Chapter 2

Jonathan blinked in confusion.

“Dream…Dreamscape?” he said blankly.

“Yes. The world of the minds. Right now, your mind. There is a lot I have to teach you because once you have entered here your abilities will manifest in the physical world, and that is dangerous.”

Jonathan was about to ask what in the hell this man was talking about when he noticed dark clouds gathering on the horizon, far faster than could be natural. The man noticed too, giving them a quick glance before looking back at Jonathan.

“I do not have time to explain it all. This is your first time here; your mind is desperately fighting to return you to the physical world. What you need to know is that from now on, everything changes. You activated something deep inside yourself when you stumbled onto my mark, something that will not go away when you wake up.”

The cloud mass continued to thicken, fast becoming a storm of growing size. Jonathan tried to take his eyes off it, to focus on the man, but found it difficult.

“You must control it! If you do not, they will come for you. I do not know when,  but they will come. You must trust me if you wish to survive, for I am your friend.”

There was a distant peal of thunder, highlighting the increasing power of the storm. The farthest mountains were now invisible, hidden in darkness. The man didn’t take his eyes off Jonathan, though a tightening around his eyes showed that he was just as aware of the incoming danger.

“You will probably think you are mad, when you wake up. As if this was some crazy dream. But you will feel different. See things.”

Jonathan’s stomach tightened in fear, partly from the ominous warning and partly from the storm, now close enough for him to feel the wind whipping out. As it moved the storm gathered in speed, swelling in intensity as it drew closer. Another thunder peal boomed across the mountain, striking Jonathan like a physical blow.

“Listen,” said the man urgently, raising his voice over the wind, “the most important thing for you to remember is that you must come back here. It is the only way to keep you safe! Come back to the asylum and activate the glyph again, or you will stand no chance against the madness!”

“The madness? What madness?” shouted Jonathan, the wind whipping his hair this way and that.

“Never mind that!” the man shouted back as the rain began to pour down on them. “So long as you come back you will be alright! As long as you return soon!”

The storm was upon them now, surrounding them, drowning them in its fury. The clouds blocked all light, the rain lashed down in torrents and the wind threatened to force Jonathan of the mountain. It seemed to be getting worse by the second, as if the full fury of the weather was contracting into the space around Jonathan. The darkness and rain blurred together, obscuring his vision of his surroundings. He could faintly hear a voice calling his name but he couldn’t find the source. Rain battered his body so hard he was forced to close his eyes to stop himself being blinded. It grew even more forceful and Jonathan was driven to his knees in agony. The wind squeezed and crushed his body into itself and the very breath was driven out of his lungs. He choked for a few moments before the darkness rushed in and he knew nothing more.

#

Jonathan bolted upright, gasping for breath. For a moment everything around him was a haze, awash with brightness, blinding him. He felt soaked, his legs numb and his body bruised. Something warm and solid wrapped itself around him, squeezing, not like the storm had squeezed but gently, caringly.

Gradually everything swam into focus. He was sitting upright on the cold stone floor of the asylum cell. The thing wrapped around him, he realised, was Samantha. She was frantically repeating his name over and over as she tightly held him up. After a few moments she moved back slightly, though she kept an arm around him in case he fell.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice surprisingly high.

Good question, thought Jonathan to himself. He no longer felt wet, but his legs still held onto the chill of the…mountain? Snow?

Suddenly it all flooded back to him. The mountains, the mysterious man and his warnings, the storm. Had it been a dream? Surely not. It had felt so real, so unlike any dream he had ever had. The view alone was surely detailed beyond anything his imagination could come up with. His legs still felt numb from the snow.

Yet he felt small edges of doubt. He had felt drenched in rain too, mere moments ago, but now reality had kicked in he felt perfectly dry. Maybe it was just a side effect of the dream, or his body not coping with the blood he had given. Perhaps he had even hit his head when he had fallen. Or had he fainted?

