Dreamfever (5 page)

Hours later, Saidy confirmed Josh's earlier suspicions: Nan had a sprained wrist, two broken fingers, one twisted ankle, a ruptured eardrum, three infected wounds, and a toenail that had to come off immediately. Since Nan was able to remain awake long enough for Saidy to evaluate and treat her, they decided it was safe to let her go back to sleep afterward.

The story they had agreed on and told Saidy was that Nan was a dream walker who had gotten lost in the Dream for a number of days and that they wanted to let her rest before putting her on a plane home. The only part of the story Nan got wrong was that instead of saying she was from Chicago, she named Geneva as her hometown. Frantic glances were exchanged until they discovered that Nan knew an inordinate amount about Switzerland and was able to converse easily in French.

“Maybe she's really Swiss,” Josh whispered to Will.

Saidy left, and Nan slumped over on the bed, mumbling,
“Au revoir,”
as she fell back to sleep.

*   *   *

Late that night, Will woke to the sound of his bedroom door opening. No light came from the living room, but he knew that the figure darting into his room was Josh. He rolled to the far side of his twin bed and held up the blanket for her to climb under.

He didn't have to ask what was wrong; he knew from the way she trembled that she'd woken up from a nightmare. Ever since Feodor had tried to kill her with his memories—and Feodor had lived through the worst parts of World War II—she'd been having nightmares. He suspected that some of those memories had simply stayed in her subconscious.

“Sorry,” Josh whispered.

“For what?” Will whispered back, tucking her in beside him. “Letting me sleep next to my girl?”

He kept his words light to hide his rage. He had never hated anyone the way he hated Feodor Kajażkołski. Feeling Josh hide her face in his shoulder and hold him with her fists clenched against his back made Will want to go buy a bigger gun. It made him regret the peaceful death he had allowed Feodor. The man should have suffered the way Josh was suffering now.

But Will knew that anger was only ever a shield against hurt or fear, and he didn't want to burden Josh with either of those, so he just tightened his arms around her. Her neck was sweaty, but he kissed it anyway. “You're safe. Go to sleep, Josh. You're safe here.”

He didn't know what she'd dreamed of, and he didn't ask because he didn't think he could bear to know.

He was right.

 

Three

Waking was difficult.
Mirren struggled up into her mind, which was as gray as early morning, but her body kept calling out to her like a foghorn:
Sleeeeep. Sleeeeep. Sleeeeep.

She opened her eyes, despite the pain, and saw that the foreign bedroom was dark and empty. She didn't understand why she had woken up until she realized how full her bladder was. Since entering the Dream, she had peed in a lot of weird places, and she wondered what new dreamscape she would mark as her territory this time.

Then she remembered: She had left the Dream. She was in the World.

Her heart thumped, causing an echoing throb in her bladder. The
World
. She had finally escaped and reached the World.

She recognized the bedroom she'd fallen asleep in. Someone had closed the window, and the room had grown cool. Mirren wished she had asked where the bathroom was before she'd fallen asleep, but perhaps this way was better. She'd have an excuse to walk around without an escort.

Suddenly the stranger's bed felt safe and familiar, the house beyond it a vast and dangerous vista.

You're in a house,
she told herself.
No doubt it's similar to the houses on TV. There will be a kitchen, and a bathroom, and bedrooms.

She hoped there weren't any dogs.

Summoning strength against the numerous pains and stiff muscles that protested her movement, she climbed out of the bed and approached the window. The anticipation she felt at looking through the glass was so intense, it felt almost like fear. After a minute spent wrestling with the lock, she knelt in front of the open window to press her face against the screen.

She closed her eyes and breathed deep.

The warm air that entered her lungs smelled faintly sweet, but also ruddy. She didn't have names for the scents—one note was grainy and rich like velvet, another carried a sour smell like spinach. Ripe, gaudy florals; a faint chemical odor she imagined to be smog; even the metallic burn of the window screen. The air felt damp in her throat, and every time she inhaled she tasted something new. Crickets chirped charmingly—she recognized them from films—and tree leaves rustled one another as a slow breeze blew. Mirren opened her eyes and stared out at the branches and the moon passing behind them.

She felt dizzy from the wonder of it all.

But her bladder ached. She made herself stand up and go to the door; the window would still be open when she returned.

Although she didn't remember changing her clothes, she now wore a T-shirt and too-short flannel pants. She hesitated at the door, unsure if this was an appropriate outfit to wear outside of the bedroom or if she should attempt to locate a robe.

The thought made her laugh. All those beautiful robes she had left behind, only to find herself in need of one here.

Her hand closed around the cold metal doorknob.
Just a house,
she reminded herself, but she had never been in any house besides her own.

Her mind was waking up, and it was full of warnings. It reminded her that she was trapped in the World with no way to get home, that her family likely thought she was dead, and that if anyone here found out who she was, they might very well have her executed. She had done a terrible job of blending in so far—she knew she had. She should have figured out how to open the Coke on her own, and her amnesia story was ludicrous, not to mention whatever had gone wrong with the handshake.

But she was pinching her thighs together as though trying to carry a dime between her knees, and she realized she couldn't put off finding a bathroom any longer. With a resolute motion, she turned the knob and opened the door.

She'd thought everyone would be asleep, but someone was sitting on the living room couch watching television. When he heard the door open, he turned his head, and she recognized him as the guy who had squeezed her hand and then run.
Haley,
she remembered. Mirren hadn't realized it was a unisex name.

The people on television were dancing in a club, and the colored lights wavered over the living room walls like aquarium lights. Mirren had always wanted to visit an aquarium. So many romantic scenes in films took place in them.

But Haley stood up and turned on a lamp missing its shade. Then he picked up a remote control and shut off the television, and after that they were just two people standing in a brightly lit room amid piles of dirty laundry.

