Sweet Dreams/Dreams of the Archer

Heather Jones slumbered in the Van Halen’s Sanctum, her tree in the heart of the Maplehurst Mall in the Garret Maryland of 1989. The world turns. Yet no one knows to miss her. Not for very long at least. Just another face on a milk carton like the many other missing Garrett children. Another face on the wall of the office of FBI Director Gene Tyler. One of many. A person whose existence was only of significance to the Director and his most trusted subordinates. As the team at Quantico continued to seek answers.

Heather sleeps an enchanted sleep. Like in the fairy tales. As *Sleeping Beauty* had. Heather was not waiting for love's true kiss, but for the fall of the veil. The mystical barrier that was formed to protect her home town from evil. A defence system that was now failing and hindering as much as it helped. The visions Heather would have would lead to her asking the question: was Van Halen’s magical tree a mystical nexus point? One that could show Heather the past and the future?

Heather found herself once more on the beach, listening to the waves break on the Malibu shoreline under the warm California summer sun. She was alone, but content in her own company. Her moth eared treasured paperback copy of *The Chronicles of Narnia* lay on the blanket beside her. Along the access road to the beach a splendid looking shiny car appeared. It was a very grand Rolls Royce Coupe with chrome and paintwork glistening in the sun. Its horn sounded. Heather sat bolt upright. The old pre-world war car purred like a lion. She stood and found Kitty wearing a jaunty chauffeur's cap sitting in the driver's seat.

“Kitty… What's going on?”

Kitty did not speak but Heather could always hear his thought

*As much as I personally enjoy a nap in the sun, wouldn’t you like to explore your dreamscape a little?*

"What do you mean?"

*Why every wish you've ever made could be granted here. Every possibility is explored.*

The old Lion plush purred. He looked just the same as he had sitting on Heather’s bed in 1988.

*Back to home to Narnia*

Kitty suggested

"I’d like that, but I'm not so sure about it Kitty. I might get interested in Makeup and Boys one day like Susan. In fact, I really miss two boys already."

Heather tapped the book she had just finished reading. Knowingly.

*How about we go to see Queen Susan the Gentle then?*

Kitty suggested

"Won't she be in England?"

Kitty seemed to shake his head. Not that he was really capable of such articulation.

*Queen Susan is in Los Angeles. Down in Redondo Beach at the Portofino Hotel and Marina*

Kitty seemed both informed and talkative. His nap schedule did provide him with a lot of energy.

\*Well I suppose I have finished my book. I do have questions."

Heather opened the huge door of the car and climbed into the passenger seat.

In the blink of an eye, the car arrived at a hotel parking lot overlooking the same rich blue of the Pacific Ocean full of yachts, sailboats and speedboats in the Marina. The lot was packed with distinctive and expensive sports cars. People milled in and around the vehicles.

A banner read

***"The Portofino Hotel Welcomes The Cannonball Baker Sea-To-Shining-Sea Memorial Trophy Dash"***

There were black and white finishing line flags all over the place. Cannonball? Wasn't that a film with the actor *Burt Reynolds*? Ricky had been so excited that it was being shown at the cinema at the mall. Saved up his money for weeks to pay for a ticket.

*Susan Pevensie is in the bar, you'll know her when you see her.*

Lion announced as a uniformed hotel concierge opened Heather's door. He didn't seem to notice that she was a gangly teenager. One who is chauffeured around by a stuffed toy. The concierge just opened the hotel lobby door for Heather and tipped his cap respectfully.

Much to her surprise Heather found a folded dollar bill in her pocket and tipped the gentleman. It's what they did in books and movies.

The hotel lobby didn't look like the eighties. The cut off suits and shirt lapels were on the large side as were the bottoms of the trousers. Women wore mini skirts and knee-high gogo boots. A convenient calendar and clock with those flippy numbers behind the reception desk announced it to be 1979. That day. The day her parents had died. When her life had changed forever. This was a dream Heather assured herself. She was in control here.

Heather could see Susan, for it could be no other. Just as CS Lewis had described her in the books. Older though. No long flowing hair, a short choppy asymmetrical bob cut, to flatter her jawline. Susan was supporting the bar. A woman who couldn’t be forty years old, let alone fifty-one. Sitting regally upon a barstool. She was wearing a backless cocktail dress, with a tumbler of what looked to be whisky at her wrist. In front of her was a small portable black typewriter. There was a notebook and a ballpoint pen on the other side of her at the bar. The book contained dense journalists shorthand.

