Poet Anderson ...Of Nightmares

by Tom DeLonge

Sam slid her other hand down his jacket, slipping her fingers under the lapel. “I’ll remind you you said that when we wake up,” she told him.

  They watched each other for a moment, their desire for each other radiating around them. Several guests seemed to notice. Sam glanced at them and sighed.

  “I guess we should get started,” she told Poet and then turned to start toward the elevator, “before one of us wakes up.”

  Poet walked with her. “We can go to my room,” he offered, downright cheerful.

  “No offense,” Sam said. “But your room sucks.” The elevator doors opened and when they got inside, she smiled at him. “I’m sure we can make it work, though.”

  “Yes, I’m sure we can,” Poet replied, and pressed the button for the basement.

  Poet’s room was just as terrible as he remembered. Sam didn’t seem to mind, despite her earlier comment, and she went directly to his bed and sat down.

  “What did you have in mind?” Poet asked, as he approached the bed.

  “Just tell me everything that you can remember,” she said, moving over for Poet and then turning to sit cross-legged to face him. “And then whatever I recall in the morning, I’ll tell you. Maybe as I remind you, a bit of it will jog your own memories.”

  Poet wasn’t sure this would work—after all, nobody remembers their dreams perfectly—but it was worth a shot. At least he’d have something from the dreamscape. Poet rested against his pillows, arms folded behind his head.

  “Ready to lay yourself bare to me?” Sam asked.

  Poet smiled. “Oh, you have no idea.” They both laughed and then Poet settled in, wanting to give it all to her. Wanting to confide in her. “Dream Walkers,” he started, “are the guardians of Lucid Dreamers,” he said. “They protect the dreamscape from a monster, a creature who devours souls. His name is REM and he wants to come into the Waking World and make people miserable, make them afraid. He makes them have nightmares. That’s what helps power him.” Poet swallowed hard, staring up at the ceiling. “He wants me because I’m a Poet.”

  Sam furrowed her brow. “And what is a Poet?”

  “I guide lost dreamers. Sometimes people end up in the Dream World accidentally. Regular people.”

  “Like me?” she asked. Poet glanced sideways at her, noticing she didn’t take being called regular as a slight.

  “Yeah,” Poet said. “People like you end up somewhere dangerous. And then people like me,” he pointed to his chest, “tunnel you back to safety. Take you to another dream or the Waking World. I’m not great at it yet though. I don’t have control. That’s what Jarabec said.”

  “And Jarabec is…”

  “A Dream Walker,” Poet clarified. “He’s helping me out, since my mother…” Poet stopped, lowering his eyes. “My mother was a Dream Walker,” he explained. “I found out tonight. She and my father were both murdered four years ago. REM killed them.”

  Sam’s lips parted and he could tell she wanted to apologize, ask if he was okay, but he kept talking so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge it.

  “Anyway,” Poet said quickly. “I met some of the other Dream Walkers tonight, too. Molly,” he smiled. “Well, Molly is also a Dream Walker, but she told me that they wanted me to become like them. But there are drawbacks to being a Dream Walker. I want to know what exactly those are and what it meant for my mom.”

  “Wait,” Sam said. “Marshall’s assistant is a Dream Walker?”

  “Yeah and she’s a badass bitch, so be careful.”

  Sam laughed. “I’ll watch myself,” she said. “Okay, this is a lot. Anything else?”

  “I have to figure out how to beat my Night Terror.” Poet felt Sam turn to him. “It’s the manifestation of my fear,” he explained. “A nasty, horrible, monster. It wants to kill me.”

  “Is there anything here that doesn’t want to hurt you?” she asked.

  “You,” he said, unable to take his eyes off of her. “You know I think you’re amazing, right?” he asked, feeling vulnerable. “No matter what I say in the Waking World.”

  Sam shrugged. “Yeah, I know. It’d be nice if I could have you in both, though,” she said.

  “You can certainly have your way with me right now,” he said. “Just throwing that out there.” Sam laughed and the bed shifted as she came to lie next to him, resting against his chest. Poet brushed her hair away from her face and leaned in to kiss the top of her head. She curled against him. Poet wished the moment could last forever.

