had played him. She’d looked up the Pulsed Power machine, found some names online, and convinced him to make the call. Reverse psychology or something like that. It was some sorority prank or something.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I think I’ve got the wrong number.”
The man on the other end laughed. He sounded like a guy who laughed a lot. “I’m the only Barry here,” he said. “If there’s another Z Machine somewhere with another Barry Burke, he’d better have a goatee and a sash.”
George chuckled. “No, it’s just … I’m sorry. I think this is just a big mistake. Sorry for wasting your time.”
“Ummm … okay. You sure?”
George looked over at the lab building. He thought about his dreams and the strange homeless people he’d been seeing. He remembered Madelyn’s story about a best friend he couldn’t remember.
“Look,” he said, “this is going to sound really stupid, I know, but can I ask you something?”
Another laugh echoed from New Mexico. “You’re keeping me from a boring staff meeting, stranger on the phone. Ask me anything.”
“Are you in a wheelchair?”
The voice on the other end went silent. George realized what a jackass he sounded like. The silence stretched out for ten seconds, and he wondered if the other man had hung up on him.
“Who is this?” Barry Burke asked.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the phone. “That was really insensitive of me. I didn’t mean to be so—”
“Is this George?”
The phone jumped away from his head. Or maybe his hand spasmed. He stared at it for a moment, then pulled it back to his ear.
“Are you still there?” asked the man in Albuquerque.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m still here. I just … you know me?”
“Your voice is familiar,” said Barry. “I couldn’t place it and then I realized you sound like the guy in my dreams. Which sounds very different than I intended out loud.”
George felt light-headed. He slumped against the wall next to his bucket of soapy water. “You have dreams about me?”
“I guess. You’re six feet tall, blond-brown hair … Ummm, I don’t suppose you’re super-strong, by chance?”
He thought of the dumpster. “Maybe?”
Barry whistled. “Who’s the redhead?”
“Sorry?”
“There’s a redhead in my dreams, too. Kind of cute. I think she wears …” His voice trailed off. “I think she might be a knight. Like a King Arthur–Excalibur–type knight. Or maybe a Gundam pilot.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know. I haven’t … I don’t think I’ve actually dreamed about you.”
He sensed the shift, even over the phone. “You haven’t?”
“I don’t think so.”
“So how’d you know to call me?”
“There’s a girl out here,” explained George. “A young woman. She knows … she claims to know a lot of stuff. She says I’ve forgotten things. That everyone has.”
“Is she dead?”
“What? No. She’s just—”
A set of sounds and images flashed across George’s mind. Meeting Madelyn for the first time on moving day. Meeting her again in the cafeteria.
“I’m Madelyn Sorensen,” she said. “The Corpse Girl.”
He glanced up from the magazine and saw a dead girl in a wheelchair
.
His voice trailed off.
Barry cleared his throat. “Still there?”
“Yeah, sorry. This is all … this is all a little weird. And overwhelming.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve been thinking I was going nuts or something.”
George thought of the other thing Madelyn had mentioned. “Is there anyone else in your dreams? Any other people?”
“A bunch,” said Barry. “There’s you, the redhead, this huge Army officer—”
“I’ve met him,” George said. “He’s here in LA. Lieutenant Freedom.”
“Lieutenant? That doesn’t sound right.”
Something pulsed behind George’s left eye, the faintest hint of an oncoming headache. “I didn’t think so, either, but it seemed to make him upset to talk about it.”
“But
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I think I’ve got the wrong number.”
The man on the other end laughed. He sounded like a guy who laughed a lot. “I’m the only Barry here,” he said. “If there’s another Z Machine somewhere with another Barry Burke, he’d better have a goatee and a sash.”
George chuckled. “No, it’s just … I’m sorry. I think this is just a big mistake. Sorry for wasting your time.”
“Ummm … okay. You sure?”
George looked over at the lab building. He thought about his dreams and the strange homeless people he’d been seeing. He remembered Madelyn’s story about a best friend he couldn’t remember.
“Look,” he said, “this is going to sound really stupid, I know, but can I ask you something?”
Another laugh echoed from New Mexico. “You’re keeping me from a boring staff meeting, stranger on the phone. Ask me anything.”
“Are you in a wheelchair?”
The voice on the other end went silent. George realized what a jackass he sounded like. The silence stretched out for ten seconds, and he wondered if the other man had hung up on him.
“Who is this?” Barry Burke asked.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the phone. “That was really insensitive of me. I didn’t mean to be so—”
“Is this George?”
The phone jumped away from his head. Or maybe his hand spasmed. He stared at it for a moment, then pulled it back to his ear.
“Are you still there?” asked the man in Albuquerque.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m still here. I just … you know me?”
“Your voice is familiar,” said Barry. “I couldn’t place it and then I realized you sound like the guy in my dreams. Which sounds very different than I intended out loud.”
George felt light-headed. He slumped against the wall next to his bucket of soapy water. “You have dreams about me?”
“I guess. You’re six feet tall, blond-brown hair … Ummm, I don’t suppose you’re super-strong, by chance?”
He thought of the dumpster. “Maybe?”
Barry whistled. “Who’s the redhead?”
“Sorry?”
“There’s a redhead in my dreams, too. Kind of cute. I think she wears …” His voice trailed off. “I think she might be a knight. Like a King Arthur–Excalibur–type knight. Or maybe a Gundam pilot.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know. I haven’t … I don’t think I’ve actually dreamed about you.”
He sensed the shift, even over the phone. “You haven’t?”
“I don’t think so.”
“So how’d you know to call me?”
“There’s a girl out here,” explained George. “A young woman. She knows … she claims to know a lot of stuff. She says I’ve forgotten things. That everyone has.”
“Is she dead?”
“What? No. She’s just—”
A set of sounds and images flashed across George’s mind. Meeting Madelyn for the first time on moving day. Meeting her again in the cafeteria.
“I’m Madelyn Sorensen,” she said. “The Corpse Girl.”
He glanced up from the magazine and saw a dead girl in a wheelchair
.
His voice trailed off.
Barry cleared his throat. “Still there?”
“Yeah, sorry. This is all … this is all a little weird. And overwhelming.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve been thinking I was going nuts or something.”
George thought of the other thing Madelyn had mentioned. “Is there anyone else in your dreams? Any other people?”
“A bunch,” said Barry. “There’s you, the redhead, this huge Army officer—”
“I’ve met him,” George said. “He’s here in LA. Lieutenant Freedom.”
“Lieutenant? That doesn’t sound right.”
Something pulsed behind George’s left eye, the faintest hint of an oncoming headache. “I didn’t think so, either, but it seemed to make him upset to talk about it.”
“But
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