“I’m sorry, Angel, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. Your unit is old, and it’s a long way down the hall to the exit. I’d rather not risk it.”
Andrew looked Angel’s unit up and down. Although it was run-down, it seemed to be in adequate working condition.
“I’ll watch out for her, Doctor,” he said. “We’ll just take a look outside, and then come right back.”
Dr. Hawthorne sighed and placed his cup on the desk. “Very well. But for the record, this makes me slightly nervous.”
“We’ll be okay,” Angel said. “Won’t we, Andrew?”
“Yes, of course we will.”
The door at the far end of Angel’s room opened into a wide, gray hallway. Pipes ran along the ceiling, and the temperature gauge on Andrew’s unit read six degrees Celsius.
Angel gave an excited trill and zoomed toward a set of double doors at the far end of the hall, over two hundred meters away. One of her treads hit a bump on the floor, and her unit thumped up and down. A spark zipped out from between her gears.
“Angel, slow down,” Andrew called out. “There’s something wrong with your unit.”
“It’s fine, Andrew. The door isn’t much farther.” Another splash of sparks exploded from beneath her.
Andrew looked around frantically. “Where’s Doctor Hawthorne?”
“Oh, who cares?” Angel said. “He probably doesn’t want to get wet.” She was still ahead of him, but he was gaining on her.
“Angel, I can smell something. Will you stop for a second?” His olfactory sensors were going haywire, and his vision was getting hazy. Was that smoke? His sensor readings indicated that high amounts of petroleum gas were concentrated in the air just ahead.
“Wait!” Andrew cried.
But Angel didn’t stop. As she raced ahead, she turned her head to look back at Andrew, her eyes glowing with excitement. “I’m almost there!”
Before Andrew could reply, her unit kicked out another spark—and an eruption of smoke, ash, and fire exploded through the hallway, washing over Andrew and dancing up the walls and ceiling. Temperature warnings screamed out, both in his unit and in the hallway. The fire blazed brightly, and Angel’s unit was consumed.
As Andrew looked on helplessly, a buzzing alarm sounded, and the ventilation system kicked in. It sucked the oxygen out of the hallway, depriving the fire of its fuel source, extinguishing the flames, and clearing away the smoke and ash.
Andrew didn’t want to look, but he did.
Angel’s unit stood upright in the middle of the scorched section of hall. Her metal body had popped open from the heat, and the wires inside were sparking. Her head casing was warped, her eye sockets dark and lifeless.
The last of the fire lingered on in the heart of her for a while longer, and then even that was gone.
Andrew wheeled toward the charred unit.
What had happened? Why had he smelled petroleum just before the accident? Where was the doctor?
He wheeled backward, then forward again.
“Doctor Hawthorne?” he said aloud. “We are in desperate need of assistance.”
Andrew trudged over loose stones and gravel, keeping to the edge of the cliff. He wore clothes now, and didn’t remember when that had changed. He walked with the ocean to his left, and every so often he gave testing glances at the surging water below. It was a long way down, and he didn’t know what the death protocol was for the Dreamscape program. The manual said nothing about it.
Andrew kept walking. Dark clouds hung in the sky. In fact, they appeared to be gathering over the water, and they blocked out much of the sunlight. As the wind picked up, Andrew was glad for his woollen shirt and long pants. He felt less connected to the land that way, more secure.
The cabin came into view. Andrew thought about going around it, forgetting about it altogether. But soon he found himself standing at the door. He realized he was tired, and thought about the couches and blankets inside. These things called to his weary bones, offering him their warm embrace, their shelter from the approaching storm.
He didn’t have Angel, or Danny, but at least he would have comfort, and solitude.
Andrew opened the door and stepped inside.
Angel was lying on the bed. And so was someone else. A man.
They were both naked, and they were—
“Andrew!” Angel gasped. “What are you doing here?” She pushed the man off of her and reached for a blanket.
Andrew glared at the man—who ducked underneath the blankets—then he turned his attention to Angel.
“Angel…” Andrew stuttered. “You died. I came here to be alone.”
“I died?” Angel frowned. “What are you talking about? Of course I didn’t die. I’m right here.”
Andrew stepped into the room. The door closed with a creak behind him. “Yes, you did. Earlier today. We were going outside, and your unit malfunctioned, and…”
Angel was laughing now. “No, no. I’ve been here all day, silly. And I made a new friend.” She fussed with the blankets, poking her head underneath. “Come on out from under those sheets.”
The man sat up in the bed and looked at Andrew. He had a polite, non-confrontational look on his face, as if he was doing nothing wrong. He was an older man, maybe twenty or twenty-five years older than Angel or himself.
“Hello, Andrew,” the man said. “Sorry to interrupt your alone time, but we didn’t think anyone would be here.”
“Who are you, exactly?” Andrew asked.
The man’s features. They look so familiar.
Angel slapped at a loose pillow on the bed. “Oh, Andrew. Don’t be a bother. Be nice to him. He’s very friendly.”
The man got up from the bed and tied a sheet around his waist, but not before revealing his fit, toned body. Andrew shuddered at his nakedness.
“Where are my manners?” the man said, extending a hand. “My name is Daniel Horton. I’ve known Angel for quite a long time. She’s a lovely girl, isn’t she?”
“You’re not Daniel,” Andrew said.
The man frowned and lowered his hand, which Andrew hadn’t taken.
“Well of course I am,” he said.
Andrew shook his head. “No. You’re Doctor Hawthorne. You even look like him. I know it’s you.”
“Don’t be preposterous. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Andrew crossed to the center of the room, feeling anger rising inside him. “Then what are you doing here? Where did you come from?” To Angel, he said: “Why did you let him in? And why did you let him… do that to you?”
“Andrew, what’s the matter? We did stuff like that. And it was fun, wasn’t it? Danny’s a friend—it’s okay.”
“Don’t call him that, Angel. That’s not his name.”
The man—Danny, Dr. Hawthorne—put a hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “Come now, let’s resolve this—“
Andrew swung his arm before he knew what he was doing. He grabbed the man by his shoulders and shoved him hard against the log wall. “Tell me, Doctor. How long have you been coming into the Dreamscape? What else have you been doing in here?”
Angel got up from the bed, pleading with him. “Andrew, please don’t. Be reasonable. Let him go.”
The man chuckled. “Listen to her, Andrew. Be reasonable. None of this is your fault.”
Andrew slapped his hand against the wall beside the man’s head. “I know this isn’t my fault. It’s all on you.”
The man leaned close, squinting his eyes. “No,” he said. “I mean it’s not your fault you couldn’t give her what she wanted. Your little… deficiency down there is a rather unfortunate glitch.”