Okiedokie then. Sorry I took so long to update; life's been hectic with classes and tests and final exams and stuff. And I apologize that this chapter is rather short, and upsetting, and doesn't add a heck of a lot to the plot, but I think it was necessary. So without further ado, here 'tis, and please enjoy!

Disclaimer: I'm merely pushing things around in Diane Duane's Young Wizards universe. I swear, Ms. Duane, I'll clean it up when I'm done!

Chapter 8: Dream

Tom was dreaming. Had to be dreaming.

That alone wouldn't have bothered him so much. He liked to dream. Dreams let his imagination run wild, let him bend Physics to his will and fly effortlessly through the air, or dive thousands of feet below the surface of the sea without pressure or lack of oxygen being an issue. He could run forever, or have creatures chase him, or mess with biology to such an extent that the organisms in his dreams should by rights have never been able to exist, but in the world of his subconscious, centaurs and shape shifters and adorable kitten-like vampires that fed only on affection directed their way freely roamed. Yes, he liked his dreams.

This was not his dream.

He felt like a voyeur. Dreams were supposed to be private. I shouldn't be here, I need to leave...it all felt so very wrong. Like he had been squeezed through a tube and injected into someone's mind and body, and it rubbed and itched because it didn't fit properly. But his damned curiosity kept him there, lurking guiltily in the shadows.

This dream contained a wasteland. It was barren save for a few scraggly patches of dry, dead grass and some stunted trees scattered here and there. What little water there was smelled foul, metallic, and undrinkable. In the far distance there was a flickering orange light. A fire? Who would be making a fire?

Forgetting for a moment that he was caught in a dream, Tom began to walk toward the flame. It shouldn't have been too far away, but after a long run, he didn't seem to be getting much closer.

Probably just part of the nature of the dream, he thought, stopping and taking a look around. He'd somehow missed the fact that he had run into the midst of a rather generic small town.

There was a noise in the distance. Tom frowned. More faint noise drifted to his ears. Wild, joyful laughter; an awful, high screeching sound; the crackling of flames. And closer, much closer, a boy crying.

He moved towards the sound of the last one. Tom had always had a soft spot for kids, and since it was the closest thing in the dream, it was the obvious choice to make. As he neared the source of the sound he began to make out words between the heartrending sobs: "I have to, I have to go, but I can't...I can't...help me, talk to me, I don't know how, please! I can't do it alone, someone help, please..."

The boy was small and pale with black hair. He rocked back and forth as if his world had just ended. Tom's heart went out to him; he looked about eleven or twelve. "Hey, kid, I'm here. Dai stihó. What's wrong?" The boy turned around quickly and stared wildly at Tom, who gasped in surprise. He'd recognize those blue, blue eyes anywhere. "Josh?" he asked incredulously.

"Who's there, who is it? I don't know your voice! Please help me, I have to go help but I can't see, something terrible's happening and I don't know how to get there..."

"Josh, it's me, Tom. What do you mean you can't see...I met you a week ago, your eyes were fine." But Tom saw that while the raven-haired boy was looking in his direction, he wasn't actually looking at him. Those bright blue eyes, made even brighter by helpless tears, were unfocused and unseeing.

"Tom...Tom? I don't know a Tom. How do you know my name?"

Tom was more confused than ever, and beginning to grow angry in his frustration. "I'm Tom Swale. I met you, Joshua Grogan, at the park seven days ago. We threw sticks for your dog Tilly to chase and talked about books and your brother. Don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about!"

"I don't," Josh said in the Speech, and Tom knew it to be true. He looked terrified and desperate. "I'm just supposed to go somewhere and help. But I don't know where, and I don't know what to do. Tom," he muttered experimentally, as if tasting the name. "Tom Swale...wait. I don't know you. But can you help me? I have a feeling that we might know each other sometime later, or you might know part of me, or something. I think I'm supposed to go with you. I think you're supposed to take me there."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Josh," Tom said, shaking his head and getting more than a little frightened. This entire situation was decidedly creepy.

"Please, you have to help me," the younger teen implored, groping with his hand towards Tom. There was a giant, deep, angry cut across the wrist.

"Josh! What happened to your wrist?" Tom yelped, taking it his hand and looking for something with which to bind it. Then he took a closer look at the wound. It should have been bleeding. By rights the boy should have been bleeding to death; the flesh had been severed down to the tendon.

"I...I don't remember..." Josh said, sitting still and wincing at the contact. "It hurts, but...but I need to go somewhere..." He faltered and bit at his bottom lip. A look of fear crossed his face, then abruptly vanished. "I can't remember anything," Josh intoned in a strangely calm, monotone voice. It was more terrifying than his panic. The statement held no emotion whatsoever.

Tom felt an icy fist of fear clench in the pit of his stomach. The memory from a week ago flashed unbidden in his mind.

'I wrote a note and tried to kill myself.'

'I almost managed it, too. But there was s-so much blood...'

He shook his head and shivered from the sudden chill that had raced up his spine. "I can't help you right now, Josh," Tom told him. "I don't know what to do. But I'll try..."

Suddenly he felt himself being wrenched from the dream with Joshua's desperate, broken, terror-filled cry ringing in his ears: "No! Don't leave me alone!"

Tom awoke drenched in a cold sweat, his fingernails digging mercilessly into his palms. He didn't know what had just occurred, but he knew he had to figure out how to help his new friend as soon as he could.

For he knew instinctively that what had just transpired was not just a dream.

Thank you to everyone for your reviews to this story! It really means a lot to me that you took the time out to leave feedback, and I'm overwhelmed by the positive response this thing received. And to one anonymous, extremely kind reader: I do so enjoy reading your words of praise, but alas, I don't think review bombing me would be the way to get me to update more quickly. My muse works on her own schedule, and I really have no clue how to predict when she'll swoop down and make me start chipping away at this monstrosity of a story. Trust her to make me write a novel-length piece as my very first contribution to FanFiction...