Poet Anderson ...Of Nightmares

by Tom DeLonge

  The door opened and Sam came rushing in. “Jonas?” she called. When she caught sight of him, she came to the bed and climbed up next to him, but Jonas couldn’t even look at her. He felt empty, except for his loneliness. His misery. Like he’d left his soul back in the dreamscape.

  Sam brushed Jonas’s hair back from his face, whispering how sorry she was about Jarabec, kissing his cheek and hugging him. Jonas stared past her shoulder into nothing, shaking as he imagined his brother’s dead eyes. He hitched in a breath, the energy fading from his fingertips.

  Jonas felt Sam’s warm touch on his skin. She loved him, he knew. She loved him.

  All at once, the grief and pain that was festering in Jonas’s soul broke open. He buried his face in Sam’s hair and cried for all that he’d lost.

  “I’m here,” Sam whispered, running her fingers over the back of his neck. “You’re awake now.” But Jonas felt like he was falling, unable to stop the crash.

  It’s a waste, you know? Alan had told him once. It was the day of their parents’ funeral, something small that the Eden had paid for since the boys didn’t have any money of their own. Jonas stood in the second floor bathroom, knotting his tie over and over, trying to get it just right. He sniffled and wiped the tears off his cheeks. They wouldn’t stop falling.

  “What’s a waste?” he’d asked Alan, looking up at his brother’s reflection behind him in the mirror.

  “Your tears,” Alan had said. He was already in a suit. It was one of Dad’s best, and to see him in it made Jonas’s tears come faster. They looked so much alike it hurt. “Do you think Mom would want to see them?” Alan had asked. “I think we both know Dad wouldn’t.” Alan combed his hair with his fingers, a portrait of calm.

  “Fuck off,” Jonas had said, more sad than angry. But he had to release the emotions somehow.

  Alan had stopped, grabbed Jonas’s shoulder, and turned him toward him. “It hurts,” he’d said, lowering his head to set his gaze on the same level as Jonas’s. “It hurts so fucking bad that it feels like my heart is rotten. But I have to keep going.” Alan’s blue eyes were determined, filled with safety and protection.

  “I don’t know what to do without them,” Jonas had said, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

  “You do what all kids do when their parents die, no matter what their age.” Alan had pulled Jonas into a rough hug, his hand clapped on the back of his brother’s neck. “You grow up,” he’d said. “You grow the fuck up, Jonas. And you save yourself.”

  And with that, Alan had straightened and left the room, leaving Jonas alone in the bathroom with his grief. That night, after they’d gone to bed with plans to leave town in the morning, Jonas had heard Alan in their parents’ bedroom. He’d fallen asleep to the sound of his brother’s sobs.

  Jonas moved back from Sam, wiping hard at his eyes. He was going to grow the fuck up, just as Alan said. He still had Sam. And when he was with her, his loneliness abated. She was his connection to himself, and to this world.

  Sam took his hand, and Jonas looked around the room. He was reminded that he was in the Sleep Center and the memories of just before the dream flooded in.

  “William—” he started, but Sam lowered her eyes.

  “He’s dead,” she whispered. “It’s been taken care of.” She glanced up at him. “I’ll explain, but first…Jonas, what happened to you? What happened after I woke up?”

  Jonas had questions, but there was a deep ache in his chest. He didn’t care about William. He’d seen Alan. He’d watched Jarabec die. And even though Jarabec wasn’t his family, Jonas hadn’t realized how much he wanted him to be. How much he craved his guidance, his attention. How much he admired the Dream Walker. It wasn’t just that he was scared without his protection, although he was, it was because Jarabec cared about him and looked out for him. His death was like becoming an orphan all over again.

  “It’s okay,” Sam said when Jonas didn’t respond. “We’ll figure this out.” She got up and began to pace from one part of the room to the other. “Maybe Jarabec’s not really dead. We just have to wake him up, right?” She looked at him hopefully. “He can’t be lost forever,” she said. “No. It’s just a dream. Maybe he’s in a coma now, like Alan.”

