way for a couple of minutes, enjoying the feeling of blessed stillness, as my heartbeat slowed to normal. No falling. No flying. Just sitting.
But I couldn’t sit here forever. My watch told me that more than five hours had passed since I entered Phyllis’s dreamscape. Time passes differently in dreams, so it wasn’t surprising that the first ten minutes had dragged on like centuries, then the next several hours zipped by in mere minutes. I was running short on time. I needed to find my way back to the dream portal and return to the real world.
As soon as I thought about the portal, I saw it in front of me. I love when that happens in dreams. Its beam sparkled like an oasis after a long crawl across the desert. Beside it, the fog that had followed me through the building billowed and swirled.
I stood—my legs felt more steady now—and went over to the portal. I was more than ready to leave this dreamscape. Speaking the password, I stepped into the beam.
Nothing happened.
I tried again, pronouncing each syllable precisely. Colored lights shimmered around me, but I didn’t get that fizzy feeling of dissolving into them.
I stepped back and examined the beam. Something was wrong. The colors were off. This wasn’t the portal I’d used to step into Phyllis’s dreamscape from her bedroom. It was probably a simple dream image created by her subconscious.
I hate when that happens in dreams.
But could it be a real portal? It seemed likely that the guy who’d stuffed that demon into his sack was the same person who was making Boston’s demons disappear. To get into people’s dreams, he must have his own dream portal generator. So who was he? And why on earth was he collecting other people’s personal demons?
Before I could pursue that line of thought, the portal started buzzing. It brightened, its colors vibrated faster. A silhouette appeared in the beam. Someone was entering Phyllis’s dream. Someone tall—and carrying a very big gun.
I was unarmed, and that gun didn’t exactly look friendly. I turned my head, trying to find an exit, but the room had changed. The hallway that had brought me here was gone. Except for the black-painted door that led to the outside, all the walls were blank. There was no place to hide. I was trapped.
The silhouette grew more solid.
I stepped back. Fog swirled up around me. I moved deeper into the fog, until I could no longer see the portal. Whoever was entering, if I couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see me. Or so I hoped.
The fog was so thick I literally couldn’t see my own hand when I held it an inch in front of my face. It cloyed like cotton in my nose and lungs, making breathing difficult. I couldn’t walk forward to face whoever had come through that portal, but I couldn’t stay here and suffocate, either.
The fog had followed me all through the building. Maybe I could step out of it and be back where I started. I pictured my entry point: the white tile floor, the harsh lighting, the red-brown doors. Most of all, the sparkling beam of the dream portal, its colors keyed to Phyllis’s bedroom. In my mind’s eye, the beamwas to my right, as though I’d stepped through it only a moment ago, its colors moving in a kaleidoscope of shifting patterns. I imagined myself in that hallway, making the image real. When I moved out of the fog, I told myself, I’d be there.
I strode forward, my boots clicking on the tile floor, not letting myself think about the second portal and its threatening silhouette. The fog thinned, caressing my hair and skin with wispy fingers as I departed its grasp. I was back where I’d started, in an endless hallway lined with red-brown doors. To my right, the dream portal shimmered and glowed. There was no silhouette, and the colors looked right this time. I allowed myself a moment to sag against the wall. But the fog swirled behind me, and who knew what might emerge from it, as I had a minute ago?
Speaking the password, I stepped through the
But I couldn’t sit here forever. My watch told me that more than five hours had passed since I entered Phyllis’s dreamscape. Time passes differently in dreams, so it wasn’t surprising that the first ten minutes had dragged on like centuries, then the next several hours zipped by in mere minutes. I was running short on time. I needed to find my way back to the dream portal and return to the real world.
As soon as I thought about the portal, I saw it in front of me. I love when that happens in dreams. Its beam sparkled like an oasis after a long crawl across the desert. Beside it, the fog that had followed me through the building billowed and swirled.
I stood—my legs felt more steady now—and went over to the portal. I was more than ready to leave this dreamscape. Speaking the password, I stepped into the beam.
Nothing happened.
I tried again, pronouncing each syllable precisely. Colored lights shimmered around me, but I didn’t get that fizzy feeling of dissolving into them.
I stepped back and examined the beam. Something was wrong. The colors were off. This wasn’t the portal I’d used to step into Phyllis’s dreamscape from her bedroom. It was probably a simple dream image created by her subconscious.
I hate when that happens in dreams.
But could it be a real portal? It seemed likely that the guy who’d stuffed that demon into his sack was the same person who was making Boston’s demons disappear. To get into people’s dreams, he must have his own dream portal generator. So who was he? And why on earth was he collecting other people’s personal demons?
Before I could pursue that line of thought, the portal started buzzing. It brightened, its colors vibrated faster. A silhouette appeared in the beam. Someone was entering Phyllis’s dream. Someone tall—and carrying a very big gun.
I was unarmed, and that gun didn’t exactly look friendly. I turned my head, trying to find an exit, but the room had changed. The hallway that had brought me here was gone. Except for the black-painted door that led to the outside, all the walls were blank. There was no place to hide. I was trapped.
The silhouette grew more solid.
I stepped back. Fog swirled up around me. I moved deeper into the fog, until I could no longer see the portal. Whoever was entering, if I couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see me. Or so I hoped.
The fog was so thick I literally couldn’t see my own hand when I held it an inch in front of my face. It cloyed like cotton in my nose and lungs, making breathing difficult. I couldn’t walk forward to face whoever had come through that portal, but I couldn’t stay here and suffocate, either.
The fog had followed me all through the building. Maybe I could step out of it and be back where I started. I pictured my entry point: the white tile floor, the harsh lighting, the red-brown doors. Most of all, the sparkling beam of the dream portal, its colors keyed to Phyllis’s bedroom. In my mind’s eye, the beamwas to my right, as though I’d stepped through it only a moment ago, its colors moving in a kaleidoscope of shifting patterns. I imagined myself in that hallway, making the image real. When I moved out of the fog, I told myself, I’d be there.
I strode forward, my boots clicking on the tile floor, not letting myself think about the second portal and its threatening silhouette. The fog thinned, caressing my hair and skin with wispy fingers as I departed its grasp. I was back where I’d started, in an endless hallway lined with red-brown doors. To my right, the dream portal shimmered and glowed. There was no silhouette, and the colors looked right this time. I allowed myself a moment to sag against the wall. But the fog swirled behind me, and who knew what might emerge from it, as I had a minute ago?
Speaking the password, I stepped through the
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