Dreamcatcher IV.

Martin turned the car around and stopped on the opposite side, closer to the hospital entrance. As he passed the security booth, he remembered the sign from his dream: St. Cross Hospital. Ring the bell.

Exactly the same as in the dream.

This time, however, there was a guard inside – an older man, probably retired, earning a few extra coins. Or maybe he was just here to feel useful… to be around people.

“Where to, young man?” rasped the guard, snapping Martin out of his thoughts.

“Uh… ophthalmology,” Martin stammered.

“Well, you surely need it,” the guard chuckled. “The map’s right in front of you, and you’re asking for directions? Straight ahead, second floor, right wing.”

“I didn’t ask,” Martin muttered irritably – and immediately regretted it.

“Ah, never mind,” the guard waved it off. “You were standing there like Lot’s wife, so I just asked.”

“Right… thanks,” Martin said quietly and headed toward the main entrance.

Exactly like in the dream, he thought as he stepped inside. Even the smell is the same.

Instead of ascending to the second floor, he descended to the basement. A maze of corridors stretched before him - but this time, he followed the signs, in the direction of the arrows leading to the pathology department.

“Where do you think you’re going, young man?” came a calm voice behind him - a man in a white coat.

Again?  And with the ‘young,’ Martin thought. Do I really look that fresh-faced?

“I… I’m here to ask about one of the victims. From that train crash,” he managed to say.

“Are you a relative? Which victim? There are several here,” replied the doctor.

“Yes… the son-in-law. Of Mr. K– K–”

“You mean Kubica?”

“Yes,” Martin nodded.

“Then his daughter is already here. Your wife, I presume?”

Martin only nodded silently.

“This way, please. I’ll take you to her.”

They entered the same room he had seen in his dream. The doctor opened the door and said quietly, “I’ll leave you alone,” before closing it behind them.

Martin prayed silently that Mr. Kubica was the same man from his dream - and that he had only one daughter. It seemed his prayer was, at least partly, answered.

From where he stood, Martin saw the man from his dream - Mr. Kubica.

Now he wasn’t merely corpse-like. He was completely dead.

 Before him stood a figure in a T-shirt and tight jeans, turned away. From the shaking of her shoulders, he knew she was crying softly.

“Oh, father…” she whispered.

Martin couldn’t grasp it. He had never dreamed before - and now, his dream had become real.

How was that possible?

And why was he even here? Why had he needed to test it?

“And who are you?” came the girl’s voice.

She turned and took a step towards him.

It’s her. His daughter, Martin thought as her face came into view.

The story is originally written in the Slovak language. English and Czech translations are generated by ChatGPT. The picture is downloaded from pixabay. This story is fictional and any resemblance to real characters or events is purely coincidental. 

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