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felt real. She got up and looked through the open door, which
led to a rather lavish tile and chrome bathroom with a heart-
shaped tub. That looked real, too. Tacky, but real.
Unless this was a particularly lifelike dream. She d had
some very lifelike dreams lately, dreams where when she
woke up she had to lie in bed and catch her breath for a few
minutes before she could remember where she was and who
she was. Dreams that were populated by strange, shadowy
people, and weirdly intense feelings.
This could be one of those dreams. Except it appeared
that she was alone.
Experimentally, she gave herself a hard pinch on the arm.
It hurt.
 Wake up, she told herself. Nothing happened.
 I m Cassandra Mary Elliot, of 46 Maple Street,
Foxborough, Connecticut, USA, she said aloud. Her voice
sounded flat, its loudness absorbed by the shag carpeting.  I m
twenty-one years old, and I am probably dreaming right now.
Well, she knew who she was, anyway. That was a step up.
Unless she wasn t really Cassandra Elliot of Maple Street,
Foxborough, and she was only dreaming that she knew who
she was.
Cassandra shook her head. It didn t do to think too much
in dreams. She d read a book about it recently. You should
relax and enjoy and forget about logic and reality.
That decided, she sat down on the heart-shaped bed and
looked around her. There was something weird about this
room, besides the fact that nobody in Foxborough would be
seen dead in somewhere like this, and that she shouldn t be
here either. She couldn t quite put her finger on it, though.
Instead, she tried to remember what her last waking
thought had been. She d read that sometimes when you fell
asleep your brain kept on going over what you had been
thinking about and your dreams reflected that.
But the last thing she could remember was sitting in her
bedroom, at her desk, half-heartedly studying because she
couldn t sleep. Cassandra looked down at herself; she was
wearing her cream satin nightgown and her green Chinese silk
bathrobe. Well, she hadn t been wearing that before. She d
been in flannel pajamas. And there was no way on Earth that
she would be wearing this outfit in somebody else s bedroom;
she practically blushed every time she put in on in her own
bedroom, where nobody could see her.
So she must be dreaming. It was good she d got that
settled, anyway.
 Hey, hi there.
A deep voice, slow and drawly and masculine.
Cassandra s head shot up. And immediately she knew
what had been weird about the room on top of its general
weirdness, because there was an open door in the room and
there hadn t been any doors before except for the one leading
to the bathroom.
But now there was a door open in the wall across from
her. And a man standing in it.
Cassandra scrambled further onto the bed, as if it would
give her protection. The man was tall and strong-looking. He
had long straight brown hair that tumbled over his shoulders
and a goatee around his mouth. And he was wearing this got
worse and worse faded jeans, a black leather jacket, and a
black T-shirt that had some rock band s name printed on it.
 Who are you? She couldn t keep the fear out of her
voice.
The man regarded her evenly.  My name s Beauregard B.
Bryson, but you might as well call me Beau because everyone
does. Is this your place?
 I I m not sure. If it s my dream, I guess it s my place.
But it s a little strange.
Beau nodded, slowly.  Yeah. Well, I m glad I m not the
only one who feels like they re having an acid flashback. He
stepped forward and Cassandra retreated a little further back
on the bed. It might be her dream, but she wasn t so sure that
he wasn t a psycho rapist. She d seen a photograph of a
psycho rapist one time in the newspaper and she was pretty
certain he d been wearing a leather jacket and a rock band T-
shirt. It might even have been the same rock band he was
wearing.
Instead of leaping onto the bed and raping her, he held out
his hand.  Guess we d better get to know each other if we re
dreaming together.
His hand was big. The nails were short and his fingers
looked pink and scrubbed. Cassandra took his hand and shook
it as if it were the tail of a rabid raccoon she thought was
going to spin around and bite her at any moment. Despite her
fear, it felt warm and welcoming.
Beau smiled.  What s your name?
If it was a dream, it probably wouldn t do any harm.
 Cassandra.
 Hi there, Cassandra. He sat down on the bed beside her.
Cassie tried not to breathe too much, but she couldn t help
noticing that he smelled of soap and something minty, like
gum.  Do you think we should go have a look around this
place and see where the hell we are?
 I don t know. Something occurred to her.  How did you
make the door happen?
As soon as she said it she realized it was a bizarre
question, but Beau just nodded and shrugged.  Dunno, he
said.  I thought of there being a door and there it was, and
there you were.
 That s weird.
 Yup.
 Maybe it s just a coincidence.
 Maybe.
 Do you remember how you got here?
 Nope. Last thing I remember I d just beat my brother at
poker and I was watching a rerun of Wheel of Fortune. That s [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]