For Good

Chapter Two

The difference between a normal dream and a guiding dream was like night and day. Normal dreams were about Isabella being home with her parents. They were entirely mundane and unordinary, and Isabella loved that. Normal dreams were the only time she had seen her parents in almost two years. The vivid clarity of these dreams was almost as good as being back home for real. They were a small gift given in exchange for the other dreams.

Isabella's state of being in a guiding dream was god-like. It was both liberating and terrifying. It was an experience beyond words and comprehension. She was one with herself and yet far removed from her very being. Her perception was amplified to the point of incomprehension. Her mind was overloaded and struggled to make sense of what she saw.

Isabella's omnipotence in the guiding dreams morphed her sight into something beyond the physical. Details of the scenery were blurred, deprioritized beneath a deeper understanding of the people in these dreams. Their name, personality, state of health; it was all laid out for her to see just as easily as any physical trait. She saw with the eyes of God.

Isabella found herself in one such dream, walking down an empty chalk white hallway. The lights were dim, creating an ominous and unwelcoming ambience. Gray doors with silver handles lined the hall, each one beckoning her to enter, all locking when she approached. She shivered, she knew where she was. She wanted to get out of here.

Keep walking

Isabella sighed. She hated hospitals. Roaming the halls of the dying in a guiding dream overran her senses with the pain and misery of the sick. She wanted to escape. Unfortunately for Isabella the dream wouldn't let her. God wouldn't let her.

Go

Isabella chose to obey. The sooner she reached her destination the sooner she could get out of here. The voice was louder in the guiding dreams and permeated everything around her. Ignoring it only prolonged the torment.

Isabella continued down the hall with grim determination, flanked by the click of locking doors. There was one door further down that hall that was open. She stopped at the doorway and listened. A faint woosh and hiss emanated from further in the room. Isabella took a deep breath and peered inside.

The privacy curtain was drawn shut around the bed, obscuring Isabella's view of her dream's sole occupant. The mystery behind the curtain elevated her anxiety. Her skin tingled with anticipation. What if it's some guy who had all his skin burned off? What if it's a lady who got hit by a bus? Her questions were drowned out by the soothing yet commanding voice.

Go Don't be afraid

Isabella stepped through the door and slowly approached the veiled bed. Each step took considerable and conscious effort. An unnatural peace overcame her as she reached up and pulled at the curtain. Isabella held her breath. The metal rings scraped against the curtain rod, slowly revealing the bed on the other side. Isabella stared.

On the bed was an unconscious boy with a pained expression etched on his face. The boy had the body of a scrawny six-year-old and yet Isabella knew he was just shy of his eleventh birthday. Isabella hissed and squeezed her eyes shut, her mind bombarded with information.

Eric. Ten-years-old. Dad is dead. Mom is a heroin junkie. Lives with grandma. Has three sisters and a brother. Likes jello. Left handed. Afraid of the dark. Two sisters are dead, suicide. He was seven. Cancer, the aggressive kind. Three months to live.

Isabella blinked, feeling the slow, hot trail of tears that gingerly crept down her face. So much pain, she thought. So much pain for such a young kid. She reached out and rested her hand on the boy's arm. Her heart ached and a sob escaped her. She could feel his pain, his fear, and his hopelessness.