The most important thing was discretion. He had waited a full twenty minutes in the cafe car before folding his paper, slipping it into his jacket pocket and stepping into the dimly lit sleeper car. It was company policy to leave overnight safety lights. Insurance and what-not dictated it so; but more often than not the individual train conductors took it upon themselves to tone down the lights with masking tape and a leftover ticket stub crushed into the light’s metal fixture. This diffused lighting was a welcomed addition to sleeping customers and those like himself, who simply wished to pass unnoticed.

    It was early yet. Only a few of the cabin residents had called it an evening. Behind the doors he heard the muffled voices wrapping up their daily conversations. In at least two different cabins, parents were filling their offspring’s heads with whatever tale was small enough to fit in a carry-on. Passing another door, he caught a glimpse of a young woman resting a magazine on her distended belly. The door locked before he could see the title, but he surmised that it was some sort of pregnancy related guide. He smiled at his fortune. Nothing was a vivid as the thoughts that could race through such a hormonal mind. Even the offbeat imaginations of children couldn’t compete with the dreams a pregnant female could conjure. Making a mental note of her cabin letter, he pressed on.

   More and more minds were switching off now. As the cabins grew silent, the muted click clack of the train’s wheels mixed with the occasional clanging intersection bell began to dominate the hallway. An untrained mind might think that the sleeper car was ready, but he knew better. Nothing good ever came from jumping the gun, he told himself and with that he knew that he’d need a place to wait just a bit longer.

   He opened the door to the lounge and was greeted with the usual sights. A sagging businessman, complete with loudly laughing female companion, was holed up in the far corner of car’s bar. Their exaggerated gestures were busy blocking the only staff member, a lanky middle aged bartender, from fully wiping down his counter. Every train offered variations on these tired subjects, but they were rarely a threat. Seeing them made him feeling a bit more at ease, and he began the task of picking out a seat. Something closer to the sleeper cars would be too obvious, yet the excitement was on him now. With each new row the sleepers’ thoughts faded and he didn’t want that. It wasn’t until he was three rows in that he saw her.

   She sat there with one of the overhead reading lights quietly illuminating her raven black hair. Two large white headphones, the style seen only in 70s movies and radio stations, hung over her ears and pressed her dark bangs tightly against her fair skin. And while she wore the clothes and face of a younger school girl, her gray eyes reflected back a very different tale. He noticed that her uniform offered no discernible emblem or crest, yet he had a strong feeling of familiarity when looking at its crisp blazer and well creased vest. Still this odd feeling of déjà vu was not the most unsettling thing about the young woman who was quietly looking him over. No, the masked bird calmly perched upon her gloved right hand was by far more menacing. It too seem to be looking at him, despite the small leather hood secured tightly to its head. The girl, seeing his gaze switch to her bird, calmly removed her oversized headphones and said, “Would you care for a seat?”

   He sat.

   There really was little choice. From the moment his eyes met hers, his intentions faded. The sleepers’ thoughts diminished as a new obsession struck him and he was unsure of what to do next. Thankfully, it was her turn now. He held his breath as her eyes settled on his aging Doc. Martens. The scuffs were barely masked by his repeated polishing anymore and normally that didn’t matter; yet now he was having second thoughts.  Her gaze flicked to his pant-legs. He knew that few people wore black jeans anymore, only there was something that kept him from tossing them away. After all they were comforting and frankly the fans expected them. However the comfort which they had once offered was also quickly fading under her inspection. The eyes moved on. He couldn’t say why, but he continued to hold his tongue as she slipped slowly past his black t-shirt and heavy black pea-coat. It certainly wasn’t cold enough to call for such outerwear, but she clearly saw that the coat less about the elements and more about personal armor. A slight smile from her lips let on that she knew just how much he enjoyed hiding behind the coat’s upturned collar. Finally her gray eyes found their way to his own hound-dogged face. He shot a protective hand towards the salt and pepper bird’s nest that he dared call a haircut, and tried to push its unruly waves down against his head.

   “You can ask about Carl, if you’d like.” she said. Her voice was soft, just as you would expect. Suddenly the quiet awkwardness from moments before melted away and he felt so at ease.

   “Carl?”

   “You’re not the least bit curious about my companion here?”

