by Tom DeLonge
The monocycle landed on the roof of a car, denting it in, and continued down the windshield and onto the hood before hitting the road with only the slightest wobble. Jarabec was a master and Poet knew he could get them out of there.
The Dream Walker raced ahead, and Poet turned back to see the Night Stalkers climb on their vehicles, starting their pursuit. The Night Terror appeared, flinging itself out of the tunnel and through the air. It hit the ground with a roll, tearing off layers of scales and flesh, but not seeming to notice or care. It chased them, and when it passed the car they had used to break their fall, the creature blasted it with his shoulder and sent it rolling. The vehicle careened into three other cars before landing on its side. The driver was ejected out of the windshield that still had a tire mark from Jarabec’s monocycle, and lay motionless in the road. No one came out of the other cars, and Poet hoped they might have woken up. That maybe there was a chance they all didn’t just die in their sleep tonight.
Poet had no idea how he would get out of this, or how he would beat this Night Terror. Alexander Birnam-Wood’s notes said Poet would have to absorb its darkness, but how could he do that when the creature would tear him to pieces the minute he was close enough?
Jarabec put down his boot and spun the monocycle to face the oncoming Night Terror. The Dream Walker climbed off the cycle, and Poet’s eyes widened.
“What are you doing?” he shouted. “We have to go!”
“I can’t,” Jarabec said. His helmet slid back and he motioned down to his chest armor. Although Poet didn’t know what he was talking about at first, he soon noticed the blood pooling at his feet, pouring from several holes that had been torn through his armor. Without his Halo, he had been an open target.
“Heal yourself,” Poet ordered, but Jarabec’s face was calm.
“I can’t,” he said. “Not unless I wake up.”
“Then wake up!”
“Sorry, kid,” he said. “I’m not a Poet. Can’t wake myself up.”
Poet’s entire world began to shake, his body, his vision. “But I can’t tunnel you out,” Poet said. “Jarabec, you’ll bleed out. You have to do something. Can you call the Dream Walkers and have them…I don’t know. Just have them do something?”
“Not enough time,” Jarabec said.
Poet jumped off the cycle and grabbed his umbrella off the back, holding it like it was a sword. “I don’t care what REM did to me, I can make a tunnel,” Poet said. “I can still do it and I’ll take us to your garden.” Poet’s voice cracked and he closed his white eyes, forcing energy to his fingers. But nothing happened.
“No. You won’t,” Jarabec said, his voice soft with fondness, yet rough as it hinted at his pain. “You’ll have to let me go.”
“No!” Poet shouted, panic rising in his chest. He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t lose him, too. “I won’t let you die.”
Jarabec’s eyes had taken on a glassy sheen and he smiled sadly. “You’ll have to. I’m not the only one you have to worry about.” He nodded behind him.
There was a sound, the creaking of a door, and Poet saw movement as a person climbed out of an overturned car. She reached to touch her head where blood had started to seep from a wound near her hairline.
“Sam?” Poet asked, breathless. Sam looked dazed as she took a wobbly step away from the wreck, not realizing the Night Terror was coming up behind her. “Sam!” Poet yelled.
Samantha swung toward the sound of his voice, her lips parting. She looked happy to see him, but in that moment, the Night Terror saw her, too. It slowed, watching her with its beady red eyes. Hulking down and stalking her like prey.
“It knows her now,” Jarabec said, staring at him. “You have to kill it, Poet. Or it will find her every time. It’ll do it just to hurt you. It’s your fear.”
Poet wouldn’t let anything happen to Sam, and yet, as he watched, the Night Terror was getting closer to her. Samantha motioned for Poet to come over, saying something he couldn’t hear. She didn’t realize what she’d done.
“Get out of there!” Poet shouted to her.
Sam’s posture stiffened as if just realizing her peril. She turned and found the Night Terror closing in on her. She screamed, and tried to rush back toward her car, but the creature beat her to it, diving in front of her to cut off her escape. Sam steadied herself, and Poet could have sworn he saw a shimmer around her. A glow.
