Death Sleep ~ Book Three

two.

Jake Baxtor's life wasn't as idyllic as Lance's, but it wasn't bad either. A ward of the government, more precisely, the military, since he was a child, it only made sense that he eventually became a military operative. His own secret of also being able to dreamwalk, made him a very powerful weapon. He had been tested and trained since he was merely five, after his parents gave him up out of fear of his ability.

The knowledge of his life made him a hard man. Unwanted by the mother that gave birth to him and the father who helped create him, Jake decided to become wanted by the military. When he wasn't busy being tested, the office personnel kept him busy with errands. He took the job seriously and did it well and was well compensated. He knew they felt sorry for the orphan boy with the weird talent, but he didn't care. He was wanted.

When he was tucked away at night in his room on the military base, he would practice his ability with the soldiers. At first, as a child, he would see the war torn soldiers' dreams and want to make them happy. He would interrupt their dreams of war and blood with scenarios of their families and buddies lost in battle coming to them to have fun with them. The morale on the base rose considerably when the soldiers woke up feeling more refreshed and happier than they had in years. Jake felt very important and very wanted.

The first time someone died from his interruptions, Jake became shaken and disturbed. He was a teenager at this point. He had been progressing well with his training and was more powerful than ever. But physiology stepped in. He went into the dreams of a soldier that was being held in the mental facility. The man had post traumatic stress disorder and was categorized as unreachable. His dreams replayed horrors from battles long past over and over again. Faces were covered in blood and fear, foreign children were torn into pieces. The images made Jake sick. He had to help. He searched in the man's mind for his center. He knew that it was there that the man kept his true self. The self that hid from these images.

Had he taken the time to look around, he might have noticed something. He might have seen. Unfortunately, he would never know if it could have turned out another way. He approached a plain white door with a round silver handle. Turning the knob, he pushed it open and found the man, in a strait jacket, with a single light overhead bearing harshly down on him. The man was muttering and moaning as he rocked back and forth.

Jake took a step toward the man.

"Sir?"

The man looked up at Jake and smiled.

"Is it finally time? You have finally come?"

"Pardon?"

The man nodded and lowered his head. Suddenly, Jake was thrust outside of the man's dreams and into his padded cell where his real body lay prone, strait jacketed and in cardiac arrest. Orderlies rushed in and unbuckled the jacket in a failed attempt to administer CPR. Jake watched in horror as the man before him died. When his heart finally failed him, the man's spirit rose out of his body and stood, smiling at Jake.

"You have come to take me to the other side. Finally, after so many years."

"But-I-That's not-" Jake stammered.

The man looked at him with confusion.

"You're not an angel?"

Jake shook his head, no.

"Who are you?"

"I'm just somebody who lives here. I walk in people's dreams."