   Ah. Carl. He smiled and leaned forward, “I’m just surprised that they didn’t demand you keep him in the luggage car.”

   The girl waved her hand absently, “I have my ways. My name’s Iris.” he told her his name which she immediately informed him was, “Unfortunate” and that it, “must have been hell on the playground.”

  “I did all right.” he said.

   The drunk woman let out a loud snort and stumbled from her bar stool. Carl flapped one wing in her direction as if to silence her. Iris let him edge his way to the end of her hand and his hooded head turned to watch over the inebriated couple in the back. Strangely enough, they quieted down.

    Iris continued on, “So you have. You’re up to what now, four best-selling novels?”

   “You know my work?” this pleased him, “Well, it’s five if you count my work with Terri.”

   “I don’t.” her smile faded, “it isn’t truly your story now is it? But then, what of them are?”

    He froze. “Excuse me?”

    “The short stories are the where you’ve really borrowed, haven’t you?” this was not a question. “one hundred and one published lies and here you are looking for more. Just how long did you think this would go unnoticed?”

    He swallowed hard. “How could you possibly -”

    “I imagine that you’ve also spotted the young mom to be back in cabin H. I’m sure she’s number one on your hit list tonight. I hear pregnant women’s dreams are so vivid that you can taste them. Is that true? Taste? In a dream? Amazing.”

   “I wouldn’t know.” he lied.

   “The thing is,” she said, ignoring him, “There’s a few of us who want to know how you’re doing it. It’s nothing new for the likes of us; but you’re not like us, now are you?” he said nothing. “You haven’t asked me who us is, so can I take your silence as confirmation that you know exactly what’s going on here.”

    “Iris,” he rolled the name about on his tongue for a moment before adding, “the messenger.”

    The bird looked at him and he knew he was right. Iris laughed, “You’ve pissed off some important folks. You do know that, right?” she sat forward, adding, “Plagiarism is such a silly word, don’t you think? Let’s call it what it is, stealing.”

    “They’re images. Visions. Hardly concrete ideas, and I take them home. I-I just flesh them out. I breathe life into them. I wouldn’t call that stealing.”

    “Wouldn’t you?” she wet her lips, “Interesting. Please go on.”

     “There was this man…like you, but not like you.”

     “Like me, but not like me. My word, but you do know your way about the language. No wonder you’re a bestseller.”

     He began to shake. It wasn’t a tremble of fear or anger, but frustration. The words refused to come, how could he explain? He let loose a deep breathe, hoping to reassert himself in this failing conversation. “As I was saying, he was like you. He knew things. He saw me struggling. Do you have any idea just how the hell hard it is to get ahead in this business? Have you the faintest idea just how many of us are out there; each trying to stand out from another. And what can we do? We’re the umpteenth generation of writers wandering this world, it’s been done before. It’s all been done before. What would you have me do?”

    “Why, steal the dreams of your fellow man of course.” her soft voice had hardened.

    He knew he was on the losing side of it all, but he couldn’t stop now. She needed to know. “The man, he said it would be ok. It doesn’t hurt them, you know. I just sit back and their thoughts, they just find me. No one gets hurt.” behind them, the bartender ran a bell and loudly proclaimed last call. It seemed odd to him that the man would bother with the tradition what with only two real patrons. The businessman was propping up his companion now. She groaned and angrily swatted him off as he tried to stir her.

    “Do you have any idea what it is like to be dreamless?” Iris asked, pulling his attention back. She had begun to untie the back of Carl’s leather hood. The tiny straps swung back and forth as she slowly slipped them free. “Imagine your life without your dreams. That time in which you conquer your fears, entertain the wildest of possibilities, or simply let go… gone. And it doesn’t return, son,” those old eyes held him fast. “once you take a person’s dreams, they’re gone. I ask you, do you honestly feel that such a thing is harmless?”

     He said nothing.

    “I thought not.” Iris said, slipping the hood from Carl’s head and revealing the same unnerving set of gray eyes. It was those eyes which held him as the falconer’s knot slipped free and bird’s talons flexed. Even as the creature’s wings seemed to double in size, he held fast to the unnatural color of those eyes. Those eyes, he thought…so...human. In the end, he didn’t even notice his own scream.

    The pregnant woman in cabin H slept on.