Samantha darted for the middle of the road, ducking to take cover behind another vehicle. The Night Terror pursued her, dragging its bloody stump along. It paused at the car and then knocked it aside, exposing Sam huddled on the ground.
Sam had nowhere else to hide. She straightened and staggered back a few steps. The Night Terror roared, shaking the entire bridge. Samantha covered her ears, and then the monster bared its teeth, ready to devour her in the middle of the dreamscape. The Night Terror crouched down, ready to attack.
Poet let out a roar of his own. “Stop!”
The beast reared up, drool dripping from its fangs. Poet wasn’t sure if he was strong enough. Because of the drugs, he wouldn’t be able to wake up if he was injured. He’d die. Beyond the Night Terror, the Night Stalkers were starting to surround them.
“Hurry, kid,” Jarabec said with a groan, clutching his side. Poet didn’t want to leave him vulnerable. He grabbed his umbrella and used the handle to smack Jarabec’s Halo back in his direction. The orb began to circle the Dream Walker, and Jarabec smiled and nodded for Poet to go.
When he turned, Poet saw that Sam had picked up a broken piece of fender that had been knocked off of a car. She swung the sharp edge wildly, keeping the Night Terror at bay as it growled at her, waiting for its chance.
“Face your fear,” Poet said to himself. “Face it.” With one more second of thought, Poet whistled, getting the creature’s attention.
Sam moved quickly, jabbing the piece of metal into the Night Terror’s belly. The monster let out another deafening roar and Sam fell back. The creature thrashed, and Sam slid back along the pavement toward the edge of the bridge.
“Now, boy!” Jarabec said.
Poet ran full-force at his Night Terror, the umbrella in his hand his only weapon. When the creature saw his approach, it spun and began to gallop toward him, no regard for its own injuries. Behind it, the Night Stalkers stopped their vehicles, watching. Waiting.
It’s like everything you ever were is gone, Poet heard Alan say in a memory. And really, it is. When a parent dies, they take childhood with them. It’s changed us, Jonas. Filled in all of our happiness with anger. Don’t let it get the best of you.
Alan had told him that a few weeks after their parents died, claiming Jonas was in denial. But really, Poet knew now, that grief had been feeding his Night Terror, even back then. Creating it, only to have it triggered when Alan was taken away. Now Poet had to take it all back, all the grief and pain, all the anger. Loneliness. Hurt.
Only yards away, the Night Terror launched itself into the air and Poet, still listening to his brother’s voice, swung out his umbrella with all of his might, his feet lifting off the concrete. The Night Terror swung out its claw, catching Poet’s other arm. But then the umbrella pierced the creature’s skin, slicing straight through it and tearing it in half.
Poet landed with a hard thud, and snapped his head back to see the creature. The Night Terror writhed, still in the air, and when it hit the pavement, it exploded into a cloud of black dust. Poet straightened and the dust gathered itself and swirled in the air before pouring itself into Poet’s chest, knocking him back a step.
His muscles seized and he groaned, the darkness threatening to consume him. He felt it all—everything that had ever hurt him—all at once. He felt shadows cling to him, power surge. Hatred. There was so much hatred.
The energy passed, but not the anger. Poet straightened, no longer afraid. He looked across the bridge to Sam
and she lifted her head to stare at him as if both relieved and a bit frightened. Poet felt different. Distant.
There was a grunt, and when Poet checked, he saw Jarabec lose his balance and stumble to his knees. Poet started running for him, checking back to see the Night Stalkers still watching. He wasn’t sure what they were waiting for, but it was just as well. He needed to help Jarabec.
The Dream Walker’s skin had gone gray and he tried to drag himself into a sitting position. Poet crouched down and pulled him to rest against the side of an overturned car. His stomach sank when he saw Jarabec’s Halo broken to bits on the ground.
Jarabec reached out and clasped his hand on the back of Poet’s neck. He smiled. “You did it, boy,” he whispered. “You’ve mastered your fear. The power is yours.” His eyes fluttered and Poet shook his shoulders to keep him talking. Sam appeared next to him, concerned and on the verge of tears.
“Don’t go,” Poet told Jarabec. “Don’t you dare.”
