Why Me? [ONC 2021]

11. The Dream

This couldn't be real. Only a few hours ago I was sat in Samar's apartment, eating pizza and drinking beer.

Now Samar, or rather Not-Samar, was chasing me, wanting to lock me up and I was running away. Add that to the bizarre situation where I was staring down someone in an ancient police officer's uniform. They, in turn, were looking at me as though I were a dangerous person.

"Sir, can you tell me your name?" said the police officer to my right. This one had not been on his tablet device, and was teaching for something on his hip, attached to his belt.

"My name?" I asked.

"A simple question," the other officer, to my left added. He'd put away his device and he too was reaching for something attached to his belt.

"My name is," I hesitated when I noticed the one to my left was looking behind me.

I looked behind me in time to see a fist heading for my face.

Then there was darkness.

"... But in the end Charles, all these changing laws, or as you like to call them 'rights infringements', they are going to improve your life and mine. Make them safer," said a voice in my deep subconscious.

"Are they? Are they really?" came the reply. There was a laugh; all deep in my sleepy subconscious.

I woke in my own bed. I was still dressed in my work clothes. My laptop, at the side of my bed, was playing a podcast on conspiracy theories. I fumbled for the space bar to pause the podcast. The screen showed me it was one of  Samar's favourites, 'Mythbuster', also known as 'Charles Truth-Seeker' and 'Charlie Hates Lies'. He often talks a lot of crap, but the podcasts are usually very funny to listen to. He often took on local officials in his podcast, and always ripped them apart.

The podcast continued whilst I struggled in my sleepy haze to find the off-button for the crazy talk. Eventually I found the laptop lid and closed that instead. A second later and Charlie Hates Lies was silenced.

 I sat up and rubbed my eyes. A crunchy squeak told me I needed to drink more. Either that or my eyes had been polished while I slept. The silence in the darkness of my room allowed me to think and to remember. 

Memories of eating in Samar's apartment came to mind. A lovely evening with a life-long friend. Speaking to my mother, and realising there had been some horrible lies said to me and on my behalf. Finally, memories of Samar claiming he was not my friend and wanting me to be strapped to a gurney. The wrenching, churning sensation in the pit of my stomach told me that even my life-long friend had lied to me my whole life

Rising to my feet I found myself in the bathroom. My sleepy fog hid the memory of how I got here. I looked at my face in the mirror, rubbing my chin, and saw I needed a shave, badly. I must have neglected to shave for nearly a week to have this amount of growth. Usually, I struggled to grow decent facial hair and now I looked like an escapee.

Thoughts of escaping reminded me of the man I stabbed with the broken mop handle. 

I scrunched my eyes shut and shook my head to clear away the thoughts.

When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at the rain outside my building. It was torrential rain, and I did not not want to go outside. My raincoat was on, I had my bag, I was ready for work. Still, I was hesitant. I knew that in this type of rain I would not be able to stay outside for long.

A vaguely familiar old man was coming from the rain, He shook off his hat and started to undo his coat. Holding the door, he stared at me over his rebreather. "Well? Are you going outside or not?" he asked.

His voice sounded far off and I had to shake my head to clear my thoughts. The old man shrugged, thinking I was not going outside, but then I stepped towards the door.

"Make up your mind," I heard him grumble under his breath as I passed him. He shrugged and moved towards the elevator, letting go of the door. I rushed for the door and pulled it open.

Outside the rain had stopped, and the ground all around me was dry. It had not rained for a while. My mind was racing. I realised that this could not be real. I was moving between things without knowing how I got there. Now that I was stood on the street, without a raincoat, without there being any rain, but a moment ago I was stood inside looking at the pouring rain.

I looked up and saw only a few clouds in the sky. I also saw an airplane. It was old fashioned compared to what I was used to seeing, this looked like it was easily two centuries old. It was thousands of feet above me, but even so I could see here were no sleek lines. The wings were almost at right-angles to the fuselage. It looked like it could carry passengers, but I could not tell from here if that was the case.

Was I slipping between time zones? Or was it dreams versus real life? This had to be a dream. In fact, was it all a dream? Am I about to wake up and see that I had fallen asleep in Samar's living room watching a dodgy holo about time travel?

A pain in my neck was beginning to develop and I was subconsciously rubbing where the pain was most serious. My hand came away wet. I looked at my hand and saw blood covering my fingers. Instinctively I reached around again and found an open wound just behind my left ear.

The light around me began to dim, and I realised I was sat in a room. Before me was a table. It was solid metal, as was the chair I sat on. The buzzing of the fluorescent bulb above my head was annoying the headache that was brewing in my temple.

This room has two doors, one to my left and the other to my right. Through the left door walked Not-Samar and through the right door walked my mother. They both took a chair each that I had not spotted were on the other side of the table.

"What is going on?" I said.

"Gordy," said my mother, "we are glad you are safe."

"Who are you people?" I asked. Frustration was beginning to build now too.

"We are here to look after you," said Not-Samar.

"You are not well," said my mother.

"I'm not well? I'll tell you this, you are all wrong. I am well, you are holding me against my will," I said.

"We are not holding you against your will. Here, look, this is your signature," said Not-Samar.

I looked a the document that Not-Samar thrust before me. It did have a signature on it, it was my name, it was not quite right. I stared at the paper for a moment, and then the signature changed to something more like my usual. However, the words of the statement made no sense to me. I could not read them at all. It was like the bang to my head was causing my brain to malfuction; I reached for the cut behind my ear. Blood was caked now and matted into my hair. Free flowing blood had stopped, that in itself made me feel better. The headache was still there, but I was feeling better in myself.

I picked up the sheet and tore it down the middle.

"Gordon!" said my mother.

"It is meaningless. There are no real words on this, no agreement from me," I said.

I flipped the table too. My mother and Not-Samar were startled and both of them jumped back, knocking over their chairs.

In the confusion I ran for the door to my left and pulled it open. The bright light outside the room made me squint, and I raised my free hand to cover my eyes. Dazed, I felt a shaking, rolling sensation.

"Gord, wake up man," said a familiar voice.

"I am awake," I said.

"You've cut your ear on your beer bottle," said the voice again.

I opened my eyes again and saw Samar looking at me with concern. He was holding a towel, offering it to me. 

Looking around, I was in Samar's apartment. The blinds had been raised and the morning light was streaming through. The window had water running down the outside, obviously it was raining outside, but it wasn't heavy.