  At his brother’s name, Jonas’s head snapped up. Alan had tried to kill him. His brother wasn’t in this world anymore. “It doesn’t work like that. But even if it did, if he’s anything like Alan,” Jonas said, “then I’d rather he be dead.”

  Sam paused, her face stricken with horror. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I saw Alan,” Jonas said, running his fingers roughly through his hair. “He’s under REM’s control. He was going to kill me, Sam. He was going to fucking kill me.”

  “Oh my God,” Sam said with a gasp. “No.” She walked back over to Jonas, and put her hands on the side of his face, concern creasing the skin between her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  “I lost him,” Jonas said, his heart aching. “I lost them both.”

  Sam put her arms around him. Jonas rested against her, closing his eyes as he knotted the back of her shirt in his hands, keeping her close. He told her everything, all the details about REM showing up, and his threats. He told her how Alan was now an empty shell of the brother he’d known. When he was done, Jonas thought he might never want to talk again.

  “He’s still your brother,” Samantha said, her voice sounding far away. “We can get him back. We’ll find a way.”

  Jonas looked up at her, seeing the determined tilt of her chin that he’d come to recognize. He reached up to pull her down into a kiss, paused, and then kissed her again. Samantha made a soft sound, but then Jonas stood, making her fall back a step.

  “Wait. Where are you going?” she called, confused.

  “I’m going to see my brother,” Jonas said heading for the door.

  “To do what exactly?” Sam asked.

  Jonas paused at the door, his hand on the knob. He didn’t look back. “I’m going to kill him,” he said and opened the door.

  “You will do no such thing.” Alexander Birnam-Wood appeared just outside the doorframe, blocking Jonas’s escape. “We need to talk.”

  Jonas scoffed, taking a step back. “About what? What are you doing here anyway? Coming to check up on your patients?” Alexander’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah,” Jonas said. “I know you run the Sleep Center. And I’m guessing you’re the one who’s taken care of William?”

  That must have struck a nerve because Alexander’s normally impassive face flinched. He pushed Jonas back into the room and shut the door behind him, glaring at the boy. “William has been disposed of,” Alexander said, crossing his arms over his chest. “The last thing we need is for Samantha to go on trial for murdering a sleepwalker, especially since he was already dead. It was a regrettable oversight on mine and Doctor Moss’s part. She’s dead, you know,” Alexander said. “William, or should I say REM, killed her before you arrived.”

  “That’s a tough break,” Jonas said, not willing to let his guard down with a man who had been keeping secrets, even though there was a tug of sympathy over the doctor’s death.

  “It certainly is,” Alexander replied. “It’ll be hell finding another discreet doctor.”

  “Dad!” Samantha snapped from next to the bed. Jonas looked at her, and saw she was horrified at her father’s callousness, his lack of compassion. But now, Jonas understood it. In his own heart, he could feel it, too. The darkness he’d taken back from the Night Terror clouding over some of his emotions.

  Alexander held up his hand in an apology. “Forgive me,” he told her. “I know that was traumatic for you. But you did the right thing. You saved his life.” He nodded at Jonas, and he could see that Sam’s dad wasn’t exactly thrilled that she’d been with him in the first place, let alone put herself in danger.

  Sam shook her head, disgusted. �
��You have no idea what I’ve been through tonight,” she said, choking up. She paused, trying to compose herself. “I need to get some air,” she murmured in Jonas’s direction. “I’ll be back.” As she tried to pass her father, Alexander grabbed her elbow to stop her. Sam tore from his grip and walked out.

  Without Samantha there, Jonas lost any pretense of tolerance he’d had with her dad. “So that’s it?” Jonas asked him. “William just disappears?”

  “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” Alexander said darkly. “Despite what you think, this was never easy for me. William used to be a Dream Walker, and a friend of mine. Years ago, he had a breakdown and I sent him here.”

  “To be a lab rat?”

  “To help him,” Alexander corrected. “But it didn’t matter anymore. The man he used to be was gone. A once-clever scientist was reduced to a babbling idiot. He wouldn’t have wanted that. Through this study, he helped us.”

  “He was a person!” Jonas yelled.

  “He was,” Alexander said. “And I am, indeed, saddened by his death. But I know better than to dwell on it.”

