The Dream Machine

Eighteen

FREDERICK

     I am sick and tired of this. I'm still in this dark and dreary dream room. Bob is still standing in front of me, a amused grin on his face. Sandler woke up, his faint taking him out of unconsciousness. And yet, George is still dead. Why don't I have the power to wake him? I already tried. It's either because I don't have the power capacity, or Bob is blocking me from doing so. 

    "Bring George back," I chanted, "Now." 

    "Bring Sandler back, and I'll think about it." 

   Though I had only known Bob for about fifteen minutes in my time, I hated him with a deep, burning passion. I hated him like vegetarians hate meat. I imagined him hanging over a pit of fire. The thought appeared in front of me. Bob being held up by his neck over a plate of firewood, gleaming with the flames. Yet, it wasn't gonna do anything. I had to literally apply force. 

   I imagined the same amount of pain he had forced on me tenfold. Bob clutched his head. He seemed only a little bothered. I screamed at the top of my lungs and ran at him. My head collided with his chest and I pegged him to the ground, my hands over his arms and my knees on his legs. I increased the pain more, and soon, Bob was screaming. 

   The room was the color of white fury, "BRING GEORGE BACK," I demanded, "RIGHT NOW!" 

   Everything stopped. The room was pitch-black. Bob was gone. I was submerged in darkness. His hold on George was evaporated. Sandler's friend's heart was now clinging to me, and I desparately squeezed it. My imaginary ear glued to it, waiting for a heartbeat. It came, and George awoke. 

GEORGE

  I exploded out of the bed and stood up on instinct. Sandler had been sitting beside me. He seemed pleased that I had been raised from my slumber, for he was wrapping me in a bear hugs, tears streaming down his face. 

   "I thought I lost you," he blubbered, "I thought you were dead. I thought that I would never see you again," Sandler was losing it, sobbing and crying. I decided to let him have this moment and my face just smiled. I don't know where I went, but I didn't care at the moment. Sandler was recognizing that I was his friend, and that's all I really needed. 

  He wasn't gonna leave me. He was gonna stick right beside me. I really needed his friendship, and it was mine. Sandler sniffled and released me. Frederick soon standing up and joining us. It seemed that he had just woken up too. 

   "Glad to have you back, George," he said. 

   "Sandler, are you sure he's..." 

  "George, he's not a stalker. He was just trying to locate me, so he could help me." 

  "Plus, I did just save your life." Frederick put in. 

  I couldn't comprehend this, "Wait, so people like you can bring people back to life." 

  "Well, at least, recently dead ones, I guess," said the stalker with good motives, "There was another man in there. He calls himself Bob." 

 Sandler included, "And catch this, he claims to be Elizabeth Gallagher's biological father. He could be referring to Lizzie.

 "That's sure is odd," I stated, "but nothing you guys can't handle." 

 "What do you mean by that?" Sandler asked. 

 "I'm saying that you guys are like superheroes. From what I can tell, your powers have no limits. Not that I'm any use." 

 Frederick interjected, "On the contrary, you lended us your machine. You're a part of the Consciousness as much as we are."

 "Wow guys," I declared, "that really means a lot to me. So what's our mission exactly?" they remained silent, "I mean, he seems pretty submitted onto finding this Elizabeth character if it really is Lizzie. It could be someone we've never met. I suggest we make a name-search." 

 "Great idea, Sherlock," Sandler patted me on the back.

 "You still remember my methods of deduction?" 

 "How could I not? You basically stamped my life with it," we all laughed. Frederick seemed trustworthy. He said that he had saved me, and Sandler sure thought he did. I guess I really could trust him with my life, since I already did.