Page 14 of Gone (Wake 3)

She can’t stop thinking about him.

Because, what if?

And how is she supposed to know, unless . . . ?

Janie slips out of bed, puts her clothes on and grabs her phone, house key, and a snack for energy. The bus is empty except for the driver.

Thankfully, he’s not asleep.

12:58 a.m.

Janie’s flip-flops slap the hospital floor and echo through the otherwise quiet hallways. An orderly with an empty gurney nods to Janie as he exits the elevator. Up on the third floor, Janie pushes through the ICU door without hesitation. It’s dimly lit and quiet. Janie fends off the hallway dreams and, before she opens Henry’s door, goes over her plan in her mind.

She takes a deep breath and pushes open the door, closing it swiftly behind her as everything around her goes black, and then she’s slammed by the colors and the outrageous static once again.

The power of the dream forces Janie to her hands and knees. The attack on her senses makes gravity ten times stronger than normal. She sways inadvertently as if to avoid the giant block walls of burning color that swing toward her in 3-D. Mentally she’s trying to hear her own thoughts above the noise, and it’s incredibly difficult—it’s like she’s in a vortex of static.

Janie’s hands and feet quickly grow numb. Blindly, she turns to the right and crawls, aiming for the bathroom so that if she has to, she can get inside and close the door. As a flaming yellow block swings toward her, Janie lunges to avoid it and feels her head connect with the hospital room wall. “Concentrate!” she yells to herself. But the noise is overpowering. All she can do is slide forward on numb stumps, hoping she’s even moving at all, and waiting for a flash of something, anything that will explain some of the mystery of Henry.

Janie doesn’t know how much time goes by before she can’t continue moving.

Before she can no longer press on, unable to fight any longer. Unable to find the bathroom, to break the connection.

It’s as if she’s fallen through ice, engulfed in frigid water. Numb, both body and mind. Even the noise and the colors are muted.

Things stop mattering.

She can’t feel herself flopping around wildly.

Doesn’t know she’s losing consciousness.

Doesn’t care anymore either. She just wants to give up, let the nightmare overtake her, engulf her, fill her brain and body with the endless clamor and sickening dazzle.

And it does.

Soon, everything goes black.

But then.

In Janie’s own unconsciousness, the picture of a madman, a hairy, screaming madman that is her own father, slowly appears from the darkness before her.

He reaches toward her, his fingers black and bloody, his eyes deranged, unblinking. Janie is paralyzed. Her father’s cold hands reach around her neck, squeezing tight, tighter, until Janie has no breath left. She’s unable to move, unable to think. Forced to let her own father kill her. As his grasp tightens further around Janie’s neck, Henry’s face turns sickly alabaster. He strains harder and begins to shake.

Janie is dying.

She has no fight left in her.

It’s over.

Just as she has given up, her father’s chalky face turns to glass and shatters into a dozen pieces.

His grip around Janie’s neck releases. His body disappears.

Janie falls to the ground, gasping, next to the pieces of her father’s exploded face. She looks at them, sucking breath, finally able to move.

Raises herself up.

And there, instead of seeing her father in the glass,

She sees her own horrified, screaming face, reflected back at her.

Static once again.

For a very.

Very.

Long time.

Janie realizes that she might be stuck here. Forever.

2:19 a.m.

And then.

A flicker of life.

A flash of a woman’s figure in a dark gymnasium, a portrait of a man on a chair . . .

And a voice.

Distant. But clear. Distinct.

Familiar.

The voice of hope in one person’s ever-darkening world.

“Come back,” the woman says. Her voice is sweet and young.

She turns to face Janie. Steps into the light.

Standing on strong legs, her eyes clear and bright. Her fingers, not gnarled, but long and lovely. “Janie,” she says in earnest. “Janie, my dear, come back.”

Janie doesn’t know how to come back.

She is exhausted. Gone. Gone from this world and hovering somewhere no other living person could possibly be.

Except for Henry.

Janie’s mind is flooded with the new scene, a soft and quiet scene, of a man in a chair, and a woman, now standing in the light imploring Janie to come back. The woman walks over to Henry, stands beside him. Henry turns and looks at Janie. Blinks.

“Help me,” he says. “Please, please, Janie. Help me.”

Janie is terrified of him. Still, there is nothing she can do but help.

It is her gift.

Her curse.

She is unable to say no.

Compelled, Janie pulls herself to attention, to full awareness, scared to death that the horrible din and burning colors will return at any moment, dreading getting anywhere near this man who turns mad and strangles her. Wishing she could gather the strength to pull herself from this nightmare now, while she has the chance. But she cannot.

Janie struggles silently to her feet in the gymnasium. With effort, she walks toward the two, her footsteps echoing. She has no idea what to do for Henry. Sees nothing that she can do to help. Really only wants to tie him up, or maybe kill him, so he doesn’t have the chance to hurt her.

She stops a few feet away from them. Stares at the woman standing there, not quite believing her eyes. “It’s you,” she says. She feels a rush of relie

f. Her lip quivers. “Oh, Miss Stubin.”

Miss Stubin reaches out and Janie, overwhelmed by seeing her again and incredibly weak from this nightmare, stumbles into her arms. Miss Stubin’s grip is strong, full of comfort. It repairs some of Janie’s strength. Janie is filled with emotion as she feels the warmth, the love in Miss Stubin’s touch. “There, you’re all right,” Miss Stubin says.

“You,” Janie says. “You’re . . . I thought I wouldn’t be seeing you again.”

Miss Stubin smiles. “I have been quite enjoying my time with Earl since I last saw you. It’s good to be whole again.” She pauses, eyes twinkling. They pick up the dim rays of light coming in through the gymnasium’s tiny upper windows. And then she looks toward the mute Henry, who sits ever still. “I believe I’m here for Henry . . . I think to bring him home, if you know what I mean. Sometimes I don’t know myself why I’m summoned to other catchers’ dreams.”

Janie’s eyes widen. “So, it’s true. He really is one.”

“Yes, apparently so.”

They look at Henry, and then at each other. Silent, pondering. The dream catchers, all together in one place.

“Wow,” Janie murmurs. She turns back to Miss Stubin. “Why didn’t you tell me about him? You said in the green notebook that there weren’t any other living dream catchers.”

“I didn’t know about him.” She smiles. “It appears he needs your help, first, before he can come with me. I’m glad you came.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Janie says. “His dreams are horrible.”

“He hasn’t many left,” Miss Stubin says.

Janie presses her lips together and takes a deep breath. “He’s my father. You knew that, right?”

Miss Stubin shakes her head. “I didn’t know. So it’s hereditary, then. I’ve often wondered. It’s why I didn’t have children.”

“Did you—?” Janie’s suddenly struck by a thought. “You’re not related, are you? To us, I mean?”

Miss Stubin smiles warmly. “No, my dear. Wouldn’t that be something?”

Janie laughs softly at the craziness of it. “Do you think that maybe there are others out there, then? Besides me?”

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