Haley appeared younger than the teenage boys on television, less muscular, still a little gangly. His hairstyle looked less like sculpted bedhead than just bedhead, and she couldn't tell if his green-and-yellow cardigan was fashionable or some sort of security blanket he wore at night. As she watched him, wishing she had something witty to say, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pad of paper and a Sharpie.

Should she walk away? Was their earlier mishap his way of telling her that he didn't care to know her? He flipped pages on the pad as if looking for notes, but after reaching a blank page and staring at it for several seconds, he put the pad and pen down on the couch.

“Hey,” he said to Mirren. The word seemed to require a great deal of effort to pronounce.

Mirren smiled, because she knew the socially appropriate response to his greeting. “Hey,” she replied.

He thought some more. Then he said, “I know who you are.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

I must have given myself away the moment I opened my mouth. I have to get out of here.

“Is there a ladies' room nearby?” she asked.

Haley wet his lips, looking confused. He pointed at a door next to an open laundry closet.

The bathroom was small and not very clean. It smelled of something both sour and musky that Mirren couldn't identify. Throwing back the soap-streaked shower curtain, she saw what she was hoping for: a window.

A very small window.

I won't fit through that,
she admitted to herself. Her rapid breath grew frantic as she sat on the closed toilet lid. She was so scared, she couldn't imagine removing a single article of clothing, let alone urinating.

I just got here; this can't be my end already. What sort of destiny is that? They told me so many times that I wasn't ready—why didn't I listen? What was I thinking when I left home?

She had been thinking that she had been a prisoner all her life and that she didn't intend to die a prisoner. She had been thinking that she was nineteen, the age of royal majority, and she needed to prove—to herself and her family—that she was worthy of being her parents' daughter. She had been thinking that she couldn't stand one more day in the Hidden Kingdom.

In retrospect, her behavior appeared very foolish and very immature.

Haley knocked softly on the bathroom door. “Mir—Nan? I—I don't know what to call you. Are you okay?”

He didn't sound like he was going to kill her. That was some comfort.

“Just a moment, please,” she called back.

Still shaking, she rose and faced herself in the mirror. Her red hair hadn't been washed in days and hung in strands of rat's nest. Her gray eyes were bloodshot, her lips nearly colorless, high spots of color dominated both cheeks, and various bruises, braces, and bandages covered her appendages.

What would Aunt Collena say if she could see me now?

The thought made her smile, and the sight of her own smile made her realize that she had not lost all of her dignity.

“Heed these words,” she whispered to her reflection. “You are the last member of a deposed monarchy, and you may never become queen of so much as a prom, and you have no idea how to act or speak or even shake hands. But you were raised to be a dream-walker queen and you are going to conduct yourself like one, even in the face of appalling circumstance. Now empty your bladder before you piss yourself with fear.”

Then she washed her face, combed her hair, brushed her teeth with someone else's toothbrush, and forced herself to use the toilet.

Haley was sitting on the couch, knees pulled up to his chest, when she exited the bathroom. Mirren squared her shoulders beneath her borrowed T-shirt and sat at the other end of the couch.

“I apologize for making you wait,” she said. “I had to attend to a personal matter. But my attention is entirely yours now.”

Haley stared at her with hazel eyes as helpless and uncertain as a child's. Despite his rumpled and—what was the word, “grungy”?—apparel, he had an attractive face with well-balanced features and fair skin that his sisters or girlfriends must have envied.

“If I may ask, how did you recognize me?”

He wet his lips again, said nothing.

Either I am terrible at making conversation,
Mirren thought,
or else he's even worse.

“You said you didn't know what to call me. Mirren will be fine, when we're alone. Naturally, I'd rather you didn't disclose my identity to anyone else, but that's your decision. In the meantime, I'd like to hear your demands.”

Haley blinked in alarm, then picked up his pad of paper and his Sharpie and began to write. As she waited, she recalled having once heard something about the odor of Sharpies. She wondered if it would be inappropriate to ask to smell his pen.

He tore the page out of the pad and held it out to her.

I just want to help you get home.

“Oh,” Mirren said. “Oh.” She closed her eyes briefly because there wasn't a wall nearby for her to bang her head against.

“I'm so sorry,” she said, the words tumbling out. She felt trapped and stupid and rude. “I assumed that because you're a dream walker—well, I shouldn't have assumed that … I'm sorry. I assumed incorrectly.” She felt breathless. “May I open that window?”

Before he could reply, she stood up and pushed a floor-length curtain aside, only to discover that the glint of glass she had seen had come from a door and not a window.

A sliding glass door,
she recalled. She pushed the handle sideways and one layer of glass slid alongside another, making a soft
swish
.

What an aptly named architectural element,
she thought.

Then she inhaled, and all the scents she had tasted through the bedroom window returned—stronger, richer. She tilted her head back to lift her nose and stepped onto a porch that ran the length of the house. Until the warm air hit her bare arms, she hadn't realized how cold she was.

Tilting her head back farther, she could see the stars. Real stars—living, burning stars that had reached across the galaxy to show themselves to her. They looked the same as the fake stars at home, and yet something made them indefinably beautiful and filled her with wonder.

“Dear God,” she whispered.

The door made its
swoosh
sound, and she turned to see Haley closing it behind him. For an instant she felt fearful again, but he gave her a very small, very meek smile, and she remembered his note.

She wanted so much to trust him, to have an ally in this huge World, to have a friend to … just to have a
friend
.

“I've never been outside before,” she admitted. “It's…”

She wanted to say
magical,
but she was afraid of sounding stupid and childish. Instead, she turned her face back up to the brilliant sky. She almost thought she could feel the moonlight on her skin, light and lively and cool.