Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 

 

  

 

            The woman he had known to be Andrea stared at him, a look of horror beginning to contort her features. “No, not you. This can’t be,” she said in dismay as she backed away from him.

            He was perplexed by her behavior. “Yes, Andrea, it’s me! I met you in another dream, a few weeks ago. We were living in an apartment together with a few other guys. You remember?” He was certain she was remembering.

            “Confusion, hallucinations, strange behavior…oh, God, you’re infected! No, this can’t be,” she began to sob.

            The girl in the corner bolted up. “Natalie, you have to do it! Do it now! Kill him before he infects us!”

            Jenson was horrified. “No, I’m not infected! I’m fine! Let me explain!”

            He took a step back when he saw Andrea, or Natalie, unsheathe a large knife that was strapped to her leg. He hadn’t even noticed she had it before now. She advanced toward him.

            “I love you, Jamie. I’m sorry,” she said as she came at him suddenly.

            He turned to run out the door, just as he felt a searing pain in his back.

            Jenson’s eyes shot open as he gasped in a lungful of air. He was in his bed in the apartment. He looked over and saw Maggie was just beginning to sit up.

            “What the hell was that, Jenson?” she asked, annoyed.

            “It happened again. I had another dream,” he said as he tried to catch his breath. His heart was pounding in his chest.

            “Another dream? You mean like the Kristine dream?” she said groggily as she settled back into bed.

            “Yes. I know it for sure, because…” he hesitated. He didn’t want to tell her about Andrea. Or was it Natalie? What was he supposed to call her now?

            “Because what?”

            “I just know. It was different. I remembered everything about this life, and the dreams, and I was able to control myself completely and had total awareness of everything.” He climbed out of bed.

            “Where are you going?” Maggie asked.

            “I have to write it down. I need to record this.”

            “Can’t you do it in the morning?” she called after him as he left the room. He didn’t bother to answer.

            In the kitchen, he retrieved the same notepad in which he’d been recording his other dreams. He sat at the counter and wrote out every last detail he could remember. When he was done, he set the pen on the notepad and stared at the pages before him, wondering what he could learn from his latest dream. He had met Andrea again, but she had a different name, a different life. She had called him by a different name - Jamie. But he had been Jenson in the first dream in which he’d seen her, hadn’t he? He then had a startling thought. If he were truly visiting other dimensions, were those dimensions still existent when he woke up? If so, what happened to the Jenson or Jamie in the dream dimensions when he awoke? Did they just disappear? Or were those dimensions created by his mind entirely? Was that even possible? He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Who and what were the Jensons and Andreas and Kristines of the dream dimensions?

            Jenson went to his laptop and composed another email to Dr. Wesson. He was now more determined than ever to find answers.

           

Dear Dr. Wesson,

 

My name is Jenson Thorne, and I emailed you several weeks ago about a strange dream I’d had involving a woman whom I later found out to be a real person I had never met before. I have read your article entitled “Dreamscapes as Parallel Universes” in the November 2010 edition of the Journal of Quantum Physics, and found it to be most intriguing, as I stated before. I am emailing you again as I have not received a reply, and I am growing desperate for answers. I would also like to tell you that I’ve had another dream that I believe to be out of the ordinary. I met a woman in this dream that I’d met in a previous dream, and in the midst of the dream, I remembered everything about my current life, my previous dreams, and the woman. She had a different name, though, as did I, and it raised a lot of questions that I was hoping you might be able to answer. What and who are the people I see in these dreams? Am I still me? And if I am, what happens to the “me” in the dream “world” when I wake up? Do these dimensions still exist after I awaken? I would greatly appreciate a response, as I feel I would have a lot to offer to your field of study. I look forward to hearing from you soon. Thank you for your time.

 

            He signed off, again leaving all of his contact information. As he returned to bed, he wondered if Dr. Wesson would ever respond. He needed to talk to him, but how did he get him to return his emails? Perhaps emails wouldn’t be enough, but what would it take? Would he have to drive to the University of Michigan and find his office? If that was what needed to be done, he would do it.

            In the morning, Jenson slept in while Maggie showered and got ready for the day. It was Saturday, but she preferred to wake up to the alarm every day of the week, even when she didn’t have to work. When she came into the bedroom, she sat down on the bed and woke Jenson.

            “Honey, I need to talk to you.”

            Jenson sat up and rubbed his tired eyes. “What’s up?”