Samantha was still gazing at him, waiting for an answer.

He reached up and checked his head for cuts or a bump, but found nothing.

“I’m fine,” he said, smiling to reassure her.

For a moment she locked eyes with Jonathan, her face a few inches from his. Then suddenly, she backed away and stood up.

“Don’t scare me like that,” she snapped. With that, she turned on her heel and left the cell, leaving a very surprised Jonathan on the floor.

There was a chuckle and Jonathan realised Adam was in the room. He twisted round to see his friend sitting on the cell bunk, casually leaning his back against the wall.

“What’s she so mad about?” asked Jonathan, rising shakily to his feet. Now that he could actually see them they didn’t feel so numb.

“Feels guilty, I’d guess,” said Adam, craning his neck to examine the ceiling. Why was anyone’s guess.

“Guilty? Why?” asked Jonathan, confused.

Adam chuckled again, his eyes still trained upwards.

“She’s the one who insisted on bringing out the blood bags. You collapse. We walked in on you face down on the stone, you see. She freaked.”

Jonathan’s eyes darted to the corner of the bunk, trying to pierce the depths of the shadows.

“Ah…how long was I out?” he asked casually.

“Ten, fifteen seconds maybe. We though you’d just tripped up at first.”

“So did I,” murmured Jonathan to himself.

At that moment Mr Khan appeared in the doorway, looking rather stressed.

“Everyone okay here?” he asked, looking from Jonathan to Adam. “Samantha said you might need a doctor…?”

Adam snorted while Jonathan rolled his eyes.

“I’m fine,” Jonathan said again. “I just felt a little woozy for a second.”

“Are you sure? No dizziness, nausea, anything like that?”

Jonathan shook his head.

Mr Khan didn’t look convinced, but he just shrugged and said “Anyway, come on, we’re a little behind schedule. We should be meeting up with the other group right now. You stay with me, then if you feel bad again we can get you some help.”

Jonathan glanced back at the shadowy corner, curiosity still gnawing at him.

“Can I just-“

“No,” said Mr Khan firmly.

Adam slipped off the bench and left the room. Jonathan hesitated a moment, but Mr Khan’s eyebrows knotted together, a sure sign of impatience, so he quickly joined Adam outside, giving the cell a last fleeting look before being hurried down the corridor by Mr Khan.

“Who’d have thought it would be so hard to keep track of all of you? You’re practically adults!” grumbled Mr Khan as they rejoined Samantha and the rest of the group.

Samantha laughed at the teachers growing frustration while the corner of Adams mouth twitched slightly upwards, but Jonathan was oddly quiet. He had other things on his mind.

#

By the time he went home Jonathan’s head had begun to hurt, but he was too distracted to really notice. He couldn’t stop going over and over the dream in his head, replaying it, examining it from every angle as if hoping to find some conclusive proof that it had all been unreal. He knew it was, of course. But still…

As he pushed open the front door of his home, he briefly considered telling his parents about it, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. Leaving aside the fact they were both scientists - and thus programmed to reject his story as silly nonsense - he simply wasn’t comfortable talking to his parents. Or rather, they weren’t comfortable talking to him.

This thought gave him a rather unpleasant feeling in his stomach, as it always did when it arose.

He threw his bag down in the hall and went into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes as he walked, trying to push the headache back a little.

His mother, Jaclyn Stewart, sat at the dining table with her laptop. She was frowning slightly, her eyes rapidly darting across the screen.

“Hi,” said Jonathan, going over to the tap and filling himself a glass of water.

“Oh. Hello,” said his mother vaguely, sparing him a brief glance before looking back at the screen. “How was school?”

“We had a school trip,” said Jonathan, sipping at his water.

She frowned; obviously displeased by something she’d just read on the screen.

“Did you really?”

“Yeah, we gave blood at the hospital.”

