3

     

They walked through the city. They didn't look into the park. Rob insisted they skip it this time. So they continued on until they reached the outskirts of town, where the houses thinned out and the greenery grew more abundant . " Ooooohhhh

... She ran there as fast as she could, dragging Hobbs along with her. Hobbs didn't resist, though he wasn't sure it was a good idea to push toward the source of the noise. Perhaps it would be wiser to hide or run for the hills. When he became out of breath and began to drag himself, Linda released him and ran on. She disappeared around the bend. "Stop..." Rob gasped, trailing after her with the grace of an elephant. When he finally reached the intersection, he saw with surprise that the source of the noise, which sounded like a raucous fire engine siren, was a child. As he approached, he noticed a small boy—four or five years old—sitting on the curb, wailing, "Oooooh!" Linda crouched down in front of him and, stroking his head, asked, "What's wrong, little one?" The boy had stopped howling. He sniffed. "Mommy..." he stammered. "Where's my mommy?" And then into the roar: oooh! Linda winced, the scream was deafening.

"Shhh!" she insisted, putting her finger to her lips. The child fell silent for a moment, so before he drew in another breath and exploded, she decided to seize the opportunity. "Where do you live?

" "I don't know..." the boy muttered. And into a roar.

"What's your name?" the girl asked when he fell silent again.

The boy looked at her mournfully. He was clutching a brown beret, the likes of which no one else was wearing today. He was wearing a black-and-white striped T-shirt, short black shorts, and black lace-up leather shoes.

"Morpheus..." he replied.

"Nice..." Linda said hesitantly. "And his name?

" "I don't know..." "Crying again.

" "What are we going to do with him?" the girl asked, turning to Rob, who was standing behind her and watching the boy with concern and... a sort of disgust.

"What are we going to do?" Hobbs asked, surprised. He bent down and put his arms around Linda's shoulders. He stood up, lifting her with him. "Honey, it's just a dream... Just a dream.

" "Tell him that!

" "Linda... Let's be serious..." Rob smiled indulgently. "A kid dressed like he's straight out of the 1930s, with a New York accent... A kid named Morpheus... Mercy!

" "Maybe his parents named him that?" Linda said indifferently. "You know, people are strange.

" "Sure... A strange kid named the Dream Master...

" "Come on, let's help him look... We'll ask around, see if they know him?"

The boy sat on the curb, sniffling, watching them.

"Let's go," Hobbs said.

"You're heartless!" Linda almost screamed. She looked at Rob indignantly.

"Okay..." Rob gasped. "Okay... We'll do it differently... My way... Mom's gone, so we'll get him one."

At these words, a woman in a beige dress and a round hat appeared next to them, to the left. She wore heavy makeup and looked remarkably like Marlene Dietrich. " Is that

okay?" Hobbs asked the kid. "

Nooooo!" the boy shouted. And then he started crying . " I want to maa ... At that very moment, the boy simply vanished into the wind. "Oh my God..." Linda moaned. "Oh my God... Misiek, what have you done?!" she screamed desperately.

Come on, it's just my dream.

" "Miśka, I don't like this at all! It's not funny!" she began calmly, but her voice trembled and rose. "This isn't normal! Ever since you got it into your head that it was a dream, you haven't been the same. You've changed. What's wrong with you, Miśka? You were never like this! I don't want you to be like this.

" "Come on, honey..." Hobbs took a few steps toward her, but she backed away.

"Don't come any closer..."

"Linda..." the boy groaned.

"You killed that kid," she whispered, terrified.

"Linda...

" "Robert..." the girl moaned. For the first time in years, she called him by his name. He had always been Miśka to her, and that was what she always said, regardless of whether anyone else heard. She called him that at the movies and at family dinners. Everywhere. Always. "Robert... This is some kind of nightmare... I hope it's just a dream... My dream, not yours... And I hope I wake up from it, and all of this will be untrue... But now..." she trailed off. "...now I don't want to know you... You're not my teddy bear..."

Shaking her head in disbelief, she began to back away. He saw tears streaming down her cheeks. They looked real. Too real. Finally, she turned and started to walk away, and when she heard his footsteps behind her, she ran down the narrow street.

He reached out his hand—as if to catch her, though she was already a good thirty feet away.

Linda froze, one leg raised high, standing only on the toes of the other.

Rob looked at his fingers in astonishment. He pulled his hand toward him.

