Poet Anderson ...Of Nightmares (24 page)

“He might not kill me,” Jonas said. “There's also that possibility, Sam.”

“Shut up,” she said, shaking her head. “I can't accept this. There has to be another way. Another person. Why does it have to be you?”

“Because REM ruined my life,” Jonas said. “Because REM will destroy everything I love, including you. Don't you get it? If I don't stop him, he'll kill you, Alan, and all of the Dream Walkers. I'm the only one who can get close to him because it's my soul he wants. It's the only way.” Jonas walked over to take Samantha's arm, pulling her gently to her feet. “I want to live. I do. But, Sam, I know I can beat him. I feel it.”

Sam put her palms over her face, and Jonas wrapped himself around her. He wished he could make her forget all of this. Wished he'd never met her so she could have continued her life before he screwed it up. But he did meet her, and now she was everything.

Sam sniffled and pulled back, looking up at Jonas. He brushed her hair behind her ears before leaning his forehead against hers. “I fucking love you like crazy,” Jonas whispered.

Samantha got up on her tiptoes and slid her fingers into his hair. She studied his face like she was looking at him for the first time. The last time. “I fucking love you like crazy, too,” she said.

Jonas felt a sway in his chest and his fingers dug into her hips. Sam leaned in and kissed him, her tongue grazing his upper lip. He was lost, then. Ready to forget everything else. Even if just for a moment.

Jonas deepened the kiss and Sam knotted her fingers painfully in his hair, but he liked it. He wanted it all. They broke apart only to undress and then they were on his bed, pushing away the covers as they devoured each other. Loved each other. And as he felt the fast beat of her heart against his, Jonas knew he would do everything he could to come back to her.

Chapter Twenty-Six

J
onas brushed his fingers up
and
down Sam's arm as she rested against him, careful not to fall asleep. They were in his small, basement room, and both knew there wasn't time for this. But this might be the last chance they had to see each other. Sam snuggled against him, and Jonas turned absently to kiss the top of her head. He was fighting his guilt.

“I have to tell you something,” he started. “About what I said to Marshall.”

“Okay,” Sam replied suspiciously.

“I told him to make sure you stay away while I deal with REM. I told him not to let you fall asleep.”

She propped herself up on her elbow to stare down at him. “How? Like toothpicks to keep my eyes open? A bottle of uppers?”

Jonas smiled. “I think it was maybe coffee,” he said. “But if you want to get dramatic, I wouldn't have rejected those extremes.”

Sam swatted his shoulder and then tucked the sheet under her arms and sat up. She folded her legs and faced him, her hair knotted near her neck. Jonas couldn't help but think she was the most beautiful creature on the entire planet.

“I should tell you something too, then,” she said. “I've been meeting with Molly.”

Jonas's worry ratcheted up, a worry that started when Marshall mentioned the possibility of Sam becoming a Dream Walker. “Oh,” Jonas said, looking down at the sheet covering his legs. “What about?” he asked.

“Molly's been teaching me how to control my dreams and face my fears,” Sam said. “Not so I can become a Dream Walker, but so I can protect myself. Protect the people I love.” Sam smiled sadly. “And that's you,” she said. “I need you.”

“You have me,” Jonas whispered.

“Do I?”

“All of me, yes,” he said. “I love you so much it hurts, but that love is exactly how REM can destroy me. You know that's true. Molly must have told you that.”

Sam stared at him, and then nodded. “She told me to stay out of the dreamscape,” Sam said. “She made me promise.” Her eyes grew glassy with tears. “I'm not going to sleep tonight,” she said, “but not because you asked me to. I'm doing it to save your life.”

Jonas licked his lips, feeling his own emotions well up. He leaned in and kissed her, softly, sadly. They knew their time was up. Both got up and dressed, silent, but unable to keep from touching—brush of a hand here, kiss there—whenever they could.

“Let's see if Marshall made any progress with the Dream Walkers,” Jonas said. “And we'll get you some coffee.” Sam nodded, and Jonas took her hand. When they got to the door, Jonas paused a second to look back at the rumpled sheets, the small, cramped room that he'd called home, and he said goodbye. He flicked off the light and shut the door.

As Jonas and Sam
got off the elevator, Marshall came hurrying around the desk, his face stern. There was no one milling about the lobby; in fact, the place looked deserted.

“Where have you been, boy?” Marshall asked, grabbing Jonas's arm and pulling him back into the elevators. Sam followed, keeping her head down as if trying not to be noticed. Her cheeks had gone pink.

“Uh, I was…” Jonas looked at Sam, fumbling for an answer. Marshall spun to look at her, and then back at Jonas.

“Christ,” he muttered, and repeatedly pressed the elevator button for the thirty-second floor until the doors closed. Jonas tried to smile, but Marshall's expression was not having any of it.