“Very brave,” she said, still not looking at him. After a moment she hissed to herself, “That Erikson! This is all wrong. How he ever managed his PHD…”

Jonathan rubbed his arm, where the needle puncture had been. He looked at his mother, who was still staring at the screen in anger. He wished she’d look back at him.

She began to type, the noise of the tapping keys filling the room. Jonathan gulped down the rest of his water and left the room, again rubbing his eyes. His headache was worse now; a dull, relentless pressure that made thinking painful.

Unfortunately, he could do little else but think. He climbed the stairs, trying to keep his mind off the one thing it kept returning to.

It was a dream, he told himself. A stupid, meaningless dream. Obviously his giving blood had affected him more than he’d realised, he thought wryly, entering his room.

As if to prove him right he was suddenly overtaken by dizziness. The floor seemed to spin and a white haze clouded his vision. From somewhere far away, and so very close, he heard a scream.

And, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Jonathan was left standing awkwardly in mid-step, his mouth hanging open stupidly, his hand still on the door handle. His heart hammered in his chest and for a long moment he stood there, frozen.

It was just a dream. You’re feeling woozy, that’s all.

A guttural snarl escaped his lips and he threw himself down on the bed.

He slowly rolled his head, looking for some kind of distraction, but finding none. The computer was off and Jonathan doubted he could cross what seemed, at that moment, to be the vast chasm between it and the bed. He had a few books scattered around " bought, he remembered, when he was younger and still trying to impress his parents. Useless. He’d given up that game years ago. His impressive catalogue of movies occupied a lot of the bookshelf, but…no. Just the thought of watching a screen made his head hurt more. Jonathan frowned to himself as he stared up at the plain ceiling; perhaps he should try and rest?

He determinedly ignored the slow pounding in his skull, trying to empty his mind of all feeling " which, he discovered, wasn’t easy. For a long time, the only noise that could be heard in his room was the ticking of the clock and his slow, careful breathing. 

Gradually, after an eternity of this still tension, he began to relax. His jaw, which had been set and rigid since the school trip, slackened slightly and the dull throbbing in his head seemed to retreat off into the distance. His bed was warmer, softer. Safer. If this kept up, he could even sleep…

The front door slammed. Jonathan jerked upright in his bed, his arms coming up, as if to protect himself. He rubbed his eyes blearily. He’d had a dream, a dream with…whispering? Or…no, it was gone now.

It was darker now, so he supposed the door must have been his Dad returning from one of the many seminars both he and his wife regularly attended " or, more accurately, spoke at. Both Jonathan’s parents were quite famous in their chosen fields. Neurochemistry and physics was what Jonathan understood they did, although he knew it was far more complicated than that. Both had given their lives to their subjects, so much so that Jonathan sometimes wondered " especially as he grew up " whether they really cared for anything else. Later, as he got older and the harsher realities of the world settled in, he realised that their marriage was a logical one. A convenient one. Both were up and coming scientists and had lot in common. They shared a lot of the same ideas and opinions. He was fairly sure they even liked each other. It was only natural that they would settle down together, allowed to go on with their passion, unburdened by the nagging of society. Until…

Jonathan’s fists clenched and unclenched for a moment, as he worked furiously to rid himself of these thoughts. He knew where they would lead. But it was pointless. A voice seemed to whisper at him from the shadows. A low, sad voice…

They were happy. Happy! They didn’t need you. Didn’t want you. They still don’t…

He ignored it. For years he’d allowed these thoughts to torment him, twisting his insides up in a tangled knot of guilt over…over what? Being born? Living? He snorted to himself. When he was younger he’d desperately tried to be the person his parents wanted. He’d read books, taken the science classes, everything. But that just wasn’t him. He preferred outdoors to some dingy classroom, preferred to play than to think. His parents " in what he suspected was an attempt to ease the mild guilt they felt " had always supported him in whatever hobbies he attempted. Or rather, they’d supported him from a distance, paying for his snowboarding lessons and gear without ever once coming to watch him go down a slope. There was something that scared him in the way they told him to be who he wanted to be - a sort of vacant hope, as if they were trying to detach themselves from him; as if he was some failed experiment they wanted little do with.

