"Dream a Little Dream of Me"

Word count: 13026
(I have started adding chapter introductions, an idea gleaned from the NaNo forums, and which I quite enjoy. I will share them with you all tomorrow, I think.)

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Chapter 8: Dream a Little Dream of Me
(In which I reluctantly relate to you the contents of a dream and we finally discover the origins of the title.)

I hate dream sequences. Really, I do. Nothing in a book or movie says to me, "Hey, you can stop paying attention for five minutes," more than a dream sequence does. It's an author saying, "Here, let me tell you about something that didn't happen but is going to be either A) foreshadowing, B) symbolically significant or C) revealing of the inner workings of a character's mind." Yawn. For real, that shit just doesn't do it for me.
That said, I really gotta tell you about the dream I had when I fell asleep talking to my cat. Shit, that right there sounds pretty weird. But you know what I mean -- I was just talking to myself with my cat there. It's like when Swearengen talks to the severed head in Deadwood. He's not really talking to the head it's just there for him to use as a sounding board. Or better yet - when Ellsworth would talk to his dog. You remember that? Man, I was pissed when they shot him. Anyway -- that's like me. Talking to my cat. But not really.
So I'm going to tell you about this dream, and if you don't want to read about it, you're welcome to skip ahead to the next chapter. It's going to have bits about heading to the office to find information about the case I'm working on and some pretty good music in it as well. You're not going to miss much and if it turns out, through some strange twist of fate, that the information presented in my dream is important, I'll come get you. I promise.
Okay.
I'm lying on the floor -- I seem to be doing a whole lot of that these days -- and I'm asleep, only I'm not really asleep. It's hard to explain, but I'll give it a shot. My eyes are closed and I can't open them and I'm thinking I should head to the bathroom to splash my face with water but I can't really get up either. I'm struggling to open my eyes but I just can't. I try to sit up but I can't. My frustration level is rising and I'm about to yell out a whole flurry of curses for the world when I hear two gunshots very close to me. I stop trying to open my eyes because now I know I don't want to see what's going on but now it's a struggle to keep them closed.
Finally, I stop struggling altogether and my eyes open. It's the darkness again. That old, everpresent darkness and I'm starting to realize that I just can't win for losing.
There's nothing quite like the silence that follows immediately after a gun is fired. It's a heavy silence, thick with tension and consequences. It doesn't last very long though. Quite soon, the moaning and the yelling and the screaming kick in. But, even in dreams, the silence has a weight to it. Add to it the perceived hypersensitivity that darkness brings and you have one magnificent silence indeed.
It is in this silence that I finally hear the voice. It is whispering, again and again the same phrase:
"Seek out Illinoir."
"Hey, don't you mean Illinois?" I ask. "I know the 's' is silent and it's a weird word, but it's Native American. It's from the Illinwek tribe that once lived here. Though the word seems like it hasa some French influence, doesn't it? What with the silent 's' and all, I mean."
The voice louder, a little more insistent. "Seek out Illinoir."
"Okay, I'm really confused. If you mean Illinois, I've got to say, that's where we are. Or at least, I think that's where we are. That's where I live. Illinois. Chicago, really. Nobody in Chicago really thinks much about being in the State of Illinois. On a daily basis, we just kind of think of Chicago as the state we're in and Illinois is a place that's kinda, you know, somewhere else. 'Downstate.' It's not the way that I imagine people who live in Ohio or Kansas feel. They're definitely Ohioans or Kansas...ians. What are they called, anyway? Kansasites? Kansasters? Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah--"
"Seek out Illinoir!" And I swear to God I can hear frustration verging on anger coming from the voice.
"Look, I love a good quest as much as the next guy. And I love a vague lead-in to a quest more than most. But this doesn't make any sense. How do you spell that?"
"I-L-L-I-N-O-I-R."
"Great. Now we're getting somewhere. Is that supposed to be Illinois but like... I don't know. Noir-y?"
"Yes!" says the voice. "I mean. Seek out Illinoir!"
"Well okay. Will do, Mister Myserious Voice. Is that all?"
The voice returns to its previously dramatic tone and timbre, whispering, "Seek out Illinoir." It gets quieter and quieter, as if fading away, but it's quite apparent that the source of the voice is attempting to stealthily shuffle out of the room and is having trouble doing so.
"Oh, I know," I say sympathetically. "These rooms are dark, aren't they? I was having the exact same problem earlier. Here, let me help."
My lighter is in my hand and I am turning the wheel against the flint and the spark is igniting the gas. The little flame seems to illuminate the entire room but all I can see, directly in front of me is the body of a woman, blood streaming from two bullet wounds. Her enitre body is blurred and all that is clear is her face.

I have another dream as well. It involves chickens. Its relevance is even less readily apparent.