Chapter 22

"Something's wrong."

Arthur stood from his crouch and rolled broken blades of grass between his fingers. They felt dry and thin despite their vibrant appearance. He let them fall and then looked around again, at the bright blue sky and the wild, green grass and then looked over at the castle in the distance.

Eames nodded at him and Arthur knew he had noticed it too.

"We've been going in circles, I think," he said finally. He looked at Ana and shook his head. "Have you noticed? We keep passing by the same landmarks."

They'd been walking for roughly ten minutes, seemingly towards the castle, but as far as Arthur could tell they'd made no progress. Finally he'd called a stop, wanting to study their surroundings for a moment.

"Arthur's right," Eames said, rubbing his mouth. He turned to Arthur but he was speaking to Ana. "It's probably a maze – a circular, physical space. We've not gotten anywhere since we entered the dream."

Ana looked from Arthur to Eames. "So what do you think we should do?"

"You really haven't noticed?" Arthur asked, looking at Ana carefully. "Nothing jumps out at you here? No odd sense?"

Ana shrugged, wide-eyed yet unworried, and turned away.

The truth was he'd expected her to be the first to bring it up; instead she'd been quiet and Arthur was worried that she was becoming distracted. Going into Ana's mind was always an odd experience. Things were sharper, brighter than in reality. It was as if her subconscious was on constant high alert, always noticing the little things that most people ignored or their minds automatically disregarded.

It's how she sees the world, how she processes everything around her.

It was why she was almost never the dreamer on their jobs and why she made such a bad architect – her mind added too many details. Arthur usually woke up from her mind with a headache.

Now he watched as Ana looked across the clearing. She hadn't asked any questions but it was clear she was aware of everything around them.

"Well, we don't know what the parameters of the maze is," Eames began thoughtfully, "but it's clear a straight line will get us nowhere. Ana, you're doing this on some level – you don't want us to reach our goal."

Arthur shook his head. "I don't think that's it," he said. He gestured around them. "Look, she wanted us down here for a reason. She wants us here but she's not going to make it easy for us. If we haven't made progress then it's a loop of some sort. At some point, we turn the corner and make our way back from where we came from, leading us nowhere fast. We need to break the cycle."

"And how would we go about doing that?" Ana asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

Arthur thought for a moment. To the south was a seemingly endless expanse of green field and behind him, the castle. If it were up to him, he would have set up a replicating set of spiral stairs, with each level moving up incrementally.

But that's not what Ana would have done, he thought, frustrated. He glanced at her and to his surprise, she seemed to be watching him closely, almost expectantly.

Eagerly.

"I don't know yet," he said roughly. He stopped and drew in a breath, letting it out slowly. He was frustrated but Ana was Ana – she believed in him so she probably wasn't even worried at all. "But I don't think we should go any farther until we figure this out."

"How much time do we have down here?" she asked.

Eames glanced at Arthur, giving him a sharp look. They had both decided earlier that Ana shouldn't know the specifics of the dream they were in, including how long they would be under. It was safer that way, and it would make whatever negative elements in Ana's subconscious wary of attacking them for fear of cutting short their time.

After all, Ana wanted Arthur to go down deeper into her mind. If they were killed too quickly, he wouldn't get the chance.

"We have plenty of time," Eames said, "but we need to wrap this up quickly. The sooner we get to the castle, the better. The space out here is wide open. We'll be able to see anything coming but–"

"But that means we're visible as well," Ana finished for him. She frowned thoughtfully, turning back to Arthur. "Do you have any theories, Arthur? How can we seemingly move forward and yet stay in the same place?"

Something about the question bothered him. Though her tone was mild, simply curious on the surface, there was an edge there that perhaps he was imagining. For a moment, he said nothing and stared back at her.

Ana really did look better in the dream; she was obviously healthier here, at least. She wore a simple sheath dress that he remembered from years ago. It had been one of his favorites, a shade of blue that made her eyes seem almost gray in contrast.

Seeing her wearing it again, in this dream, made him feel a fresh wave of guilt. She'd worn that shade often, knowing he liked it.