Bah. He’d abandoned any hope of resolution years ago. The whole situation is unfortunate, for everyone. Grow up and stop feeling sorry for yourself.

His head gave a defiant throb. Jonathan heaved a sigh, which seemed to mutate into a yawn halfway. He stood up, stretching. What time was it anyway? He looked at the clock on his bedside table and winced. He’d been asleep nearly four hours, which no doubt meant he’d have trouble sleeping tonight.

Then again, no sleep meant no dreams…

At that moment, for some reason, Jonathan heard Samantha’s voice in his head.

Baby!

Smiling in spite of himself, he went downstairs to find his Dad standing in the kitchen, popping a few meals into the microwave.

“Hi Dad.”

His father, a man with narrow, keen eyes and a rapidly receding hairline, nodded to him.

“Hello. Good day at school?”

“Yeah. We had a school trip.”

“Really? Oh, that sounds fun.”

His father’s eyes were on the microwave meal instructions.

“It was. We were shown around a hospital"“

“You’ll be ok to make food, yes?” asked his Dad, tapping a few buttons on the microwave.

“I-, yeah, sure,” said Jonathan.

“Good, good,“ said his Dad. “I’m making your mums and mine now so if you need the microwave you’ll have to wait.”

“Ok,” said Jonathan. He scratched the arm with which he had given blood and where a dull purple bruise was beginning to show. “Yeah, we were shown around a hospital. I got blood taken and-“

His father hit the start button and left the kitchen without another word.

“…it hurt,” finished Jonathan quietly.

He was left looking at the slowly revolving foodstuffs in the microwave, which - in all fairness to them - looked about as interested in his day as his father had been.

He didn’t feel hungry any more. In fact, despite his nap, he felt absolutely exhausted. Head thumping slightly, he grabbed a packet of crisps and trudged upstairs, hoping he could get a long, dreamless sleep.

#

Jonathan awoke the next morning to the harsh ringing of his alarm clock and a vague sense of unease. He could not say why this was so; his head no longer ached and he couldn’t remember any bad dreams he may have had. The bruise on his arm was now fully developed, but he’d been expecting that " besides, he’d hurt himself on the slopes often enough that this little bump barely registered.

No, it was something else. Still, he had no time to worry about this vague feeling. He was too busy throwing on his school uniform and putting bread in the toaster. While he waited for it to pop he scribbled a few answers in his maths book " homework he should have done last night but completely forgotten about " and did up his shoes.

He left the house and began his walk to school, wondering absently whether the uneasy feeling he’d had was over the unfinished homework. The early morning light was slipping through gaps in the cloudy sky and the ground was still slick with water from an earlier session of rain.

He liked mornings; liked the way the sun shone brightly and gloomily at the same time, liked the feeling of being up and active, liked the quiet bustle of the streets as people walked or drove to work. Perhaps it was the mild optimism that a new day seemed to bring, but he always thought people were at their best at this time.

He liked mornings, but as a teenage boy he saw very little of them.

His school was a fairly new building. Big, with lots of glass and chrome-like effects everywhere. The teachers, unfortunately - and perhaps with the exception of Mr Khan - were not at all modern. Dulled by years of experience and set in their ways, they simply droned at the students and hoped that this would be enough to make an impression. At least, that was how Jonathan felt about them. Samantha usually stuck up for the teachers, arguing that they had done well to simply keep at the job.

“After all,” she had said, “imagine having to deal with idiots like Brad and his gang every damn day.”

The very thought made Jonathan shudder. 

Samantha was already in her seat looking as if she hadn’t really woken up when Jonathan arrived in registration. She grunted to him as he sat down and pulled out his maths jotter.