Heather just watched her for a while. Susan seemed so alone even in a room full of people. People from the group of what Heather assumed to be racers, friends, comrades, approached her every so often to check on her. Though they otherwise kept a respectful distance. A solitary, almost sad figure in the centre of the hubbub of the bar. The others allowed her to work. As she typed out her report of the race. Seemingly flawlessly never once stopped to amend the typewritten pages with correcting fluid. The rhythmic clattering of keys and the bell of the carriage return.

Heather takes the stool next to Susan and orders a Shirley Temple. As it felt like the right drink to order.

“Aren’t you a little young to be a barfly?”

A very cut-glass English voice asked her. Such a dry wit.

“I’m sorry, you look fascinating. I just wanted to meet you.”

Heather apologized.

“Oh dear, are you one of my readers? I didn’t think I had a following in America.”

She was a writer. Perhaps a motoring journalist from all the unique looking cars around. Heather marvelled at the details her own brain was coming up with. This drink. It didn’t taste like anything she’d ever had before. Because of course, she’d never had a Shirley Temple in real life.

“No, a friend of mine is a writer.”

Heather was honest

“I just wanted to ask for tips.”

Susan looked her up and down

“Well, you’re a very considerate friend.”

Just thinking about JD made her miss him. Not just JD, Scarlett and Ricky trapped in the hellscape that was their hometown. Or worse Ricky, stuck in some jail like military school.

Heather swallowed hard and tried to think of what to ask. As much as it was a dreamlike experience. There was something else here, an element of reality in the cars, the people, and Susan herself. Details Heather herself couldn’t possibly know. Things a toddler wouldn’t pay attention to. It was as if she really was here in 1979. As if there were some unknown connection between her and Susan. Time had very little meaning here so they spoke of many things. As the passage of time had no meaning here.

A piano player on a grand piano in the corner played a pretty good rendition of *Let it Be* by *The Beatles*.

Then it happened the bartender bought a phone over and as dream rules applied, if Heather listened carefully she could hear both sides of the conversation. Susan’s face fell. She nobly fought back tears.

“Mrs MacLoud, glad I could finally reach you. My name is Sergeant Joseph Getraer CHP I have some terrible news, I have some officers coming over to pick you up.”

A man's voice explained

“Please don’t beat around the bush Sergeant dear. This is not the first death notification the constabulary has ever had made to me.”

Susan took control of the situation; this was of no surprise to Heather. Words like indomitable and stalwart sprang to mind. Like she was a battleship. Which Susan Pevenise was far from.

“It’s your nephew and his wife ma’am. They were killed earlier tonight in an auto accident.”

The Sergeant gravely informed her

Susan fell eerily silent, for a few beats. She seemed like the kind of person to have a retort or dry comment for almost any situation. Not this one though.

Heather felt her heart in her throat. Her parents were still dead, but without the Veil or the Loop this is what should have happened she could feel it, She knew Susan from reading about her and her childhood adventures for so many years.

“As you may know. They’re Will specified you as your Great Niece’s guardian.”

The policeman explained

“Yes Sergeant I’m partially aware of my Great Nieces guardianship clause”

Susan stated matter of faculty

“I wouldn’t let Heather be raised by *Those People* in Maryland. I’m getting in my car now I will be in Westlake within the hour”

Her tone was withering when she said those people

“You don’t want my men to drive you?

The Sergeant was a little surprised, Mrs MacCloud clearly didn’t want to wait.

“They can escort me with sirens and lights … if they can keep up. Purple Toyota 2000 GT Maryland plates.”

Heather wished so hard that this was her world. That this was more than a dream.

Susan hung up the phone and passed it back to the bartender

“Can you have the Valet bring my car around?”

She threw her jacket on. It was like the black motorcycle jacket version of one Heather had seen Miss Maggie wear when she wasn’t at the paperback exchange. It had fringing at the sleeves and looked rather chic even over a cocktail dress. Susan stowed her typewriter in its case then into a large satchel like bag. Taking out her wallet and settling her drinks tab. Telling the bartender to send a bottle of Dom Pérignon 61 to the race winners with her compliments.

“It was charming to meet you, but I’m afraid I have to run, family emergency.”

Susan turned as she was leaving the bar. Locking eyes with Heather.

“I’m afraid I didn’t ask your name, very self-absorbed of me, my apologies. I do get the blinkers on when I write.”

Even in this moment of calamity, Susan was so thoughtful and conscious of other people's feelings.