Appearances in dreams were telling. Dreamers usually developed enhanced manifestations of themselves. While only forgers could truly alter their forms, other dreamers still had a degree of ability to change. The experts could change their clothing to adjust for the situation while those new to dreamshare usually wore whatever the dreamer–

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

Her hands.

Her hands were turned just so he could see the clean, unblemished skin of her palms.

Arthur felt a prickle of uncertainty touch him.

Ana was almost logical to a fault. It had taken Arthur a while to teach her how to enter a dream without incriminating tells; no matter how big or small, they had to be erased in a dream. Once, she'd broken her wrist before a job and he'd gone under with her for nearly a day in a dream, teaching her how to remove the injury from her appearance so she could move easily in the dream.

It had taken a long time because Ana's mind was so literal. She brought the real world into her dreams; it took a great deal of effort for her to let reality go.

Enhanced manifestations.

Like a better reflection of yourself.

"Mirrors," Arthur muttered, lost in thought.

Ana blinked and then her mouth twitched up slightly. "What did you say?"

"Mirrors." He repeated it strongly this time and realized that that was the answer. "It's mirrors. Reflections."

Arthur felt excitement and relief rush through him and he said, "We're going around and around in a maze of mirrors. We're only seeing what's being reflected back at us. That's why we think we're moving forward but going nowhere."

Eames let out a mirthless laugh. "And it's moving with us, so we don't realize it. It's a flexible, moving loop. Clever. I'd almost admire it if it wasn't being used against us."

"Listen, I'm not sure this will work but maybe if you close your eyes, the walls of the maze will stop moving," Arthur said, ignoring Eames. It was a rough guess but worth a shot. He reached out for her hand, saying, "We're in your mind but it's Eames' dream. If you're cut off visually, maybe–"

But Ana drew back from him with her unblemished palms held up. The air around her seemed to shift slightly and Arthur blinked, taken aback by the odd effect.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Eames tense and his own hand drifted to his hip almost unconsciously.

"I don't think I'll be doing that, thank you," Ana said. She shook her head at him. "Really excellent work though, Arthur. You picked this up much faster than I expected. I thought we'd have to walk around and around for at least an hour and what a waste that would be."

Arthur's blood ran cold as she dropped her arms to her side and stared at him. For a moment, her face seemed to blur, as if he were looking at her through ill-fitting lenses.

"Maybe you actually learned something, hm?" Ana said. Her mouth curled into a slow smile and her lips seemed to darken, the blur over her face growing heavier.

His head began to hurt just looking at her and he had to force himself to take a step forward.

"What–" he began but Eames drew in a sharp breath beside him.

"It's not her," Eames said. He sounded scared, his voice thick with revulsion. "What are you?"

Before Arthur could react, he heard the loud, sharp sound of a weapon firing and he threw himself forward, trying to grab Ana's hand to pull her down, away. It was a reflexive action, one he didn't have to think about and he almost kicked Eames in the face when he felt the other man drag him away from her.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Arthur yelled angrily. More shots rang out and he tried to rush forward once again, trying to reach Ana. He didn't know what was going on but he only knew that he had to get to her, to keep her safe.

He reached into his jacket, pulling his own gun out of its holster, but Eames stopped him. Arthur gritted his teeth and drew his arm back to strike when Eames pointed past him.

"He's aiming for her!" Eames said. "He's not shooting at us!"

It sounded as if the world was breaking apart around them and Arthur realized that it really was. Cracks began to form on the surface of things as more shots rang out and he heard the unmistakable sound of glass breaking.

Mirrors.

He felt splinters of glass hit his face but he brushed them off, searching wildly for Ana. She was away, too far from them and it was hard to see and–

Oh God.

Ana… Or whatever it was now, stood still and quiet amidst the chaos around her, looking at Arthur.

His heart seemed to stutter.

She had changed.

She stood in rags, in tattered dirty clothing stained with gore and dirt and sweat and as he watched, blood dripped down the mangled canvas of her torso, visible through the rips in her shirt. Her shoulder was torn open and he could see the bullet wound, the ragged edges of her flesh wide and gaping, black and red.

