The Big Sleep (Duology)

Chapter Nine - Daughter of Dreamwalkers

I smacked the red door with the palm of my hand, then closed my eyes and concentrated, imagining the door swinging open and picturing myself running out and down the stark, white hall, free.

Fingers grazed the back of my hand and I flailed out wildly. But it was no good. Dr. Farrah the nightmare's delicate hands encircled my wrists and held them with surprising force. I fought furiously against her as she dragged me across the dark room and through the tiny opening, into confinement. She threw me onto the floor before bolting out, then slammed the door between us. I heard the lock click and then, silence.

Shaking, I scanned my new home. There were no windows except for the tiny one in the black door that looked out on the interrogation room. The walls and floors were thick and plush with yellowing foam. Above me, rows of bright, fluorescent tubes buzzed constantly.

Trying to slow my breathing and ease my panic, I sat on the floor and held my knees. Again, I closed my eyes and picture my escape. In my mind's eye, I saw the facade of Dr. Farrah's imposing building, reaching toward the sky to impossible heights, covered in elaborate stonework designs. I envisioned myself there, but when I opened my eyes, the cell still surrounded me.

I got to my feet and paced and thought. For minutes or hours or days, I walked along the edges of the square room and considered my own sanity. I started by going over the facts I could recall, but the memories seemed to slip away as I reached for them.

I was sure that had been with a person. Possibly a friend. We fought off the creatures that tried to destroy us. Greymen. Right, I was sleeping. And I had powers.

As I mulled these thoughts over, a voice in the back of my head began to interject. It wondered at my willingness to believe such drivel. It asked why I couldn't use my powers if this really was a dream. Desperately, I searched my mind for something more solid to cling to, but I couldn't remember my friend's name or what he looked like.

Over time, the voice inside of me grew louder and the facts began to blur until, finally, all I knew for sure was that I was in a padded room. Tired and unsure that I could trust my thoughts any longer, I found the most cushioned part of the floor and settled down to sleep.

I awoke sometime later to find that I was still in the same room with the same doubts. I hadn't dreamt at all. For days, I wallowed in my cell, clinging to the thought that though I hadn't eaten food or gone to the bathroom in all the time I'd been in confinement, my body was still whole. It was the only proof I still had that this was a dream.

But after sometime, I began to feel weak and ill. When I looked down at myself, I saw a pale, emaciated body with oversized joints and undersized limbs.

Perhaps starvation really was taking a toll on me. Perhaps I wasn't dreaming at all.

Since my body had fallen into disrepair, I'd stopped pacing. Instead, I spent most of my time curled up in the fetal position on the floor. For comfort, I turned to memories of my family and friends, but their faces were beginning to fade. Beth, sweet and innocent, always with her nose in a book. My father with his grand ideas and rhapsodical worship of the past, stern and proud in his devotion. Kayle, oh, Kayle. Brilliant and badass, my best friend. I would follow her anywhere.