Something Has Changed...
The man is an artist. The woman is a consultant of some kind contacted for police investigations. They had met in unlikely circumstances but found themselves drawn together socially, despite their differences. After his son goes to bed, the artist prefers to debate the nature of the universe over a glass of wine, admiring the sea views from his (barely) converted warehouse home curiosity. The sometimes-detective would rather a more adventurous evening, her penchant for sports cars and fast driving often impressing or intimidating her dates.
After meeting professionally, they'd each tried to ignore their mutual attractions, but had easily fallen into a pattern of 'dating,' (although neither had ever used such a word to describe the relationship.) Each found the other fascinating, delighting in each new revelation, none of them feeling like a complete surprise.
I don't remember how I became involved with the pair, but tonight I've been assisting the 'detective' in her investigation, my insight apparently unique and useful (a compliment which, I can't deny, I feel pride in.) The artist's son has accompanied us for reasons I don't think were ever really explained to me, and he now sits in the passenger seat next to the detective on the driver's side. From the dark back seat of the current-model Porsche 911, I watch the detective shift her eyes from the road to the boy from time to time, surprised yet impressed with how easily she has been able to connect with the boy, the first time she's had much reason to interact with someone so young. I understand the look completely as she glides the car quickly through the sparse evening traffic, even though we are not in a rush.
As we draw nearer to the dock on which the artist's warehouse home sits, I notice the driver cast another glance at the boy, this time a brief one filled with concern, though she makes no comment and returns her focus to the road ahead. A moment later, and I understand the cause of her expression. The sight of flashing emergency lights becomes visible to me in the sports car's back seats.
None of us speak as drive closer to the lights and the car slows. All three sets of eyes in the car are locked onto the distinctly human shape which has been covered by a tarpaulin, shockingly bright blue amidst the assemblage of police outside the warehouse.
An electronic tone draws my attention from the form beneath the blue sheet. Loud but not obtrusive, it is distinctly not organic to the scene, and goes unnoticed by the other two occupants of the vehicle. Taking one last look at the shape on the dock, I acknowledge the source of the sound, and wake up to switch off the alerm ringing on my new mobile phone. I smile to myself at the potential of the dream I've woken from, and sigh at the knowledge that, like the last episode of a prematurely cancelled television series, this story will not be continued.
I used to have detailed dreams like this reguarly, and kept dated notebooks outlining their plots, should I need to refer to them for some reason - inspiration, perhaps, or curiosity. The dreams didn't stop, but did stop being as detailed or easy to remember. Based upon the dates of the notebooks, I theorised that I suddenly started remembering my dreams due to the use of Tegretol and noted that the notebooks have less entries after I ceased using the drug.
The content of the dreams could certainly be explained. Themes have continued through my life to this day. A recurring element is my missing some catastrophic event whilst being inside a building for work. I could always tell I was working too many hours, and sacrificing too much time, when things like that happened within my dreams. Obviously, since I haven't been working a lot, and variously at that, this plot hasn't been evident recently.
But something has changed. I've started remembering my dreams, and dreaming vivid plots like I used to, in the last few months. Perhaps my mind is understimulated. I don't know if medication could be an influence - I haven't spoken to anyone about my dosage in eight years - but I am not dissatisfied with the symptom anyway. A highlight was a dream in which agents Mulder and Scully were interviewing me about the sudden appearance of a second sun in the Earth's sky.
I guess I'll just enjoy this while it lasts.
