Persistence Of Memory

Chapter 2

Teetering, Alex thrust out his arms and blinked. He was back in his garage studio, paintbrush still dipped in the palette and the half-finished canvas as wet as it’d been when he’d been sucked into Artania. No mud stained his jeans. No rocky debris dusted his hair. It was as if the past hour had been but a dream.

This had happened to him so many times you’d think he’d be used to it, but it still was pretty friggin’ weird to be painting at home one second, and in an art-created world the next.

His Australian shepherd, Rembrandt, wagged a tail once and nuzzled up against his leg. Alex bent down and rubbed the dog’s ears.

“More weirdness, boy. It’s looking bad.”

The Artanian journeys weren’t the only thing Alex had to get used to. His family had recently undergone major changes, namely the birth of his sister, Destiny, in April. A full-on surprise since his mom was in her mid-forties, had seen specialists just to get pregnant the first time, and had a heart condition that nearly killed her when Alex was eleven.

Not that everything had changed. Dad still quoted from Dr. Bock’s How to be a Perfect Parent and worked on his mathematical theorems as a university professor in Santa Barbara. Between feedings and diaper changes, Mom still experimented with recipes for her cookbook series. And Alex still skateboarded and painted.

Dr. Bock’s How to be a Perfect Parent But there was this fear looming over their little tract home. As if something terrible might happen at any minute.

And with Shadow Swine waiting to cross over and invade dreams it sure as rat farts could.

“We were losing,” Alex said to Rembrandt. “Gotta get to work.” He picked up the paintbrush and faced the canvas. Although he had set out to create an Impressionist river scene, the jolting journey compelled him to alter it.

Alex closed his eyes, recalling details from the arch and its environs. Had there been Artanians nearby? If so, what type of art were they? He recalled something in the corner of his eye right before Bartholomew had shoved him. A creature made of squares and blocks.

“Cubism. Should I?”

Rembrandt wagged his tail as if to answer yes and then sat with an expectant look in his silvery blue eyes.

“Okay, you’re the boss.”

Alex closed his eyes again, imagining some square-edged soldiers. They had to be strong, so he gave them broad shoulders and muscular arms. Then he put bayonets in their hands. They would need them when they came to life in Artania. He had just put the finishing touches on a blade when he heard his mom call from inside.

“Alex!”

Dropping the brush, Alex raced inside. His voice was quivering when he asked. “Everything okay, Mom?”

Cyndi Devinci glanced up from her seat on the couch. Alex’s little sister, Destiny, was nestled in the crook of her other arm, a few drops of milk on her pink cheek. Brushing her disheveled hair out of her face with the back of her hand, Mom tilted her chin toward the five-month-old. “Can you grab her?”

Alex nodded and scooped up his little sister.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Just tired. Didn’t sleep well. Between feedings and bad dreams, I barely got any sleep.” She buttoned her blouse and took a long sip of water from the glass on the coffee table.

Alex gulped. “Bad dreams?”

“Yeah. Strange because each started out happy. The four of us picnicking at the beach. Then all of a sudden, the sky darkened, and there was this horrible voice. Deep and gravely, threatening little Destiny.” She shuddered and kissed the top of the baby’s head. “Every time I scooped her up to escape, it got louder.”

“What else?”

“Crazy words about art. Its wrongness in the world. But I don’t want to talk about it.” She smiled at him. “Could you watch her while I take a nap? It won’t be too long. Dad should be home from the university in about an hour.”

“Sure, Mom. No problem.”

“Don’t forget to burp her.”

Alex lifted Destiny onto his shoulder and Mom slogged down the hall toward her room. He thought back to his first trip into Artania when the captain of the Shadow Swine had warned him. We invade all dreams. Even the mother of a chosen one.

We invade all dreams. Even the mother of a chosen one.Having experienced the Shadow Swine nightmares himself, Alex hated to imagine Mom dealing with them. Her recent pregnancy had put a real strain on her heart, and he lived in constant fear of a repeat of her episode a few years back.

Shortly after that heart attack, he and Bartholomew made their first trip into Artania. There they discovered that evil creatures were entering Earth to twist people’s dreams into nightmares. These Shadow Swine gained power with every person who turned away from art.

Only Alex and Bartholomew could paint, sculpt, and sketch beings strong enough to stop the dream invasions. Their Knights of Painted Light came to life as soon as humans drifted off to sleep, ready to do battle. Alex took this responsibility very seriously, never going long before painting a new canvas.

This was why Mom’s nightmare was so perplexing. He was continually painting, so why weren’t the Knights protecting her?

Patting his sister’s back gently, Alex coaxed a small burp. He started to reach for the towel on the kitchen counter. Too late. A second later, spit-up was soaking into his T-shirt. He dabbed at it and shook his head, adjusting her on his shoulder.

“Wanna play with Rembrandt?” he asked. Taking silence as a yes, Alex picked up the tennis ball from the basket of toys and called for the dog to follow them out back. Kicking a lawn chair out from the table, he sat Destiny in his lap and whistled.

Rembrandt wagged his tail, and Alex tossed the ball. The Australian shepherd chased after it, but Destiny didn’t notice. Instead, she puckered her bow mouth and stared at a fluttering leaf.

“No, watch, Destiny,” Alex said, waving the ball in front of her face.

He threw it, and this time Destiny’s eyes grew wide. Rembrandt leaped over the lawn as she let out snickering giggles. A grinning Alex repeated this several times before his baby sister’s down-covered head started lolling over.

With one last ball toss, Alex cradled Destiny in his arms and went back into the house. After a soft Eskimo kiss, he lay her in her crib, turned on the baby monitor, and tiptoed out of the room.

Planning to complete his painting, Alex pushed open the garage door. He grabbed a fresh brush from the coffee can, turned toward his easel.

And stopped dead in his tracks.

Every soldier had been altered. Black paint seeped from stomachs. Faces contorted into screams while eyes cast downward reflected large gaping wounds. All four corners of the canvas were blotched with dark smears shadowing the bright colors he’d applied earlier.

Alex sucked in a breath and looked fearfully over his shoulder.

“Shadow Swine here? What the—”