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Maxwell is either playing solitaire or randomly moving playing cards around the table. His movements are sluggish, his expression that of bored despair.
Is he suffering despite having blocked out the painful memories? Pom mentally asks. I think that’s what happened to Lidia.
This is just one dream, I reply. Besides, this could just be the way life was before internet was invented.
Despite my words, I suspect that Pom is right. This Maxwell seems like a broken man—and it’s not unreasonable to think that his past is the cause.
Remembering my original goal, I look at the dusty shades blocking the two windows.
Hard to say if the glass behind the shades is black.
Moving softly to avoid detection, I walk over to one of the shades and lift it up. The city outside is dirty and dark, the building across covered in worn-out graffiti and rust streaks.
I walk over to the second window.
Not surprisingly, underneath this shade is black glass.
Suddenly, I become visible, and a voice booms through the room as though from a giant speaker. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
Okay. It’s official. He’s as touchy about this as Mom.
I feel myself jerked away from the black window and dragged five feet in my father’s direction.
Pom’s feet dig into my shoulder. He might be about to bolt.
“Maxwell, this is Bailey,” I say soothingly. “We decided to have a talk in the dream world. Remember?”
He thrusts his hand at the black window, and metal blinds with spikes appear there, hiding it from view. “I don’t remember giving you permission to sneak around.”
I gesture at the metal blinds, and they melt into a puddle on the floor. “That black window is what I came to talk to you about.”
“No!” He makes a sweeping gesture, and all the objects in the room fly at me.
Pom’s feet are no longer on my shoulder.
As I suspected, he’s found this too scary.
I try not to tense up as I increase the gravity in the room, causing all the projectiles to drop before reaching me.
Immediately, they rise up off the floor. I put them down again and round on Maxwell. “Stop fighting me! It’s time for you to remember what you forgot.”
His nostrils flare as he gestures at me, and I feel myself getting wrenched from the dream world.
Though I’ve never countered such an attack, I have forced myself to stay in the dream world through sheer willpower, and I do so now.
With a growl, he tries to jolt himself awake. I can feel him doing it.
Puck.
Remembering that the Nutcracker—Rattie—was able to prevent me from jolting, I do my best to guess how he did it. Maxwell’s breathing grows louder, and he begins to sweat as I strain my powers, keeping him in the dream world with everything I’ve got.
Panting, he loosens his collar. “I don’t want to harm you.”
I grit my teeth. “More like you can’t. Let’s just go into that window. You’ll see that I—”
He flexes and unflexes his fingers, and I get drenched with something like liquid nitrogen. The frostbite that covers my body feels like a burn—though that could in part be because I’m sizzling with anger.
Maxwell looms over me. “The only way I’m going into that window is if—”
I exit my body, but instead of healing, I create two duplicates of myself right behind Maxwell and jump into their bodies.
By the time his eyes widen, we already have him in our grasp.
He tries jolting awake again, but it’s too late.
We all smash into the black glass.
Chapter Twelve
As usual, I plunge into icy black water.
There’s only one of me here; the other remains in the room we were just in. Since I don’t need to be in that room, I dispel that me and focus on my surroundings. Just like when I did this with Valerian, there’s a rope attaching me to a rickety boat.
Inside is Maxwell.
If I make it to the shore, he’s going to recall whatever this black window is blocking.
With no shore in sight, I swim.
After what feels like two days, my every muscle screams in pain, and the irritation from the rope burns is about to drive me mad.
Ignoring it all, I keep swimming. I remind myself this isn’t real. This is just a trial of my strength, a way to make sure only the worthy can give my father his memory back.
Well, I’m worthy. If I was able to give back the memories of Soma to Valerian, I should be able to do this too.
Soon, swimming becomes a type of water-based yoga, my breath and movements synchronized perfectly and my mind purely in present moment.
This helps for a few hours, but then thoughts of quitting return. To battle them, I glance back at Maxwell’s face and fantasize about how it’ll look when he learns the truth.
This keeps me going for what feels like another day.
