Dreamcatcher (ONC 2020)

6

I step into the psychic shop, and suddenly I'm dazed. It looks the exact same as the other night—the night Dad and I first stepped in. The memory creeps up on me again. Me, dizzy with the withdrawal of not dreamcatching for two years, and Dad, stoic and unwavering, lips pursed, never looking back.

But strangely enough, the events that happened in the psychic shop itself remain fuzzy and cluttered together in my mind. Even though it's only been a year, I can't tell whether what happened was real or just my imagination. However, the things that happened later that night are still crystal clear, etched into my brain for what I think might be an eternity.

✺✺✺

The night was darker than ever by the time we got back to the shop. The sun was long gone; the fiery heat of summer was replaced by the grim shadows of storm clouds looming over our heads. Just merely looking at the sky made me feel desolate. As if the sorrow of the heavens was seeping into me with every passing second.

Dad and I hadn't said a word since we left the psychics'. We stood in front of the elevator on the bottom floor, waiting for the rusted metal doors to open and let us in. Dad's foot wouldn't stop tapping on the linoleum tiles, and the inside of my cheek was so bitten out of nervousness that it felt raw.

The doors finally opened with a short ding. I turned to glance over at Dad, and when I did I saw him doing the same. We both looked away and stepped into the elevator. It was only after Dad pushed the button to go to the sixth floor that I finally gathered up my courage and began to speak.

"Dad," I said. He turned his gaze over at me, and I realized that we were almost eye-to-eye. "I'm sorry."

He didn't answer. The floor numbers of the elevator went up and up—three, four, five.

"I'm sorry," I repeated. "It isn't your fault—it's mine. But I did what I wanted to do, and I don't regret it."

The elevator doors opened. "You will, Kota," Dad replied softly. "You will regret it."

We stepped outside. "But Dad," I said, "It's okay. I'm still here. It doesn't matter what the psychics say." I let out a small laugh. "They're all demented anyway, right? It's not like what they said matters—"

"Dakota," Dad said. We were standing in front of the shop's entrance now. The sign hanging above it was barely visible in the darkness. Dad's hand was firmly clasped around the doorknob; he looked like a mere shadow.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," he said quietly.

"What?" I sputtered. "No. You can't go. You can't listen to them!" I nervously ran my fingers through my hair. "You're not doing that."

"Yes, I am. I've already decided."

"It hasn't even been thirty minutes since we've talked to them!" I exclaimed.

"I need to leave as soon as possible if it's going to work. You know that."

I looked at the ground. Dad put his hand on the locking mechanism and opened the door, then stepped into the shop. "Going away won't change anything," I protested, even though that was the exact opposite of what the psychics claimed. I could hear their words ringing in my mind. It's never good for dreamcatchers to be near each other. You need to leave, Neil. To preserve this world's balance.

I brushed off the memory and followed him inside. "What about the shop?"

"I trust you'll be able to run it just as I do."

"What about your customers?" I press on. "What about everyone else? What about—" What about me? I wanted to say.

"My customers will be fine," Dad replied. "They have you now, after all."