It’s not a dull machete and a coconut this time. This is more like someone taking a hammer and pounding a nail in my head. When I open my eyes, I know exactly where I am: that same warehouse on Pier 13. But there is no beautiful Jasmine Komine, that angel, hovering over me.
The only light in the place is coming from that same open doorway Jasmine and I had used to exit in my last dream. My car, I assume, is out there. Waiting for me.
The throbbing in my head is pretty wicked, but I feel the pain easing. I manage to get up on my right elbow and roll myself onto my side.
Just then a figure comes through the doorway. I can only see the black silhouette against the brightness of the sun outside.
“Jasmine?” I call out.
The figure continues to walk slowly toward me.
“No,” is all a voice says.
I manage to push myself up into a sitting position.
“Take it easy,” says the voice. It’s a male’s. “Wait for me. Maybe I can help you.”
I squint. Now I can see that he has a slight limp.
“Who are you?” I ask.
The figure stops when he’s within three feet of me.
“My name is Harvey Wong.”
“Ah,” I say, rubbing the back of my head. “You’re the man I believe I’ve come to see.”
He says nothing for a moment. Then, “Really? And how do you figure that?”
“Well, didn’t you ask me to meet you here?”
“That depends,” Wong says. “Who are you?”
“I’m David Chan, with HPD. You called me, didn’t you? Told me to meet you here.”
“That’s news to me, Mr. Chan. I’m here, as I thought you were, to see Jasmine. Jasmine Komine. Isn’t that why you asked if I were she?”
“No, not at all. And I don’t see her here. Do you?”
Wong pivots slowly. “It’s terribly dark in here,” he says. “Awfully dark, Mr. Chan. Even if she were here, I’m not sure we could see her.”
I sit up and wrap my arms around my knees.
“You do know this is a dream,” Wong says.
“Yes, I do. And since you bring that up, would you happen to know why I keep getting hit over the head at the beginning of it?”
“Keep getting hit? You mean you’ve had this dream before?”
I have to stop and think about this. How to explain.
I say, “Look, yes, I had a similar dream once before. In that one, I woke up from being hit over the head, and Jasmine Komine was standing over me. I’d received a call from you telling me to meet you here, and she had received a call from you telling her the same.”
I’m about to say ‘Do you remember that?’, but I realize, since this is a dream that he thinks is unique, a first-time dream, that he probably doesn’t. I say, “You never showed up last time.”
Wong folds his arms. “You probably think you can just ask me if I remember that. Of course, I don’t. I’m in this one, not in that one.”
Huh. A bit of a mind reader. Or, well, this is going on in my mind. So maybe ‘mind reader’ doesn’t apply.
“So, Mr. Wong, you do know Jasmine Komine, right?”
“Can’t say that I do. I do not know her and do not know why she asked me to meet her here. There’s a nice bit of dream plot symmetry, eh, Chan?”
I wonder if Harvey Wong majored in English. I did. Of course. He’s a figment of my imagination, so of course he’s an English major.
“Mr. Chan, did you learn anything about Jasmine Komine from your last dream?”
I laugh. “The only thing I know about Jasmine Komine is what she told me in my last dream. She said that she was someone who tries to bring order to chaos.”
“Wow,” said Wong. “Now that is a nice bit of symmetry. I, too, try to bring chaos to order.”
I do a double-take. “No, Harvey, no. She said that she tries to bring order TO chaos, not chaos to order.”
Wong laughs. “Exactly,” he said. “Symmetry.”
And with that, he turns around and begins to limp toward the door.
“Hey,” I say, “can you help me get up? You said you could help me.”
“Doesn’t look like it,” he says, limping out into the sunlight.
Except it’s not sunlight. I get my feet under me and stand up. I walk to the door, and yes, it’s a raging fire.
Lanning Lee 