Matthew Mather - The Dreaming Tree

Copyright 2019 by Matthew Mather
E-book published in 2019 by Blackstone Publishing
Cover design by K. Jones
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious.
Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental
and not intended by the author.
Trade e-book ISBN 978-1-5385-8940-3
Library e-book ISBN 978-1-5385-8939-7
Fiction / Mystery & Detective / General
CIP data for this book is available from the Library of Congress
Blackstone Publishing
31 Mistletoe Rd.
Ashland, OR 97520
www.BlackstonePublishing.com

For my mother, Julie Mather,
who is the real heroine in all my novels.

Such a beautiful day to die. The man took in the view over Long Island Sound, the sun low enough on the horizon to spit pink into the clouds and a chill returning with the creeping darkness.

Excuse me, sir? A young woman in a fleece top and jogging sneakers approached. Do you know which way to Kings Park Bluff? This is Nissequogue State Park, right?

You live around here? the man asked.

He spun a key with an orange plastic handle around on his finger.

In New York, the woman replied. First time out here. So is it that way? Or back where I came from? I got turned around.

The man looked back and forth up the beach. Its that way. Look, up there. You can see the edge of the cliff. Next to the asylum. He pointed behind her, indicating the way with the orange key.

Asylum? She turned and held up one hand to follow his.

Im sorry, the man whispered.

As she faced away, he slipped the steel wire around her neck.

The womans hands went straight to her throat. She tried to scream, but it was too late. The wire cut into her windpipe. He swung around, grunting with the effort, and lifted her up onto his back. Her feet dangled off the ground. He watched the darkening clouds on the horizon while her body spasmed for a few seconds before becoming as peaceful as the scenery.

What a beautiful day.

SURGICAL WING OF EDEN CORPORATION
MANHATTAN, NEW YORK CITY

What do you mean?

Blue eyes came into focus. A mane of gray hair, a huge beard. Soothingly familiar but alarmingly unknown. Buddy, take it easy, the man said.

Hidden lights glowed in fuzzy eggshell white.

A new face appeared. Angular features. Green eyes this time. Tell me your name, New-Face said. The accent was foreign. New-Face scowled and spewed out a tumble of words at unseen recipients before asking again: Do you know your name?

My name? What is my name?

The question echoed from one side of empty mind-space to the other. The answer tickled the back of the throata too-distant taste of the past, gulped back by the terrifying nothingness.

Royce.

The word rolled out by itself, a stray rock fallen from unseen heights, whispered as if from someone elses lips.

Royce Lowell.

These two words were more confidentstill whispered, but attached to a bloom of recognition coloring the empty canvas of the mind. Im Roy, he thought. Relief tingled his scalp, but then Is that right? Thats not my name, is it? Am I Roy?

Good. Very good, New-Face said. Thats right, and I am Dr. Danesti

Roy, its me. My god, baby, this is all my f

Please, Mrs. Lowell-Vandeweghe. Dr. Danesti held up one hand, his fingers spread wide.

Roys head was propped up. He tried to turn it but couldnt. Tried to shift his body. Nothing. Panic trickled into his veins. Where am I?

After a few long seconds, he recognized the womans voice. Thats Penelope. Penny. My wife. He rolled his eyes as far right as they could go and caught a glimpse of her cropped blond hair. His wife and the gray-bearded man and the doctor hovered close.

Three more people were at the back of the room.

One of them, a large African American man sitting in a corner chair, asked, What do you remember, Roy?

And thats Atticus. The dark-skinned man in the rumpled suit was Atticus Cargill. Their family lawyer. His bald head reflected the overhead lighting. A wide nose, flattened off-center from some offense given or received, slouched over his thick white bristle of a mustache.

The lawyer sagged forward in his chair and wheezed as he stood, but then, he was huge. Six and a half feet and at least three hundred pounds. Mostly fat, but enough of it muscle. A Marine , served in Vietnam something he never let Roy forget.

Do you remember what happened? Atticus asked again. More insistent this time.

Standing beside Atticus was Roys mother, and the other guy with her looked familiar. Drops of memory spattered onto his mind. A policeman? Right. That other guy was Captain Harris from the East Hampton Police Department. He was always at the parties, waiting by the entrance.

Dr. Danesti shushed them. Do you remember who I am? he asked.

I know you, Roy thought, but he couldnt mouth the words. A wheezing rattle of air through a constricted windpipe. Are those my lungs? He tried to breathe deeply but felt nothing. Still-smoldering fear tightened its knuckles around his brain stem.

Blink once if you can hear me, Danesti said, his voice rising in pitch.

Roy blinked once, twice, three times in rapid succession. An alarm sounded. A white-clad figure materialized to his left, then disappeared just as fast. Languid ooze settled into his mind. The room went quiet again.

He remembered what he was trying to remember. He muttered, Youre my mothers doctor.

Thats right. Danestis voice regained its calm. And now I am your doctor.

And the shaggy-beard man is Sam. Samuel Phipps. My best friend. The cool ooze filled more of his brain, the familiar patina of drugs sliding over his minds eye. Am I paralyzed? The question came without fear now.

If yes, then turn the machines off, his inner voice urged. Kill me. Make it painless. Or maybe painful. You deserve some pain. He frowned. What did you say before? About a transplant?

Relax, buddy, his friend Sam cooed.

But what did you say?

Roys wife stepped away, raising her hand to her mouth. Her watch hooked the bedsheet, and she managed to pull it halfway off him, exposing his right arm, torso, and right leg and foot. He focused on his big toe. Except that it wasnt his big toe. His eyeballs rolled left. The leg. That hand. Was he hallucinating? The room seemed to swirl, sucking the air from his lungs.

Dr. Danesti gently spread the sheet back over him. We had to perform an aggressive surgical procedure to save you.

What did you do? Roy strained, but he still couldnt move anything except his eyes. He darted them back and forth. Up and down. Side to side.

The beeping machines quickened in tempo, their beat faltering into a staccato arrhythmia.

We call the procedure a body transplant.

What body?

You were crushed in the accident. His wife leaned over him and kissed his cheek. A tear slipped down her face. There was no other way.

The doctor added matter-of-factly, We replaced your body with a donors. You are very lucky, one of the first

What do you mean, donor body? Roys eyes swiveled down as far as they could in their sockets. Black dots raced and coalesced in his vision, the machines stuttering beeps merging into a single high-pitched whine.

Nurse, Danesti called out. Nurse!

Roys mind dropped backward into the maelstrom churning behind consciousness.