            “I’m a little worried about your renewed obsession with this dream world thing. You were just starting to forget about it and get some work done, but after last night, I’m afraid you’re going to fall back into a rut. Dr. Wesson never emailed you back, so can’t you just let it go? This is a dead end for you, I can guarantee it. I let you indulge in your curiosity for a while, but it’s time to move on,” Maggie said.

            “You don’t understand, Maggie,” Jenson replied. “I can’t just stop and forget about this. These dreams are going to keep happening to me, and now that I can recognize them while they’re happening, I can’t stop trying to figure out what they are and what they mean. It’s like an itch I have to scratch.”

            “Some itches shouldn’t be scratched, Jenson. What do you hope to learn, to accomplish with pursuing this? You can’t make money with it. It isn’t going to help pay our bills, so you need to stop putting your work aside to focus on it. Your art show is less than two months away, and you still need to complete almost twenty paintings.”

            “I know that, and I will get my work done. But haven’t you ever had something you felt passionate about, something that was bigger than yourself, bigger than your job? How amazing would it be if I helped to discover a truly ground-breaking theory in the world of physics? Aren’t you curious to know if there really are multiple dimensions out there, with endless possibilities?”

            “It would be interesting to know, but I fail to see how it would be beneficial to you and me.”

            “Not everything has a dollar value, Maggie. Not everything has to result in a paycheck. You’ve never done something just for the sake of knowledge, of understanding?” Jenson was surprised at how incredibly superficial Maggie was being. How could she not see the importance of it all?

            “When you get obsessed with something, it consumes you. This is a bad time for you to get immersed in something so absurd.”

            “A bad time, hey? So when would it be a good time for me to get immersed in something absurd?” Jenson retorted.

            “Never, ideally, but two months before an art show is especially bad timing. Now, I hate to do this, but I’m revoking your laptop privileges for today. I want you to paint today. Promise me.”

            Jenson scoffed. “What am I, twelve?”

            “I think we both know the answer to that,” Maggie rejoined.

            Once Jenson sat down at his painting table, the day flew by. He only put down his brush to eat and to use the bathroom, but even in those short breaks, he found his mind returning to last night’s dream. He had decided to keep calling the woman from his dreams Andrea, as it was the name that first came to mind when he pictured her face. Was the world he visited last night a real place? It was a terrible, depressing place. He remembered the cars, the shops along Main Street, the street lamps, and concluded that if it were a real place, then it must have been similar to many other American small towns before the infection. What was the “infection,” exactly? Andrea had tried to kill him when she thought he was infected, so it must be something exceedingly horrible.

He thought about the beginning of his dream. He had somehow known that he needed to be wary when he was on the street, and had some knowledge that an “infection” existed. How had he known that? And how had he known he was looking for someone, and that he would recognize her when he saw her, but not know what her name was, where he was, or anything else about his situation? He was puzzled. If that dream dimension had been created solely by his mind, wouldn’t he have known more about what was going on? But if it wasn’t created by him, then how did he come to be part of it? The Jamie he had been in the dream seemed to already have an established identity and life before Jenson entered the picture. So who was Jamie? Did Jamie look like Jenson? He hadn’t actually seen his reflection or really tried to look at himself, so he didn’t know. He could’ve been in an entirely different body than the one he knew. And what about the searing pain he’d felt before he awakened? Did Natalie actually stab Jamie? If there was a real Jamie, was he dead now? There was so much he still couldn’t figure out.

            In the evening, he quickly checked his email while Maggie was in the bathroom. He wasn’t surprised to see no new messages in his inbox. He closed the laptop and returned to painting, hoping to distract himself from his disappointment.

            To keep Maggie happy, Jenson painted every day, morning to night, for the next week. He was able to complete ten paintings in that time. Unfortunately, that was the only thing he was able to accomplish that week. He’d had no interesting dreams, and Dr. Wesson still ignored him. His frustration with the matter had hit a peak, and he was ready to sit down and have a serious conversation with Maggie. He had done what she’d asked, and now he needed something from her.

            “How was your day?” he asked her at dinner as they sat across from each other at the small café-style table in the kitchen.

            “Not so great. My boss had a major stick up her a*s today, and everybody paid for it. She actually made a comment to me that my perfume was too fruity and I was never to wear it again.” When Jenson gave her an odd look, she said, “Seriously. Too fruity. She’s nuts.”

            “That’s an unusual complaint. But on a brighter note, I’ve finished ten paintings this week,” he said proudly.

            “Great! Halfway there! See what you can do when you focus on your work?”