Jarabec’s hand slid off Poet’s neck and fell to his side. The Dream Walker leaned back against the car, his eyes trained on the boy affectionately. Reverently. His lips parted to speak, but instead he breathed out and there was a rattle in his chest. And then Jarabec closed his eyes and went silent.
For a moment, all Poet could hear was the sound of his own breathing. Hitching in and out, ragged and unsteady. His Dream Walker was dead.
Poet squeezed his eyes shut, his insides bubbling with rage. There was a soft touch on his shoulder, and he tightened his jaw, but didn’t look. “Wake up, Sam,” he said in a low voice. “Wake up now.”
“What?” she asked, turning his face towards her. His eyes were still white and it must have been disconcerting because Sam gasped in surprise, seeing him up close. “I’m trying to help you,” she said, her voice weak with uncertainty. “Poet, are you okay?”
The boy stood, a bloody umbrella in his hand, dripping with the gore of his Night Terror. “No,” he answered simply. He held out his hand. The store of energy in his body—the darkness—felt infinite. And it hurt, tearing at his insides and at odds with his soul.
This is why the Dream Walkers take their souls out, he thought. Otherwise the darkness tears them apart from the inside.
But what if I let it?
Poet gritted his teeth, opening himself up, letting the dark feed on him. He held out his clenched fist, pressing his fingernails into his skin until he drew blood. He had so much anger and hatred. It was bigger than him. It was a monster.
Wind began to kick up, and Sam’s hair whipped around her cheeks. She hurried to her feet, shielding her face. And then a tunnel began to open behind her, one that would send her elsewhere. She glanced back at it, but then turned to Poet, her expression weakened.
“What are you doing?” she asked. Poet couldn’t answer her. His vision was growing hazy with the darkness building up inside of him. The thirst for revenge. He would make them pay.
“Poet—” Sam started. But Poet wasn’t listening. He closed eyes, blocking her out, and then Sam was taken by the wind, and flew backwards into the tunnel.
The minute she was gone, Poet lowered his arm, sealing the portal. He turned to face the Night Stalkers waiting at the end of the bridge. He shook out his umbrella, spraying blood over the pavement. He didn’t look down at Jarabec’s body again.
As if sensing his mission, the black Halos of the Night Stalkers shot out and began to circle them. The corner of Poet’s mouth lifted and he tilted his hat and began walking forward.
Poet Anderson was in the middle of an abandoned bridge, carnage everywhere. Night Stalkers in armor and helmets, poised to attack him. The boy walked down the middle of the road toward them in a black suit and bowler hat, the blood-slick handle of the umbrella in his hand. He lowered his head, but kept his eyes—glowing white with energy—on the Night Stalkers.
The first Halo zoomed in his direction but, without a misstep, Poet used his umbrella to bat it away. He continued toward the Night Stalkers, and he saw two of them exchange a look as if they were scared. They should be, Poet thought. Because I’m going to fucking kill them.
Two more Halos came, but again, Poet was ready for them. His umbrella no longer a simple object. The electricity from his fingers was pulsing through the handle, making it hard as steel and indestructible. Jarabec was right: he’d faced his fear and now that power coursed through his veins. He would use it.
A Night Stalker jumped off his vehicle, and pulled out a sword, its laser-sharp blade glowing red. He ran toward Poet, but the boy didn’t flinch or stop his advance. When the Night Stalker got close, he swung the sword and Poet used his umbrella to shield himself, the force of the soldier’s hit enough to drive him to his knees. Poet grunted, holding him off until he got enough leverage. Poet slipped out from the Night Stalker’s sword and jammed the tip of his umbrella up into the soldier’s ribs, cutting through the armor to pierce his lung. He tore out the umbrella and the soldier fell to the ground.
Poet stepped over his body and continued on towards the others. Two Night Stalkers kicked their engines to life, about to confront him, but they paused, and looked to the right. Poet followed their gazes, and his breath seized, the white fading from his eyes. His sleeve was soaking in blood, but he stopped in his tracks. REM stood at the end of the line, the Night Stalkers lowering their heads to him in respect as he came forward.