Linda, as if caught by a fishing rod, turned on her toes and awkwardly ran the distance between them, stopping within arm's reach of him. She looked into his face, her eyes wide with terror. She raised her hands in a defensive gesture.

"Robert..." she whispered. Her lips trembled.

Hobbs leaned in. He wanted to embrace her, kiss her. Reassure her that all this was nothing, that it wasn't there, that it hadn't happened, and that she didn't have to worry about anything. But he saw the look of terror contorting her face. He wanted to erase it. He tried to force a smile onto her face—and the corners of her mouth were indeed starting to turn up. But then tears welled up in her eyes.

Rob let go. He dropped his hand, and Linda turned and ran.

Hobbs sat down on the curb. He wanted to howl like the kid he'd only dreamed of.

He sighed and dropped his head to his knees. A cold wind blew in from the east. He closed his eyes, and in a moment a song about a stupid boy appeared in his head. But he wasn't going to write it. He wasn't going to sing it, and he didn't want to play it.

When he heard a grinding sound nearby, he shuddered - for the sound was unpleasant, irritating - but he did not move.

The grinding sound—a metallic creaking—repeated. It was getting closer. Like someone was rolling something creaking.

Hobbs glanced to the right, where the sound was coming from.

"Sir, did you call?" Samuel laughed. Behind him, he was pulling a creaking cart with some scrap metal on it.

"As if..." the boy muttered.

"What is it this time?

" "Let's get this over with...

" "What's so brutal? Get this over with?

" "I want to wake up!" Rob growled. "This isn't fun anymore. Okay, cool, I can change the weather and stuff, but... let's be honest, this is turning into some crazy nightmare! Things I don't want here are appearing, and when I remove them, the only one I do want gets mad at me and runs away. I could force her to stay, but why? Power isn't fun at all; you can't control everything completely. I could force Linda to stay. But I know she hated me. I couldn't just hug her, knowing that somewhere deep inside she hates me, even though she's wearing a smile I've forced on her.

"Don't you want to chase her? Just like that?" Samuel asked, surprised. "Maybe you'll catch up with her, talk to her, tame her...

" "Sam... It's just a dream..." Hobbs sighed resignedly. "So what if I run after her? It's just a dream that will end at some point... I can only delay the inevitable.

" "Oh, are you so decadent?" The tramp laughed.

"It's a dream. You were right, I was wrong. At first I didn't believe it. When I sort of believed it, I tried to forget it, not think about it. Have fun, like you said. But I can't play that game. It's your game. And you're winning, I've already lost." Satisfied?

The tramp scratched his stubbled chin. He sat down on the edge of the cart.

"No," he replied after a moment's thought. "Not yet.

" "What else?" Hobbs wrung his hands. "What else? I had a nice dream. I was having fun. It was great having a beautiful girl and my own band. But you had to come and make me realize it was just a dream.

" "You came to me.

" "And you knew I would come. And first you proved to me it was just a dream. Then you taught me how to use the fact that it was a dream. Finally, you created a situation where I took advantage of the fact that I could do anything, because it was just a dream. And with that, I destroyed everything. And now no amount of power can make things the way they were before, because here, in my head, I know there's nothing I can do. Now I just want to wake up and be happy that none of this is real.

" "Be happy?" the tramp asked, surprised.

"Yes," Hobbs said indifferently. "I'd love to go back to a world where I might not have a band or a wonderful girlfriend, but no one will be following me around telling me my life is about to end. I prefer a life without miracles, without the power to change everything, because the less I can do, the less I can screw up."

"Are you sure you're ready? Don't you want to go home and compose something? You'd have something to write about.

" "But you're confusing it.

" "I love it.

" "Give it a rest. I already know it's going to end, one way or another, sooner or later. And I'd rather end it now, when I'm resigned, than have it end by itself, when I'm starting to regain hope and try to do something.

" "Have some more fun," Samuel encouraged with a wry smile. "You're the king here. You can still have some fun.

" "No," Rob cut him off curtly. "I don't want to be the king. I just want to be Rob Hobbs.

" "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you..." The tramp made a very theatrical pretense of absentmindedness. "Rob Hobbs doesn't exist."

The boy's eyes widened.

"What...?" he muttered.

"Rob Hobbs doesn't exist. Rob Hobbs is just a figment of your imagination, just like Linda, your band, your music, or your talent. He doesn't exist. He never existed, and his supposed memories are a conglomeration of someone else's thoughts. Time is just an illusion. Only a moment exists. Anything that happened even a second ago could be just a fantasy. You might think you've lived twenty-eight years, but I assure you, no dream lasts that long.