  “And what about the Poet you murdered?”

  Alexander didn’t flinch, even though Jonas expected him to. His non-reaction was even more disconcerting.

  “Oh, yes,” Alexander said. “One of Molly’s stories, no doubt. I did what had to be done, even if she wants to paint me as a villain. If that boy had survived that night, REM would have taken his soul. Imagine the nightmares he could have created in the Waking World with the time and energy a bright soul could afford him.”

  “Molly thought it was revenge,” Jonas said. “Disappointment for not saving my mother.”

  “Perhaps it was,” Alexander answered. “But it was also right, so what does motive matter?” Alexander paused, slipping his hands into the pockets of his suit.

  “Alan matters,” Jonas said. Death, destruction, fear—all of that was brushed aside as the image of his brother on the bridge came back to him. Broke him down and hollowed him out.

  “True,” Alexander said, and Jonas detected a hint of sympathy in his voice. “Alan is important,” he continued. “When I heard about the car accident, I did what I could to move him here. He’s a Lucid Dreamer, and a bright soul. We didn’t want REM to wake up in his body, so Doctor Moss has been helping to prevent that.”

  Jonas felt sick. Alexander wasn’t agreeing that Alan was important because he was an amazing guy. He thought of him as an important vessel—a shell. Alexander didn’t understand that to Jonas, Alan was the world. “And how were you preventing REM from taking him over?” Jonas asked.

  “By paralyzing him,” Alexander said. “Keeping him so heavily sedated that even REM couldn’t wake his body.” Jonas closed his eyes, horrified at the idea. Imagining Alan trapped in his own body, unable to wake up even if he had tried to. Alexander saw his anguish, and tilted his head. “It was just until we found another way,” he said. “We didn’t intend for it to be permanent.”

  “Well REM has him now,” Jonas said. “He’s transformed him. My brother was going to kill me.”

  Alexander tightened his mouth. “I am sorry to hear that,” he said, lowering his voice. “I’d made a promise to your mother that I’d watch after you both. I’m sorry to have broken it.”

  Jonas scoffed. “That’s it? You didn’t want to break your promise?”

  “I don’t make them lightly,” Alexander replied. “Your mother meant a lot to me. If you had had more time with the file, you might have read about it. I’m sure you read about my sister.”

  Jonas swallowed hard, feeling suddenly exposed. “The file,” he repeated.

  Alexander sneered. “Yes, I know Samantha took my file. Do you actually think she would have found it if I hadn’t wanted her to?”

  “Why would you leave it for her if you didn’t want her to see me anymore?”

  “Because I knew she wouldn’t listen to me. Nor you. In case you haven’t noticed, my daughter resents me. She wouldn’t believe me if I told her how dangerous you were. The best I could have hoped for was to help you slay your Night Terror so she could see the real you.”

  “What does that mean?” Jonas asked. “What’s the real me?”

  “The Poet,” Alexander said. “You feel everything, don’t you, boy? That’s what the Poet does. It’s painful. Dream Walkers pull out their souls to deal with it, but not you. You will internalize it, and let it guide you. Let it guide others. Eventually it’ll become too much. Don’t you understand?” he asked. “A Poet is meant to be alone. It would hurt too much any other way.”

  Jonas wandered back over to the mattress and sat down, his mind spinning. His shoulders were heavy because he knew Alexander was right. He did feel it all. His grief, his love—they all hurt the same. He wouldn’t be able to go on like this, dragging Sam further into his constant nightmare. Alexander had been right from the start. Jonas looked up at him, lost on what to do next.

  “What now?” Jonas asked him. “Jarabec is dead. REM has my brother. What am I supposed to do?”

  Alexander took a long, measured breath. He lifted his right eyebrow and folded his hands in front of him. “You move on,” he said. “Go into hiding. You’re not strong enough to beat him. No Poet has ever been. And right now, your anger,” Alexander touched his own chest, “what you feel right here, that’s what REM wants to tap into. You are powerful, Jonas. If you were at REM’s side, there’d be no stopping him. Together you’d corrupt the Waking and the Dream Worlds. It’s best if you go.”

