Dreamology(13)

“Then you will need to call the number listed in your CDD handbook,” the voice says matter-of-factly.

I think for a second. “Is there a security camera out here?” I ask.

“To your left,” she eventually responds.

I look, and just above the door is a sleek white camera pointed directly at me. I pull the stack of postcards from my bag, fan them out like a poker hand, and hold them up to the lens.

“I don’t have a handbook,” I say, “because I haven’t been here in ten years. All I have are these and some whacked-out dreams of a guy that I thought was a figment of my imagination, but turns out is a real person. So like I said, I want to speak to Petermann, and I am willing to wait. There can only be one way out of this funky little rotunda, and I’m standing in front of it.”

After a moment of silence, the door clicks open. I enter the circular main floor of CDD. Across from me is a reception desk, with two sets of stairs ascending on either side behind it, meeting at a doorway at the top.

“Cool place,” I say to the girl behind the desk, her hair in a smooth bun, her face serious. Charm her, I think. So I also say, “And that is a nice . . . dress.” It is not a nice dress. It’s a hideous brown pattern with a rounded collar. It looks like something someone’s grandmother would wear. This girl is not much older than me. She’s pretty, but this dress is not doing her any favors.

“It’s the old observatory,” she explains. “And my grandmother made this for me. May I see the cards?” She holds out a hand.

I wait patiently as she examines them, then types a few things into her computer. “You can sit over there,” she says without looking up, and points aggressively to a bench on the side wall, its back curved to fit the shape of the room.

As soon as I sit down, I understand why she exiled me here. Due to something about the acoustics, I am unable to hear what she is whispering into the phone, no matter how far I lean in her direction.

“He’s coming out,” she says finally.

When Dr. Petermann descends one of the staircases, he is everything and nothing I expected. Expected are his fluffy white hair and thick spectacles. Unexpected are his spandex cycling shorts, racing top, bike shoes, and charm.

“Alice,” he says, extending a leather-gloved hand. “What a pleasure. I knew both your parents way back when.” He smiles heartily. “Please forgive the outfit. One must take advantage of these last warm days before the winter tundra sets in, correct? I’m just about to take my bike out for a spin around the river.”

“I’m sorry to bother you, Dr. Petermann,” I say. “But I recently found these cards, and understandably I had some questions . . .” I realize I’m not holding the cards, that the blond vintage-loving cyborg still has them, so I take a few steps over to the desk and hold my hand out expectantly. She finally rolls her eyes and gives them back.

“Of course you must!” Petermann says jubilantly. “And I would be more than happy to fill you in on what we do here, if you’d just make an appointment.” He purses his lips in such an exaggerated smile that I stop finding him sincere. “I am quite booked up at the moment, but I’m sure we can figure something out in the next couple of months. Right, Lillian?”

“Months?” I say. “No. This is slightly more time-sensitive than that. If I could just have a moment of your time, or perhaps take a look at my files?”

“I’m afraid not.” Petermann laughs nervously. “You see, we’ve just recently upgraded to a new computer system, and not even half of our records have been logged. It’s an arduous process, I’m sure you understand.” He waves his hand in the air and begins to head for the door.

“Please, Dr. Petermann,” I say, stepping in front of him. “I’ve been having the craziest dreams, and I’m starting to question what is real and what isn’t. My dad says you guys helped me when I was little. I want to know exactly what you did.”

Just then there is another buzz at the door, and Petermann stiffens slightly. Lillian looks up at him from behind the desk, her nostrils flaring.

“Should I—” she asks.

“No,” he says quickly. Then turns back to me. “I’m sorry, Alice. Like I said, I’m very busy.”

Another buzz. Petermann closes his eyes. Then a banging at the door.

“Expecting someone?” I ask.

Petermann grits his teeth. “Do not let them in,” he orders Lillian.

“But, doctor,” she hisses. “They may do more harm out there than in here.”

Petermann looks at her hard. “You’re right,” he finally agrees. “Go ahead.”

I hear a faint click before the heavy doors shove open and a male voice hollers, “I’ve got seven peacocks out here. Could you have taken any longer to open the door?”

To my utter astonishment, he’s not kidding. A guy with shaggy brown hair and thick glasses strides in, a peacock squirming under one arm. Behind him, a girl with a copper sweater pushes a dolly with six more, stacked in cages. They flutter and shake and cry out again and again, their green tails sticking out every which way.

“I know Mrs. Perry requested peacocks,” Dr. Petermann scoffs. “But next time we have to think of a better substitute.” Suddenly he stops, remembering me. “Alice, this is Miles, one of our research assistants, along with Lillian and Nanao.”