The Dream Remote

 

The Man on the Sidewalk

"I'm not going back there ever again." Nothing could make him go back there. He had survived a nightmare that no one else could survive — and he had done it by the skin of his teeth.

The man was saying all this as he walked along the sidewalk. He kept talking to himself, and people gave him a wide berth, thinking he was mentally unstable. He never cared about the people around him. He never looked up; he was intent on his own feet as he walked.

"No, no, no — that isn't possible," he said suddenly, standing there and wiping tears from his eyes. "People may think I'm mad, but if they faced what I had faced, I don't think they would be whole again. My own face laughing at me in the fog... my own hand stabbing me in the chest." He put his hand on his chest and caressed the scar. He had been lucky to survive that place.

Jason Jarden

His name was Jason — one of the best and deadliest assassins in the government. He had that look that said playboy: handsome to a fault, tall and imposing, clean-shaven, with a voice as smooth as silk.

He had been having fun in Bali when the telegraph came that his services were needed urgently by the president. He wasted no time and jumped on the next available flight back to the States. When he was finally granted access to the president, the man wasted no time in speaking his mind.

"My daughter has been kidnapped, and I need your help getting her back."

"I'm sorry, Mr. President — that is not my job. You can contact the police."

"This is different," the president said, looking at him and wondering what Jason would think of his sanity if he told the truth. But when he thought of his daughter, he balled his fist and said, "Before I say anything more, read this."

He handed a letter to Jason, who took it and examined it. At first he thought it was thin paper, but then he shuddered, disgust spreading across his face.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Have you read the content?" the president asked.

"No — but this is someone's scalp used as paper."

"Yes. But read what it says first."

Jason sighed and scanned the words on the scalp. He frowned, knowing it had been written in blood. The words were chilling:

YOU WILL NEVER GET YOUR DAUGHTER BACK NO MATTER HOW MANY MEN YOU SEND. ALL WILL DIE AND BE FOOD FOR THE CROWS. IF YOU WANT YOUR DAUGHTER BACK, THEN SEND JASON JARDEN. THE CLOCK IS TICKING AND BLOOD WILL FLOW MORE.

The Mission

Jason looked up with an inquiring look at the president.

"That is what we received," the president said. "After my Sally was kidnapped, I sent a lot of troops to rescue her, but none of them ever came back. I sent investigators — none of them returned either. Then one day, this turned up. So here we are."

"Who kidnapped her?" Jason asked.

"No idea. I was hoping you could give us some insight."

"I have no idea who is responsible or where this note came from. As you can see, there's no name — nothing to help me identify the person."

"That is true," the president conceded. "But will you help me?"

"How was she kidnapped?" Jason asked, not wanting to commit to anything. He had seen this kind of thing before and it never ended well — he would either wind up in hospital with bullet wounds, or worse.

"She was playing with the TV remote when a message popped up on screen. It said: Press the green button to enter the dream come true land. She pressed it, and just like that, she turned into mist and was drawn right into the remote."

Jason couldn't help but chuckle. He let out a hard laugh, convinced the president had finally cracked under the stress of office.

"Are you saying you called me back from Bali — from the fun I was having with two brunettes — just to give me this gag?"

"I know it sounds insane. But that is the truth."

"The truth is that you need to resign if you can't bear the weight of the office. How can a remote kidnap your child?"

He stood up and was about to walk away when one of the guards motioned for him to wait and produced footage from the CCTV camera in the room. Jason watched. In the video, he saw the girl watching cartoons, holding the remote with a small frown on her face. He saw the message pop up on the display, and watched as she turned to mist and was pulled right into the remote.

He sat down, shaken, and looked at the faces of the people around him.

"But that's impossible."

"You saw it with your own eyes," the president said.

"It could be a trick — this is the age of AI, and anything can be faked."

"This is real. As sure as the sun will rise tomorrow."

The Green Button

Jason sat in silence as the remote was brought to him. He looked at it with apprehension, not liking any part of what was happening. Then he sighed, a look of quiet resolve settling on his face.

"What do I have to do?"

Through the Green Mist

"I think you just have to press the on button on the remote. I figure whoever is responsible will know it was you," the president said.

Jason held his breath and then exhaled slowly. He didn't like the situation, and he had no power over any supernatural element — but a child's life was in danger, and he had to make sure he succeeded. He pressed the button.

Everyone watched with bated breath. Those assigned to protect the president moved in to surround him, but he raised his hand, stopping them. He watched as Jason pressed the button, and after a few minutes, nothing happened. He was about to say something when he noticed a green mist beginning to rise out of Jason.

Jason was sure he had been conned. He expected the president's people to make a fool of him — tell him it was all an experiment or something. He knew those big words they used when they wanted to reject you or mess with your head. He sighed and was about to stand up when he felt the stab of a thousand needles across his skin. His eyes bulged as he watched his hand turning to mist, his body dissolving slowly — and painfully.

He tried to shout, but it was no use. He had lost all function of his own muscles. He opened his mouth and screamed in a silent agony that everyone around him could see, yet no one could do anything. The last thing he saw before the blackout was the president giving him a two-fingered salute and mouthing the words: bring my daughter back.

The Desert With No Name

He woke in a desolate landscape, as dry as a desert — and it was a desert, judging by the sand and the suffocating heat. He hadn't even taken ten steps when he felt his throat beginning to crack. Then words appeared, carved into the sandy floor in front of him:

FOLLOW THE ARROW.

He looked around and spotted an arrow sign pointing East. He staggered toward it, and the trek began.

The land was barren — no landmarks, no horizon worth looking at, just smooth, grainy sand that crept into his clothes and burned his skin whenever he fell. He followed the arrow for about three hours, his lips cracked and bleeding, his feet and palms covered in blisters. Then the arrow stopped at the crest of a hill overlooking a valley rich with green and threaded with a flowing stream below.

He stood there, unable to move. He thought it was a hallucination — sand sickness. He had heard how the desert played tricks on people. He stood frozen, not knowing what to do, when another message carved itself into the sand before him:

YOU HAVE TWENTY MINUTES FOR A REST AND A DRINK BEFORE THE BEAST COMES.

The Beast at the Edge of the Forest

He didn't know what that meant, but he wasn't about to waste an opportunity when one was handed to him. He staggered drunkenly down toward the stream and began drinking slowly, careful not to choke himself. The water was cold and refreshing, and it surged through him like a second life.

He sat down and took in his surroundings. It was a dense valley, and to the north, a dark forest loomed at its edge. He shuddered as the wind rolling off the trees reached him — it smelled of death and corruption.

Then he heard it. A growl, low and enormous, and the ground beneath him began to tremble. He looked up to see a massive beast charging toward him with the speed of lightning. He stood frozen, not knowing what to do, when the message appeared again in the sand at his feet:

HEAD TO THE FOREST OR ALL WILL BE LOST.

"Something sinister is pulling the strings from inside that remote — who or what do you think is behind it all?"

Keep in touch for part 2

If you enjoy this story, also read A Brothers Revenge