  That was when he saw the edges of the room begin to fade; she was waking up. Poet squeezed his eyes shut, holding Sam tight to him, even though he could no longer feel her body. “Tomorrow will be different,” he promised. “I’ll remember you.”

  When he opened his eyes a few hours later, Jonas found he was alone in his small room in the basement of the Eden Hotel, the girl of his dreams just a fading reality.

  Part II

  A FADING REALITY . . .

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jonas groaned and sat up in bed, surprisingly exhausted after sleeping several hours. He ran his fingers through his hair and when he stood, he noticed a paper lying on top of his backpack along with a room key. He blinked sleep out of his eyes and crossed the room to pick up the note. He scanned to the bottom of the swirly handwriting to see who it was from.

  —Sam

  Samantha Birnam-Wood had been in his room while he was asleep? What the hell? Jonas quickly turned to look around, as if she was still hidden there. But he was alone. The note was long, and Jonas brought it back to his bed and sat on the edge of the mattress as he read it.

  Last night, in our dreams, I told you I’d remember for you. So here it goes: Molly is a Dream Walker—a guardian of the Dream World. Your mother was one, too, until she was murdered by REM, a creature who feeds on nightmares.

  Jonas read on, covering his mouth with his palm. He learned that he would have to face his Night Terror—an embodiment of his fears. He was a Poet who guided lost dreamers. The page went on and his mind spun with the information.

  Find me today, the letter continued. We know each other, Jonas, and you promised me you’d remember this time. Please remember. Sleep well.

  —Sam

  Jonas still had so many questions. He wondered how long ago Sam was in his room. He quickly slipped on his sneakers and darted out the door, opting for the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. He ran through the lobby, overhearing a guest asking for Marshall at the front desk. The woman turned and smiled at Jonas, and he recognized her as the beautiful British woman he met while working the door the other night.

  He continued on, and was almost to the front door when he saw Molly. She held up her hand as if telling him to slow down, but he changed direction and headed toward her.

  Even though she was buttoned-up and mousy looking, Sam’s note had told him she was a Dream Walker. She wasn’t at all what she seemed. He wasn’t sure if he should continue the charade or not.

  “How did Samantha Birnam-Wood get in my room last night?” Jonas asked.

  Molly lifted her eyebrows as if this was a scandalous admission. “I assume she used her clout to attain a key. I can follow up with the front desk if you like?”

  Although Jonas couldn’t remember the dream, he could tell how false Molly’s persona was. Like part of him could remember that. Jonas leaned in. “I know you’re a Dream Walker,” he said.

  Molly’s expression hardened, becoming cold and calculating. She motioned to the side and told him to follow her out of view. Jonas obliged, but her change in demeanor chilled his skin. Molly didn’t know how he’d come by the information. She’d assume he could remember his dreams now. He saw no reason to correct that assumption.

  “It’s nice of you to finally join the party, Mr. Anderson,” Molly said. “Now I’m not sure how or why Samantha Birnam-Wood crept into your bed last
night, but it had nothing to do with me. Although I’m sure her father would be very interested in learning his daughter’s taken up with a Poet.”

  Jonas took a step back. “What?” he asked. “Why would Sam’s dad care? What does he know about Poets and Dream Walkers? He’d probably be more pissed that his daughter was hanging out with the doorman. So if you’re going to make threats—”

  Molly leaned in, and her dark eyes were intense even without the benefit of makeup. “I always know exactly what I’m threatening, Jonas,” she said. “Don’t mistake this waking life as reality. We both know there’s another. And I promise you I don’t give a fuck in either.”

  Jonas swallowed hard, completely intimidated, as if Molly had looked him straight in the soul. “Now,” she said, straightening her back. “You should be concerned about Samantha’s father. Alexander Birnam-Wood was a Dream Walker and he’s responsible for the death of the last Poet.”

  Jonas’s lips parted as he drew in a gasp. “Does Samantha know?”

  “Of course not. And I’m sure there is no love lost between them. Alexander is a difficult man. He was in charge of our fleet once, but after your mother died, he never quite recovered. He was useless as a fighter—his Halo too badly damaged to continue on. But his true atrocities came before the battle in the Grecian Woods.”

