Poet Anderson ...Of Nightmares (26 page)

Helpless, Poet trailed his eyes over to another fight, and at that moment, saw Skillet get impaled on the sword of a Night Stalker. Skillet yelled out, and then rammed a small blade into the neck of his opponent. They both fell to the ground.

“We have to do something,” Sam said, coming up next to Poet. She was pale and terrified, but she gripped her sword tightly, holding it out like she was ready to use it.

Poet looked around at his friends, and they were so out of place in a dreamscape that had become a nightmare. But they would fight. All of them would fight for him. But Poet didn't want anyone else to die.

He thought of Alan. Of what had become of him. He thought of the dead, including Jarabec and, of course, his parents. The grief sent a ripple through Poet's body, and darkness seized his heart. Poet curled his hands into fists at his side and the electricity came off his skin in arcs of light. But then he thought of Sam, and closed his eyes. The electricity surged through him, feeling like hot iron in his veins. He groaned, the power burning his flesh. When Poet opened his eyes, they were white, and his fingers emitted a blue glow. The energy was absolutely intoxicating. He smiled.

Sam watched him a moment, and then looked at Sketch and Gunner. “I think he's ready,” she told them. The boys turned to Poet, fear in their eyes but their shoulders rigid.

“Let's do this,” Sketch said, pulling his mouth into a smile. Next to him, Gunner cocked his shotgun.

The four of them started toward the edge of the woods where Flint was battling. The Dream Walker noticed them, and he held up his hand to tell them to stop. But in his moment of distraction, the Night Stalker punched him in the face, knocking him to the ground. The Night Stalker raised his spear, ready to drive it into Flint's chest plate.

Poet drew out his gun and fired. The Night Stalker's Halo fought off the bullet, but that left an opening for Flint. His golden Halo struck the Night Stalker and sent him flying back and into a tree. Without missing a beat, Flint jumped to his feet and ran at the disoriented soldier. Flint snatched up a branch on his way and then drove it into the Night Stalker's gut, slicing through his body and securing him to the tree. There was no break, though, because another Night Stalker exited the trees and attacked Flint. They went at it, and Poet turned and looked for Molly. He'd lost track of her.

“Why aren't they trying to kill us?” Sketch asked, lifting an eyebrow. It was true. The fighting was condensed into a circle around them, like a ripple of violence leading out from their existence. The other Night Stalkers watched them from the trees, making no advance towards them.

“Because they're waiting,” Poet said, scanning the crowd. There were no faces to recognize—all the helmets were closed, faceless, soulless. Only the Halos moved, revolving around them in anticipation.

“Do I want to know what they're waiting for?” Sketch asked.

Poet glanced at him and shook his head no, leaving Sketch unsettled but determined. There was a grunt to the right, and Poet heard the smash of more Halos, only this time he noted how it sounded familiar, if that was possible. As if he could learn the sound of someone's soul.

But there was Molly, trading blows with a much larger Night Stalker. Neither had weapons, and Poet could see that the gloves over her fingers had worn away from punching, and blood dripped from exposed knuckle bones. Both Molly's and the Night Stalker's helmets were gone, tossed aside in shards. Their Halos chased and then collided, over and over in a true power struggle. Poet took a step in her direction, but then there was a hush—a silence so loud it filled up the space and plugged their ears. A deafening white noise.

Poet and Sam looked at each other and then slowly turned toward the quiet end of the woods. Samantha's breath caught, and she reached absently with her free hand to take Poet's, squeezing her fingers between his. Sketch and Gunner crowded behind them, looking over their shoulders. In the woods, the Night Stalkers who weren't in battle bowed their heads.

REM stood in an empty space, devoid of warmth and life. He was nearly eight feet tall with a black cloak billowing in the wind, and yet, his face had changed again. It was a man's face, a person built from the ground up. But it wasn't any less cruel.

“He's definitely the bad guy,” Sketch said, close to Poet's ear. He tilted his head. “He's an ugly mother-fucker.”

Gunner snorted. Poet pulled out his gun, even though he didn't think he could use it. But like with Gunner's shotgun, having a weapon made him feel better. More in control, even if he wasn't.

“I'm just saying,” Sketch continued, his voice quieter. “Everyone seems pretty taken with Mr. Universe there. Maybe this would be a good time for the Dream Walkers to attack.”

It took a second, but Poet realized Sketch was right. They were outnumbered, but the Night Stalkers in the woods had been holding back the entire time. Especially now.