She grinned at him and it was an awful thing, a horrific parody of joy. She looked back at him with a dark stare, the whites in her eyes nearly black with blood from her broken veins. One cheek was sunken in, the bones shattered beneath and a large gash beside her mouth gaped wider as her smile grew.

Her teeth were crimson-colored and sharp.

"Arthur," it said, smiling, "You see me now, don't you? You made me. You turned me into this."

"No," he moaned and as he watched a bullet ripped through her thigh. Another one pierced her chest and she staggered forward, holding her hands up to her new wounds. Still, she kept her gaze on him, smiling, smiling, smiling.

"I belong to you," it rasped. "You made me."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. He moved forward even though every part of him recoiled at the sight of her. He suddenly realized that he was on his hands and knees, that he was on the ground crawling towards her.

"I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry." His voice sounded like a sob and he felt his eyes burn. He was crawling through glass, through broken shards of mirrors and he felt his hands and his knees slice open as he moved. "Ana, I'm so sorry, please."

From above him, like the voice of God or the Devil, he heard someone say–

"That's not my sister."

And then Ana collapsed like a broken doll thrown from a shelf as Matt Tremont lowered his gun. Arthur felt his stomach lurch as a pool of blood grew underneath the remains of Ana's… The creature's head.

Matt looked at Arthur coldly. His eyes, almost the same shade as Ana's, were narrowed with disdain.

"But it was right about one thing. It does belong to you."

###

Ana laughed as her hands traveled over the valleys and hills of the topography that represented Matthew Tremont.

…teasing me about my knobby knees but he's proud of me. He likes that I'm almost as tall as him now and…

Matthew had been a good brother. Patient and kind, if not a little over-protective. He had helped her navigate through her teenage years, which apparently had been made of a dozen little dramas and heartbreaks. At seventeen, he'd been her hero and Ana had to wonder if she'd perhaps seen him through rose-colored lenses.

Arthur had been written into their lives, intertwined as deeply and irrevocably as if he'd been family. He featured heavily in her recollection of Matthew; at least in their early years.

Matthew liked Arthur, Ana mused as she stared down. He knew, even then.

Perhaps she had read him wrong but it seemed Ana thought her brother had encouraged the… The affection Arthur had for her. The way he'd leave them behind, together, alone. The way he'd smile and nod at Arthur when he thought Ana wasn't looking.

But that will change, she thought, remembering Arthur's words. Soon.

Ana's eyes were wide as she absorbed everything she could about the memory of her brother.

She didn't notice that the light from the windows never changed, that the shadows in the room stayed static.

She didn't hear the sounds of shifting walls and hallways beyond the walls.

She didn't notice that the door had disappeared.

Ana's lips parted and her eyes glazed over, lost in the retelling of her own memories.

Ana read on.

###

"You must be Eames."

Matt looked away from Arthur, turning his back on the ruined body at his feet. Eames stood up, brushing off dirt and debris from his wrinkled clothing and nodded.

"And you're Ana's brother," he said. His voice was smooth and calm though he felt thrown off, shaken by the dead world around them and the dead body a few feet away.

That's not her.

The green grass, the blue sky… Those had all been illusions. The world he'd created was gone, replaced by a bleak, dry landscape. Sand and dirt, skeletal trees and a gray, cloudy sky surrounded them.

Gone was the fairytale; in its place was a nightmare. The castle was a dark thing now, a place for ghosts. He knew then they were in over their heads. This was his dream but Ana was in control. The proof lay all around them.

"Pity we never met in person," Eames said, forcing his gaze away back towards the other man.

"That's wholly your fault," Matt said. "She did want me to meet you. Once. And then you proved yourself incapable of being trusted. My sister wasn't about to bring your mess into my life."

Eames clenched his jaw and then forced himself to laugh. "Are you always this tactful?"

Something, some indefinable emotion moved over Matt's face and he smiled slightly. "Were. Past tense. I'm dead, remember? I'm just a projection."

It came as a slap. Eames hadn't forgotten that Ana's brother was dead–

I killed him.

–but to hear a projection clearly state awareness of itself was rare. It made him feel incredibly sad suddenly. Even in Ana's dream, in her mind, the death of her brother was at the forefront. It meant she didn't find reprieve from her pain, even in her fantasy.

