~             Chapter Seven

               "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon." Marty bounced. "Can you get me out of here or not?"

               "Maybe, just a second." Lolly's green face was scrunched up in concentration.

               Marty tapped the arm of the couch. Over and over and over again. It wasn't going to be too long before some one decided to come and find them. This place was like . . . a work camp, run by beautiful golden angels. Whom were always polite. And infuriating.

               "Yeah, notta problem! The tie between you and this Steve is very strong. I haven't seen such energy lines. And he wants you home real, real bad."

               "Really?"

               "He's dreaming of you."

               "Aww, shucks." Marty's smile threatened to split him open and spill him out over the golden tile. (Can we say interior designer, boys and girls?).

               "I think the easy way to do this is to send you into his dreams. When you get there you can step out into the real world."

               "Stop talking and send me already." Heady was so not going to be pleased. Oh, yeah! He was so ready to get the hell out of this Popsicle stand. Of course, this Popsicle stand was run by heaven, but. . . Anyway, he was going home. Oh yeah.

               And he didn't want to start thinking about the fact that Steve had become his home. A geeky klingon-speaking, chess-playing home. That looked freaking hot in a wetsuit.

               "Okay, brace yourself."

               "What?" Marty turned his head to face Lolly, but it was too late, the world was fading away. . .

               Ugh. Yuck. Let's put that at the top of his "10 things to NEVER EVER do again list". Marty wasn't quite sure that all of him was here. Like maybe he was missing a spleen. Okay, where the hell was here? Right, Steve's dream. He could do this. All he had to do now was step out into the real world, and wake Steve up with his triumphant return.

               But. . .

               Lolly said Steve was dreaming of him. So it wouldn't really hurt to hang around here and see exactly what Steve was dreaming about. Right?

               It was a hospital. Which was cool. There were no swanky nurses though. What kinda teenage boy     dreams of a hospital without super sexy hot nurses? Steve, of course. Why was Marty not surprised?

               He paced around a little bit. Where on earth was that boy?

               Rm 111 . . . He hadn't been there before. But the letters seemed so strong, bright and bold and substantial in this world where nothing quite seemed real.

               He opened the door. And it seemed like he had been terribly, terribly wrong.      

               Because he obviously had been here. He or rather his dream self lay on the bed, hooked up to machines that looked so monstrous, that Marty knew it had to be a dream exaggeration.

               Steve sat in the corner, hands over his eyes. . . Because he never could stand to cry in front of his best friend. Not even when they were five and Marty had stomped on Stevie's pet worm, Nibbles.

               Something smelled horribly rank. Like the hospital smell, and stale vomit and worse. And dream-Marty twitched and writhed on the bed. Sweat poured off his forehead.

               And Steve cried. . . Loud and breathless, like he'd never stop. And his sobs had words to them. "I give up, dare me. Please, please, dare me. . ."

               You always dare me.  And I always do it.  So this time I dare you....to eat......The Burger.

               All right!  I will! . . . It's not like it's gonna kill me.

               "Steve. . ." Eyes looked up at him. And there was that depthful, deep ocean look. Endless blue. Marty felt his soul shattering. No, no, no.

               "You're not supposed to be here. That doesn't happen yet. You die first."

               "Man," Marty tried to get the words past his throat. "Steven."

               On the bed, dream-Marty gasped, a shuddering gasp. Alarms wailed, pierced everything and everyone. A white coated figure ran into the room at full speed, looking like something seen out of the corner of an eye.

               In perfect clarity, lying on the bed, Marty stopped breathing.