Poet leaned in, his eyes trained on REM as the creature started towards them. “You need to get to the woods,” Poet told his friends. “Help them fight. It will give the Dream Walkers a chance—”

“No,” Sam said, shaking her head and looking to the others. “You can't do this alone. Don't you get it? You're the reason why he's here. He wants you to face him. And more than anything, he wants you alone.”

“I don't have a choice, Sam,” Poet said miserably. “It was always going to end this way.”

Samantha grabbed him into a hug. She closed her eyes and brushed her lips over his skin. Poet felt the power inside him well up, felt it react to her touch. And then Sam was gone, helmet on as she ran for the woods with Sketch and Gunner at her side.

Poet outstretched his hand, at first to stop her, but then he clenched it into a fist and lowered it. His friends disappeared into the trees and there was a shotgun blast and shouts. But he couldn't see them anymore.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

P
oet's heart pounded, every instinct
shouting for him to follow his friends. There was a throaty laugh from behind him, one that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Poet spun, the toes of his sneakers digging into the grass.

REM was close enough to startle him, only a few yards separating the two. It gave Poet a moment to see him, to really see how horrible he'd become. Even though the metal in his face was covered, eyeballs in place of the robotic ones, the muscles on his face didn't move in a realistic way. A bit like William at the Sleep Center. A bit like Frankenstein's monster. It was in that small lack of movement that Poet could see true horror. A mirror held up to the human race and how it can be manipulated. Ruined.

“You must know I'll never join you,” Poet said.

“We know different things, boy,” he responded easily. “For example, I know what haunts you. I know exactly how much pressure it would take to break you. I know what your heart wants more than anything. But you're not the only Poet. You never were.”

In a swift movement, REM was in front of him. Poet gasped, caught off guard. He lifted his hand to punch him, but REM grabbed his arm and swung him around, holding him by the neck and strangling him. But instead of finishing him off, REM turned him to face the trees, gripping his jaw to hold him in place. His fingers dug painfully into Poet's skin.

“I'm tired of this,” REM said. “I have an entire reality to conquer, billions of nightmares to begin. And whether you like it or not, you're going to help. If I can't have you at my side, I'll take your soul instead.” He leaned in to whisper in Poet's ear, his breath cold like death. “Imagine their faces when I wake up in the hotel. You'll murder them all, just like your mother. Isn't that a brilliant legacy?”

Poet tried to struggle, but REM was too strong. Poet could feel him draining his energy, making it impossible for him to tunnel out.

“The famous Poet Anderson,” REM said. “So much promise, and yet here you stand, watching your friends die.” As if proving his point, REM waved his free hand and a new wave of Night Stalkers came pouring out of the woods—hundreds of them. Brandishing their weapons, they began to slaughter the Dream Walkers.

Poet's heart dropped, terror in his gut. He searched until he found Molly. At that moment, she turned and saw REM had Poet in his grasp. She tried to get up, ready to run over and help him, but she had only gotten on one foot before the Night Stalkers reached out and rammed his fist into her chest, cracking the breastplate and sending her back several feet. She gasped, catching her breath and then the Night Stalker drew his weapon. Molly's Halo fought desperately to get back to her, but the Night Stalker's knocked it out of the way.

The Night Stalker fired his gun, blowing off the top of her head. She fell back with a thud, her Halo stopped in midair, and fell from the sky, shattering into pieces next to her body.

“Molly!” Poet shouted, tearing from REM's hold, but falling to his knees in the struggle. He covered his mouth, staring at his friend's body as the Night Stalker stepped over her like she didn't matter. Molly was gone, in both realities.

“Change your mind yet?” REM asked, staring down at Poet like he was pathetic. Poet felt the darkness crawl up his throat, hatred pulsing harder, clouding his pain. “No?” REM said, guessing Poet's answer. “Of course not. But I will break you.”

REM turned and beckoned his soldiers forth. The Night Stalkers began to enter the clearing, the grass littered with bodies from both sides, the mud turned a deep red from blood. Poet searched the faces of the dead and found Flint, his throat cut, pieces of his Halo resting near his hand. His eyes stared out toward Poet, but he was gone, too. In fact, only a handful of Dream Walkers remained. It had been a blood bath. Poet knew REM would kill the rest of them, and he was powerless to prevent it.

I can wake up, he thought. Wake up the Dream Walkers who are still alive. Poet tried to focus. He dug into the wet grass, into the dirt, willing himself stronger.

“You didn't think it'd be that easy, did you?” REM asked.