            “Yeah. I figure I can have everything ready by the end of next week, which would leave me a month and a half of downtime before my show.”

            Maggie stopped eating and looked at him. “I can guess where you are going with this.”

            “Well, I’m doing what you wanted me to do. I was hoping I could get you to do something for me now, as a reward,” he said hopefully.

            She seemed hesitant. “Before I agree to it, what do you want me to do?”

            “In your line of work, you’ve gotten really good at finding a way to get a hold of people when you need to. I was wondering if I could get you to track down Dr. Wesson’s phone number for me.” He smiled at her as sweetly as he could.

             Maggie took a bite of her pasta and stared at Jenson while she chewed. He waited patiently, knowing she was drawing out her answer purposely. Finally, she swallowed and said, “Fine. But I want you to promise me that you will finish all of your work before you call him. I want every painting completed.” Her demands were set.

            “I can do that. Thank you, honey.”

            “Just don’t make me regret doing this for you.”

            Jenson worked tirelessly through the next week to complete his paintings. Each day, when Maggie returned home from work, he asked her if she had Dr. Wesson’s number. Her reply was always the same: “Are you done with your paintings?” When he said no, she said no. When Thursday evening came around, however, he had a different answer.

            Jenson was waiting in the kitchen for her when she came through the door.

            “Did you get his number yet?”

            Maggie frowned and asked, “Did you finish your work yet?”

            “Yes. I’ve finished every last painting. Now please tell me you have good news for me.”

            “Really? All of them?” she asked doubtfully.

            “Yes! If I were going to lie to you, don’t you think I’d have done it already?”

            “Alright. I’ve got his number for you.” She opened her briefcase and pulled out a yellow sticky note with a phone number and “Dr. Donald Wesson, University of Michigan” scrawled upon it.

            “Thank you, honey!” he exclaimed as he snatched the paper from her and grabbed his cell phone from the counter.

            “Are you seriously going to call him right now? Aren’t we going to eat dinner?” Maggie asked.

            “I’ve been waiting for this moment for over a month now. Dinner can wait.”

            Jenson carefully dialed the number, checking twice to make sure he had every number entered correctly before pressing “send.”

            He put the phone to his ear and smiled at Maggie as he listened to the ringing on the other end. Maggie rolled her eyes at him and started getting things prepared in the kitchen for dinner. He didn’t let her annoyance frustrate him this time. He was too excited. However, with every unanswered ring, he felt his heart drop a little. After eight rings, his call was sent to voicemail.

            “Doctor Donald Wesson, leave a message.” The voice was deep and curt.

            When Jenson heard the “beep” that indicated he should begin speaking, he suddenly didn’t know what to say. He sputtered for a moment before he found his words. “Hi, this is Jenson Thorne. I’ve emailed you several times, Dr. Wesson, about some dreams I’ve had, and I was hoping to have a chance to speak to you about your studies. I’m interested in being in your experiments. Please call me back,” he pleaded. He left his phone number and ended the call.

            He sat for a minute, feeling let down. Maggie, however, had no intention of letting him wallow in his disappointment and ordered him to get up and help her with dinner.

            “I probably sounded really stupid in that message. I wonder if I should call back and leave another message,” Jenson fretted.

            “So you can sound stupid twice? No, leave it alone. If he’s interested, he’ll call you back. He’s probably home eating dinner at this time of night anyway.”

            Jenson said no more on the subject, knowing Maggie was tired of hearing about it. He listened to her complain about work and her boss all evening, though he had a hard time concentrating on the content of her monologue. He could hear her voice, heard her speaking words to him, but if she were to ask him to repeat what she’d just said, he could not. Luckily, she didn’t seem to care if he was part of the conversation. She just wanted someone to talk at, and she talked at him until she went to bed. He wondered if she even noticed that he had said barely a word the entire time, and concluded that she likely did not.

            As he sat on the couch by himself, staring at the television, he wondered what his future would bring. What would become of his relationship with Maggie? At this point, he felt like he was more of a pet to her than a boyfriend. Her needs always came first, in every aspect of their relationship. Her career, her friends, her wants and desires, all took precedence over him. He had become an afterthought in her life. He had become so used to it that he had forgotten what it felt like to be important to someone, to be the main focus, and not just a side note. He had gotten a taste of what that felt like in his first dream with Andrea. He had felt needed. For the first time in a long time, he had felt like someone actually wanted him around instead of just tolerating his presence. And it felt wonderful. Would he ever feel like that again with Maggie? Had he ever felt that way with Maggie? The longer he thought about it, the more he wished he wasn’t thinking about it.

