flitted through his mind. He shook his head. “No, I have dreams.”
“Normal dreams?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She crossed her own arms. “I dream every night,” she said. “Know what I dream about?”
“Look,” he said, “this is going in kind of an uncomfortable direction. I’m not sure it’s appropri—”
“Monsters.”
He shut his mouth and stared at her.
Something sparked in her eyes. Her shoulders lifted. “And you do, too, don’t you?”
He didn’t say anything. He looked at the young woman and tried not to think of the image he’d seen out of the corner of his eye. The corpse in the wheelchair.
“There’s thousands of them, right? Dead people walking around. They’re kind of slow and clumsy, but there’s just so many of them.”
He set his hands on the table, then crossed them again. He studied her face. “How are you doing this? Is this some kind of magic trick?”
She shook her head. “What else do you remember?”
George thought about his dreams. “There’s a wall,” he said. “A big wall keeping them out. And a gate.”
Madelyn nodded.
“And a robot,” he said. “A battlesuit. But that’s just dream stuff.”
“No it isn’t.”
“It is. I saw it on a commercial for the Army this morning. It’s some military project. The future of combat or something.”
She smirked. “So you’re telling me the battlesuit has to be part of your dream because it’s real?”
“I’m saying I probably just saw pictures of it online. Maybe it was on the news while I was doing something else and it didn’tregister. And then, you know, the subconscious grabs it and puts it in a dream.”
Madelyn reached down and tore a piece off the burger patty with her fingers. She popped it in her mouth. Her teeth were perfect. She swallowed. “The dream about monsters,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“That you have every night.”
“I don’t have it every night.”
“Okay,” she said. “When was the last time you didn’t have it?”
George tried to remember his last good night of sleep. “I’m not sure,” he admitted, “but I know I haven’t always had it.”
She tore another piece off the burger. “You haven’t.”
He drummed his fingers on the table. “So what makes you so sure your dreams are going to come true?”
“Already came true,” she corrected him. “It’s all real.”
“But what makes you say that?”
“Because it is,” said Madelyn.
“That’s not really an answer.”
She sighed and scrunched up her mouth. “Okay,” she said, “do you have a television?”
He nodded. He figured he could humor her for a few more minutes.
“Prove it.”
“What?”
“Prove you have a television. Right now.”
He smiled. “I don’t carry around photos of my TV.”
“But you’re sure you have one?”
“Yeah.”
“You know it’s in your apartment right now?”
“Unless someone broke in and stole it, yeah.”
She smiled. “That’s how I know your dreams are real.”
George chuckled. “Okay, then,” he said, “if this was true—”
“It is true.”
“If this was true, why doesn’t anyone else know about it?”
She poked at her tray. She’d eaten both burger patties and nothing else. All the meat was gone. “I used to have memory problems,” she said.
The warning flares went off in George’s brain again, but were swamped by a wave of pity. “Mental problems?”
“
Memory
problems,” she repeated. “I had trouble forming long-term memories. Whenever I fell asleep I’d forget most of the previous day.”
“And that doesn’t happen anymore?”
She shook her head. “Not since I started having the dreams. I think …” She paused for a moment. “I think I forgot that I was supposed to forget everything. Whatever happened, I fell asleep and forgot that it happened, so it didn’t affect me as much as all of you. So I’m here but I still remember there. Something like that.”
He drummed his fingers on the
“Normal dreams?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She crossed her own arms. “I dream every night,” she said. “Know what I dream about?”
“Look,” he said, “this is going in kind of an uncomfortable direction. I’m not sure it’s appropri—”
“Monsters.”
He shut his mouth and stared at her.
Something sparked in her eyes. Her shoulders lifted. “And you do, too, don’t you?”
He didn’t say anything. He looked at the young woman and tried not to think of the image he’d seen out of the corner of his eye. The corpse in the wheelchair.
“There’s thousands of them, right? Dead people walking around. They’re kind of slow and clumsy, but there’s just so many of them.”
He set his hands on the table, then crossed them again. He studied her face. “How are you doing this? Is this some kind of magic trick?”
She shook her head. “What else do you remember?”
George thought about his dreams. “There’s a wall,” he said. “A big wall keeping them out. And a gate.”
Madelyn nodded.
“And a robot,” he said. “A battlesuit. But that’s just dream stuff.”
“No it isn’t.”
“It is. I saw it on a commercial for the Army this morning. It’s some military project. The future of combat or something.”
She smirked. “So you’re telling me the battlesuit has to be part of your dream because it’s real?”
“I’m saying I probably just saw pictures of it online. Maybe it was on the news while I was doing something else and it didn’tregister. And then, you know, the subconscious grabs it and puts it in a dream.”
Madelyn reached down and tore a piece off the burger patty with her fingers. She popped it in her mouth. Her teeth were perfect. She swallowed. “The dream about monsters,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“That you have every night.”
“I don’t have it every night.”
“Okay,” she said. “When was the last time you didn’t have it?”
George tried to remember his last good night of sleep. “I’m not sure,” he admitted, “but I know I haven’t always had it.”
She tore another piece off the burger. “You haven’t.”
He drummed his fingers on the table. “So what makes you so sure your dreams are going to come true?”
“Already came true,” she corrected him. “It’s all real.”
“But what makes you say that?”
“Because it is,” said Madelyn.
“That’s not really an answer.”
She sighed and scrunched up her mouth. “Okay,” she said, “do you have a television?”
He nodded. He figured he could humor her for a few more minutes.
“Prove it.”
“What?”
“Prove you have a television. Right now.”
He smiled. “I don’t carry around photos of my TV.”
“But you’re sure you have one?”
“Yeah.”
“You know it’s in your apartment right now?”
“Unless someone broke in and stole it, yeah.”
She smiled. “That’s how I know your dreams are real.”
George chuckled. “Okay, then,” he said, “if this was true—”
“It is true.”
“If this was true, why doesn’t anyone else know about it?”
She poked at her tray. She’d eaten both burger patties and nothing else. All the meat was gone. “I used to have memory problems,” she said.
The warning flares went off in George’s brain again, but were swamped by a wave of pity. “Mental problems?”
“
Memory
problems,” she repeated. “I had trouble forming long-term memories. Whenever I fell asleep I’d forget most of the previous day.”
“And that doesn’t happen anymore?”
She shook her head. “Not since I started having the dreams. I think …” She paused for a moment. “I think I forgot that I was supposed to forget everything. Whatever happened, I fell asleep and forgot that it happened, so it didn’t affect me as much as all of you. So I’m here but I still remember there. Something like that.”
He drummed his fingers on the
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