The Children of Hypnos

Chapter 16: Poisoned

"Bring her here. Keep her head elevated. What happened?"

"I don't know. She was fine, and then she started stumbling and fell over—"

"Em? Can you hear me?"

Emery blinked. She thought she blinked. Whether she did or not, her vision still blurred. The night was dark and rain misted her hair.

"What happened to her finger?"

"She was bitten. There was a thing in a cage—it looked like a bat."

Emery's head hurt. Her stomach hurt. Her arms felt like they'd been stabbed so many times they'd turned to ribbons. The ground flipped and spun like a gyroscope beneath her. Her vision cleared long enough for her to make out warm orbs of light passing her by. One, two, three. Lampposts. Rain fell into her eyes, so she closed them.

"Almost there, Em." The voice vibrated in her chest.

"Grandpa." Her own voice sounded too loud.

She was screaming.

"I'm here. Wesley, get the door. Get the door!"

The noises blurred like her vision. The world became a turbulent sea, and the voices around her became the howling of the wind. If she was still in the Dream, this was the worst nightmare they'd been through yet. Up was down, her nose and throat were packed with cotton, and it was becoming harder and harder to breathe, as if a bag of sand sat on her chest.

The cold sterility of the Fenhallow clinic brought her back to her senses long enough for Emery to register Grandpa Al setting her down on one of the beds, the curtain being drawn around her, and one of the doctors shining a bright light in her eyes. They took her hand. Shoved something in her ear, then down her throat. There was a prick at the inside of her elbow.

Wes's deep voice came from the other side of the curtain. His silhouette, the wave of his hair and the broad stretch of his shoulders, shifted against the white material.

"Wes," Emery croaked.

Grandpa Al's hand was on her shoulder, holding her down. "Wes is fine. Don't move, Em."

Wes had turned and the nurse had grabbed him. He was arguing with her now.

The doctor took Emery's hand.

"This looks like a bite."

"Poisonous." Grandpa Al's hand pressed flat on Emery's forehead. She knew it from the wrinkles, the warmth, the solid weight of the wedding ring he still wore. "Where is Marcia Montgomery? We need her here, she might be able to—"

His words faded.

Emery was horribly aware of slipping away. She had the time and awareness to dig her fingers into reality, but the Dream was dragging her down, down, back into it, away from the waking world. Then she was there, all at once, without any idea where there was.

Standing before her was a man without a face. He approached her. She raised her gun and shot him in the head, and a small perfect round hole appeared, and the man fell and blood pooled around him.

When she started screaming, the man appeared again. Again, she raised her gun and shot him. The hole wasn't there and then it was. The ground trembled when he fell. The blood made a soft rushing as it left his body.

The rushing grew louder and louder. The man appeared again. Emery shot him again. He fell again. She looked at her Peacemaker and it wasn't a dreamform at all, but a real gun, a gun made for killing other people.

She screamed.

The man appeared. She shot him. She screamed.

The man appeared. She shot him. The scream caught in her throat and she choked on it.