The Dream Machine

Thirteen

After school, I returned to Frederick's house in the forest. It turns out that his home was just in the woods behind my house. Coincedence? Probably. Anyway, I got there and George was already hovering over my new adult friend's still unconscious body. 

"Any luck?" I asked him. 

"Nope," he replied, "it doesn't look good Sandler. There was nothing we could do when you got in your coma. We can't just try to wake him up, or he might stay like this permenantly. 

"Then what can we do?" I questioned.

"I don't know," he sighed and sat down on the opposite bed, "That guy is mysterious. Are you sure we can't just forget about this?"

"No," I exhaled, "he was gonna teach me."

"Oh, yeah. Your so-called powers." George said.

"Hey, if he teaches me, I could get the lead in First Date and..."

"Wait, you're trying to get the lead in a middle school production?"

"Yeah, so..." George burst out laughing. I just stood there, a little annoyed. It just so happened that I liked musicals and couldn't wait to learn my part.

"I mean, it's a middle school musical! It's gonna be so bad!" 

"Whatever," I just kept listening to Frederick's breathing, seeing the slow rise and fall of his stomach. What is going on with him?

There was a knock on the door. It was highly unusual; Frederick's house was secluded. I climbed up the basement into Frederick's bedroom: a single bed in the corner with a desk in the corner, a laptop on its surface. The basement was located under the floor. You had to pull a string to pull up the hatch.

I exited the room and sprinted towards the door. Someone had shoved a package through the mail slot. Outside the window was a regular mail truck. Frederick, you've got mail. 

I picked up the manilla envelope and walked over to his brown, dusty living room couch. A gigantic cloud erupted from the sofa as I sat down. Coughs exploded out of my throat, making me cover my mouth with my sleeve. 

"Dang, Frederick," I exclaimed, "You need a housekeeper." I opened the bulky package. Inside, was a wad of cash and a single sticky-note letter. I counted the money and it totalled to five-hundred bucks. The note read:

                           The usual, still can't tell you where we are, but we love you. 

                                                           -Mr. and Mrs. Williams 

George was reading behind my shoulder and I turned around facing him. 

"Maybe Frederick's a drug dealer?" he concurred. 

"Or maybe these are his guardians?" I thought my deduction was more likely. Not much crime in our town, especially not a drug dealing ring, "I mean, I don't think he has a job, maybe his foster parents send him money every once in a while. He does have a labtop." 

"What would he put on that labtop?" 

I guessed, "I don't know, possibly an iTunes account?"

"Only one way to find out," 

I jumped off the couch and George and I headed back to Frederick's bedroom. We entered the room and I sat down at the desk chair, George once again peering over my shoulder. My hands opened the lid and we were automatically greeted with a home screen. It asked for a password. 

Out of instinct, I typed "Sandler Jacobson". The screen disappeared and it went to a normal desktop screen with various types of programs to choose from. 

"His password is your name. That isn't creepy at all," George stated. 

I clicked on a random folder entitled, "Sandler". As soon as I clicked, several pictures of me flooded the screen: me talking to Lizzie in the library, me asleep in the hallway, all photographs of me from the day my life changed forever. 

George opened one of the desk drawers and a very fancy, very expensive, camera glanced up at us. This object had a extensively long lense, and a gigantic body. He picked it up, since the camera was already on, George flipped through the pictures. They matched the ones on the computer. 

"Oh my gosh! Frederick is a stalker!" we screamed simultaneously.

"Are you sure he's a safe guy now?" George questioned me.

My heartbeats quickened, "I thought he was just trying to help me, but this is just flat-out obsessive!" 

"We have to get out of here!" he shrieked. 

I was once again the voice of reason, "We can't just leave him here!"

"Well, we obviously can't let him know where we are!" 

"He's unconscious! He won't know!" 

"Fine," George surrendered, "but you're going down the basement first. 

George and I walked down the basement steps with exaggerated caution. If we heard any noise whatsoever, we were gonna have a double heart attack, if there was such a thing. Luckily, there was no noise. When we got down there, we noticed that the rise and fall of Frederick's stomach had stopped. 

I suddenly bolted to his sleeping body. "What are you doing?!" 

"His stomach stopped moving. Something's not right." I moved to his neck and placed my two-fingers to check for his heartbeat. There was nothing. "George, Frederick is dead."