…? Oh no… I might have been poisoned! No! No!” Joey began hyperventilating. Marie held him down.

“Joey! Joey! Calm down, honey! I haven’t left your side. Everything you’ve been fed has been done so under my watch.”

He relaxed somewhat.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. The captain of the Albatross flew you guys in as soon as you had a seizure and immediately brought you to the hospital. They didn’t give you guys anything either.”

Hearing the plural, Joey thought of the professor. “The professor. Where is she? Is she OK?”

“She’s fine. She woke up one day ago. Whatever happened to both of you guys, for some reason, hit you harder.”

Joey tried to find his bearings and remember what happened before the seizure. He couldn’t remember anything. The last thing he could remember was that he was in the kitchen of the Albatross preparing some tea for both him and Esther. After that, it was a big blank.

“She was also hospitalized?”

“She was. She was in the room next door. Despite the doctor’s recommendations, she already took off.”

“What did the doctors say?”

“I'll call the doctors to explain it to you. Please, don’t go anywhere.” His wife left the room. Joey felt unsettled about what had happened to him. He felt he had been attacked somehow, as if someone had sneaked up on him from behind and bludgeoned him. Whenever he tried to make sense of what had happened over the last three days, he felt there was nothing in his mind to recall, as if someone had picked up an eraser and scrubbed the records of the last days clean.

He heard steps in the hallway. Turning his head, instead of Marie, he found someone he wasn't expecting.

"Jeff?"

"Joey!" Geoffrey approached the bed and held Joey's shoulders firmly. "My dear friend, I was so worried when I heard what happened to you. How do you feel?"

"A little confused. It feels like someone hit me in the head with a hammer."

"Sorry to hear that. What happened? Did someone hit you with a hammer?" Jeff chuckled.

"I honestly can't remember. There's only this big blank in my memory."

"I see..."

"How goes business?"

"Better than ever," Jeff responded enthusiastically. Catching Joey's sad look, Geoffrey frowned. "You don't seem happy to hear about your friend's good luck, Joey. You almost look depressed!"

"Look, Jeff. We go way back."

"Were it not for you, those bullies would have made me into minced meat. You've always looked after me, Joey. You and your pops."

"Is everything OK with you, Geoffrey?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't seem like yourself these days. You've always been mellow and upright in how you deal with business, but everything you've been doing over the last weeks doesn't seem like you."

"Are you saying that I'm doing something wrong or unlawful?" He drew away.

"No, no. That's not what I'm saying. You are just doing things differently from what my father would have done."

The words hit Geoffrey hard. He seemed unsettled. He stood up unsteadily and, with shaking hands, reached for a flask in his pocket. He then started mumbling loose nonsensical words, "W-where... J-joey? Help..."

"Geoffrey, are you OK?"

Geoffrey opened the flask with shaky hands and took big gulps of what was inside. Joey couldn't smell any alcohol. After drinking, Geoffrey regained his composure and sat back down as if nothing had happened.

"Jeff. What was that? Are you sick? Are you taking medicine?"

"I'm sorry, Joey. Seeing you like this and then hearing those words had a big impact on my emotions."

"What was that you were drinking?"

"Just water. Want some?"

"Jeff. What's wrong? You're scaring me."

"Listen, Joey. I'm sorry you feel that I'm disrespecting your father's memory. Not a day goes by that I don't think of him and all that he's done for me. Can't you see? He's why I work so hard! I'm trying my best to make Geoffrey Inc. something your father would admire. It's how I honor his memory." He stood up to leave.

"Jeff, don't go. Let's talk. We can..."

"I'm afraid I have an afternoon appointment I can't miss. I'm sorry that you lost your memory, Joey," Geoffrey said the sentence with an awkward smile that didn't match the sadness in his voice. "I wish you a speedy recovery, old friend."

And just like that, he was out the door. Joey got an eerie feeling. What was this? What was wrong with his friend? For a moment, it almost seemed like Jeff had a panic attack. Was he sick?

Marie came back, bringing a doctor along. The doctor was a tall woman in her fifties. She was so big that Joey couldn’t help but feel some respect for her. She seemed like a cousin of his commissioner. When she spoke, a surprisingly gentle voice addressed him.

“Mr. Joseph, I'm your doctor, Dr. Woods.”

"Hello, doctor. Thank you for your work. Marie?"

"Yes, honey."

"Jeff was just here."

"He's been coming here every day to check in on you. He's been so worried."

"Did you see him in the hallway?"

"I must have missed him."

"I see." His mind was replaying the conversation in his mind. The moment he stood up, panicked, and drank from the flask had been strange. He caught the doctor stoically waiting for him to finish his conversation with his wife.

“I'm sorry, Doctor. I thank you for coming here. Do you know what happened to me?”

“I suspect you suffered encephalitis or severe brain inflammation.”

“I've never had anything like that before.”

“So your wife tells me. We don’t know what caused it.”

“Did Esther, the professor, also have the same thing?”

“She did.”

“So whatever caused the encephalitis was something external.”

“That seems the logical conclusion, yes. However, the captain assures me that no one aboard the Albatross has experienced anything remotely similar to what you felt. Not even a headache.”

“Does the professor remember anything?”

“In both cases, you seem to suffer from episodic amnesia. It’s common when you experience some brain trauma to experience disorientation. Perhaps, with time, the memories will come back to you.”

“I see. Should I be worried? Is this treatable?”

