Free Chosen by Paula Bradley

was eccentric, but she was just not ready to tell him everything.
    She had told him and Judith about the Visitation and her meeting with Michael Jenkins. Reacting as anticipated, they accepted the fact that Mariah’s perceptions were Mariah’s reality, even if they included a newfound belief in a Supreme Being. Judith neither believed nor disbelieved in God; she was mildly interested in the concept, nothing more. Stephen, however, was an avowed atheist. His doctorate in molecular phylogenetics caused his vocabulary to repress such words as “faith” and “miracles.”
    So, why the reluctance to share the Findings ? Because they were irrefutable? Instead of considering her a little off-center, they would finally believe that their little sister was the mutant their mother always hinted she was.
    “I usually dream in color, Shrimpboat, but I don’t remember being able to smell things or feel pain.” She heard the smile in his voice. “Are you into a new sci fi book? Maybe you’re subconsciously experiencing it in your dreams. I dunno; you sound upset, but it sounds pretty interesting to me. Why don’t you write down when it happens and what went on that day? Maybe add what you had for dinner that night. Who knows, it could be heartburn! Seriously, try to control the events; try to wake yourself up when they get too grisly. You’ve never tried because you’re too caught up in them, but give it a shot.”
    Sound advice , thought Mariah. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about her role in Finding the kidnapped children, and her family was not about to discover, on their own, what she had done. The newspapers alluded to a “psychic working with the FBI,” an event not altogether uncommon these days. Her identity was still a secret: no one would ever suspect her of a talent like this. Hell, no one would suspect anyone of being able to do what she did!
    “Is there something else?” Stephen’s voice held a faint note of concern. He’s tuned in , Mariah thought, even over the phone. But I just can’t tell him . Before hanging up, she assured him the dreams were just an excuse to call, and that everything was fine. She felt like she was lying by not revealing her role in the rescue of the children.
    Now she knew why she called him. It was not to talk about the dreams; she knew how Stephen would react. She just wanted to hear his voice, something ordinary and familiar in a world that had suddenly fallen off the edge of a cliff into Weirdsville.
    That night Mariah had the most terrifying dream of her life. It wasn’t on her alien planet, she was sure; however, it might as well have been for the sensation of otherworldliness it conjured.
    Darkness, like a straightjacket, restrained her in an inescapable embrace. It plugged up her nose with the smell of wrongness; filled her mouth, tasting like dried remembrances; and breathed destruction into her ears. Mariah felt pressure in her chest, like the insidious blackness meant to suffocate her. She trembled. This nothingness was malevolent and cold. She could not tell if she was naked or clothed; she was unable to move her extremities—if she still had them.
    And then an image formed before her.
    Three bands of color, in dissimilar patterns, all gyrating to different rhythms. What made her head ache and her stomach lurch was the surging and receding of the images.
    The bottom layer, undulating like a belly dancer, was the color of a swamp. Tiny spots of yellow and maroon zipped and bobbed within the gangrenous green swell. Mariah thought she could detect, although faintly, the foul smell of methane. Her eyes watered, whether from the gas or the visual effects.
    The middle layer was filled with dozens of multicolored strings, gyrating frenetically. Dingy white ellipses oscillated on top of the strings. After several seconds of this madness, the elongated circles floated upward and disappeared, only to be replaced by clones.
    The top layer was the sickly gray of