  “I don’t understand,” Jonas said, standing. “Move on to what? Where are the other Poets?”

  Alexander furrowed his brow. “Jarabec didn’t explain it to you?”

  “Jarabec’s dead.”

  The crudeness of the comment seemed to surprise him, but Alexander nodded. “I am aware,” he said. “But he had a job to do, one he obviously failed at.” He paused. “The Poets have disappeared,” Alexander continued. “Do you think there is only one reality? Two? There are infinite realities, Jonas. But only some can get to them. REM is restricted to the Dream World. You, when you’re ready, would be restricted by none. Hiding is the only option you have left.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Jonas said, incredulous. “I’m not going to let REM get away with what he’s done. Maybe you’re the one who needs to step up. Actually help instead of pulling strings like some puppet master.”

  Alexander’s arm shot out, and he grabbed Jonas by the shirt and pulled him close. Jonas gasped, his toes just touching the floor. “It’s time to move on,” Alexander said through gritted teeth. “You have no chance to win this. You’ll only destroy more people. You’ll destroy my daughter.”

  Alexander unclenched his fist, and Jonas fell back a step. “You are alone,” Alexander told him, straightening his suit. “Focus on that the next time you dream.” He turned and walked out, leaving Jonas behind in a wake of loneliness.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jonas left the Sleep Center before Sam could return. He left without checking in on Alan, a choice that attacked his conscience as he ran through the rain to the bus stop, heading back to the Eden Hotel. As he rode the bus, he lowered his hood, his neck wet around the collar. He wanted to go numb, but he continued to think about Alexander’s words.

  He turned to stare out the window at the passing streets, the people walking under their umbrellas, going about their lives with no knowledge of the battle going on in a shared dream consciousness and proving that ignorance truly was bliss.

  Jonas felt a sting in his fingertips, like the sharp pain when trying to wake a limb that had fallen asleep. He lifted his hand, staring down at it. He wiggled his fingers, and then he realized the background had changed. He slowly lifted his head and saw he wasn’t on the bus anymore. He was dreaming.

  “What?” he said to himself, dumbfounded. He stood, l
ooking around the park stretched out in front of him. A greenbelt with a stone fountain in the middle. He turned and saw his bus seat had become a bench, and sitting there, was Jarabec.

  “Oh, my God,” Poet said, taking the spot next to him. “You’re alive.”

  Jarabec turned and smiled. “I’m a memory,” he said. “I’m what you wanted to see. What you created. Of course, if you look closer, you’d see the differences.”

  Sure enough, Poet noticed the color of his eyes were pale and almost white. His mind was aware that his friend was indeed dead, and adjusted the image. “Why did I bring you here?” Poet asked. “How can this help me?”

  Jarabec smiled, more pleasant than he had been when alive. More fatherly. “I suppose you had a question or two,” he told him, “but you can’t find the answer. You’re using my memory as a guide.”

  Poet looked down at his lap. He was wearing his suit and bowler hat. “Alexander told me I’m supposed to be alone. Is that true? Am I really that dangerous to Sam?” He looked at Jarabec and found the man watching him. Jarabec nodded slowly.

  It wasn’t the answer Poet had been hoping for, and he swallowed hard. “But I love her,” he said quietly. “What if I can’t let her go?”

  “Then she’ll die,” Jarabec replied simply. “And she’ll be the ghost you dream about at night.” He paused. “So long as you exist, she won’t be safe.”

  “Then I have to destroy REM,” Poet said, looking sideways at Jarabec. “I have to figure out a way to end REM’s control over the dreamscape. Advice?” But Poet had accepted the fact that Jarabec wasn’t real. He turned away and began to walk across the grass, opting to spend an extra second or two in his dream.

  “I told you there will come a time,” Jarabec said, surprising Poet. The boy turned around and found his Dream Walker was standing, suddenly close to him. “You will have a choice,” Jarabec said. “You won’t always be alone, and you don’t have to be.” Jarabec pressed his lips together sympathetically, and he put his hand on Poet’s shoulder. “But maybe you just don’t belong in this world anymore.”