“I'm guessing you have news,” Jonas said. It had only been an hour, and Jonas doubted Marshall could have put a team together by them, so he figured the news was grim.

“The others are waiting,” Marshall said.

Jonas had an explosion of panic—this was really going to happen. He'd have to face REM tonight. Now. He swallowed hard, realizing he was facing his own possible death. “How many?” he asked.

“We have six Dream Walkers in the building,” Marshall said. “They've agreed to go in with you. To lead you to the Grecian Woods. After that, we have a call out for other Dream Walkers to join.” The elevator stopped, and Marshall turned to look at him, deadly serious. “Only twelve in total would commit.”

“Twelve?” Jonas asked. It was more than he expected, but judging by Marshall's expression, it wasn't enough. “How many Night Stalkers will show, you think?”

Marshall paused a painfully long moment, and Jonas darted a look at Sam, who was equally concerned.

“Hundreds,” Marshall said quietly, and then walked out into the hallway. Samantha gasped and Jonas couldn't look at her again.

Jonas came to pause next to where Marshall stood at the end of the hall. The door to a suite was closed, a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the handle. Jonas felt Sam come up behind him, the smell of flowers clinging to her skin.

Marshall looked Jonas over. “You ready for this?” he asked in his deep voice. Jonas closed his eyes and when he did, he hardened himself against the reality of his situation.

“Yeah,” he responded.

Marshall put his key in the door and then pushed it open. Jonas walked into the room, and then stood frozen. There was no furniture. Not in the traditional sense. Instead, several twin cots were placed throughout the room with people laying on them in regular clothes. IV tubes were attached to their arms. They were all asleep.

“What is this?” Jonas whispered, afraid to talk too loudly. In the corner, he noticed movement, and Molly stood and came toward him. Her normally formal appearance was stripped away. Her white shirt wrinkled and untucked, her feet bare.

She glanced around the room. “It looks much nicer in the Waking World,” she said. “It's a training room in the dreamscape. But you won't have time to sightsee. You're going straight in.”

Molly paused and looked him over. “You sure have wreaked havoc here, Jonas,” she said. “From the moment you walked into the Eden Hotel, this place has been going nuts. Hope you're worth it.”

“I hope I am, too.”

Sympathy passed her features. “Jarabec believed in you. So will I.” She stopped near the edge of one of the empty cots. “Shall we get started?” Molly hung a bag on a metal rail above the bed and held a needle for the IV in her hand.

“I don't want that,” Jonas said. “It prevents me from tunneling. I have to be fully aware. Just don't let anyone wake me.”

Molly set the tube aside and stepped back, motioning to the cot. “Well, then,” Molly said. “I guess we're ready to get started.”

Jonas moved forward, but then Sam wrapped her arms around him from behind. He stopped, holding her forearms and closing his eyes. This was goodbye. They swayed, and then Sam slowly pulled away. Jonas didn't turn around to look at her—he didn't think he could. He lay on the cot, staring up at the ceiling. There was energy around him from the other Dream Walkers. It was almost imperceptible, but he felt it. He could feel so much now.

“Jarabec was here, wasn't he?” Jonas asked, his heart hurting. “Here in the Eden.”

“He was removed a short time ago,” Molly said. “I'm afraid his body has already been transported. How did you know?”

“Because I can still feel him,” Jonas said, closing his eyes.

The room was quiet and soon, he felt the shift. The crossover into the dreamscape. But just before he stepped through, he heard Molly whisper: “See you on the flip side, Poet.”

“Sure thing,” he said, but when he turned his head, Molly was gone. The entire room had fallen away. He swayed back and forth with movement, until he sat up and found himself on the subway. He took in a sharp breath and looked around, smiling when he saw Sketch and Gunner tagging the wall near the back of the train. They looked up, sensing his arrival.

“There you are, fucker!” Sketch called, and reached out to slap Gunner on the back. Both of them let go of their paint cans and the items disappeared before they hit the floor of the train. “Gunner, look,” he said. “Your boyfriend's finally back!”

“'Bout time,” Gunner said, grinning from ear to ear. “I was looking for a snuggle.” All three boys started cracking up, but then the train started to slow. “This isn't our stop,” Gunner said, furrowing his brow.

“Nah,” Sketch said. “In fact,” he looked at Poet, “this shouldn't be a stop at all.” Outside the subway windows the platform disappeared and the city of Genesis reached to the sky, orange and purple horizon behind the clouds. Cars zoomed in a futuristic rush hour, hundreds of people walking the street, hurrying to the next part of their dream. Bridges and tunnels, lights and flashing screens.