REM’s face was nearly all man now, save his one eye, which glowed red and robotic. But that wasn’t what stopped Poet. It was because REM wasn’t alone. Alan Anderson stood at his side.
Poet clutched his chest, vulnerability seeping in. Alan was here. It’d been so long since Poet had seen him and now it was everything. “Alan!” he yelled desperately.
Just yards away, Alan stood, tall and blond. Classically handsome. Only now that Poet was really looking, he noticed the subtle difference. The way his brother’s skin seemed to sag as if the muscles underneath didn’t work anymore. The blue irises that were now covered with a deep red that bled into the whites of his eyes. And of course, there was the weapon, a long, double-sided metal spear clutched in his hand.
Poet was disoriented and he looked at REM. “What have you done to him?” he asked.
REM chuckled, turning to gaze at Alan like he was a well-behaved pet. “I dare say I’ve improved him,” REM said. “The other option was to kill him, but I think this serves my purposes much better.” He looked at Poet, smiling with pointy teeth. “Don’t you?” he asked.
Poet shook his head, watching his brother for any sign of life, any recognition. But it wasn’t there. Alan was empty. Hollowed out. Tears burned as they raced down Poet’s cheeks. “What do you want?” he asked REM. Sickness had begun to bubble up, his fingers ached with the pain of his grief.
“This has already been such a good day,” REM said, taking a step closer. “I hate to ruin it by asking for more.”
Poet covered his mouth, holding back the cry that wanted to escape. He needed to stay focused.
“Oh, all right,” REM said, as if Poet was being stubborn. “I want you, here.” He pointed to his side. “You’ve already taken the first step. Feel that darkness? It’s like oil in your blood, isn’t it? Let’s channel that. Come join me, Poet Anderson. Join me and your brother, and together, we can reimagine the entire dreamscape.”
But Poet could only stare at Alan. He’d fought so hard, always believing he could save him. That he could wake him up. His brother was gone now. Poet had lost everything.
Poet fell to his knees and lowered his head, the darkness too thick to fight. The anger so real now that the Night Terror was no longer absorbing it. Poet closed his eyes and felt them bleed out, turning black. When he lifted his head, his tears ran down like ink on his cheeks. He let the anger fester and spread. He couldn’t control it.
“Ah, yes,” REM said, sounding delighted.
Poet’s fingers cu
rled into fists at his side, the energy pulsing like blood. So much energy. He tried not to think about Alan, about Jarabec—their loss was too much. Right now, all he wanted was for this to end. He wanted the world to end.
“Come now,” REM said, swinging out his cloak as he spun around to walk back toward his Night Stalkers. “We’ll—”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Poet said, his voice a low growl.
REM glanced over his shoulder, his expression clouded by surprise. “That so?” he asked. “Well, then…” He beckoned Alan forward. “Enjoy killing your brother.”
REM continued on toward the Night Stalkers and Alan began to swing around the spear in his hand, as if warming up. His eyes were dead. His body movements fast and irregular. Poet slowly stood as Alan advanced with his weapon.
“Alan?” Poet called. “Is there any of you left?”
His brother didn’t speak, and his mouth didn’t even twitch. Poet couldn’t help being reminded of Frankenstein again, and how the monster had come to life, born from dead bodies. A lost creature. That was what had become of Alan.
Poet lifted his hand in the air and began to push the air around him, more black tears leaking out. The wind kicked up and in the background a few of the Night Stalkers had to steady themselves on their vehicles. Alan continued toward him, but soon the wind was enough to blow him back a step.
The tunnel Poet was creating was irregular, jumbled like his emotions. It was creating a tornado around Poet, fanning out and sweeping up cars, bodies. Poet closed his eyes, and tilted back his head. The world fell away, along with his limits. And then a tunnel deepened and sucked him up into the sky.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jonas screamed and every inch of his body felt like it was on fire. He sat up, sweat gathered on his forehead as he untangled his legs from the white sheets. He looked around and found himself still at the Sleep Center, but he was no longer in his brother’s room. He was in a room of his own. And this time, his dream didn’t fade. He remembered everything.