  Jonas hated not knowing about his mother’s death; he only had the barest of facts that Samantha had written down. But he nodded slowly, as if he was following along with Molly’s story. “What does this have to do with the other Poet?” he asked.

  “He was a bargaining chip, a trade: a Poet for a Dream Walker. But as I’m sure Jarabec has told you, never trust REM. Alexander handed over that boy, and in return, REM did nothing to spare your mother. In fact, I dare say she suffered more because of it. In retaliation, just before he left the dreamscape permanently, Alexander tracked down the Poet boy and he killed him. He did it to make sure REM wouldn’t use his body to cross over into the Waking World. But he also did it because he lost. It was vindictive. And none of us have trusted him since.”

  “Jarabec didn’t tell me,” Jonas said. Of course the one girl he was beginning to…trust was the daughter of a possible psychopath.

  Molly glanced over the lobby. “He shelters you,” Molly said. “But that won’t last much longer. He’s getting a lot of pressure from the others. But you should know, my loyalty lies with Jarabec,” she said. “And he swore to protect the next Poet—to protect you. He’s the only one you should trust.”

  “Not you?” Jonas asked.

  Molly looked at him and smiled. “Not me. Not any of us.” She wiped her hand down the thighs of her slacks, smoothing them out. “Now,” she said, her voice pleasant again. “You should probably run along. I’d advise to stay away from Samantha, but I know your type. All heart, just like the others. Such little concern for yourself. But be careful, Jonas. You have no idea how far Alexander would go to keep his daughter safe. And in that threat, I am certain.”

  Jonas ran his palm over his face, overwhelmed with information. But Molly was right: he wouldn’t stay away from Samantha. If anything, learning about her father only made him need to see her even more. He’d brought her into this and now he wasn’t sure what her father would do when he found out. He had to at least warn her who her father was.

  Jonas mumbled a goodbye to Molly and ran downstairs to get dressed for school. Minutes later, he rushed out the door of the Eden, forgetting his umbrella in his room.

  Samantha wasn’t in English class, and Jonas was crawling out of his skin waiting for her. His feelings of concern were unsettling, to say the least. He wished he’d been awake when she came into his room last night, and not just because he wanted to talk to her. He missed her. He missed an almost-stranger so much it almost hurt.

  Jonas watched the door, hoping Sam would come through. But the bell rang forty-two minutes later without a sign. He glanced over and saw one of Sam’s friends gathering her books to leave.

  “Hey,” Jonas called. The rest of the class was filtering out around them, and when Jonas repeated himself, the girl looked up, realizing he was talking to her. “Have you seen Sam?” he asked.

  “Sam?” the girl repeated as if stunned that he not only knew her name but dared to shorten it.

  Jonas brushed self-consciously at his hair and then silently cursed himself for caring what this girl thought.

  “It’s important,” he said. “I have to talk to her.”

  “Uh, well, when I see her, I’ll let her know,” the girl said, swiping the books off the desk and into her arms. She breezed past him, her perfume stinging his nose with its acrid sweetness.

  Jonas was annoyed, but he didn’t know Samantha’s schedule or have her phone number. With no other recourse, Jonas grabbed his backpack and headed for his next class.

  At lunchtime, Jonas headed to the cafeteria and sat alone, taking a few snacks from his backpack. He was just biting into a granola bar when he looked across the room and saw her.

  Samantha was sitting at a table, Douchebag Dan at her side. Sam’s hair was scraped back in a messy bun, her eyes downcast as the people around her spoke. She looked miserable, and considering the company she kept, Jonas’s jealousy was glad for it. Despite the note she left and the promise that he liked her in their dreams, Jonas knew that Sam wouldn’t end up with someone like him. She hadn’t even noticed him watching her.

  Jonas got up and tossed away his snacks, his appetite gone. He left the cafeteria early, part of him hoping to hear Sam’s footsteps chasing behind him, but she didn’t come for him. Not this time.

