Death Sleep ~ Book Three

six.

"So, Hero...you're the one they chose." Baxter circled around a cautious Lance. "You've figured out the secret, that we can't be killed in dreams unless we believe it, so what else is a criminal to do to make a hero suffer?"

"Baxter, you don't have to do this."

"No, I don't. But I do it. Now, back to the topic. What does a hero fear? Enough to forget that it's not real. Let's take a look, shall we?"

Baxter stopped behind Lance and watched with him as memories from Lance's childhood displayed on a non existent screen. Happy laughter from a little boy, running around with his parents, being held by his mother and tossed around by his father.

"Very sweet. But not really what I'm after."

"Baxter..."

"Silence! I'm concentrating here."

More scenes from Lance's teen years played. Cool nights at carnivals, his first kiss, meeting Leslie. The view came to a literal screeching halt that hurt Lance's ears. Wincing, he looked at Baxter.

"Now that's more like it," Baxter cooed.

"Baxter, don't you dare."

He circled around so Lance could see him smile. It was an almost sad, kind smile. Baxter sighed.

"But I must."

"Baxter..."

"You met my wife, right?"

An image of one of the photographs that Lance had been shown of what was left of Baxter's wife displayed. Lance cringed. Then suddenly, the woman in the picture became less two dimensional and plumped up into three dimensional. Lance noticed a rank smell of blood and urine around him. It permeated his skin and burned his nose.

"She wants to say hello."

The limp form raised a partial head and smiled gruesomely at him.

"She'd wave, if she had hands. Please, excuse her rudeness. It's not completely her fault."

Lance felt normal bodily responses to what he saw, although his body lay three feet away from where he really was. He tried to remind himself that it wasn't real, but it was all too real in front of him. He had seen it before.

Baxter leaned in close to him and whispered in his ear.

"There's someone else that wants to say hello."

The remains of the woman on the floor began to twist and mold like hot rubber. When it settled into place, Lance nearly lost his ethereal lunch. The woman had transformed into a slightly recognizable image of his own wife, Leslie. Lance moaned and dropped to his knees.

"I miss you, darling," the ruined mouth spoke in his wife's voice. The remains moved and began to struggle. It finally had turned enough to be able to begin dragging itself toward Lance.

"Do you miss me?" it asked him.

"Enough!" Lance roared at Baxter. Baxter broke out in laughter.

"Don't you want to spend more time with your wife? She misses you. You shouldn't reject her just because she's had some changes made. What kind of husband does that?" He walked over to the ruined body and patted it on its head. When he pulled his hand away, blood and gore covered it.