Выбрать главу

 A few more visits to the Studio were important, until he had a clear idea of what he was going to write a review about. Two days later, Ethan came to the brothers Dream. It was the morning of Second of August. Looks like seven o'clock. The journalist said something in a sad voice.

His face was sweaty and his eyes glittered with a strange luster. In appearance it was possible to understand that the man hastily dressed, hurried with all his might; his desire was moderate; in order to learn something new, he began to communicate politely with not slept Carlos, the young brother.

 - I have to wake at least Alex now; he knows how to work the program.

 - Nicely. I can't wait... - Ethan entered into the room.

 - Would you like cup of tea with strawberry cream?

 - Thanks very much.

 - You can wash your hands in the kitchen.

 - Thank You... - Ethan redressed, and was coming to the next chamber, washed his hands.

 Ten minutes later, Alex, elder brother, explained the details of the sixteenth series, which showed the search for a safe path, which I used.

 - Look at monitor, say me, how good we solved this problem.

 - That is, from this place the next video track begins?

 - Yes, it is.

 An picture appeared on the projector screen, and Andy Dream pressed the start button, adjusting the color, brightness, and scale on the sheet. Started to move the characters, but the sound two more times had to decrease and increase, focusing on sound echoes.

 "- If you truly love your friend, you must do a feat. Which one, you can decide for yourself.

 - What happens if I don't do anything?

  - You stay that. What was before... But one question remains. How can I win this battle?

 - You have everything to improve your life. I wish you good luck".

(Cheshire cat disappeared).

 The middle brother turned on the screen, marked the area on the drawing field, and all present saw a new story.

 - Andy, you really look like a cartoonist.

 - Question now is a new: how can this passage be put between two parts?

 - It's very easy to do. Just divide one fragment belonging to the eighteenth series, insert the one that just created, and connect with all.

- Thank you.

- Who goes to the supermarket and buys me waffle ice cream?

- I will go... - added that sentence, Patrick Earrle gone from the cinema-studio.

The twenty-first time was successful. The project ended. Patrick returned, holding the fourth packets, in which were plastic glasses with different ice cream.

Ethan Noise appreciated the sequence, wrote something in a notebook, said goodbye to friends. The journalist published an article and provided electronic drafts to his boss. The bet, previously made, was now won.

Thirteenth chapter.

Yesterday, the head of faculty of our group, Jane Worth, sent out an alert to all of us on smart phones, in the form of an e-mail message "by five o'clock in the evening of tomorrow come to the hall of celebrations".

We were on vacation, waiting for my prom. Patrick went to work. In the end of work day, we came to the appointed place and found a lot of people: teachers, students from schools and universities and, of course, students of Oxford College. After six dance numbers we went to the Dorm room where Oksana Kent cleaned the things and prepared tea for a supper. To above ten o'clock, it was dark outside, we walked to the ninth room of student hostel, for sleep. Patrick went away.

I felt cold  in the midnight. Someone opened the window? I tried to wake up. No, the window is closed, so is the door. I got out of bed and went into the corridor. It was quiet. Nobody, nothing, everything is closed. Am I dreaming? I guess not. Where's the cold coming from? I don't know.

Suddenly, I saw the doors first, second, third, fourth, as if from the room out, there's another one, one at a time in different parts of the room like some kind of dream. This is weird. And here - eighter a ghost, or a red spot. The traces. I pushed the flowerpot aside, saw the man, he was hurt. I thought about what to do, but nothing came up. How did he come? Where is this place? How am I going back? "Patrick! Come here!"

I shouted, hoping for help, but my friend was far away. Wait, could I pick up all his things, as if for guidance, to learn more about its origin? I took everything, I could started reading.

Some interesting font, written with a strikethrough, as if writing this, wanted to convince other people that everything is done, or words - not true. He reported his thoughts, claimed how good he was, but he was not understood. The logic is the same as that of the Hatter, but it is not the Hatter, but someone else whom I have not seen before, but he was then somewhere in the place, where I was.

"Well, if it's that bad, I'll go back, maybe find my friends, and call them for help... - I thought. I still find it difficult to return to the serene state that happened yesterday.

I went further. There's a door. The padlock. The key? Where does that door lead? What key? The searching the key was a waste of time. Although, if everything was fine, I wouldn't be standing here. There was nothing in the dead man's suit but a notebook, a collection of pens, handkerchiefs, two lenses, and some paper clips. By all indications, he was a researcher or a student, but I didn't know, who he was, because he didn't have any papers. The questions were almost the same as I had asked myself that time. I remember: Patrick met me after my first visit to the Astral.

- Sit here. I will come soon!

But the man didn't move; or alive, or dead, or really, or a ghost, or maybe just a vision, a dream. Strange place. Wait, could I take all of his stuff, like, for an introduction, to learn more about his background?

I thought that before you do something, you have to ask your friends or those who know how to do something. However, when I entered these rooms, I had no such thought, and I did not understand what it is and where it is. Some corridors, flower pots, a man without movement, but there was no explanation in sight. I realized that I was in a terrible dream, where I was standing alone in a room with a closed door, and go back to my friends, to leave this stranger. I don't care that he is a scientist with higher education, who made experiments with social psychology, and now sitting here, showing no signs of life. If there maybe was a way out, I had happy to get out of here. Now I'm alone, in a cold place, looking out the window, covered with fog, move the diary on the windowsill, and think about salvation. I don't care about that man, I just need to get out of the room.

- Hi! Who are you? - I turned around.

- Not afraid. My name is Marcus Fight. I left my girlfriend.

- What are you doing here?

- I'm sleeping.

- Is this a place to sleep?

- I'm sorry, but I was a good man, and when I was killed, I went through that door. Could you have opened it?