“Nope,” Poet said. “We're definitely not supposed to be here.” His heart sank as he remembered what was really happening. He was here to find REM, but he needed more help. So he'd found his friends. Poet looked sideways at them. The light played over Gunner's face, his expression set in pleasant surprise, completely unaware of the danger Poet was about to ask him to get involved in. But when Poet glanced at Sketch, he found him waiting, a knowing look on his face.

“How bad?” he asked.

Poet shrugged. “Pretty bad.”

Sketch sucked his teeth, thinking over the statement. “Gravity-bike racing bad, or I'm going to fucking die bad?” he asked.

Gunner turned to them. “Gravity-bikes?” he asked. “That sounds cool.”

Sketch exhaled heavily, and took a step toward Gunner, putting his hand on his shoulder. “I don't know how to tell you this, dude,” he said, “but this is a dream.” He motioned around the train. “All of this shit has been part of a dream.”

Gunner stared at him for a long moment, and then shook his head. “Yeah?” he said. “Of course it's a dream. What's your point?”

“Wait,” Sketch said, lowering his arm. “You knew?”

“I'm not a total idiot,” Gunner said, and laughed, looking at Poet as if this was crazy. “Hell, I thought maybe he didn't know.” He pointed to Poet.

Sketch curled his lip. “He's Poet Anderson,” Sketch said.

Gunner shrugged. “Sure, but he's pretty messed up.”

“Hey,” Poet said.

“Sorry,” Gunner apologized. “But half the time you didn't know where you were. Then you started disappearing with that old man and you weren't the same.”

Poet stilled just as the train came to a full stop. “That old man is dead,” Poet said, his voice raspy. “And my brother is…lost. But tonight we're going to end this. End REM.”

Gunner narrowed his eyes. “REM?” Next to him, Sketch buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking uneasy.

“He's the bad guy,” Poet said. “He's cruel, and murderous. And I need your help to destroy him.”

The train doors slid open with a hiss, and the boys filed off the train, smack-dab in the middle of the city. Someone bumped his shoulder walking by, nearly knocking Poet off of his feet. The noise was too much—the roar of engines, the buzz of conversations. It was drilling into his mind.

Poet closed his eyes, trying to compose his thoughts and strengthen his courage. When he heard Sketch laugh next to him, he glanced over to find his friend smiling.

“I was thinking,” Sketch said. “If we're about to like…take on an army or some shit, should you really be wearing a suit?”

Poet looked down and realized he was in his uniform—a suit and tie, with a bowler hat slightly tipped on his head. He checked over Sketch and Gunner and they were dressed in paint-stained clothes and sneakers. They'd be up against Night Stalkers. Sketch was right.

Poet shifted his eyes, examining the shops. The signs were impossible to read, a different language, like all words in the Dream World. But he searched the windows. There was nothing here in Genesis that could help them.

A group of street kids were laughing and pushing each other while they stood on the stoop of a sky-high apartment building. On first glance, they were human, but then Poet noticed the tattoos on their arms, intricate patterns, glowing with fluorescent ink. As if sensing him, one of the boys turned. His eyes were black, steadied on Poet. The boy tapped the shoulder of one of his friends and after they all looked at Poet, the group took off down the street.

“There's probably a bounty on my head,” Poet said.

“Then we'd better get out of here,” Sketch responded, his tone weighted with worry. But when he saw Poet wasn't moving, he swallowed hard. “You wanted them to notice you,” he said.

“Yeah,” Poet admitted. “We'll have more company soon too, once the Dream Walkers figure out where I am.” Poet glanced up at the telescreen and saw his image, standing in the middle of a mostly deserted street. “Shouldn't be long.”

“Dream Walkers?” Sketch said. “Ah, fuck. I hate those guys.” He paused. “And girl. Okay, she wasn't so bad, but the shithead with the missing teeth…” Sketch tapped his front teeth. “Oh, man,” he said. “I hope that guy dies today.”

Poet shot him a disapproving look, and while Sketch relayed the kidnapping for gravity-bike racing story to Gunner, Poet found two parked motorcycles on a side street. They were less high-tech than the Dream Walkers', but they'd get him where he needed to go.

“We need to head to the Dark End,” Poet told them, starting in the direction of the bikes.

“Hell no,” Sketch said. “We almost got killed last time.”

Poet spun to look at him. “I know, but the Dark End seems to have its own rules. It's a bad place, but that means we can probably get gear there. So long as we ask the right people.”

Sketch groaned, but relented, pulling Gunner along to follow Poet to the side street with the bikes. “Fine,” Sketch said. “But this time Gunner has to give up a finger for payment.”

Gunner laughed, but then pulled his eyebrows together and looked at Poet. “He's kidding, right?”

Poet checked both sides of the street and then motioned to the bikes. Without missing a beat, Sketch and Gunner hopped on one and kicked it to life. Poet got on the one next to them, and nodded. Then they tore down the street, and headed for the Dark End of the Dream World.