            He was surprised out of his depression when his phone suddenly rang. He furrowed his brow as he looked at the screen. The clock said 11:18 PM, and the number was unfamiliar. He considered letting it go to voicemail, as he usually didn’t answer such calls. At the last minute, however, he decided to take it on the off chance it was Dr. Wesson.

            “You called me earlier?” the man on the other end responded brusquely when Jenson answered.

            Taken off guard, Jenson asked, “Is this Dr. Wesson?”

            “Last time I checked.”

            He didn’t know what to say next. The conversation was already incredibly uncomfortable and awkward, and the ensuing silence on the other line only made it worse.

            “Um, yes, I called you earlier this evening. I just wasn’t expecting you to call me back tonight.”

            “Call me tomorrow then. I’ll be around.”

            “Oh, no it’s fine �"” Jenson said, but it was too late. Dr. Wesson had already hung up. He looked at his phone to make sure the call had ended, and when he saw that it had, he looked around in bewilderment. What the hell had just happened?

            He looked at the number Dr. Wesson had called from, wondering why it didn’t identify it as a known contact on his phone. When he had called Dr. Wesson earlier, he had saved the number to his phone. He discovered the number Dr. Wesson had called from was a different number than the one he had called. A cell phone perhaps? He tried to select the number to save it as a contact, and when he did so, he accidentally called it. When he realized what was happening, he hurriedly stopped the call. He hoped to high heaven that the call hadn’t actually rung on Dr. Wesson’s end. He was off to a blazing start with this whole endeavor, and he knew Dr. Wesson must be exceedingly impressed with him already.

            Jenson put his phone on the coffee table in front of him to prevent anymore mishaps. He sat back and rested his head on the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling. Despite his embarrassment, he felt excited and was pleased that Dr. Wesson had called him back. He was going to be a difficult man to work with, Jenson deduced, but he had a feeling that the things he would learn would be well worth it. He wanted to rouse Maggie from her sleep to tell her he’d finally spoken to Dr. Wesson, and that he was finally moving forward with this adventure, but he thought better of it. She wouldn’t care. She’d be annoyed that he was bothering her with his nonsense. He desperately wished he had someone to share in his excitement.

            Lying in bed later that night, Jenson found he was unable to sleep. In his mind, he played out several scenarios depicting the possibilities of his impending conversation with Dr. Wesson. He tried to figure out the best way to start the conversation, and wondered how much information Dr. Wesson would disclose to him over the phone regarding his research. From Jenson’s brief experience with the man, he concluded that he wasn’t exactly a chatterbox, and would probably leave most of the talking to Jenson. He knew he should have some notes prepared before he called Dr. Wesson, just to help keep him focused and prevent himself from jabbering like a moron. He needed to persuade Dr. Wesson to meet with him and include him in his studies, and that wasn’t going to happen if he thought that Jenson was a nitwit. His mind worked at prioritizing the main focal points he wanted to address with Dr. Wesson, but he fell asleep long before it was finished.

            In the morning, Jenson awoke half an hour before Maggie’s alarm was set to go off. He slipped out of bed without waking her and went to the kitchen. He sat down with his breakfast and a notepad and wrote down his latest dream. He was sure it was not a mind travelling dream, but there was one part in it that he found very strange.

           

            I was an active participant in this dream. It was a zombie apocalypse, and I was on the run with a small group of people, none of whom I knew except my mother. We were all on a city bus, which apparently was still running its route, and we were getting ready to head out of town to seek a more rural safe haven. Before the bus left, however, a small mechanical toy horse approached the bus, and it was repeating my name. I knew in the dream that this was a “message horse,” and I went out and grabbed it. I brought it back onto the bus and pressed a button to listen to the message. It warned me that if I did a certain thing, which I can’t remember what, then someone would die. We set out then, and we found ourselves on a tree-lined country road. We came to a haunted house (the Halloween attraction, not a real one) and checked it out. It appeared to be safe, so we made it our shelter. Soon, however, a group of 40 or more people showed up and wanted in. My group argued about whether to let them in, but then a “message horse” appeared on the doorstep and told us we needed to let the group in. As they all piled into the house, which was a normal house inside, by the way, I was worried about how loud they were. I was afraid they were going to attract zombies with all the noise. I was sitting with my group, discussing the newcomers, and I made a minor contribution to the conversation. The strange thing was, when I spoke, it was like it was the first time I was actually AWARE of myself in the dream. I felt strange, like I had just realized my own existence when I heard my own voice speak. And I realized it was the first time I had actually spoken in the dream. I had just been watching or surmising everything else. It was then that I started to notice how loud the newcomers were getting, and I ran around the house yelling for everyone to shut up. When they did, I could still hear a man talking and singing from somewhere in the house. I followed the noise, and eventually found an old man sitting on a toilet in a closet. He wouldn’t stop talking, so I started slapping him, over and over, until he finally shut up. Then we were all drinking and having a party, like a celebration of the end of the world, and I farted and everyone started cheering for me.

