She was alone somewhere, alone and frightened, calling for him.
Help me, Daddy. Help me.
He had to find her. He couldn’t let her die.
Wouldn’t let her.
Yet, what could he do? There were no bus stops here. No waiting trains to take him home.
Searching the bleak landscape, he saw nothing to give him hope. It was, he imagined, much like the moon, or some far-flung asteroid. An unforgiving place that held no promise of escape.
The crowd continued its march toward whatever that pathway offered. What did they see in the darkness there? Was it a way out?
Help me, Daddy.
Feeling a sudden sense of urgency, he moved forward, catching up to the crowd, then searched the landscape beyond, looking for some kind of opening. Jessie was back in the real world, calling to him, and all he could think to do was to find the nearest exit sign and flee this place. But as he tried to work his way into the throng, they closed ranks, blocking his passage.
He pushed forward, trying to shove his way in.
“Let me through!” he shouted, but they ignored him, refusing to budge. “Move, goddammit! Let me-”
“Easy, Jack.”
It was barely a whisper, right next to his ear. He felt the heat of the speaker’s breath.
He whipped around. Saw nothing. No one.
Then the wind kicked up and he froze in place as a fold in the darkness opened up before him.
A familiar figure stepped out of the shadows.
Donovan stumbled back, jolted by what he saw, a mix of emotions flooding his mind: relief, joy, disbelief.
“Sweet Jesus,” he said.
It was A.J.
A.J.
Alive and whole and vibrant.
30
Tears filled Donovan’s eyes, and before he knew it, he had his arms wrapped around his partner, hugging him.
“My God,” he said, pulling away to look him over. “Is it really you?”
A.J. was silent for a moment, then nodded and said, “I’m here, Jack, I’m with you.” There was a calmness to his voice that was almost unsettling. “But what you see comes from inside. Your mind is filling in the gaps to help you process what’s happening to you.”
“What do you mean? Like a dream?”
“More like window dressing. The only thing that exists in this place is thought. Pure thought. Our minds supply the props we need in order to cope. But I’m real, Jack. Very real. Just not in a way you can fully appreciate right now.”
Donovan shook his head. This was a dream. It had to be. Any minute now he’d wake up and find himself neck deep in freezing river water, thankful to be alive.
He tried to remember some of the more vivid dreams he’d had in his lifetime, but none of them came readily to mind.
A.J. offered him a benevolent smile, looking for all the world like a guardian angel, his eyes bright and clear and full of quiet wisdom. For a moment Donovan felt like a four-year-old looking into the eyes of his father.
Then A.J. squeezed his shoulder. The hand felt warm. Alive. Would it feel that way if he was dreaming?
“She’s waiting for you, Jack. Go back and find her. It’s what you were meant to do.”
Then the smile faded and the darkness opened up again, swallowing A.J. whole.
Donovan blinked. “A.J.?”
He searched the darkness, raising his voice. “A.J.?”
But there was no sign of him.
Donovan stood there, not quite sure what to do with himself, A.J.’s words still banging around inside his head:
Go back and find her.
It’s what you were meant to do.
But no matter how much he tried to convince himself that A.J. was real, he couldn’t quite believe it. This wasn’t death at all, it was nothing more than a hallucinatory episode brought on by severe trauma.
How could it be anything else?
His mind was playing tricks on him, that’s all. He was alive and floating on the surface of the river, and any minute now, the paramedics would drag him out to safety and wake him from this terrible nightmare.
Yet, despite his protests, something in his gut told him he was wrong. No hallucination, no dream, could be as alive and as palpable as this. The corridor, the murmuring voices, the crowd of walking dead-these weren’t things the mind made up out of whole cloth, were they?
Backing away from the crowd, he turned and again searched the darkness, hoping to find a fold in the fabric, the same fold A.J. had disappeared into.
Then, another whisper tickled his ear:
“This way, Jack.”
For a moment he wasn’t sure whether he’d actually heard the words or had only imagined them. Then he noticed a flash of movement in the corner of his eye.
“This way.”
A dark figure darted into the crowd, weaving through it. He followed, the crowd yielding passage this time, as the figure bobbed in and out of view. Abruptly turning, it broke away from the line, heading across the landscape toward an outcropping of rocks.
Donovan moved after it and picked up speed, the air around him growing colder with each step. The figure disappeared behind the rocks and Donovan quickly circled around them — only to find himself alone.
In almost total darkness.
The faint wind howled, like the distant cry of a tortured beast. A shiver snaked up his spine, accompanied by an almost overwhelming sense of dread.
“What’s the matter, hotshot? Lose something?”
A fold in the fabric opened up and — Alexander Gunderson stood before him. Smiling. Malevolently.
Donovan stared at him. Stunned.
“I’ll bet you thought you’d seen the last of me,” Gunderson said. He leaned forward, forcing Donovan to take a step back. “I told you it wasn’t over.”
Donovan stood immobile, felt frozen to the spot. Was this really happening?
Without warning, Gunderson reached up and clapped his hands on either side of Donovan’s face.
“Give us a kiss,” he said, and planted his lips on Donovan’s. A reptilian tongue slithered between them, forcing its way deep inside his mouth.
Donovan gagged and pushed at Gunderson, struggling to break free as white heat burrowed deep into his chest and squeezed his heart.
Then, all at once, Gunderson collapsed in on himself and dissolved into vapor.
Recoiling, Donovan fell back, unable to breathe, his lungs once again on fire. A fierce wind kicked up from out of nowhere and swirled around him.
In a far corner of his brain he heard voices, distant voices, speaking a language he didn’t quite understand.
A code of some kind.
