The Place in the Middle

Mr. Theodius Husher wrote one other book before he died, though it was not nearly as popular as Wriothesley’s Guide. In it, he described the mathematics of dreams. Trying to discover the precise relationship between dream time and waking time, he devised a formula roughly placing dream chronology at roughly thirty-three percent faster than normal time. Whether his theorem has ever been scientifically proven is still being debated, but it was the last book he ever wrote and didn’t live to see it published. (This was carried forward by his son, Usher.)

At any rate, there is a section of the book describing the phenomena of lucid dreams. He writes, “when in a lucid state, the dreamer finally realizes the material of his reality, he gains a significant amount of control over the experiences and direction of his episode. This control can produce feelings of euphoria, fear, or an urge to criminality. I myself have experienced all three on different occasions, although paranoia is the one most prevalent.” The book was called The Living Will.

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The Maudlin stings going down and then wraps my limbs in warm numbness. The music of Long's Second fades in and out with Oscar's appearance, visiting as he wishes, taking care that I want for nothing so that I can continue carving this new book out of the ether. Food, drink and clean clothing are taken for granted, as they are always prepared and always available. Oscar makes sure I sleep, he makes sure I eat and he makes sure I write.

The one thing I cannot ever do is leave the apartment.

Three nights ago I tried. I wanted to walk in the chill night air and break my mind free from its present enclosure, if for only an hour or two. He stood in front of the door.

"Where are you going?" he smiled.

"I would like a short walk. Some fresh air."

"You have everything you need here."

I scratched my head and looked around the room.

"Just for a minute. Down the sidewalk and back.

He stared hard and smiled without his eyes, exposing his long lower teeth pressed firmly against his uppers, gray gums having receded long ago.

He said again, slower, "You have everything you need here." He paused before saying that last word, then exhaled it hard so that I could smell his stale breath blackened by cigarettes.

Upon looking into his deep set eyes, I realized he was right. Nothing from the outside could ever be allowed to corrupt the flow.

He faded in and out again with the music as the night crept along, the clock in clicking cadence with the ever-working typewriter.

The night will fall,
And I will call,
So never fear...