Poet didn't turn. Instead he willed the power to his fingers, to his toes, through his entire body. He felt a surge and smiled.

“Poet!” Sketch called. Poet turned, still on one knee and saw Sketch, Gunner, and Sam being dragged from the woods by Night Stalkers.

“They'll be dead before you open your eyes on the other side,” REM said. Poet looked at him, getting to his feet. But now REM wasn't alone. Alan came to pause at his side, looking through Poet like he didn't know him.

Poet fell back a step, overcome by his desire to grab Alan and run. He'd seen how REM controlled him, but he still clung to a small ray of hope. He didn't know any other way. There was a grunt and Poet looked behind Alan's shoulder to see Sam fighting to get free of her Night Stalker guard. But she didn't have the kind of power needed. She didn't even have a Halo.

Several times during their walk over, Sketch reached out to push Gunner's Night Stalker back, his hold on their larger friend harsh enough to draw blood from where a blade was pressed to Gunner's neck. Poet glanced at Alan, hoping to see at least a spark of his brother. His kindness. His bravery.

REM noticed the stare, and walked over to put his arm around Alan as if he were his son. “Alan has been a wonderful asset,” REM said. “Useless when it comes to the Waking World, but great for exterminating the lesser troubles I deal with here.”

Alan didn't move or react in any way. Poet tightened his jaw, trying to sort out in his head the best move to make. But it all felt hopeless. REM backed away and turned to greet his Night Stalkers as the soldiers tossed Sketch, Gunner, and Sam to the ground in front of him. REM checked on Poet to see his reaction, but blocked his path to his friends.

Poet watched them, trying to keep his breaths measured as he built up his strength. Sam lifted her eyes to his, her elbows bloody from hitting the ground. He was reminded of the time when he kissed her in her bedroom, wishing more than anything they could be back there instead.

It wouldn't be long until REM destroyed them all. Poet needed to buy time. “Sam,” he said, surprising her with his casual tone. “This is my brother, Alan. I apologize in advance if he tries to kill you. Alan, this is my girlfriend, Samantha.”

Sam, confused but playing along, got to her feet. “Uh, hi…Alan,” she said. Sketch came to stand next to her, and Poet was grateful that his friend was there, how he'd always been there for him.

Alan darted a look at Sam, the first natural movement Poet had seen him make. The hope in that possibility sent a shock through Poet's system, and he had to fight to keep from letting it show.

To their left, there was a sucking sound, like a shoe sticking in the mud, followed by a sudden gasp. Poet turned and his eyes widened. Samantha screamed. Gunner stood, hands at his side, chest heaved forward…and from it, a long metal spear protruded, stuck through him from behind. The Night Stalker ripped it out, and Gunner gasped again, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, his brown eyes glassing over. It was only a matter of seconds, but the horror of it felt never-ending.

Gunner fell to his knees and Sam moved quickly to ease him onto the ground. Poet didn't dare move, afraid to bring on more pain. Gunner shifted his eyes to Sketch, and smiled, flashing his gap-toothed grin once more. Sketch watched, tears dripping onto his cheeks. And then Gunner shuddered, closed his eyes, and died.

Sketch started to shake. He yelled loud enough to crack his voice, and then using his speed, rushed to tackle the Night Stalker who had been holding the spear. He got him on the ground and began pounding his metal fists into the Night Stalker's helmet. He tore it from his head, crazed with his grief, crazed enough to get the best of the soldier. Poet heard the Night Stalker's nose crunch, saw his teeth fall in. Sketch, with flying metal fists and tears on his cheeks bashed in the Night Stalker's brains. Sketch, forever loyal.

REM stepped over to Alan and pointed. “Kill that one,” he said, pointing at Sketch. Alan moved to follow orders.

Poet's heart sank and he held out his palm, mouth tight as he concentrated. He used his grief and anger. The world seemed to shift, and then wind kicked up around them, swaying the branches on the trees. REM turned to look at him sharply, and put his hand on Alan's shoulder to stop him.

“Wait,” REM said, drawing Poet's attention. “Kill the girl instead.”

Hearing that, Sam jumped up and grabbed the spear that was used to kill Gunner. She swung it out in front of her, reminding Poet of when she fought off the Night Terror. He didn't think his brother would be as easy, though.

Alan drew out his sword and moved towards her. Sam screamed for him to stop and the sound tore through Poet's chest, leaving him breathless with fear. His tunnel closed up.

