Free Slow Dreaming by Anne Barwell

Slow Dreaming
    H E WAS reaching, falling. The music sang to him, promising him an eternity of everything he wanted. It caressed him, loved him, while at the same time, whispered goodbye.
    It started to fade, just like it always did. A whimper escaped his lips. “No. Please. Don’t leave me again.”
    Why couldn’t it stay just this once? He sang the lyrics but already they didn’t make sense, sentences breaking into words, words disappearing into syllables.
    They were important, not just because of what they said, but because of where they originated, if only he knew where that was. Unfortunately, all he was ever left with were snatches of a tune he couldn’t quite remember and glimpses of sunlight fading into shadow. “Please,” he whispered.
    Someone shook him. He tried to pull away. He heard his name, the voice familiar, a woman calling him. It felt so very far away.
    “Jason!” Louder this time, closer, impossible to ignore.
    His eyes opened, the light burned them. He rubbed at them, his mind struggling to grasp onto something that was no longer there. A tall, dark-haired woman stepped away from the bed, her olive skin bathed in the sunshine that streamed in through the windows. “Alisha?” His voice was muffled, groggy. She’d always loved mornings. He hated them. “What time is it?”
    “Too late for you to be still in bed.” Alisha sighed. He was nearly three years older than she was, but she often despaired of him acting his age, and reminded him of that fact frequently. “I’ve been trying to wake you. James wants to see you. It’s important.”
    “James?” Jason buried himself in his pillows. Wonderful. What had he done to screw up this time? An order to meet with the head of the Tempus Institute was never a good thing unless…. He ignored the sliver of hope that dared sneak through. Was his request to be sent somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t here, about to be granted?
    “Yes. James.” Alisha urged him to sit up and then handed him a cup of steaming coffee. She settled herself on the end of his bed. “You were dreaming again, weren’t you?”
    He sipped at the coffee gratefully and nodded. It wasn’t the first time she’d woken him from this dream. It probably wouldn’t be the last. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to berate her for it. They’d been friends far too long for that.
    “Did you remember any of it this time?”
    He shook his head. “Just a snatch of music, nothing more.” He hummed the couple of bars for her, for all the good it did. It did nothing to shake the familiar feeling of panic that he’d just lost something very important. Or was about to.
    “Sorry.” She stood and turned to go, giving him some privacy to dress. “You still don’t remember any more of it, do you?” They’d both tried to find the origins of that tune, to match the part of it to a whole.
    “No,” he said, managing a smile, already focusing on the crap that was about to blow his way. “But then I never do.”
     
     
    I T WAS raining outside. Two days spent in 2011, and nothing but rain. Jason brought the cup to his lips and drank slowly, savoring the taste. It was bitter, more so than he was used to, darker in color even with the addition of milk, and tasted earthy for some reason.
    The cafe was warm, a cozy haven from the cold. He could get used to this. An assignment that meant spending hours drinking coffee and surrounded by books. He gazed again at the bookshelves visible through the huge door that marked the threshold between the two businesses. Heaven on both counts. It was a brilliant idea, combining a cafe and bookshop under the one roof. It was a shame neither of them existed in his own time, as it was just what he needed in order to distract himself from the events of the previous six months.
    The tinkle of the small bell hooked over the front door signaled the arrival of another customer. Jason looked up and smiled. This was the real reason he was here, the person he was