  Jonas stopped in the hallway, and backed against a locker, his hand on his chest as it ached. He felt rejected, ignored. Samantha would break his heart. He wanted to go back to the way he was, hiding himself like he did when he and Alan were bouncing from place to place. He had to be more careful.

  The bell rang, and Jonas flipped up his hood and walked toward the physics room.

  As his last class of the day finished, Jonas got up from his seat, planning to take the bus to see Alan at the Sleep Center.

  The rain had stopped and Jonas was hurrying down the front steps of the school when he heard his name. His heart kicked up its beats when he recognized her voice. He hated his lack of willpower.

  “Jonas,” she repeated, jogging to catch up with him. Jonas stopped, his shoulders hunched as he looked over her. There was a ping in his chest like he could feel her in his soul. “What?” he asked coldly.

  “What?” she repeated, annoyed with his tone. “Maria said you wanted to talk to me. Did you get my note?”

  “I got it,” Jonas said. “And thank you.” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his sweater, looking down the sidewalk.

  “What’s your problem?” Samantha asked.

  But Jonas didn’t answer. He noticed the red Mustang and Dan standing next to it, watching them. His jaw set in a hard angle as he glared in their direction.

  “Your not-boyfriend’s waiting for you,” Jonas said, looking down at Sam. He regretted the words the minute they were out of his mouth. He didn’t know what was wrong with him.

  “Yeah, okay. Well then fuck off and have a nice day, Jonas,” Sam said, brushing past him. Jonas cursed under his breath and darted after her.

  “I’m sorry, okay?” he said, taking her arm to stop her. When she looked up to meet his eyes, Jonas felt himself weaker. “Please. I’m sorry,” he whispered, drawing her closer. Sam’s anger faded, and she slid her hands up his forearms.

  “What the hell is this about?” a voice called. Jonas turned to see Dan walking up, his face pulled into a sneer. “Thought you said there was nothing between you and this loser,” he told Samantha. “Is this some fucking community outreach program?”

  Samantha bristled, and slowly untangled herself from Jonas. “Stop,” she said, moving towards Dan. “We’re not
doing this.” She put her hands on his chest to walk him back a few paces. “This has nothing to do with you, Dan.”

  “Yeah, Dan,” Jonas called, maybe a little smug in the fact that Sam was touching him so tenderly just a moment before.

  Dan’s eyes blazed. “Nothing to do with me?” he said, and looked down at Sam. “This guy shows up out of nowhere and you’re over here falling all over him. You’re embarrassing yourself, Samantha. I’m going to beat the shit out of him.”

  “You can try,” Jonas said, making Sam turn to him with alarm. Jonas dropped his backpack at his feet. Normally, he wouldn’t fight. Or he’d at least try to avoid it. But what he wouldn’t give to have a bat right now and clock this motherfucker over the side of the head.

  Sam pointed down the street and told Jonas to walk away, but he wasn’t going to back down. He wasn’t going to let this guy intimidate him. It’d be worth the ass-beating if he could just get in one punch.

  Dan pulled his face into an exaggerated “I’m so scared” look, and then glanced around at the crowd that had started to gather. “Can you believe this kid?” he asked them. A few people laughed. Dan pulled off his sweatshirt and shoved it at Sam. Jonas was disheartened to see that Dan was all muscle.

  “Seriously, Jonas,” Sam pleaded. “You don’t have to do this.” But Jonas was past the point of stopping now. When she couldn’t get him to agree, Sam turned her attention to Dan. “Let’s just leave,” she told him. “I don’t want—”

  Dan looked at her. “I don’t care what you want. I’m teaching this fucker a lesson.”

  Samantha’s jaw tightened, and she stared back at him defiantly. She threw his sweatshirt into the mud at her feet. “You know why we’re not dating, Dan?” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “It’s because you’re a real asshole.”

  Around them, the crowd ooo’d and aww’d, laughing at the diss. Dan’s face cleared. “Well,” he said like it was no big deal. “Then I guess I don’t have to be so fucking nice to you anymore.” He reached out and put his palm over Sam’s face, pushing her hard enough to send her to the ground with a violent thud. She cried out in surprise and pain as she clutched her wrist to her chest.