time,” she says, sitting up in bed. She yawns and stretches.
“I couldn’t get to sleep,” I say.
“Have you figured out how to get me out of here?”
“Not yet.”
She nods as if this is the answer she expects. I go over to her bed.
“I need your help,” I say.
“When I was a little girl, I used to have flying dreams. I loved those dreams. I don’t suppose you can fly in your dreams.”
“I haven’t tried.”
Catlin shakes her head. “I think you’d drop like a rock. No, I don’t think you can fly me out of here.”
“You said we have to escape. How do we get out of this house?”
She laughs. “You could just walk out the front door.”
“Could we?”
“Of course not. There are probably traps all around. You’d be dead in about two seconds.”
“How do we get past the traps?”
“See, that’s why you need me. I’ll give you a chance. But you’re going to have to get me out of here.”
“Maybe I should just dream my way into Lord Vert’s and get the key.”
“A key won’t help. Anyway, I think you’d get caught. He’d hear you. Something about our dreaming confuses them. You fooled him once, but you won’t fool him again. You have a great talent but he’s strong. He’s really strong.”
“What do you mean by talent?”
“Wouldn’t you call it a talent?” she says quickly, but I feel like she’s hiding something.
“I guess.”
“Lord Vertenomous is worried. The rebels killed a patrol. He feels like the slaves might not be as weak as he thought. He keeps convincing himself that he must be wrong, but he’s worried. I can feel that much.”
“We aren’t as weak,” I say. “We can sometimes hear each other. I heard my friend Michael. I think maybe others are hearing more, too. We’re different.”
“Different how?”
“The static is gone when they talk to us. I feel things people are thinking, or emotions sometimes.”
“So you’re changing,” she says.
“I guess.”
“It will get stronger,” she says. “You can speed up the process by trying to improve your skills.”
“I’m not sure,” I say.
But this isn’t true. I know how to improve skills. I’ve done it all my life in martial arts.
“You want to get out of here alive?”
“Of course.”
“You’ve got to practice hearing. Your friend, too.”
“Do you think we can get out of here?”
“I don’t know, but I know we won’t have a chance unless we’re as strong as we can be.”
“How do you know all this?”
“You’d better go now. It’s time. He’ll be here soon.”
Catlin looks down when she says this, embarrassed.
“I’ll come back for you,” I say.
“I’d like to believe that.”
“We’re friends.” I don’t know if this is true, but saying it makes it more true to me.
“All right,” she says, and she puts out her hand. “You get me out. I’ll get you out. Friends.”
We shake hands.
“You’ve got to go now.”
I think of my bedroom, and I’m back in it. Everyone is still asleep, including me. I will myself to wake because I’m frightened of seeing myself sleep. It’s like I’m dead. But as soon as I try to wake, I do. I’m back in my body, looking around, listening to Michael snore.
My breathing is short and sharp. My throat is dry.
I guess people have been dreaming for thousands and thousands of years. I imagine people have had every kind of dream possible in that time. But has anyone ever dreamed like me? Have they crossed over into the waking world and talked to someone?
No one answers these questions, of course. Sometimes you ask questions even when you know no one will answer. I imagine that’s been going on for thousands of years, too.
I fall asleep after a little while. I have another dream, but this isn’t one I travel in. It’s a dream of the past, of my parents and me in Taos, New Mexico. We’re walking around the plaza. We’re laughing. Tourists are going in and out of shops, people talking, a couple taking bites of
“I couldn’t get to sleep,” I say.
“Have you figured out how to get me out of here?”
“Not yet.”
She nods as if this is the answer she expects. I go over to her bed.
“I need your help,” I say.
“When I was a little girl, I used to have flying dreams. I loved those dreams. I don’t suppose you can fly in your dreams.”
“I haven’t tried.”
Catlin shakes her head. “I think you’d drop like a rock. No, I don’t think you can fly me out of here.”
“You said we have to escape. How do we get out of this house?”
She laughs. “You could just walk out the front door.”
“Could we?”
“Of course not. There are probably traps all around. You’d be dead in about two seconds.”
“How do we get past the traps?”
“See, that’s why you need me. I’ll give you a chance. But you’re going to have to get me out of here.”
“Maybe I should just dream my way into Lord Vert’s and get the key.”
“A key won’t help. Anyway, I think you’d get caught. He’d hear you. Something about our dreaming confuses them. You fooled him once, but you won’t fool him again. You have a great talent but he’s strong. He’s really strong.”
“What do you mean by talent?”
“Wouldn’t you call it a talent?” she says quickly, but I feel like she’s hiding something.
“I guess.”
“Lord Vertenomous is worried. The rebels killed a patrol. He feels like the slaves might not be as weak as he thought. He keeps convincing himself that he must be wrong, but he’s worried. I can feel that much.”
“We aren’t as weak,” I say. “We can sometimes hear each other. I heard my friend Michael. I think maybe others are hearing more, too. We’re different.”
“Different how?”
“The static is gone when they talk to us. I feel things people are thinking, or emotions sometimes.”
“So you’re changing,” she says.
“I guess.”
“It will get stronger,” she says. “You can speed up the process by trying to improve your skills.”
“I’m not sure,” I say.
But this isn’t true. I know how to improve skills. I’ve done it all my life in martial arts.
“You want to get out of here alive?”
“Of course.”
“You’ve got to practice hearing. Your friend, too.”
“Do you think we can get out of here?”
“I don’t know, but I know we won’t have a chance unless we’re as strong as we can be.”
“How do you know all this?”
“You’d better go now. It’s time. He’ll be here soon.”
Catlin looks down when she says this, embarrassed.
“I’ll come back for you,” I say.
“I’d like to believe that.”
“We’re friends.” I don’t know if this is true, but saying it makes it more true to me.
“All right,” she says, and she puts out her hand. “You get me out. I’ll get you out. Friends.”
We shake hands.
“You’ve got to go now.”
I think of my bedroom, and I’m back in it. Everyone is still asleep, including me. I will myself to wake because I’m frightened of seeing myself sleep. It’s like I’m dead. But as soon as I try to wake, I do. I’m back in my body, looking around, listening to Michael snore.
My breathing is short and sharp. My throat is dry.
I guess people have been dreaming for thousands and thousands of years. I imagine people have had every kind of dream possible in that time. But has anyone ever dreamed like me? Have they crossed over into the waking world and talked to someone?
No one answers these questions, of course. Sometimes you ask questions even when you know no one will answer. I imagine that’s been going on for thousands of years, too.
I fall asleep after a little while. I have another dream, but this isn’t one I travel in. It’s a dream of the past, of my parents and me in Taos, New Mexico. We’re walking around the plaza. We’re laughing. Tourists are going in and out of shops, people talking, a couple taking bites of
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