Falling Awake

on the air conditioner but thought better of it after a short review of the state of her finances. A dollar saved on the electricity bill was a dollar that could go toward the payments on her precious furniture.
    “We’ve got a big problem, Sphinx. I’ve made all the cuts I can.I’ll cancel the gym membership and drop the insurance on the furniture first thing in the morning, but that’s not going to be enough to bail us out. There’s only one answer.”
    The cat ignored her. He was on the floor in the corner, hunched over a saucer of cat food. He tended to be extremely focused at mealtime.
    “Given your expensive tastes in cat food and my outstanding credit card debt, we have no choice,” she informed him. “The folks at the Psychic Dreamer Hotline are very nice and I could probably get my old job back, but, to be honest, it doesn’t pay well enough to keep us in the style to which we have become accustomed. Got to think of the furniture. If I don’t make the payments we’ll find a repo man at our door one of these days.”
    Sphinx finished the last of his meal and padded across the floor to where she sat. When he reached her he heaved his bulk up onto her lap, hunkered down and closed his eyes. The sound of his rusty, rumbling purr hummed in the quiet kitchen.
    She stroked him, taking a curious comfort in his weight and warmth. She liked animals in general but had never considered herself a cat person. When she thought about getting a pet for company, she usually thought in terms of a dog.
    Sphinx was not what anyone would call cute or cuddly. But there was no getting around the fact that during the past year, the two of them had become colleagues of a sort. It had been Sphinx who alerted her to the fact that Martin Belvedere was dead.
    She had spent that fateful night in her office, as she often did when working on a rushed dream analysis for one of theanonymous clients. Belvedere, an insomniac who usually spent his nights at the center, had wandered down the hall sometime around midnight to chat with her about the case before she went into her dream state. Everything had seemed so normal, she thought, or at least as normal as things got in her new career. Belvedere brought a container of lemon yogurt with him when he came to her office, just as he always did when he visited at that hour. He ate a portion of the yogurt while they discussed her latest project. Then he left with his unfinished snack to return to his office.
    Shortly before two in the morning some small sound awakened her. It brought her out of a disturbing dream full of symbols of blood and death, typical of the sort she interpreted for Clients One and Two.
    She was still somewhat disoriented when she opened the door and found Sphinx pacing back and forth in the hallway. His agitated behavior was so unusual she knew at once that something was wrong. She picked him up and carried him back to Belvedere’s office, where she discovered the director slumped over his desk.
    That kind of experience invoked a bond, she told herself. She wasn’t sure how Sphinx felt about her but she knew there was no way she could have let him go to the pound.
    “Looks like I’m going to have to do what I swore I’d never do.”
    Sphinx gave no indication that he was in any way concerned with their financial future.
    “It must be nice to be so Zen,” she muttered.
    Sphinx’s purr got louder.
    She reached for the phone and slowly, reluctantly, punchedout the familiar number. While she waited for an answer, she thought about the two anonymous clients of the Belvedere Center for Sleep Research. Their consulting requests were erratic and unpredictable. Sometimes weeks passed between assignments. She wondered how long it would be before either of them learned that her services were no longer available.
    Most of all she wondered if Client Number Two, otherwise known as Dream Man, would miss her when he discovered that she was gone.

3
    F REY -S ALTER , I NC ., R ESEARCH T RIANGLE P ARK , N ORTH C AROLINA
    y ou’re still worrying about Ellis, aren’t you?” Beth asked.
    “Yeah. He’s not getting any better. Worse, in fact.” Jack Lawson absently registered the familiar squeak in the government-issue desk chair when he leaned back to plant his heels on the aged government-issue desk.
    The squeak had come with the chair. Both had been new some thirty-odd years ago, when he was assigned to establish Frey-Salter, Inc., the corporate front that concealed his