The Dream Theory

(11) Call the Doctor

9:56 P.M.

James grumbled as he watched time tick by. He was waiting outside Erik's hospital room, impatiently. He crossed his legs, bouncing it. Then groaned as he tossed and turned in his uncomfortable seat. He'll never get any good sleep.

James decided to sit up and enter the room. He was comforted by a soft cold breeze and the sound of machines. He closed the door behind him silently, in hopes that he didn't awake anyone.

"James?"

James looked over smiling. "Hiya Erik, buddy." He said as he grew near Erik's bed. Erik rose a brow.

"You're not allowed inside." Erik reminded. James groaned.

"I know. I know. It's just so warm outside and the chairs are so uncomfortable." He walked over to one of the other beds and took it. "You don't mind if I catch a nap here, do you?"

Erik shrugged. "No. It's not mine anyway." He said as he squirmed in his place. James nodded sleepily. "I appreciate your concern for me but I don't need company."

"No, I'm sure you don't. But I'm just too tired to drive. Ya know?" He said with a small yawn. "Good night."

Erik smirked. "Good night."

10:08 P.M.

James was making a sandwich. Why not dream about food when you can't have any expensive ones from the hospital. He finished it and ate it away as he watched TV. He wasn't aware that he was in a dream. But who would know that.

There was a rough noise. James ignored it and continued to laugh at the stupid commentary on one of the shows. Then there was a bang. He turned off the TV and groaned softly as he went to investigate.

"Whoever is here might as well present themselves because I'm fucking Will Smith."

There was silence.

"Typical." He said and went back to his regularly scheduled program. He laughed again then stopped as he caught a glimpse of movement on the reflection of his 4k flat screen TV. He rolled his eyes and stood up again. "Ándale. Show yourselves you fool."

And someone did. Erik walked in wearing a smile. James rose a surprised brow.

"Huh. Since when were you here?"

Erik held up a hand. James looked at it and noticed a strange tattoo. He always wore gloves. Might this be what he was hiding? It looks so devilish.

"Hey. Who's your inker?" James asked, taking a bite of his sandwich only to receive a hard punch. He fell on his back, coughing blood. "Hey man! What's up?"

He tried to sit up but Erik rested a foot on his throat.

"Do you remember those deaths we read on the article in the cafeteria? 1999?"

James did. His conscious came up to him, realizing that this was a dream. But now he was lucidly dreaming. And this was the real Erik.

"Good. Because I just wanted to tell you, I was the one who killed them."

James gasped, wanting to speak but was cut off on the spot.

Erik watched as James remained lifeless. He frowned. Not feeling satisfied at all. But he usual does.

"I'm sorry James." He said softly and walked away.