"So who am I?

" "Who? Or what? As that Chinese poet used to say?" the homeless man mused. "I don't know anymore whether I'm a man who dreams he's a butterfly, or a butterfly who dreams he's a man.

" "I'm going," Hobbs snorted wearily.

The tramp shrugged.

"Go on... Have a good trip! And like I told you, have fun!"

Rob shuffled forward. His boots scuffed the ground, advancing only a few inches with each step. He wasn't in a hurry.

He didn't immediately hear the noise behind him. Only the tramp's laughter made him turn around.

But the man wasn't laughing at him. He was sitting on the ground behind his wheelchair, laughing at something on it. He obviously had a television there, watching something.

"Ohohoooo..." he laughed.

"What are you watching?" Hobbs shouted.

"Your real life.

" Rob turned. He stared at Jones in amazement for a moment, then finally broke into a run. He stepped around the wheelchair and stood behind the homeless man, peering over his shoulder at his own life.

As he leaned in, the set released a puff of smoke, shot out sparks, and then exploded. The explosion knocked him back, but didn't hurt him.

The homeless man wiped his charred face.

"Thanks a lot," he snorted.

"I just wanted to see.

" "You can see them. You just have to wake up. I can't. I'm trapped here. I can't penetrate the real world. And now you've ruined my fun.

" "I'm so glad."

- Go away - the tramp grumbled.

He rose from the ground, bent down to grab the handle of the cart—a small sheet metal platform with four squeaky wheels—and began to pull it up the street.

Rob stood there. He squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to wake up—but every time he opened his eyes, which were squeezed shut painfully, he saw the same thing: a sloping street and a homeless man dragging a broken television behind him on a cart.

He ran after him.

"What do I have to do to wake up?" he gasped, catching up with him.

"Think about it! Think about it!" Samuel Jones growled.

"I won't let you go," Hobbs threatened.

The homeless man stopped. He huffed in resignation.

"It's simple," he shrugged. "To move on to the next life, you have to end this one.

" "Literally?

" "Literally.

" "Then goodbye," Rob muttered as he left.

The homeless man bowed his head and moved on without a word. Rob ran down the street—it was more comfortable. His momentum pushed him further and further.

The ground leveled out and leveled out at a bridge high above the river.

Rob walked on the right side, using the railing for support.

When he reached the center, he climbed clumsily—or rather, he simply leaned forward, trying to climb over it—and plummeted.

He slammed into the depths.

The gurgling of the river and the muffled, distorted sounds carried by the water were the last things Rob Hobbs heard.

***

"Kate, get up!

" "My head...

" "Get up, you'll be late.

" "Jesus..." I slept maybe three hours..."

"I slept even less because I was throwing up.

" "No more parties on weekdays or Sundays...

" "Sure. How many times are we going to promise each other this?

" "My head is pounding...

" "Take an aspirin and stop complaining.

" "But I had a messed-up dream...

" "Tell me about it some other time. You always have messed-up dreams." I always dream I'm having sex with some handsome guy. Why can't you do that?

"Either I'm stupid, or you're talented..."

"OK, I'm off. Bye! Oh, and you're making dinner today.

" "Damn you, Marsha..."

The door slammed—a haunting experience for someone with a hangover. A slight one, just a slight one—the benefits of a strong head—but a hangover nonetheless.

Kate sat up in bed. She rubbed her face and wiped her eyes.

She got up and went to the bathroom. When she looked in the mirror, she almost panicked. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, her face pale and swollen, and her hair looked like a clump of brown seaweed. She groomed herself as best she could, washed her hair, and what couldn't be straightened, powdered it, and then got dressed. She put on flats—the only sensible option after a night in her new heels, except maybe going to work barefoot.

She closed the door, tossed the key into her purse, and descended the stairs, still holding her head.

Kate

worked like a robot. She slid the items over the reader, punched in numbers, collected money, and gave change. She could do this even in her condition—a combination of a slight hangover, slight dehydration, and severe sleep deprivation.

She was revived—though only slightly—when she caught a whiff of something at least as bad as the popular comic book character, the Poop Man, approaching her modest checkout at the supermarket.

A wiry hand thrust a pack of mints at her.

"Are you going to spend a hundred dollars?"