 

            Jenson laughed to himself as he wrote the last sentence. He would never understand where his brain came up with such ridiculousness. He had yet to meet someone who was willing to admit that they regularly had dreams as vividly detailed and ludicrous as his, but he was hoping that would soon change. Perhaps it was the fact that his mind was able to create such bizarre fantasy worlds and scenarios that made him capable of performing the mind travel that Dr. Wesson studied.

            While he had the notepad handy, Jenson decided to jot down some bullet points he wanted to make sure he discussed with Dr. Wesson. He wanted to know what kind of studies Dr. Wesson was currently performing, whether he had learned anything new since his 2010 paper, and if he were willing to take Jenson on as a study subject. He also wanted to make sure he told Dr. Wesson about his three strange dreams in which he suspected he may have mind traveled, and about his lucidity at the end of the third dream.

            He heard Maggie’s alarm going off in the bedroom, and he suddenly felt nervous. He had been excited to tell someone about Dr. Wesson calling him last night, but now that Maggie was available to speak to, he was worried she was going to find a way to make him feel ashamed for his excitement. It was a skill she had mastered easily. He waited until he heard the shower running before he went into the bathroom to talk to her.

            “You were up early today,” Maggie said when she heard him enter.

            “I woke up at 5:30 and couldn’t go back to sleep. Dr. Wesson called me back last night.”

            “Really? Wow, I wouldn’t have thought he’d call back…so late.”

            Jenson knew she meant that she didn’t think he’d call back at all. “Yeah, he seems like a strange guy. It was the most awkward and short conversation I’ve had in a while. I’m supposed to call him back today, and I’m kind of nervous about it. What if he doesn’t want to involve me in his study?”

            “Well, then I guess it wasn’t meant to be. What exactly would being ‘involved’ in the study entail? Would that mean you’d be driving back and forth to U of M constantly?”

            “I don’t know yet, but I’d like to at least go there to meet him. Even if he doesn’t want me to be part of his study, I’d like to sit down and talk with him about his research.”

            Maggie didn’t respond immediately. “Well, whatever makes you happy. Just as long as it doesn’t get in the way of your work or cost us too much in gas money. I’ve been hearing rumors that corporate is talking about cutting back hours at work, remember? We need to be smart with our money until I know for sure that my job is still secure.”

            “Driving to U of M isn’t going to break the bank. Don’t worry, it’s not like I’m going to be sinking thousands of dollars into this. I just need some answers. And I need you to be supportive of me.” Jenson said.

            “I am supportive, but I want to make sure you’re going to be smart about this. I don’t want you getting sucked into something that isn’t going to…”

            “Make us money?” Jenson finished her sentence for her.

            “That’s not what I was going to say. I was going to say I didn’t want you getting sucked into something that isn’t going to help your career. If people find out that you’re a part of some crazy psychic mind traveling study, that’s not going to help your image.”

            Jenson had to take a deep breath to keep from losing his temper. “It’s not crazy. It’s a legitimate scientific study. And who cares what people think? Why does anyone have to know what I do in my private time anyway?”

            “Ok, then. As long as it is restricted to your private time. Just don’t let it distract you from your career goals, that’s all I’m saying.”

            “Not everything in life has to revolve around a career for financial gain, Maggie. Sometimes you have to do things for yourself, for the sake of curiosity and personal growth. Sometimes you need an adventure to add a little excitement to life. I’m sorry if I’m not as career-driven as you are.”

            “Don’t get mad at me for being career-driven. For a woman like me, a career is the most important thing I can do for myself. I grew up this way, and my experience in life has taught me that a career will never wake up in the morning and decide it doesn’t love me anymore, so it should always be top priority.”

            Jenson was taken aback. “So your career is more important to you than I am?”