“Pleasant as ever, I see,” Jonathan said, writing at a furious pace.

“Prepared as ever, I see,” she shot back, tapping the jotter.

“Fair enough.”

He frowned at the jotter, thinking.

“Um. What’s the quadratic formula again?”

“Here,” she said, rummaging in her bag and pulling out her jotter. “Go nuts, it’s probably all wrong.”

Jonathan murmured a quick thank you and began to copy the answers. Samantha dropped her head onto the desk as if hoping she could get a quick nap in the two minutes before the bell.

Barely a moment later Adam slouched in looking, as he always did, as if he’d just gotten out of bed. He slipped silently into a seat on the other side of Jonathan. Without raising her head off the desk Samantha gave a vague wave in his direction, which he returned, apparently unconcerned that she couldn’t see it.

Perhaps a minute of silence followed this. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, however. It was the silence of people that knew each other well enough to simply sit and wait, without feeling the awful pressure to make small talk.

Jonathan broke the silence.

“What?” he asked suddenly, looking up from his maths.

Adam looked at him curiously.

“Did you say something?” asked Jonathan; sure he’d heard a whisper.

Adam shook his head, then, looking down at the notes, said in a low voice, “You know most of that is wrong, don’t you? I told you not to copy off Sam-”

A paper ball hit the back of Adam’s head, interrupting him mid-speech. Adam gave no other indication of noticing the ball, but Jonathan span in his chair at the sound of hushed giggles. A bunch of his classmates looked back at him, hastily stifling their laughter. Brad sat in the middle, a slight smile on his face.

“Yes?” he asked innocently.

Jonathan held up the paper ball.

“I wouldn’t do that again,” he said in carefully measured tones, knowing full well that he was being baited. Adam looked at the ceiling and shook his head very slightly.

“Wouldn’t do what again?” Brad asked, the picture of confusion.

Samantha lifted her head and turned to face Brad and his followers, giving them a look like a whip crack. She swore at him loudly enough that the teacher, who had thus far been immersed in the morning paper, barked “Samantha! Come here!”

She stood, still glaring at Brad, and walked to the teacher’s table, while in the background the bell rang. Everyone got to his or her feet and shuffled passed Samantha to the door; Brad laughing softly to himself as he heard the teacher remonstrate her.

Jonathan and Adam waited outside for her to emerge, which she did a few minutes later, looking furious.

“Thanks,” said Adam as they walked.

“It’s fine,” she said, her face devolving into anger, then exhaustion.

“You ah…seem a bit tired,” said Jonathan, taking what he thought was a fairly heroic risk.

“Builders at my flat. They’re working on every other floor except mine, or at least that’s what it sounds like. I’ve been awake since five in the morning!”

“Ouch,” said Jonathan, unsure how to deal with her. She didn’t notice this hesitation however. Instead she shook herself and marched up the corridor, a gleam in her eyes.

“Today,” she said flatly, “is gonna be a bad day.”

#

She was mostly right. Jonathan could not tell if it was the weird mood Samantha was in, or the sinking feeling he got from handing in the maths homework he knew was all incorrect, or the return of that vague sensation that something was wrong, but the day seemed to drag along at a snails pace.

By lunch a strange sort of lethargy had gripped both Jonathan and Samantha, so much so that neither of them even went for lunch, deciding instead to go to the school library. Adam, who spent his entire existence in a lethargic state, had no objections to this.

They’d chosen the library because no one ever seemed to go there, especially at lunch. The air was still, and the only light came through the dull, dusty windows. Samantha slumped into one of the chairs, while Adam wandered off, scanning the bookshelves aimlessly. Jonathan sat beside Samantha, keeping his eyes on the library door as that uneasy feeling he’d been having gave another little twinge. Not for the first time that day he’d been sure someone had been standing just out of sight, watching him.

“So what do you think we got in maths?” asked Samantha.

