Dreamland (Riley Bloom 3)

Mort looked me over, his two bushy brows merging together until they looked like an overfed caterpillar had collapsed on his forehead.

“Do you think you could help? Or maybe even show me where it is? I mean, I know you’re busy and all, and I’m willing to wait. I was just hoping that maybe—”

But before I could finish, another stall was vacated and a loud voice called, “Next!”

Mort’s hands grew antsy, curling and uncurling by his sides, clearly eager to get inside the cubicle, observe his old life.

And knowing I had only a handful of seconds before I lost him completely, I said, “I-just-thought-you-could-maybe-point-me-in-the-right-direction?” The words coming so quickly, they all blurred as one.

He wavered, glancing between the cubicle and me. And just when I was sure that I’d lost him, that he’d decided against me, he sighed, waved in the person behind him, and said, “Guess you got an important message to share, eh?”

I nodded. Even though I had no idea what that message might be, I knew that if I wanted his help, if I wanted to get to the place where the dreams go to happen, it was better to keep that fact to myself.

He screwed his mouth to the side, causing his cheek to stretch and the wrinkles to flatten and fade. Returning to normal again when his lips dropped back into place, and he said, “I’ve got a granddaughter your age—name’s Daisy. What’re you—ten?”

I groaned. Like, seriously groaned. I didn’t even try to stifle it. He’d insulted me in the very worst way.

But Mort just laughed. Laughed for so long I was more than ready to cut my losses and strike out on my own, when he finally sobered up enough to say, “You sure you want to do this?”

I thought about my sister and how much I missed her.

I thought about seeing Bodhi with Jasmine and the way it made me feel.

And when my eyes met Mort’s, well that’s when I knew that Bodhi had lied. The place where all the dreams happen wasn’t forbidden—Bodhi was just doing his best to kill all my fun.

“Yeah, I’d really like to visit,” I said, my voice deep and serious. “Will you help me find it?”

Mort glanced around the Viewing Room, rubbed his chin with a surprisingly well-manicured hand, then a moment later, he headed for the door. Holding it open and motioning for me to go through as he said, “After you, then.”

7

As it turned out, Mort wasn’t nearly as charmed with the concept of flying as Buttercup and I were.

Mort was old-school.

Other than the occasional trip to the Viewing Room and the area where the dreams all take place, it seemed he worked pretty hard to keep to a life that was very similar to the one he’d lived back on the earth plane. And since he was the only one I knew who could help me to get there, I had no choice but to do it his way. Which pretty much meant that we hitched a ride on the train.

We settled onto our seats, Buttercup and me on one side, Mort on the other, and we’d only gone a bit down the tracks when he started telling me all about Daisy, his granddaughter.

I nodded. Smiled. Listened as

intently as I could, making sure to laugh in all the right places. And even though she sounded really nice and sweet, like someone I might like to know if it wasn’t too late—if I wasn’t already dead—I still have to say that, for the record, she didn’t sound the slightest bit like me.

For starters, the music she liked, well, it was kind of embarrassing.

And don’t even get me started on her favorite TV shows and movies.

Still, it was clear that Mort missed her. And because of it, because I was somewhat close to her age, he was determined to find a connection that, to be honest, just wasn’t there.

“So, do you ever visit her in her dreams?” I asked, trying to stay somewhat on topic, while steering it in a direction that was much closer to my own interests.

He nodded, mumbling, “All the time,” as he gazed out the window. Eyes narrowing as though he could actually make out the scenery, even though whenever I looked all I could get was a fuzzy, gray blur. “Kids are very receptive to that sort of thing,” he said. “And Daisy’s no different. When she was younger, just a baby, I used to skip the dreams altogether and pop in for a visit instead. I used to sing to her, read her stories in her crib—we had ourselves a great time.” He laughed, gaze far away as though viewing it again in his head. “And then later, when she could talk, she used to tell her mom—my daughter Delilah—she used to tell her that Grampy had just stopped by. That’s what she called me, Grampy. Though of course her mom didn’t believe her. Adults never do.” He shook his head. “They’re too skeptical. Too close-minded. Think they’ve got it all figured out—that they know all there is. Heck, I was the same way … or at least I was until I found myself Here.” He laughed again and looked away.

“So, you’re allowed to do that? Drop in for an actual visit, I mean?” I frowned, that was certainly news to me. So far my only visits had been for Soul Catching, and a vacation that turned into Soul Catching. I didn’t think we could just drop in whenever we pleased.

But Mort, sensing my growing excitement, was quick to correct me. His expression gone suddenly careful, guarded, he said, “Now don’t go getting any ideas.” He shot me a stern look. “That was all a while ago. Way back before I knew any better. While nothing’s exactly forbidden per se … well, that kind of thing, those earth plane visits, they’re not exactly encouraged either. Besides, all it usually amounts to is a big waste of time. Other than dogs and little kids, most people can’t see us.”

He went on and on, but I was no longer listening. I was still stuck on the part when he said nothing was forbidden.