"But I'm as close to myself as she can make me," Matt said with a shrug. "Who's to say though that I'm not really myself? Ana has such a good memory."

Before Eames could reply, Matt turned back towards Arthur, who had remained on his knees. His hands and his legs were bleeding but he'd remained on the broken pieces of mirror.

Against his will, Eames felt sorry for him. Arthur looked lost, completely and utterly broken. He'd never seen the other man look so open and Eames had to look away, feeling as if he were witnessing something too private.

"Oh, get up, Arthur," Matt said, sounding irritated.

Eames heard Arthur let out a shaky breath. "But she… She said…"

"That wasn't my sister and you know it," Matt snapped. He waved his hand at the body. "Pull yourself together. We need to move."

"You're going to help us, aren't you?" Eames said slowly, looking at Matt's face for confirmation. "Why?"

Matt tilted his head to the side, as if considering the question, and Eames was struck by the fact that he really did look like Ana. Perhaps his eyes were smaller, a shade darker, but aside from the obvious differences, there was no doubt that Matt and Ana were siblings. There was a similar grace to his features, an almost startling beauty.

Or maybe she just loved him so much she built him up to be this way.

Matt looked almost hero-like, too perfect, too handsome to be real.

We see the beauty in the people we love, Eames thought, seeing Ana's face in his mind. Or is it that they become so because we love them?

Almost without being conscious of it, he looked at the still, broken body on the ground.

Matt looked up from Arthur, who was slowly getting to his feet, albeit shakily. He had open wounds on his knees and his hands but the bleeding had slowed down and Eames knew Arthur could stitch himself back together just fine.

"Why am I helping you?" Matt asked. He pointed to the castle. "My sister is in there; she's in trouble. I'm not helping you. I want Ana to be whole, I…"

He lowered his hand and sighed heavily. "I wouldn't want her to be like this. Split in half, I mean. I came into being because on some level she knows I would never want this kind of life for her. On some level, Ana understood that I would never approve of any of this."

It made sense to Eames. Ana clearly saw Matt as her protector and if there was any doubt in her own mind, no matter how small, that her actions were wrong then Matt would become the personification of that doubt.

"The dead blessing," Arthur said. He was back on his feet and his face had become hard again, though still pale. Matt glanced back at him with a lifted eyebrow and Arthur stared back at him evenly. It was obvious that even Ana's projection of her brother disliked the other man. "That's what you are, Ana's dead blessing."

Arthur nodded down at the body. "And was that the living obstacle?"

Matt snorted, shaking his head.

"That? That didn't belong here at all," he said. He kicked the thing at its side and Eames winced.

It's not her, he reminded himself but he still felt uneasy.

"That was all you, Arthur," Matt said. "You brought her in. You're lucky it just wanted to play a little."

Eames didn't think it was possible but Arthur seemed to grow paler. To his credit though, he didn't flinch.

"My projection," Arthur said hoarsely. "That's why she… It said… It belonged to me."

Matt nodded. His expression seemed to soften slightly, as if he pitied Arthur. Somehow that was worse than the contempt. "I don't think that's the first one we'll see either. This place isn't heavily populated. It makes it easier to know what belongs and what doesn't. I knew what it was the moment I saw it. I can feel more in here… Hiding."

Matt made a face. "You're letting it haunt you. You've turned my sister into a ghost."

"Christ," Arthur muttered.

Eames rubbed his lips, feeling ill himself but he straightened and looked up at Matt.

"So where to now?"

Matt slowly turned back to Eames and raised his arm, pointing to the distance.

"We move forward," he said. "At least now we can see what's really ahead of us. First, we need to get through that."

Eames looked over his shoulder where Matt was pointing to. There, standing as if it had always been there, was a door.

"Do you know where that leads?" Eames asked. Matt opened his mouth and then looked at Arthur.

"Yes," he said, "and I think Arthur knows too. Don't you, kiddo?"

Arthur blinked, as if startled by the term of endearment and for a moment his face crumpled. But it disappeared quickly enough and he nodded.

He whispered a word and Eames shivered at the grim look in his eyes.

"Battlefield."

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