Sam's hands were shaking as she jabbed the spear in Alan's direction. Alan grabbed the end of it and ripped it from her hands, tossing it aside.

“Hard to choose who to root for in that one, isn't it?” REM asked, looking at Poet. He was taking delight in Sam's terror. Poet's torture. But then he noticed a pair of Dream Walkers advancing. Poet didn't recognize them, but judging by REM's stance, he did. The demon extended the blades on his fingers and started in their direction.

Poet heard a shout, and when he turned he saw that Alan had Sam by the hair, keeping her close to him. Sketch looked up from the ground, and started to move like he might stop him, but a Night Stalker's Halo knocked him back several feet. Alan held up his sword, ready to drive it through Samantha's body.

“Please, Alan,” Poet said, his voice shaking. “Please don't. I love her.”

Alan paused, the sword over his head reflecting the light of the moons, the stars. In that moment, nothing mattered anymore. There was no after to think of. There was only that moment.

Poet's black suit began to wear away until he was wearing his plain clothes, just like he'd worn that time he was lucid dreaming with Alan on the subway. Several Night Stalkers exchanged looks, but Alan stood still, watching him.

Poet took a step toward Alan. “Please, brother,” he whispered. Alan's body swayed, and then all at once, a spark seemed to return to his eyes—the bright blue color filled with hope. And suddenly, they were boys in the middle of a nightmare, just like when they were younger.

Alan stared at his brother, and Jonas felt all of his anger drain away. All the hurt. He felt only love—that was all there was. Alan blinked, recognizing him. He took in a sharp gasp as if just waking up. Slowly, he lowered the sword and let go of Samantha's hair.

Samantha immediately grabbed for the sword, her expression wild. She held up the sword defensively, protecting herself as she backed toward Sketch who was still on the ground. When she got to him, she helped him up, and together, they watched Poet and Alan.

“Brother,” Alan said, his voice thick. He took a shaky breath. “Jonas?”

Jonas smiled, and when he blinked, tears rolled from his eyes. “Hey,” he said, sniffling. “It's about fucking time, Alan.” Jonas clapped his brother on the shoulder as they hugged.

Suddenly, there was a loud rumble in the background, like thunder, and the ground shook as the trees groaned around them. From the trees, hordes of Night Stalkers emerged.

Jonas found REM standing over the bodies of the two Dream Walkers he'd just slaughtered, blood dripping from his fingers. He grinned, and Jonas turned away to look for Sam. When he saw her, he and Alan ran in that direction. Sam flitted her eyes away from Alan, as if she didn't trust him, and in her fist, she clutched her sword.

The noise got louder and Sam pointed out the Night Stalkers, beginning to break down when she realized that they kept coming. There seemed to be no end to REM's army. Jonas had to focus, concentrate his power to get them out of the Dream World. He had Alan now. Jonas could make everything right.

He closed his eyes and imagined the smooth black material and skinny tie of his suit. He imagined his bowler hat, just like the one his father used to wear. His umbrella, the solid wood handle between his fingers. He was surrounded by love, and he used that power to create.

Wisps of blue smoke began to wrap around him and Jonas felt himself become Poet Anderson, like slipping into a second skin. He heard his heartbeat in his head, steady and strong, and he was overcome with a sense that he had become one with his surroundings. That he had it figured out.

“How is he doing that?” he heard Sketch whisper.

Poet lifted his eyes, bright white with energy, to where REM stood, his stature still menacing, but his face reflecting his loss of control. His lips twitched, his pointy teeth bared and ready to tear into him.

“You cannot win this,” REM said, his voice like sandpaper. “I control this place.” He motioned around him and the Night Stalkers advanced on Poet.

Poet held out his hand in the open space and when he clenched his fist, a funnel of energy began to create. Poet willed it stronger as Sam clutched his other arm, holding up Sketch at her side. As Alan stood next to him, tall and strong.

A dream is a dream is a dream, Poet thought. And I control my dreams. A flash of blue lightning streaked past them, stretching from the ground to the stars. Poet absorbed its energy, but the storm continued. Rain started to pelt down, rivers of blue running over his skin.

Sam looked up at the sky and blue water gathered on her face. “You're doing this,” she told Poet. “You're creating this.”

Poet couldn't tell anymore. It was like he was sucking up all the energy around him. There was a loud crash and Alan and Sam turned to see trees beginning to fall, knocking against each other on their way to the ground. A mist had risen beyond the woods, the wind swirling and whipping the rain around them until it stopped. They were in the eye of a tornado.