            “Not more important, just important in a different way.”

            “Well, I still love you, and always will. And while a career might not decide it doesn’t love you anymore, your boss can certainly decide she doesn’t want you anymore. Nothing in life is certain.” With that, Jenson left the room.

            He went back to the bedroom to lie on the bed. He was fuming. He had always feared that Maggie’s career was more important to her than he was, but he’d never expected her to say it. She’d tried to candy-coat it when he called her on it, but he knew what she really meant. If her company wanted to send her to Japan or Europe or Peru, she would go in a heartbeat without giving one thought to whether he would go with her or not. And if he didn’t go, she still would. She’d leave him behind with nary a second thought, like a pet that was no longer convenient to care for. She didn’t love him.

            Maggie came into the room a while later, all primped and prettied. “Jenson, you misunderstood me. I love you, and you are very important to me. I think all that I’ve done for us should be proof enough of that.”

            “You mean pay our bills? Yes, I’m aware that I don’t make enough money to support us and that leaves the burden to you.”

            “Quit being so cross. I know you are trying to make a name for yourself as an artist, and I am completely supportive of that. Honestly, if I didn’t love you, would I be so supportive? Wouldn’t I just tell you to go find another job and paint in your spare time? I want the same thing you do: for you to be successful as an artist. If that means that I make the money for us until that happens, so be it. I am ok with that. What is it exactly that you want from me? What is it that you want me to say right now? All I’m trying to do is keep you focused on your goals �" on our goals.” Maggie glanced at the clock as she waited for Jenson to reply.

            “I just want you to let me do something that I think is important without making me feel like I am wasting everyone’s time. I need you to trust that I’m doing what is best for me, and that it won’t adversely affect us or our wallet. I need you to let me make a decision for myself instead of trying to control me.”

            “Ok. I trust you. I’m not trying to control you, and I’m sorry that’s how you feel. Let’s take the day to cool off, and we can talk about it more when I get home. ” Maggie kissed Jenson and left the room. He heard the front door shut shortly thereafter.

            He didn’t feel better. He’d had similar arguments with Maggie many times before, but things never changed. They never talked about it more when she got home, and it was swept under the rug until the next argument. He just wanted to feel like he was in control of his own life, able to do the things he wanted to do, without her perpetual scrutiny. Whenever he tried to tell her that, though, he always ended up feeling like he was being whiny and needy, the exact opposite of what he was trying to accomplish.

            Jenson decided it was time to end his pity party, and he showered and got ready for the day. He tried to put the unhappy morning behind him and focus on his next step: calling Dr. Wesson. He sat down at the kitchen table, notepad next to him, and looked at his phone. After contemplating which number he should try first, the office number or the cell phone number, he decided to dial the office number. No answer. He hung up without leaving a message and called the cell phone number Dr. Wesson had called from the previous night.

            The phone rang once before Jenson heard, “Yeah?”

            “Hi, this is Jenson Thorne. I spoke with you briefly last night, and I wanted to talk to you about your research.”

            “Oh yeah. So what did you want to know?”

            “Well, I sent you a few emails about some dreams I’d had, and I’d read your paper from the Journal of Quantum Physics, and I was hoping you could shed some light on why I had such strange experiences.”

            “I don’t open emails from people I don’t know. After that paper was published, I got flooded with emails from all sorts of lunatics and people calling me a lunatic, so I just stopped reading them.”

            Jenson waited, but there was only silence. “Oh, ok, um, can I tell you about the dreams, then?”

            “I don’t know, can you? Are you physically able?” Dr. Wesson asked sarcastically. “I believe the word you were looking for was ‘may,’ not ‘can.’”

            “Yeah…so…may I tell you about the dreams?” Jenson asked, trying not to let his irritation show in his voice.

            “Sure, why not?”

            Jenson told Dr. Wesson about the dreams, about meeting Kristine at the gas station, about Andrea, and about becoming lucid at the end of the second Andrea dream.

            “Yeah, that sounds about right.” Dr. Wesson said. “It fits with what I’ve seen. So what do you want to know?”

            Jenson didn’t know where to begin. After a brief pause, he said, “Everything.”

            “Don’t we all?”

            “I want to know what you know. I want to be in your studies. I want to find out everything I can about what happens to me when I think I’m sleeping. And I want to know who Andrea is.”

            Dr. Wesson said nothing for a long time. Jenson began to think he’d hung up on him again.

            “Come see me. Today. We have a lot to talk about.”