That night I had a very vivid dream. Once again I felt the feeling of freedom. This time, however, I didn't feel free due to walking on rooftops. I just felt that way. It began with a pain. A pain all over my body, like my skin was ripping off. I felt as though I was going to burst. Then I recalled the fight I'd had with Micky. I guess I wasn't over it yet, because I began to feel anger boiling up inside me. I wasn't that short, I thought, and he had no right to make fun of me for it. I felt the anger build up inside me. I leapt on to Micky's bed and started to hurt him. Since it was a dream, though, something was holding me back. I fought against it, but the invisible force yanked me off of him and carried me out of the room. As I was being carried out, reality hit me, that I'd hurt Micky and I began to feel guilty. I didn't know how bad I'd hurt him, but all he'd done was make fun of me, and it wasn't necessary for me to hurt him. Then I heard voices of Mike and Peter.
'Is it......?' I heard Peter ask.
'I think so,' I heard Mike reply with a sadness in his voice.
'What should we do with him?'
'I don't know. I don't want to hurt him if it really is....' Mike trailed off.
'How 'bout we put him downstairs in the closet. Then we'll be safe,' Peter suggested with a practical tone.
'I suppose it's our best option,' Mike replied with a sigh.
I listened to the words floating at me. They made no sense. I could see them, but it was through a haze. I tried to speak, but nothing came out. Mike and Peter looked at me and then I felt myself being carried down the winding tornado staircase. I tried to speak again, to ask what was going on, but it was useless. I finally realized that I was being put in the closet. I was placed gently on the ground and Mike and Peter hustled out. I heard the door lock behind them and then I felt the skin ripping pain again.
"Augh!"
I woke up, screaming. The pain was horrible. The dream had seemed so real. Then I realized that I wasn't lying in my warm, comfortable bed. I was lying on a dusty, hard floor. I wondered where I was, and if I was still dreaming.
I felt something on my hands. Something cold and wet. I brought them near my face and sniffed them. Blood?!? That was what it smelled like, but.....
Then I remembered the dream, and I was scared. Had it been real? Had I really hurt Micky? What if that was his blood on my hands, and Mike and Peter had locked me in there so I wouldn't hurt them?
My first impulse was to bang on the door and get out of there, but then I stopped. What if I really did hurt Micky? I hadn't been able to stop myself. Suppose I did the same to Mike or Peter?
"How's he doin'?" Mike asked Peter as soon as he returned downstairs.
"He's alright for now, but I wish we had a doctor."
"Yeah, but then we'd have to tell the doctor what happened and they'd never believe it."
"I suppose you're right," Peter sighed. "I don't know how well he'll be without a doctor, though."
"We just have to hope for the best, Pete," Mike said reassuringly. Neither of them spoke of their greatest fear, that he wasn't okay, and that he never would be again. Mike changed the subject. "Can I go see him?"
Peter smiled, but then it faded. "I guess," he said. "He's sleeping, but if he wakes up tell him not to talk. I don't know if his voice was effected."
Mike nodded and went upstairs.
The normally cheerful bedroom was dimly lit and the rain pouring down outside now gave it a dull, depressed fell.
Mike sat down next to the bed. There was blood all over the sheets and the blankets. He looked down at Micky and the blood. He took Micky's hand and turned away, not wanting to think about Micky's predicament. He looked out the window, and sighed.
The hand he was holding began to move. Very slightly, not noticeable at first, but it did.
Mike turned around. Micky was opening his eyes. Relief washed through Mike. At least he was alive.
"Shh," he whispered to Micky. "Don't talk," he said, remembering Peter's instructions.
"How ya doin', buddy," he asked. Micky shook his head and pointed at his throat. Mike nodded and looked at the floor, thinking of something to say.
"W-what ha-happened, M-mike?" he asked, surprised at the pain which assaulted him with every syllable.
"You're not supposed to talk, Mick," Mike reminded Micky, but he shook his head stubbornly.
"Wh-what ha-happened?" he repeated, despite the pain. He had to know.
Mike sighed. "It's a long story," he said. He wasn't in the mood to explain it to Micky.
"I-it w-was th-the m-mountain l-lion w-wasn't i-it," Micky asked. The pain was getting worse, but he hid the anguish on his face.
Mike looked at him in surprise. "Yeah, it was, Micky. You're lucky to be alive."
Micky nodded. "W-what h-happened t-to th-the m-mountain l-lion? W-was i-it h-human?" he asked, wondering why he was in such pain.
"Don't worry about it Mick, okay?" Mike said. "Just get better first. Then you can worry." He left the room to get some soup for his ailing friend.
Back to part seventeen because you've forgotten what's happening in this story
On to part nineteen and find out what happens!
