The Catcher's Dreams (FEATURED)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX - (.... --- -- .)

He knocked at Cassandra's door. Several times.

"Cassie?" he asked.

There was a shuffle of wood, something clicking the doorknob accidentally, and then a stop.

"Cassie!" He started banging on the door.

"I'm sorry, but I cannot let you in," Cassandra said from within, whisper tilting and streaming through the cracks of the door.

"Why not?" Drake asked. Back to the door, he now placed both feet in front of him and slowly inched himself down until he was seated. Yet Cassandra still hadn't replied.

"Thank you for helping me with my crying," she said. "I would simply prefer privacy at the moment."

"Please, Cassie." His finger was still throbbing. He looked down and cringed. Was it swelling? Swelling wasn't good. "I really need someone to talk to."

"Talk to the food-bringers, then," Cassandra said.

Five minutes later, Drake was sitting at the dining table with an ice bag and a scowl.

#

What were you thinking?

"W...what?" Drake asked. There was a flurry of eyelids and he found himself inside his box. He whipped his head around. There, the woman – his mother, his mind told him – floated serenely. His mother. Mama. That's what he'd called her. But the more he looked at her and the meaningless jewels inlaid under her eyes with those over-large pupils, the less he knew her. Not his mother, he reminded himself – a hologram of his mother.

You can't do that! What you did to your glow!

"My glow..." Drake muttered, peering down at his index finger, which was an unlucky smudge of uncertainty in the dream. "Oh."

Where did you get that...chunk of rock anyway?

Drake paused. "Rock? A friend gave it to me. Some...some people see things similar to glows, too, y'know, and they call them shines –"

There was a noise like a sigh. I knew it. Knew they'd get their hands on the wreckage somehow, and there'd be consequences, but no, they wouldn't listen...well now it's too late...

"What?" Drake asked. She seemed to have started talking to herself, but at his voice she stopped and her voice rose once more.

We'd have to wait more if you start getting rid of the energy you've conserved!

She was taunting, screaming, but her lips barely moved. Her hair and dress rippled, floating, and she gave a gentle fluttering of glimmered eyelashes. However, her image shimmered slightly at times. Losing connection? "Energy?" Drake repeated.

Don't touch that rock again, she cautioned. Not if you want to come here tomorrow.

"Tomorrow? Come here?" he repeated. "I...I don't even know where here is."

He looked up. Four blinding whitenesses were chasing each other into the sky. "Oh, my God," he said. There was a flurry of glows. The Vortical Fields, the dust-lands, the seas, and the habitations. "Oh, my God," he repeated. "It's –"

The cube started dancing on its own accord, bleeding colors together. Drake sat bolt upright with cold sweat beading on his forehead. It was dawn. He reached blind hands over to his desk and fumbled for his journal, looking at his third sleep-doodle. Meaningless shapes showed themselves to be a silhouette of the arches, the arches where children played, slipping under and appearing feet away. "Home," he muttered. "Oh, my God, it's home."