Dreamland (Riley Bloom 3)

I’d ridden my bike in the rain—laughing when the water splashed up from the back tire and drenched my sister, Ever.

I’d had a pet—in fact, I still do.

I’d had all the wonderful, normal life pleasures that Satchel has never once known. His parents had robbed him of them.

And I was suddenly so overcome with gratitude for all that I’d had—I could no longer mourn what I once thought I’d lo

st.

My life may have been ridiculously short—but the short time I’d lived had been pretty dang good.

“There are only two emotions,” I said, returning to Satchel, unaware of what those two emotions might be until I actually stated them. “Love and fear. Love and fear is all there is—everything else is just an offshoot, motivated by those two.”

I paused, wanting him to hear it, to get it, to completely understand what I was just beginning to understand for myself. Not really sure of where the knowledge was coming from and wondering if it might be the result of a thoughtwave of some kind, but trusting it was true all the same.

“Only, in your family, love and fear got so confused they began to resemble each other. Fear got mixed up with love, until it began to look like love, to seem like love, to feel like love—when, the truth is, they couldn’t be more opposite. I mean, think about it,” I said, desperate for him to follow, to really listen. “Your whole, entire life, all thirteen years of it, the only time you truly felt alive was when you were riding that Ferris wheel, wasn’t it? That’s the only time you truly felt free—that’s when you began to realize all of life’s glorious possibilities. Though unfortunately, as we both know, you got a little carried away, and, as a result, things ended tragically. But I’m willing to bet that if you ever gazed down on the earth plane after you left, well, I bet you left one heck of a cautionary tale behind. I bet Jimmy Mac never shook a car on a Ferris wheel again. I bet he thought twice before he taunted someone he thought was beneath him. I bet Mary Angel never stopped feeling guilty about urging you to ride in the first place, which is pretty sad when you consider that the ultimate decision was yours, not hers—not to mention how she begged you to stop and you wouldn’t listen. And I bet your parents really, really missed you. I bet they also held themselves responsible since you played right into their very worst fears. Do you ever check in on them? Do you ever …” I gulped at the thought but forced myself to continue, “Do you ever … make dreamweaves for them?”

He patted his head again, and I looked away. I really wished he’d stop doing that.

“Never! No! Sheesh!” he said.

I waited for a moment, hoping he’d say something more, but when he didn’t, I took another leap, hoping it might work. “The thing is, Satchel, all of that happened a really long time ago, which means some of them are probably Here now. Have you ever considered venturing out, out of this room, to see if they are?”

He looked at me, well, one eye did. The other was reduced to a black pit with long strings of cruddy bits streaming out.

“Are you kidding? I can’t go out there looking like this!” His voice was tinged with hysteria, fear. “My parents will kill me! They must be furious with me for what I’ve done!”

I could hardly believe it. After all those years spent scaring an untold number of dreamers across the globe, after all those years of reigning supreme over their very worst nightmares, Satchel was still afraid of how his parents might punish him for his death.

“First of all,” I said, trying to stick to the obvious, keep to the facts. “No one can kill you. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re already dead. And second—don’t you think it’s time you guys had a talk? I mean, I could be wrong, but I’m pretty willing to bet they’ll be overjoyed to see you again. And third—” My eyes fixed on his mangled hand that was in transit, just about to pat at the grotesque crevice in his head, turning in a way that made his jutting collarbone scrape a big chunk of skin right off his chin. The bloodied, battered bit hanging by a long string of ick, that swung up and down, back and forth, causing me to say, “You have got to stop doing that. Seriously, not only does the sight of it make me want to hurl, but there’s really no need for you to look like this anymore. It’s time for you to leave your past behind and head toward your future, don’t you think?”

While I felt I’d made a pretty good case, he wasn’t entirely convinced. He listened, considered, I could see it in his one, semi-good eye, but he was definitely teetering. He needed more proof.

Satchel had grown so used to his views, the fearful ideas his parents had drilled into him, that it was hard, if not impossible, for him to see another way. And there’s no doubt that having felt so powerless in life, he’d come to enjoy the power he wielded over all those unsuspecting dreamers. As far as he was concerned, it was a lot to give up.

Dreamweaving was his life. Er, make that his afterlife. Without it, he had no idea what to do with himself.

Kind of like how I was with Soul Catching.

But if it was time for me to make a new start, then it was definitely time for him too.

We locked eyes, and I knew if I didn’t say something quick, something positive, upbeat, and encouraging—something that would give him the final push that he needed—well then I’d lose him completely.

And while I had no idea what I might say, I decided to trust that the right words would find me—just like they often did when I was in the middle of a Soul Catch.

But this was no Soul Catch—or at least not officially anyway. Once again, I’d barged in where I didn’t belong. I’d taken on a case without the Council’s consent.

Which means the second I opened my mouth, the only sound that came out was a horrible croak.

A horrible croak that was soon followed by a high-pitched gasp when Balthazar stepped out of the shadows and made for the stage.

He strode toward me, dressed in the exact same uniform he’d worn earlier—the buttons on his shiny blue shirt still threatening to pop, his knee-high boots tapping hard against the floor, and I couldn’t help but wonder just how long I’d been there. Had Dreamland officially opened for business again—or had Balthazar sensed some sort of trouble and come straight from his bed?

He looked at me, his gaze holding more warmth than I would’ve expected when he said, “The boy is not ready. These things cannot be forced.”

That’s what you think.

I turned toward Satchel, eager to prove Balthazar wrong, but all I found was an empty space where Satchel once stood. And no matter how long I stared, it only confirmed what I already knew—Satchel was gone.