Dream of Me, Dream for Me

It was the same nightmare every single night, and nothing Wyatt did would make it go away.

With a hunting rifle over his shoulder, his heavy boots would crunch over frozen twigs and leaves, always enchanted by the frozen pond further into the forest. Each time he approached the unusually clear ice, he'd drop his rifle and crawl on hands and knees to the edge of the frozen prison.

He gazed upon her beauty frozen in time beneath the pond, her form a miraculous creation so vibrant, so unique that the shamans themselves could sense her continuance of life beneath the solid, chilled surface.

Her delicate hands reached up, eyes open and expression hopeful as she was not too far from the surface. Her white gown billowed around her permanently, and Wyatt couldn't find an immediate understanding of the pain he felt when he looked at her optimistic self halted from a goal so near she could definitely taste it. She needed someone. She was so close to the finish line. Dammit, why shouldn't someone help her get there?

Usually, he woke up by this point, but the dream was lasting a little longer every time. He didn't return to the pond every night, nor could he seem to make sense of when he would find his frozen angel as there was no pattern to his dream nights.

The next few nights at the pond lasted a little longer each time. In one instance, he brought the rifle with him to try cracking the ice by jamming it in as hard as he could. All to no avail, as the ice was relentless against his determined heart. The next time, he laid across the ice himself, his heavy fur-coated armor attempting to generate enough heat to weaken the power of the ice. Nevertheless, he continued to look for help near the pond, never caring to stray too far from her permanent holding.

Wyatt awoke one Sunday morning feeling uncomfortable, restless, and wanting to talk to someone. He geared himself up and made the long trek through the snow to his mama's front door.

She answered in a black, long sleeved gown of sorts, tilting her head in pity.

"You need coffee. Come in, son."

Wyatt took a seat at her small kitchen table, stomping snow off his fur and leather boots, where his little sister came barreling up from her seat before the fireplace and ran into his open arms. "Hi, brother! Did you want to have some tea?"

"Maybe later. I need to talk to Mama, okay?"

"Hmm. Okay. I'll wait over there." She pointed at her tea set by the cozy warmth of the flames and Wyatt acknowledged her remark before turning to see their mama setting down two mugs of coffee. She turned and retrieved sugar and milk, then sat down to face her son with a small smile of encouragement playing across her aged lips.

"Lyla has been anxious for your visit. I suspect you didn't come this way in the cold to play tea time."

"No, I'm sorry, but this felt a little important and I need to get it out."

"Tell me everything you feel comfortable telling me."

Wyatt spilled the experiences of the nightmares, how they changed, and most importantly how desirable and seemingly perfect the woman in the pond appeared to be. Mama smiled as she shook her head.

"Appearances can be deceiving."

"I know." Wyatt's tone took a slight irritation, having memorized all of her usual observations about life in general. "But I don't just mean physically. There's something there, something that's pulling me in all the way from my soul." He placed a fist on his chest and dropped his gaze to his mug. "I want to save her. I need to save her, or this will never stop."

"Perhaps you're mistaken."

Wyatt looked up at his mama with confusion.

"You need to save her to stop the recurring visions, you say. And how do you know this for a fact?"

Wyatt paused for a few moments. "I guess I don't really know. It just feels like the obvious answer."

"Maybe you should find the less obvious answer." Mama sipped her coffee and reached her hand across the table, her small fingers struggling to reach across the size of her son's hand. "Pick a different solution. Try it. What harm can it do? You will dream regardless. Put a bit of creativity into it, and you'll be okay."

"Yeah." Wyatt felt like he was twelve years old again but Mama was right; he wasn't getting anywhere with his current attempts. At least she didn't think he was nuts. He figured she might tell him he was crazy to care, but instead she found him a possible way to get through it. For once, he hoped the dream would come back…

"It does sound a lot like you and Mama are done talking. Whyyyyy-iiiiiiit."

Wyatt smirked at Lyla. "You're as impatient as me, little girl. Now let's get this tea thing going!"

***

The dreams continued, and eventually he heard a woman’s voice nearly singing in the voice of an angel, the softness as soothing as wind chimes in a gentle Spring breeze.

“Wyatt.”

Only his name, over and over, would he hear for several dreams. His obsession with freeing her began to occupy his brain so frequently that he began to take as many naps as possible, drinking herbal tea mixtures to ensure he fell into a deep enough state to view his nature-bound beauty. All he wanted was to be with her.

Wyatt spent the little time he had awake either working to cut down lumber with the other, larger built village men or looking through old newspapers to see if he could find a photo resembling her in the Missing sections. He wondered if he might be having magical visions of a woman’s location who was in obvious danger, or maybe a witch had placed visions of the future of his beloved beneath the cold. How she could possibly be alive was beyond him, but he felt very sure of himself that she could be rescued regardless of the circumstances. Why else would his angel speak his name and come to him in his rest, her expression remaining the same yet speaking so strongly each time? Surely only a soul mate would be able to communicate non-verbally like this.

No photos ever emerged. No clues ever arose. He began to describe her to locals at the Green Light Tavern, who all shook their heads in disbelief until one night…

A man in similar, heavy fur armor with an unfamiliar face had entered the tavern for a pint when he heard Wyatt describing her.