“Yes, absolutely. Just drink plenty of fluids and take these anti-inflammatories for about a week. Avoid anything that avoids big changes in pressure for the next few days, such as flying or diving.”

"If I don't take the medicine..."

"Your wife has already told me about your trauma, Mr. Joseph. I recommend you take them. If you don't, your recovery will be slower."

“What about stress from work, doctor?” Marie prompted the doctor while shooting her husband a furious warning stare.

“It wouldn’t hurt to rest…”

“I'll see him now!” a bass voice roared in the hallway.

The commotion outside in the hallway disrupted the conversation. The whole hospital seemed to shake with each step of the new arrival. Fabius came in.

“Joey! My boy, you’re awake! Good! Put your clothes on. We have work to do.”

Marie immediately protested. “Now, listen to me, Fabius! You might rule over that precinct of yours, but you don’t have the authority to drag my husband out of the hospital bed and put him to work as soon as he regains consciousness!” Although Marie was half as tall as Fabius, her presence still seemed to tower over the chief of New Lisbon’s police.

The commissioner laughed heartily, trying to disguise his nervousness around the woman. Joey had never seen him blink when facing drug dealers, human traffickers, and murderers, but he looked terrified whenever Maria was mad at him.

“Joey! You got yourself a fiery one,” he said jokingly.

Marie stared him down.

“Marie, I…”

“Don’t Marie me, Fabius! See what this work has done to the father of my daughter! Although the doctor might disagree with me, I blame it all on you and this cursed work you two do!” Marie started to tear up, making the bear-like Fabius pause.

“Marie, I know this job is a lot. I promise you that after this crisis, I'll give your husband leave for two weeks so that you all can spend some time together!”

Hearing holidays being mentioned, Marie's ears perked up, and her facial expression became feline.

“Two weeks? That’s hardly enough to catch up on all that has happened this week! Give him two months off! Take it or leave you, old grizzly bear!”

“Done,” Fabius grunted.

Joey stood dazed, witnessing this battle of wills. If his boss, who ordered him around, was being bossed around by his wife, he was at the bottom of the food chain here.

“Would that be OK, doctor?” Fabius questioned Doctor Woods.

She hesitated. “Don’t push him too hard. If he experiences any headache or discomfort, he should stop whatever he is doing immediately.”

“Good. Joey! Come along!”

Joey stood up, upset. He was the only one who didn’t seem to have a say in his actions. He put on his clothes, said goodbye to Marie, and met Fabius, who was waiting outside. Fabius hurriedly walked toward the exit. Joey was having a hard time keeping up.

“What’s wrong, boss? What did I miss?”

“Joey, the situation is bad. There has been a string of thefts and kidnappings. The whole city has been turned upside down. Your nose for trouble is going to be put to work.”

*

Esther searched the lab for a seat, but all she found was machinery everywhere. She sighed. Even though she was trying to be strong, her headache wasn't improving, but she refused to take any medicine. She needed clarity to make sense of what was happening.

After she woke up, the doctors failed to explain what had happened. So, she came to Orca University looking for answers. If she was considered a VIP among politicians and law enforcement, she was seen as a goddess within the academic community. She had been immediately given the keys to Dr. Neuer’s lab and was told to wait as someone went to get the doctor. Since it was a Sunday morning, Esther presumed they had gone to the man’s house to do so.

She finally found a stool, hidden under clutter and blueprints, and after vacating it, she sat. Grabbing a copy of the newspaper she had secured earlier at the hotel, she skimmed through it. The string of kidnappings and thefts was still the news on the front page. But there was a smaller piece that caught her attention.

"The Lake that Heals

Reports have emerged of chronically ill individuals experiencing miraculous healing after diving into the waters of Lake Grassum. While skepticism abounds within the medical community, many testimonies have surfaced, lending credence to what locals call the "Miracle Dive."

There are multiple accounts from individuals who embarked on this unconventional therapeutic journey and have experienced astonishing recovery. From conditions as diverse as chronic pain, autoimmune disorders, and even certain forms of cancer, individuals have reported a significant improvement in their health following a dip in the lake's waters.

Dr. Laura Simmons, a respected New Lisbon Medical Center physician, voiced skepticism while acknowledging the community's excitement. "While the reports are intriguing, it is crucial to exercise scientific rigor when evaluating such claims. Spontaneous remissions and unexplained recoveries have occurred throughout medical history, and attributing them solely to the lake's waters would be premature."

Despite the reservations of the medical establishment, the growing momentum behind the "Miracle Dive" has prompted some researchers to explore potential scientific explanations. Water composition, mineral content, and the psychological effect of hope and belief are currently being considered.

We have interviewed local resident Sarah Turner, who suffered from a debilitating autoimmune disorder and attests to the lake's transformative powers. "The flood has transformed the lake. It was bestowed with a blessing from the heavens; now, the water has become the heavens themselves. I had tried every treatment imaginable, and nothing worked until I took that dive into Lake Grassum. It's as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders, and I am getting my life back."

So this had been the reason for the multiple arguments she had caught between doctors and patients on her exit from the hospital. Undoubtedly, the medical community was apprehensive about the healing properties of the lakewater, while hopeless family members were up for anything after seeing conventional science fail.

A door opened, letting an academic who had evidently been strongarmed out of bed.

"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Dr. Neuer."

Ch. 14

INDEX

Ch. 16