“My name is Heather”

Heather didn’t see a point in lying

Susan was taken aback

“Heather is the name of my little Great Niece, I hope meeting you is a good omen. I must go because she needs me.”

Susan leaves and cuts her way through the crowded barroom. Catching the eye of the couple who organise the race and quickly and succinctly explaining the situation to her ashen-faced friends.

In but a few brief heartbeats this singular woman's priorities had changed. From not having a friend in the world Heather's four-year-old self, in this dream, At least. Had someone. Someone who would do anything for her. It was an amazing feeling.

A short while later Heather was back in the funny British car with Lion.

“Kitty was any of that true… could any of that be true?”

She stroked his soft mane for comfort

*Why It’s all true Heather. Queen Susan loves you no matter how far from each other you are. She just couldn’t get to you when you were four. There are things even beyond her control.*

Kitty purred, being as reassuring as he could.

"When I wake up… I'll be able to find her… I will find her."

Heather clenched her free hand into a first defiantly. Willing herself to at the very least recall the name Susan Pevensie MacLoud, and the profession of Journalist. Heather had a future beyond saving Garrett and the world. She just needed to remember.

*Where to now?*

The Lion plush asked.

“I want to go home, and I want to see my friends”

*Your wish is my command, my Queen*

Heather blinked and she could see a house she vaguely recalled from pictures. This must be her Parent's home in Westlake Village. A simple two-story Spanish ranch-style home It must be the same night, as Police cars had made way for a Purple Toyota 2000GT. Heather took it all in. Still trying to put the name MacLoud to memory. That Susan was a very real person. To seek her out when she awoke.

The view in front of the car changed. Speeding along past a distinctive purple muscle car. Not the Toyota squarer and American. Now They were parked in a street. There was a bar and a parking lot. Heather saw herself, older. Getting out of a Yellow Japanese sports car. She walked with unfamiliar confidence across the parking lot. Dressed in a smart-casual style. Her hair was shorter, her glasses thinner, smaller and more fashionable. A crowd of people were waiting for her on the other side of a plate-glass window. Inside the busy bar. Excited for her arrival. Heather wished she knew all their names.

“The woman of the hour”

An older silver grey-haired man welcomed her older self. Raising a beer glass as a toast.

“Here’s to Supervisory Special Agent Heather P Jones”

A broad-shouldered tall woman in a leather jacket with wayward blonde hair added.

So she could grow up to help people for a living. As an FBI Agent. These must be her friends, her coworkers. They looked at older Heather admiringly.

Heather could hear all the voices clearly. Despite being outside, and even over the sounds of the busy bar. As if someone had an unseen fader and had turned the volume down as if it were a movie or TV show.

“This is … beautiful, but I still want to see my friends in Garrett, my home there”

As soon as Heather said home they were in an entirely different place. The Rolls Royce glided down a paved driveway into a large farmyard, the one Heather recalled being derelict and declared off-limits beyond the Lewis place. This wasn’t the place she called home. This was the old abandoned Manor they could see from Ricky's house. Queen Manor the older people around town called it.

Heather found herself teleported once more this time into a room. A Library. Wall upon wall lined with knowledge. Leather bound books and hardback novels along with paperbacks. Two whole floors, floor to ceiling. Bookcases positively heaving under the weight of knowledge of tens of thousands of stories. This was Heather’s idea of heaven.

People gathered at a table in the centre of the room with open Dungeons and Dragons rulebooks. With dice and character sheets at the ready. Heather knew the faces of everyone. Despite them being a few years older. Scarlett. Ricky and JD. Heather saw herself sitting behind the DM’s screen. Looking pretty much as she did now. The Heather running the game wore new clothes and glasses, perhaps a more expensive haircut.

The final player Susan MacLoud entered the room with a tray of sodas, bowls of finger food and sweets. Seemingly Susan had not aged since 1979.

“Well, I’m ready to explore some Dungeons and Slay some Dragons, what say you, bold adventures?”

Susan smiled and Heather picked up her notebook to begin. Was this a Great Aunt or a Hype Man?

Heather heard herself clear her throat and begin. She could sit here and listen to the whole game. It was a dream, and she wasn’t pressed for time. So she just might. She wished she could wake up and start living this life already. To be with the people who loved her in this wonderful library. This had to be her future. Susan was real, as real as Aslan and Kitty, as real as the less benevolent literary characters she had crossed swords with. Heather had hope. Recent events in Garrett had shaken her sense of hope to the core. Yet that spark of hope burned even brighter now in the heart of Heather Jones. Her whole life was about to change.