“Her hair is red, this brilliantly bold red, just mesmerizing. Her eyes look blue, maybe? I don’t know, but she’s stunning, and wearing a billowing white gown.”

The stranger approached him and clapped a large hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. “Why don’t ya buy me a drink, and we’ll talk about your dream lady love?”

Wyatt regarded the stranger with an uncomfortable feeling spreading through him.

“Why would you have any interest, outsider?”

“Because I think I saw her, too.”

Wyatt paused, intrigued, and nodded at Jerry the barkeep. Jerry proceeded to pour two beers as the men settled at a small table in the far corner of the building, where shadows kept the darkness of their upcoming discussion in the right tone.

Jerry placed the beers in front of the men, who nodded and took a drink together. Wyatt’s first question flew out before there was a chance for the stranger to speak.

“When did you see her?”

The heavy mug hit the table, the sound more deafening than necessary as Wyatt awaited the story.

“A few years ago, when I was living off the land. I lost my wife and children in a fire that destroyed our village and I was sleeping on the cold ground. I saw your lady friend many times and I went mad thinking I’d find her in the forest I was living in. I never thought straight because all I wanted was her. Figured maybe I could free her.”

Wyatt held his breath as the stranger took another long, deep drink.

“Came across a shaman in my travels through the woods, performing a rite. I interrupted it and he scolded me like I was the devil.” The stranger chuckled at this memory. “So it’s actually my fault you’re in this predicament. The shaman knew of this woman and said she was dangerous. He called her the Cursed Dream, or the Dream Siren, or the Cursed Siren...somethin' crazy. He was trying to bind her magic and he only had one shot. I messed it all up. So, buddy, my best advice? Stay away, forget her, fight her in the dream, just resist and she’ll leave you alone.”

***

Wyatt tried. He tried to forget her, he tried to ignore the painful longing in his heart that manifested physically with its intensity. He wondered what her name was, why the stranger said such terrible things, and what she could possibly have done to warrant a lie the shaman gave him? Someone that beautiful couldn't be a witch, anyway. What she was doing was communicating to the true love of her life, her true savior. If the stranger saw the frozen angel and dismissed her, it was no wonder she was in so much need. Wyatt’s affections grew stronger, more defiant, the more he considered it...and the more he dreamed about her.

The words progressed from just his name to more.

“Your mother was right, Wyatt. Try approaching this creatively.”

Those beautiful wind chimes. Those magical, tinkling, floating sounds of her gentle guidance. She had to be nothing more or less than the most perfect example of a partner. An ethereal being in the midst of a plain Earth.

The next night, he approached the pond and pushed his rifle off his shoulder to the ground. He gazed into the ice blue eyes that hopefully sought his help and held his own hand out.

“Come out for me, my love.”

And with that, the ice began to crack. It cracked into beautiful, sprawling snowflake designs, sending what looked like small magical icicle sparks into the sky as the ice separated. The woman rose as more space was made for her exit and right through the intricate design of a particularly beautiful shape, she rose into the air, floating as if she were some kind of goddess.

Wyatt gazed at her in awe and dropped to his knees.

“My queen.”

She smiled gently and glided to the ground in front of him, kneeling to place a hand beneath his chin and lock eyes with him.

“My savior.”

Her voice enchanted him deeply as her full, pouty pink lips placed themselves upon his. As they embraced passionately, his lips grew cold and colder, until the cold was spreading through his entire body. He shivered, wanting to pull away.

“No, Wyatt, please. I need you.”

Everything went black as soon as their lips touched again. For what felt like forever.

***

“He just won’t wake up. There doesn’t seem to be a thing wrong with him! He has no fever, no signs of illness, but he just won’t wake up! Please help him, doctor!”

"Ms. Masterson, please calm down. You are going into hysteria."

***

Finally, Wyatt opened his eyes, and he looked around him to see several other men of similar stature and appearance to himself. They were chained, beneath the frozen pond, on the floor of the watery grave they’d been lured into. They were both dead and not dead, though some skeletons remained from the ones who managed to escape to the glory of the afterlife.

He looked up to see his beloved, in her former position, with a new face peering into the pond.

***

Several weeks later, the stranger returned to the tavern, enjoying a drink and conversation with a local lady he had a bit of an interest in.

“What’s the word around town?”

She looked down, as if saddened by the question. The stranger lifted her chin to look him in the eyes, and she gave a small smile.

“It can’t be that bad, can it, darlin’?”

“The widow Masterson lost her son Wyatt. He fell asleep and never woke up. Then one night, he turned ice cold, and he was just dead.”

The stranger shook his head. “The Dream Siren was too much for him, young lady.”

She gasped. “Dream Siren? Now don’t be talking about fancy witchcraft creatures in this tavern, anyone could hear you!”

“I don’t mean to alarm anyone, but---”

“Dream Siren? What does she look like, sir?” The stranger turned his head to see an older gentleman, who wore a noticeably shiny, bold wedding ring. “Is she a red-head with blue eyes?”

“Yes, but you’re not usually the type she sings to in men’s dreams. Who are you, sir?”

“She was my wife.”