Five
"How did you do that?" I heard his voice say in anger.
"Do what?" I replied, trying to get my arm out of his grasp without slicing myself across the throat.
"You disappeared the last time I caught you." He was rather irate. I tried to be afraid, to realize the severity of my precarious situation. However, I knew this was all happening in a dream state, and I wasn't in any real danger, even though at the very moment it felt like I was in mortal danger.
"Look," I began, "if you let me go, I swear to you I won't run, I won't go anywhere. I won't disappear." Actually, I didn't know if that last promise was one I could keep. If someone woke me up I'd have no choice but to disappear. And the next time I had this dream, I might be dreaming of this guy slicing my head off!
He hesitated, apparently taking stock of the situation. We were stuck in a thick fog. I could easily run, making any attempts to apprehend me almost impossible. However, I would also be lost myself, subject to the terrors of the vast unknown. The blade lowered momentarily as he reached in his pocket and retrieved something that clanked like heavy metal. I felt something clamp around my seized wrist, then I heard another loud clang as the other end of the cuffs locked around his own wrist. He let my arm go, and carefully I twisted it back to my side. The sword was still in his free hand, but he held it at the ready instead of against my flesh.
I finally got a good look at my captor. He was barely an adult himself. His brown hair was longer than I expected, reaching his shoulders. He was very tan and muscular, and if he hadn't been such a massive jerk to me the two times I met him I might be inclined to think he was gorgeous. I couldn't seem to catch his gaze, he seemed determined to stick to his mission so I guess making eye contact with a prisoner was pointless.
"Could you at least explain what this is all about?" I inquired. I still didn't know why this man wanted to hold me hostage so badly. Was it a case of mistaken identity? Or was something more sinister going on? Had my dream world turned nightmare due to the years of unintended neglect?
The soldier gave a good tug at the bonds that held us together. I wasn't going anywhere unless he was two feet behind me. "You are a wanted felon." He said simply.
I was surprised. "A felon? Look, I haven't been here for eight years. Exactly when did I do anything that would make me a criminal?"
His expression was unchanging. "I don't know any of the specifics. All I have been told for these past years is what you look like, what you sound like, what crime you committed and what to expect when I apprehended you, though disappearing was never mentioned. I have been trained for almost as many years to hunt you down and bring you to justice. I have been hunting for you ever since. Why the queen personally demands your head I do not care. It is enough that you have offended our sovereign, and you must be punished."
"Well, you can tell your queen that..." I began, but a thought made me stop for a moment. "Hold on. There is no queen in Psitharis." As a child I had imagined a democratic counsel in the palace tower. It was made up of seven children, just like me, and those children oversaw all of the daily functions of the kingdom I had created. Those children were comprised of bits and pieces of the people in school who had been nice to me, or who I thought were smarter than most adults. I always imagined I would someday go to the tower to meet them. They even had names: Alexa, Barathasan, Chylis, Dresden, Emyll, Frailen and Ghias. Three boys and four girls who would be my friends and eventually allow me to govern Psitharis with them. After all, I was quite alone in the world. Why make up one imaginary friend when you could have more? "What happened to the Counsel of Seven?"
"Dead, I suppose." He ignored me when I cried out. All seven...gone? "The queen probably had them killed when she assumed the throne."
"Who is this queen?" I demanded. I was angry. This was my world, and someone had come in and destroyed all I had created. "What right did she have to take over Psitharis?"
The soldier was unmoved by my demands. "I do not have to answer any more of your questions, prisoner. My only task remaining is to take you to the palace and see that you receive just punishment for your crimes."
I was livid. "I haven't done anything. Don't you listen? I haven't been here in eight years! What could have possibly happened in my absence that would turn me into a criminal?"
The soldier pushed on my back, urging me to the right of the chain link fence. "You must take that up with the queen herself. It is none of my concern."
"Oh, don't worry. I plan to!" He pushed me, the blade of his sword pushing against my back just enough for me to know to proceed. I walked on, uncertain of the next five minutes of my life, not certain if I was living in the land of a dream anymore. My arm hurt from being brutally twisted behind my back. The shackle was tight around my wrist; it felt as if it were cutting off the blood supply to my hand. "Can you at least tell me what crime I am accused of?"
The soldier pulled on the chain that bound us, stopping our progress. He twirled me around and looked at me. For a split second I could see just the tiniest ghost of confusion, as if he was questioning the charge himself. But the moment was fleeting, and his features hardened as he pronounced my indictment: "Treason."
I started to protest, but something about his eyes made me freeze. I was staring into deep blue eyes, and I realized I had seen that unusual color before. Almost ethereal. I looked up at his forehead. There was the tiny scar from a long time ago, the one I gave him. A small voice in the back of my head, deep in my memories crying out like an injured little boy, "Hey, watch it!" I didn't say anything, but I knew who this man was. He was a frightened little boy, terrified of being beaten, taking the small gift of a paper towel to soak up the blood escaping the cut on his head. This man and I had met before. It was weird because, when we met as children, he appeared to be a year younger than me; and this guy was at least in his twenties. How could he be the same little boy?
I knew before it even happened that I was beginning to wake up. "The next time we meet," I started, wanting so much to tell him what I knew but knowing there was no time, "I will not run. But right now I can't stay." I saw him reach for his sword, unsheathe it and hold it out to his side, as if he was preparing to strike. It was no good; I was already waking up, awoken by the sounds of some crazed man on the television screaming his head off about the remarkable deals we could find at his used car lot. I sat up and looked around for a moment, adjusting to the change in scenery. Couch, fireplace, television cabinet, everything was in place. And I was back where I belonged. But I did notice on my left wrist a circular indention, similar to the impression the soldier's handcuffs had made on my wrist.
