Free Hidden in Dreams by Davis Bunn

whisked off and her place taken by another amateur, everyone competing for a spot in an alien world.
    Her public appearances were hardly any better. She was always rushed. The greater her acclaim became, the larger the crowds, the less time she had to speak meaningfully with anyone. She was met planeside by a handler who whisked her from book signing to interview to podium. She arrived at her hotel late and exhausted. She was woken up too early, and forced into another whirlwind day. Over and over, until she saw nothing and felt less.
    And now it was all about to happen again.
    Elena’s sense of disconnect from Jacob and Bob’s discussion meant she was the only one who saw the approaching threat.
    A figure rode toward them on a motorcycle, one of those machines where they were crouched like jockeys on a racehorse. The driver wore black leather with red lightning bolts on the jacket and the pants. His face was hidden beneath a helmet with a mirrored surface—at least Elena assumed it was a man; she could not be certain. His knee-high boots were drawn up almost to his chest, and he leaned forward to grasp the controls. It was a machine built for speed, and yet the motorcycle crawled down the street. The engine rumbled like a pot about to explode.
    It was neither afternoon nor dusk, but rather another of those slow Florida processions toward night. The sun had long since set. But there was no hurry to the close of day. The sky was streaked with a painter’s languid brush, as if nature wished to apologize for the storms and the humid heat. Jacob and Bob walked in tandem just ahead of her. Their heads were back, as they softly laughed toward the sky.
    The motorcyclist removed one gloved hand from the handlebars and slipped it into the top of his boot. He came out with something black and long. Elena realized this was a silenced gun.
    As this was still registering, Elena noticed the white van just ahead of them. A side door was open, and the shadows inside congealed into approaching doom.
    “Down! Get down!”
    Elena threw herself into the two men. They fell onto the pavement in an astonished heap, landing behind a delivery truck. The silenced guns sounded like a stuttering engine of death.
    Elena knew their only hope was to raise the alarm. She had no idea she could scream as loud as she did.
    From their position beneath the truck, she could see copper casings fall like lethal rain on the vehicle’s other side. Fragmentsof the building struck her. Sparks flew off the pavement. And still she screamed.
    It seemed like eons before the motorcyclist roared away. The van’s engine boomed and the tires screeched and suddenly it was over.
    Only then did she see the blood oozing from Bob’s forehead.

 
     
     
    9

     
     
     
    T he SuenaMed corporate jet was huge and plush. The three of them piled on board and split up. They had all been enormously shaken by the attack. They needed solitude to reknit the fabric of their existence. They were successful in a profession that was known for its calm facade. They were paid to remain aloof and intact, while all of their patients tumbled into panic and despair. Elena took a seat at the very front of the jet. A walnut burl table stretched before her, with sterling silver cup holders embedded in its polished surface. The pilot’s face appeared on the flat screen on the table’s other side. He greeted them and described the short flight to Orlando and asked if they needed anything. He seemed accustomed to their terse responses.
    Elena shut her eyes to the jet’s acceleration down the runway. She allowed the attack to replay behind her eyelids. She saw the sparks and the bullet casings. She felt the rawness of her throat from the screaming. She saw the frightened faces that observed them from doorways up and down the shopping street. She saw Bob and Jacob talk with the police. She heard her own hoarse responsesto their questions. She saw her fingers tremble as she pulled out her cell phone