“So you’re involved in my death? Deaths?”
“I’m not doing it on purpose. In fact, most of the time, I’m trying to save you and failing.” His eyes are haunted, gleaming in the firelight. “I can never see it coming, either.”
“So you’ve watched me die…?”
“Over and over again. Either directly or in the memories of the other Finns.” His eyes are full of pain, so much that I have to look away.
“Why me?” I ask Mario. “What does the universe have against me?”
“We’re not sure,” Mario answers. “But it’s happened too many times to be a coincidence. And since Finn is indirectly involved, I thought I’d reach out to Rudy and we could all work together on this.”
Rudy nods. “When Mario approached me, we agreed to work together to figure out who was causing this kind of widespread targeting of one individual. It happens every so often,” he explains. “A Traveler goes rogue, gets some idea in his or her head about challenging the order of things, seeking vengeance on somebody across realities. It’s not unheard of to involve another Dreamer if you need to cast a larger web to track them down.”
“We’ve never seen it quite to this level before, though,” Mario says, and the concern is clear on his face. “Someone wants you gone, Jessa. All of you.”
“I’m a nice person,” I say. “I haven’t done anything to piss anyone off—that I know of.”
“Whoever is doing this is acting of their own accord,” Rudy says.
“Can’t you … ask around or something?” I ask. “If it’s a Traveler, they have a Dreamer. I mean, the Dreamer had to have sent them, right?”
“That’s not how it works,” Finn says. “The Dreamers give us direction about where to travel and what to do when we get there, but we’re not dependent on them for the ability to cross into other realities. We can do it anytime we want to.”
“Really?” I look at Mario. “I could have been jumping into other realities on my own?”
“If you knew how,” he says. “You’re born with the ability, but we don’t let you in on the secret until we feel that you’re ready to accept the responsibility that comes with it.”
“And sadly, it appears our faith has been misplaced,” Rudy says. “This Traveler has their own agenda.”
“You may not have done anything,” says Finn. “Not in your own reality.”
“Great.” I fold my arms over myself. “So you’re telling me that ‘alternate me’ royally hacked somebody off and now I’m marked for death?”
“That’s how it looks,” Finn says. “So I’m going to watch your back, and Mario and Rudy are going to watch everything else. Whoever it is, they’ll have to tip their hand sooner or later.”
“Well then,” I say, standing up and dusting off my hands and behind. “Guess I’d better get back. How do I wake up?”
Finn looks at me funny. “You’re taking this awfully well.”
Mario gives me an all-too-knowing smile. “She thinks she’s dreaming. She doesn’t believe a word of what we’ve said.”
“You told me I was dreaming,” I point out.
“And so you are,” Rudy says. “That doesn’t mean we’re not telling the truth.”
“It’s easy enough to prove,” Mario says. “You’ve met Finn already in person.”
“I met a cute guy and now I’m dreaming about him.” I shrug. “What’s so weird about that?
“You think I’m cute?” Finn looks surprised and pleased. Mario just rolls his eyes.
“I think you’re all figments of my overactive imagination,” I conclude. “But that’s okay. I’ll wake up and write it all in my dream journal and maybe I can use it in a story sometime.”
“You do that,” Finn suggests. “But before you go, why don’t you give me your phone number?”
My eyes narrow. “You’ve already tried to get it, remember? I don’t pass my number out to strangers.”
“I’m not a stranger,” Finn says. “And besides, it’s only a dream.”
“That’s what she said,” Mario agrees. “Nothing but a dream. Right, Jessa?”
I look at the two of them warily. “That’s right.”
Finn reaches over and picks up my pen, opens my notebook, and looks at me expectantly. I dictate the numbers, and he copies them down before closing the notebook and tucking it under his arm.
I get out of my seat and Mario gestures to the red door.
“Just open it and step through,” he tells me. “You’ll be back in your reality.”
“All right,” I sigh as I walk over. I grasp the knob and twist, pulling the door open. “It’s time to wake—”
The next word is on my lips as I roll over in bed. My room is dark and the clock at my bedside reads 2:48 a.m. It takes me a moment to get my bearings.
And then my phone rings.
8
The Decision