The Dreamjumper and The Dreamcatcher

Chapter 15: The battle for the dreamcatcher

Alora

It's hard to judge time in the dream world. There's no clock within this room. I don't know if time would even work the same way even if I had a clock. Still, I try to imagine a watch appearing magically on my wrist for some comfort, but I can't make it happen. Unfortunately I can't make things appear at will like in my own dreams. Not that I can always do it, but sometimes I'm successful.

Earlier I had tried banging against walls, kicking at furniture, screaming in hysteria, throwing the pretzels and hummus against the ground, and stabbing myself with the pencils to try to get me to wake up. Nothing worked. I am truly stuck within this dream world. All I can hope for is that Reve will notice soon that I'm missing and come find me.

At some point "Mr. Red-Head" has to wake up and release me, right? I don't even understand how I can exist here while he is somewhere else. Reve told me only the parts of the dream in which the dreamer is present technically exist. But I'm not even going to try to think too much about it. None of this dreamjumping business makes any sense. This has to be magic. And magic does what it wants.

I stare at my bleeding left arm where I made a puncture wound with the pencil. The edges of the wound are lined with black graphite and my hand is smeared with blood. I tried to control the bleeding with the tough sketchbook paper. It hurts like hell, but I don't try to ignore the pain. Part of me is begging that eventually it will get me to wake up.

I'm lying on the floor, my arms staining the perfectly white carpet, when I hear a security alarm go off. I have no idea what it means, but the blaring monotonic shrillness is like a reviving serum for me. I stand up immediately, high on adrenaline. Surveying the room, I try to think of a place to hide. If they come for me, I might be able to try to escape. I take one of the pencils and sharpen it as much as I can. This will have to do as a weapon. I look back at the pencil case and decide to do the same for a second one. It's good to have a backup.

I'll momentarily be able to hide behind the door into the room when it swings inwards. But then I'll have to be quick and come out from behind it once the person who opens it is in the room. Hopefully they come alone. And if I can shut it behind them, I might be able to buy myself a few seconds to run away. It's probably a terrible plan. They'll likely stop me from moving the second I try to shut the door. But, hey, a plan is better than no plan.

Minutes and minutes seem to pass as I press myself as much as I can against the wall near the door. The blaring of the alarm is starting to give me a headache. I don't know how much I can keep standing here without losing my head because of the noise. At one point I take the cushions from the sofa and press them against my ears. They help minimally, and I can't hold onto them because I will probably be too bulky to hide behind the door if they ever open it. So with a groan I throw them across the room and send a prayer to whoever is listening that someone please come rescue me now.

Eventually I suppose my prayers must have been heard because I notice the handle on the door wiggling, and I press myself against the wall again as much as possible. The door swings open and my view of the person is blocked momentarily until they rush into the room.

"Holy shit. Why is there blood on the floor?" The man's voice tone is concerned, but he is definitely not my rescuer. He's not "Mr. Red-Head" either but he's in full black clothing. "Alora! What did you do to yourself? You know you can't hide in this room."

I don't say a word. I just try to slip around the door as quietly as possible before he notices any movement. I hope the alarm is loud enough to cover the sounds of my footsteps as I race down the hall to the stairs. And somehow I manage to do just that. I guess being a crazy bitch and leaving blood on the floor is distraction enough.