“Well, Sam, if I get less than half marks I’m blaming you,” said Jonathan, taking his eyes off the door, “but anything above that is my sheer talent shining through.”

She snorted at this, then grinned.

“So,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “manage to get home yesterday without passing out?”

He picked up a pencil and threw it at her. Adam sauntered over from the shelves and raised an eyebrow at him.

“You know,” he said seriously, “increased aggression could be a sign of brain damage…”

Jonathan snatched up another pencil, but before he could lob it the librarian, Mrs Edge, appeared from a side room.

“Oh, hello,” she said.

“Hi,” said Jonathan. Besides Mr Khan, Mrs Edge was the member of staff he liked most, perhaps because she allowed them to hang about the library so much when they were clearly not reading or doing homework. “How’re things?”

“Not bad. How are you?”

“I’m good,” said Jonathan, wondering if this was true.

“Samantha? Adam?”

Samantha said she was fine, but Adam just looked down and mumbled “Ok.”

Mrs Edge sighed, used to Adam’s behaviour.

“One of these days I’ll get you to talk to me,” she said, smiling.

“I wouldn’t. Once he starts he never shuts up,” said Jonathan, grinning at Samantha. Adam ignored this, still not making eye contact with anyone, although Jonathan could have sworn he heard him murmur something. Or - wait, had it been Samantha?

“Well, I’m going to go for lunch. Try to not destroy the library while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” grinned Jonathan as she left.

A short while later Samantha " who’d been amusing herself on her phone " looked up and asked, “So, what are you guys doing tomorrow?”

“Nothing,” said Jonathan with a shrug. Adam gave a similar gesture.

“Come in for me at one, then?” asked Jonathan. This was the usual arrangement, since Adam’s house was closer to the bus stop Samantha arrived at.

“If you’re up for coming out,” said Samantha in a tone of mock concern, “I don’t want to put too much stress on you…”

“Shut up. Adam, are you coming out?”

“Sure,” he replied. As Adam spoke Jonathan caught a glimpse of a shadow at the door of the library, but it vanished from sight almost immediately. Jonathan frowned slightly, wondering why he was so jumpy today.

The bell rang. Samantha yawned and stretched.

“Man, I really can’t be bothered with double English.”

“Six thousand, six hundred,” said Adam, in what they recognised as his bracing tone. Neither of them asked what he meant, instead rising and gathering their things.

“We just have to get through an hour and fifty minutes and then we’re free,” said Jonathan sympathetically as they left the library.

For some reason, Adam rolled his eyes.

#

It was on the way home that it happened. Jonathan had bade goodbye to Samantha and Adam and was walking down a quiet suburban street when he heard a faint rustling behind him. He paused, glancing back. Nothing.

He kept walking, unconcerned. A dry wind rubbed his face and far away a car alarm went off. Jonathan wondered vaguely if he’d be able to do all his English homework for Monday. During the last lesson his headache had returned; a mild but increasing pressure that felt as if his skull was being slowly filled with water. He skipped around a tipped wheelie bin, thinking he’d take an aspirin when he got home.

Then the world exploded. It twisted away from him and he fell upwards, spiralling and twisting and he was in pain! His whole body was flooded in pain; he was being electrocuted, his limbs jerked and convulsed and someone was screaming in agony -

How do you feel? Stop screaming, girl! Is it working?

A girl, screaming…

Is it working!?

She was in pain, so much pain…

Jakaya, what are the numbers?

She was screaming, he was screaming, the pain was too much, he needed to die, let him die!

Jonathan’s eyes opened. He was lying on the pavement, barely a foot from the lid of the overturned wheelie bin. His heart was hammering hard in his chest. He tried to stand up but his legs wouldn’t obey him. They were shaking slightly. He gritted his teeth and forced them to stop. Sweat dripping down his face, he rose to his feet.

Confused, terrified, and alone, Jonathan began to limp home.

Author's Note

Not done yet!