“What are they, that not even your magic is strong enough to conquer them?” I ask. To find enemies beyond the power of the being that had created me and given me the magic to defend children’s dreams sends a chill through my stuffing.
“They are nightmares of his own creation. Guilt, grief, and his mind’s coping with the horrors he has seen and done. Jason is not alone in what he faces. Countless others, some soldiers like him, some victims of crime, and some victims of tragedy, face these horrors all within their own minds and dreamscapes. My magic is not strong enough to challenge the real world.” His voice is weary. How many dreams has he seen turned to chaos like this? I once envied his ability to travel through the dreams and see the stories children created in their sleep. Now I do not envy the burden it must become as he watches those same children grow up and the stories come to such crashing ends.
“There has to be something! I cannot do nothing! His father laid me in his crib to guard, and Emily handed me back to him to heal him,” I rage, refusing to give up. I will never quit my given duty.
Sandman smiles again, still sad, but there is pride in his eyes as he watches me. “This is why I started with teddy bears; no velveteen aspirations for you, only pure devotion to the families that choose you.” He pauses, thinking before he continues. “Faith, family, and a willingness to ask for help are the only solutions that work. Even then, there is no true cure. These nightmares are a constant struggle, and a heavy burden to bear.”
I meet his eyes, and I understand that he’s trying to tell me not to hold out hope, to simply be ready to comfort Emily when the time comes. Suddenly I realize the truth; if that time comes, then new nightmares will manifest in Emily. Nightmares beyond my power and magic to combat would continue the cycle of pain and grief, and I will have already lost. I set my jaw and meet Sandman’s gaze. “Jason’s grandfather taught his father a phrase he learned across the seas. ‘Those who dare, win.’” I lift Dreamer in a salute to my mentor and close my eyes. I feel myself fall backward, and the cold returns for a shocking instant.
I opened my eyes to find myself once more immobile and lying back against the cushions of the couch. Jason had already awoken, and again he was hunched forward, though now he clutched a pistol in his right hand, his eyes closed. My time was running out.
A loaded magazine was on the table, near two empty bottles. Sandman’s words rang in my ears: “Faith, family, and a willingness to ask for help.” Jason’s eyes were still closed, so now was the chance to use my magic. I had to use it now, I had to dare. The sound of the pistol slide locking back almost broke my concentration, almost.
Jason reached for the magazine, and his fingers brushed against the picture of his wife and daughter, smiling and waving at him. Beneath the picture was the Bible his wife had laid on the table. It was the same Bible that his father had given him before he went to basic training. He was sure that it had been at the corner of the table a moment ago. He saw the pistol magazine across the table and reached for the picture. Holding it in his left hand and the pistol loosely in his right, the tears started to flow. He set the pistol on the table and picked up the Bible. A business card marked a passage, and I could hear him open and then read the passage in a low voice: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.” His gaze fell to the business card and he set the Bible down, the picture still held in his left hand as he pushed himself up from the couch and walked into the kitchen.
Stretching out my hearing, I could faintly make out a series of audible clicks, the sound Jason’s phone made when Emily was playing with it. I heard him begin to speak. “It’s Jason. Yeah, I know it’s late.” He